Bob Balaban’s “Parents” (1989) begins with a series of family rituals.

Although set in the 1950s, before my time, anyone can relate to the montage that opens the film – a family drive, a game of living room golf, etc.

It’s what comes next that shocks, as it feels so unnatural and scary, the first of many such moments throughout.

Dad (Randy Quaid) is carrying his son to bed while chipper Mom (Mary Beth Hurt) is all smiles and watches approvingly. However, their Boy (Bryan Madorsky), who rarely speaks during the film, is reserved and seemingly unable to speak, in fear of some sort of dreadful retaliation.

The kid is afraid of something. What he suspects about his parents is dreadful and, as the story proceeds, we’re not entirely sure until the end if we’re witnessing something unthinkable or a child’s warped interpretation of the truth.

“Parents” (1989) is one of the few films that truly scares me. I saw the film when I was too young to fully engage with the satire and subtext it contains. Looking at it now, as a father and with reflection on the decisions and motivations of my own parents during my childhood, the movie still rattles me.

The tone and look of the film are similar to David Lynch’s “Blue Velvet” (1986) and the then-forthcoming “Twin Peaks” (1990). Indeed, “Parents” shares Lynch’s composer, Angelo Badalamenti and the milieu of a Norman Rockwellian past as a setting and cover up for the darkness within.

For some, the similarity to Lynch was a drawback but here’s the thing – what Lynch does on a film-to-film basis (with rare out-of-character exceptions like “The Straight Story”) is so distinctive, personal, and nearly impossible to duplicate. Balaban is using Lynch’s paintbrush the same way Brian DePalma borrows from Alfred Hitchcock.

That’s not easy to pull off. I mean this as a compliment.

Taken as a companion piece or simply a jolting double feature with “Blue Velvet,” Balaban takes some wild swings and makes a top-grade art film, as well as a terrifying portrait of childhood fears.

Is it a satire? In some ways, it spoofs the conventions and social mores of the 1950s, though this isn’t a comedy. Perhaps, if, say, Christopher Walken and Kathy Bates had played the title characters, it could have found an easy tone of a horror farce. Instead, the actors aren’t kidding around, and neither is Balaban.

The boy, whose name turns out to be Michael (but is rarely addressed as such) catches his parents having sex, has a nightmare of his bedsheets turning into a sea of blood and has a shuddering fear of the dark. Are we seeing the boy’s reality or is that even possible?

This child is so young and inexperienced, could anything we’re witnessing be anything more than a hyperactive imagination?

Mom and Dad, whose names are revealed to be Lilly and Nick, are an interesting contrast, as Lilly is chipper and charming. Dad, however, has a mean streak that comes out whenever his son tests him in any way.

Quaid and Beth Hurt give layered, unsettling turns; we can’t tell if they’re faking normalcy, or if they’re genuinely hiding the hostility that they feel towards becoming parents. Their resentment seems directed towards their son.

Are they wearing a mask of sanity? Quaid isn’t playing Cousin Eddie and Beth Hurt is disturbing in her portrayal of unbroken devotion.

It's #ManiacMonday! Meet the Laemle family—Nick, Lily and their son Michael, who suspects his parents are cannibalistic murderers. Directed by Bob Balaban, #Parents (1989) stars Randy Quaid & Mary Beth Hurt. What's your take on this late '80s horror film?#80s #horror #movies pic.twitter.com/XszsNbozWe

— In Search of Darkness (@80sHorrorDoc) January 15, 2024

Dad, who is employed by “Toxico,” works in “defoliants,” explaining to his son that “in 24 years, this jungle is mulch.” Mom is a busybody in the kitchen and outgoing socially, but her Donna Reed effervescence seems to be a mask for … something.

Perhaps the boy’s imagination only makes his parents appear monstrous, as his imagination may provide the clue that he’s only imagining his nightly traumas. I’m unsure if, in the very end, even with that amusing final scene, if the film makes an ultimate decision in deciphering what the true reality is here.

Yet, even as the conclusion is debatable, “Parents” can be taken as straightforward horror and not as a guarded allegory.

Badalamenti’s creepy score dips into the dread the boy is experiencing. The art direction is remarkable, looking like an extension of the boy’s troubled mind. The grim black and white portrait of the boy that Mom has on her nightstand is a hilarious prop. The film is stylish enough that the material is never unwatchable, though there are ample tonal shifts to keep us off balance.

“Parents” explores suburban conformity and parental influence. When the boy says ghastly things in school, we wonder if he’s just parroting something he heard his father say. A scene of the parents having dinner with Dad’s boss is notable for the way it suggests Mom and Dad are dining with older versions of themselves. Conformity as company.

Mom and Dad like to drink but they seem every bit as weird when they’re sober. A question the film hints at and never actually addresses: Is the boy the biological son of these two?

