MINION SOUP

Now playing in the multiplexes is Illumination's latest, Minions & Monsters...

Check out my review, online at Phoenix Magazine.

DYLAN ME SOFTLY WITH HIS SONG

Belated takes on three December releases I've just recently caught up with, prepping for my 2024 Top Ten list: 

Still in theaters:

A Complete Unknown--Directed by the always-reliable James Mangold, this biopic covers Bob Dylan's breakthrough. We see the arrival of the young prodigy (Timothée Chalamet) in the Village, his pilgrimage to a New Jersey hospital to meet the terminally ill Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy), attended there by Pete Seeger (Edward Norton), who becomes Dylan's mentor and champion, his relationships with Sylvie Russo (Elle Fanning) and Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro), his rise to stardom, through to his notorious electric set at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965.

I love Dylan. I saw him perform, sharing the bill with the Grateful Dead and Tom Petty, at Rich Stadium in Buffalo, New York in 1986; it's high on the list of the best live shows I've ever been to. And "Like a Rolling Stone," from which this film's title is drawn, may be my favorite song; I've often wondered if it shouldn't be our new national anthem. I'm wondering that especially hard this week.

All that said, I'm not remotely enough of a Dylan worshipper or historian to feel proprietary toward him, or to say how accurate this film is or isn't. All I can say is that I enjoyed it. It's full of good acting, rich period detail and, of course, great music.

Chalamet, for whom I've never previously been able to work up much enthusiasm, gives us a human being as opposed to the bad Dylan impression that any of us can do. Dylan has long been reputed, even by his friends and admirers, to be an asshole--a dazzlingly talented asshole, a funny asshole, an influential asshole, but an asshole nonetheless.

The movie doesn't shirk this; the opinion is stated overtly by a character, and Dylan doesn't disagree. But as with most assholes, he isn't just an asshole, and Chalamet makes it possible not only to accept and admire him, but to like him. Also, he sings for him. And Norton sings for Seeger, and Barbaro sings for Baez, and Boyd Holbrook sings for Johnny Cash, and none of them, to my ear, embarrass themselves.

Despite Chalamet's excellence, Norton's performance as Seeger is the real standout here. Even though by the end Seeger is shoved, fairly or not, almost into the role of antagonist, Norton gets across Seeger's tirelessly disarming, near-saintly sweetness, and beneath it, the depth of his passion for music, and for America.

Now streaming:

Queer--The agonies of not quite fully requited love bleed out of Daniel Craig's old-shoe face in this adaptation of my second-favorite William S. Burroughs book (after Junky), first published in 1985 but written decades earlier. The setting is Mexico City in the '50s, where Craig's "William Lee " is a dissolute expat, drinking too much and engaging in one night stands with local pretty boys.

William is smitten when he gets a load of Allerton (Drew Starkey), a beautiful young American Navy vet. He eventually gets the guy into bed, and later talks him into traveling to Ecuador with him in search of yagé, a hallucinogenic plant he believes will give him telepathic powers (he's already restarted his heroin habit at this point). But Allerton is just along for the ride, literally and emotionally.

Craig is outstanding; the nakedness of his pain is hard to watch at times. And the movie, directed by Luca Guadagnino of Challengers from a script by Justin Kuritzkes, starts off very well. But as it dives deeper into drug-fueled visions (some of them reminded me of those in Ken Russell's 1980 Altered States), it loses dramatic momentum. It's visually arresting, but Guadagnino finds no equivalent to the charge that Burroughs generates in the best riffing passages of his prose.

Also, meaning no moral judgement--I hardly could judge, given my own relationship to junk food--I've never been able to find the glamor that so many filmmakers seem to find in drug addiction. Maybe I would if I understood it first-hand, but if so, I'll pass.

Now streaming, and still playing in the Valley at this writing at Harkins Shea:

A Real Pain--Close friends in their youths, 40-something cousins Dave and Benji have a more complicated relationship now. The quiet, mild-mannered Dave (Jesse Eisenberg) is a successful New York digital ad salesman, while Benji (Kieran Culkin), though cheerful and charismatic, is unemployed, troubled, seemingly directionless, and given to delivering his nervy opinions at distressingly inappropriate times and volumes.