RELATED: ‘TERROR IN THE AISLES’ CAPTURES ’80s HORROR

One of Michael’s most harrowing nightmares switches from black and white to color and has imagery reminiscent of “The Shining” (1980). Clearly, much of the surreal imagery can be interpreted as fantasy but, since the boy is so young, could we simply be seeing how his mind interprets the unthinkable?

An interesting contrast with “Blue Velvet” is that Jeffrey, the film’s protagonist, finds the world a terrible place once he leaves his home and ventures into the dangers of the outside world. Here, the horror is primarily inside the young boy’s home.

Because “Parents” is from the point of view of a grade school kid, there’s an intentional lack of nuance and understanding of the adult world. Or, perhaps Michael, with his purity and unfiltered way of expressing himself, is simply seeing things exactly as they are?

There are lots of films with jump scares and spooky moments but this one still frightens me.

The post Randy Quaid’s ‘Parents’ Remains a Bone-Chilling Satire appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

It was even worse than you heard, than you read, than you feared.

“Screams Before Silence” lets the survivors of the Oct. 7 massacre at the hands of Hamas tell their stories.

The documentary, available for free at screamsbeforesilence.com, doesn’t show the grisly visuals found in the 45 minute video from late last year. The stories reveal atrocities that led one voice to describe them as “redefined evil.”

Even the Nazi machine couldn’t match the vile acts perpetrated again and again.

Sexual violence is the film’s focus. The Hamas targets endured mutilation and rape before death. The details are almost unimaginable.

Picture the worst horror film violence ever captured on screen. Now, imagine it happening hundreds of times. The survivors will live with those images until they leave this mortal coil.

The communities in question may never heal.

Some witnesses can’t help but break down on screen. One woman, tasked with attending to the stacks of body bags flooding the morgue, vowed to remain stoic despite her pain.

These details, she said, must be heard.

The survivors are artfully framed by Israeli director Anat Stalinsky, whose camera work is both tasteful and relentless. Burned-out trailers. Bullet holes. Ransacked homes forever stained by terror and death.

Other visuals come courtesy of the terrorists. Their footage captures a fraction of their savagery. We watch captured women dragged like dolls, their bodies degraded on purpose.

Just when you think you’ve heard too much, that nothing could be as harrowing as the last testimonial, another shocking account arrives.

A brief segment shows captured terrorists describing some of their actions. The scenes offer few insights, as if they shared nothing consequential during the interviews or the filmmakers wanted to put a face to the monstrosities.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Some details are almost too devastating to process.

“We never knew what we would see [in the body bags],” one worker shares. Others describe body parts treated like toys, hacked off their owners and distributed yards away.

It always comes back to rape, humiliation and physical torture.

Always.

Sheryl Sandberg, former COO of Meta, is our on-camera surrogate and the driving force behind “Screams Before Silence.” She asks the blunt, necessary questions to let the survivors speak. She repeatedly fights back her own tears and can’t help but offer comfort to her interview subjects.

Her shock mirrors ours.

RELATED: RAPAPORT SHREDS HOLLYWOOD FOR SILENCE ON ISRAELI HOSTAGES

Sandberg offers her personal reflections at one point, a curious decision given what we’re witnessing. This isn’t her story, but her willingness to gather the resources necessary to document Oct. 7 earned her monologue.

The documentary doesn’t attempt to contextualize the Israel/Palestinian divide. No politics enter the frame, nor does the film explore Israel’s military reaction to the horrors.

The film shrewdly wraps just before the hour mark. How much more can audiences take?

Many grew up hearing the phrase, “Never again,” relating to the Holocaust. Yet Oct. 7 already feels far away. Just ask any college protesters cheering on the political group behind the attacks.

“Screams Before Silence” won’t wake up your average, radicalized student. It’s still chilling, invaluable and necessary.

HiT or Miss: “Screams Before Silence” could be the most consequential film of the year. 

The post ‘Screams Before Silence’ Must Be Seen and Remembered appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Luca Guadagnino’s “Challengers” is a tawdry, repetitive, sports-driven relationship drama elevated and almost saved entirely by robust filmmaking.

Take it either as “Bull Durham” (1988) but set in the world of tennis, or simply “Dangerous Liaisons” (also 1988) but with the gender of the three leads reversed.

We meet Tashi, played by Zendaya, a competitive tennis player who is far smarter than her age would indicate. Tashi becomes the object of affection and an all-or-nothing competition between two lifelong friends and tennis players, the highly competitive Patrick Zweig (Josh O’Connor) and the sweet but controllable Art Donaldson (Mike Faist).

The story jumps forwards and backward dozens of times, with potential confusion avoided by timecards rendering the dates clear. However, it’s Zendaya’s contrasting hairstyles that ultimately keep things coherent.