Nonetheless, Dave adores him, and the two travel together from New York to Poland on a legacy left them by their mutually adored grandmother, who survived the Holocaust. They join a "Holocaust tour" led by a non-Jewish Brit (Will Sharpe), starting at Warsaw and working their way toward Lublin, where the cousins will break away to visit the grandmother's home. They smoke weed with each other and interact with the other oddballs on the tour, among them Jennifer Grey as a divorcee and Kurt Egyiawan as a Rwandan who survived the genocide in his country before converting to Judaism.

Written and directed by Eisenberg, this modest movie is genuinely original--very funny, very poignant, very believable, painfully uncomfortable to watch at times but ultimately a gem. Culkin is terrific, but  Eisenberg is no less so in his less showy role; his love and worry for his cousin, and his protective mortification at his behavior, make up the pain at the dramatic core of A Real Pain.

You can also check out my reviews, online at Phoenix Magazine, of Nickel Boys and the Universal/Blumhouse "reboot" Wolf Man.

THE CAPES OF WRATH

Opening this week:

  
Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice—The title sounds like a Supreme Court Case, but it just refers to a spat between the two biggest names in the DC superhero stable. The Man of Steel thinks Gotham’s Dark Knight is a creepy vigilante, while the Caped Crusader thinks that the near-omnipotence of Krypton’s Favorite Son represents an existential threat to all humankind. Can either be called wrong with perfect confidence?

This had possibilities, certainly, and a deft director in Zack Snyder. And the film has its moments. The acting is quite strong—Ben Affleck makes a brooding, intriguing, suavely attractive Bruce Wayne, and his costume gives a perfectly competent performance as Batman. He’s far more credible as a superhero here than he was as Daredevil back in 2003.

Henry Cavill makes a serviceable Superman—like most actors who have played this role, his charm doubles whenever he’s in Clark Kent drag—and Jesse Eisenberg darkens his persona as a manic, nattering Lex Luthor. A young Israeli actress named Gal Gadot is introduced as Wonder Woman; she doesn’t get much to do, but she is unquestionably a wonder.

Parts of the clash between the title icons are amusing, but mostly Batman v Superman is an overwrought, laborious, punishingly heavy slog. The conflict is muddled and lacking in urgency, there isn’t nearly enough humor, and, above all, the movie is too freakin’ long. It’s TOO. FREAKIN’. LONG. By at least twenty minutes, probably more.

Various theories can be advanced as to why so many blockbuster action movies insist on being so outrageously overlong. But I would rather this review, unlike Batman v Superman itself, remain brief. 

City of Gold—This documentary challenges the commonplace that good stories require conflict. It’s a portrait of Pulitzer-Prize-winning L.A. Times restaurant critic Jonathan Gold, and it has almost none.

For an hour and a half, we watch the pleasant fellow galumph around the Greater L.A. area, going to Mom and Pop ethnic restaurants where adoring owners serve him plates of delicious-looking food. He takes a brief side trip to New York to dine with his idol Calvin Trillin, but otherwise that’s pretty much the whole movie, in terms of content. None of the talking heads have an unkind word to say about him; no appalling personal tragedies are revealed.

Of course, we do learn that Gold is a chronic procrastinator. A newspaper columnist who procrastinates? What a shocker! And his environmentalist brother gently reproves him for his fondness for overfished varieties of sushi. That’s about as much Shakespearean drama as we get.

But director Laura Gabbert, abetted by Bobby Johnston’s fine score, keeps City of Gold gliding along enjoyably. Gabbert’s bird’s-eye dissection of L.A.’s neighborhoods is fascinating and undeniably glamorous, and the movie works as genteel food porn as well. Mere humans may feel a pang of envy at seeing someone so seemingly contented with and well-rewarded by his talents, but Gold comes across so unassumingly that it doesn’t deepen into resentment.