Tennis matches and switching romantic partners between the three leads is how the story moves in rotation. Unlike the aforementioned “Bull Durham,” which also revolved around a love triangle and explicitly compared the rules of baseball to sex, “Challengers” actually has no sex scenes (only moments of graphic nudity and a three-way kiss that is in the trailer).

There is an eroticism to this that can only be taken somewhat seriously, as Guadagnino is never subtle.

It’s suggested a few times but never actually explored that Patrick and Art are sexually attracted to one another but have been holding it back for decades. Rather than developing this, Guadagnino gives them a literally steamy sauna room conversation and another scene where they munch on phallic churros while making eyes at one another.

“Challengers” has this in common with the tacky cult classic “Cruel Intentions” (1999): it wants to jolt the mainstream but is limited to occasionally shocking its audience without following through on provocative promises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The three leads are appealing but give limited performances.

It’s too early to tell if the one-note natures of the characters, the range of the actors or both are to blame but, if Zendaya, O’Connor and Faist become important actors after this, it would be a pleasant surprise. The three ably invest in their roles but no one steps up and carries the film.

Zendaya’s Tashi not only drives the story but is the sports guru/sex object at the center of the triangle, the way Susan Sarandon’s Annie Savoy was crucial to “Bull Durham.” “Challengers” lacks that film’s humor and true character growth.

There are three major contributors here who make the film worth seeing – two are the composers, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, whose club banger of a score sounds like an extension of their thrilling “Nun with a Mother-Bleeping Gun” track from the “Watchmen” HBO series.

The music is dynamic and exciting, as well as used in a knowing, unusual manner. You expect the throbbing beats during the electric tennis matches but, when Guadagnino has the score play during the high-stakes conversations between the leads, we understand that those verbal altercations are every bit a competition as the actual tournaments.

Loved hearing Zendaya's thoughts about the narrative and thematic use of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross's score for Challengers. pic.twitter.com/gsW5EZ1cto

— Devanayagam (@Devanayagam) April 28, 2024

The other major contributor is obviously Guadagnino, who takes an engaging but obvious and not altogether radical melodrama (teen athletes struggling to embrace adulthood!) into a tour de force. There are no scenes that embrace a light touch – for example, a character’s main change of heart is revealed during a windstorm.

As in Guadagnino’s best films, the surprising “A Bigger Splash” (2015) and the hypnotic, horrifying “Suspiria” (2018), the style is the substance. The showmanship of Guadagnino goes beyond the tennis matches, which are easily the most exciting to be put on film.

The engaging but forgettable “Wimbledon” (2004) is probably the last time tennis was the focal point of a sports movie. Come to think of it, the last time a tennis match connected in a movie on this level was probably “The Witches of Eastwick” (1987)!

There’s a Hitchcockian quality to the filmmaking, which takes an obvious cue from “Strangers on a Train” (1951), which is also about a tennis player; Guadagnino mimics the famous shot of spectators’ heads going back and forth with the tennis ball.

Yet, the two-men dynamic, even the suggested possibility of sexual attraction between them, is also in Hitchcock’s film. “Challengers” isn’t a thriller but would make an interesting double feature with “Strangers on a Train.”

Guadagnino overreaches with the 131-minute running time. I like a long, fully-formed movie but this easily could and should have been 10 minutes shorter.

Like John Cassavetes, Guadagnino likes scenes to stretch beyond the expected before or after they begin. I like the shots of the athletes preparing mentally before their matches, but there are some static bits here that are frustrating in their overextension.

Yet, there’s a welcome second-act surprise that breaks the cyclical nature of the story. Guadagnino somehow makes a date to Applebee’s seem romantic and crucial. Then there’s the grand finale which, like everything else here, goes on far too long but is still exhilarating.

After the disappointment of Guadagnino’s irritating and oddly predictable cannibal love story “Bones and All” (2022), it’s good to see him back with a full throttle, propulsive work of cinema. Time will tell if this becomes the definitive tennis movie (I prefer “Match Point” slightly more, even though it lacks the enthralling tennis sequences of “Challengers”).

As is, it shows what happens when a wily, talented film artist takes juvenile material and turns it into a powerhouse.

Three Stars

The post Is ‘Challengers’ This Generation’s ‘Bull Durham?’ appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

The Smallbone family has a story tailor-made for the big screen. Scratch that. It’s almost too remarkable to fit on any screen.

The Australian clan came to America with little more than a dream to buck music industry odds. Instead, the family produced multiple chart-topping artists, including For King + Country and Rebecca St. James.

The children’s talents expand beyond musical successes, too, something “Unsung Hero” shares in the moving post-film credits.

The film itself, told in deep collaboration with several Smallbone family members, is either too close to the source material or unwilling to peek behind the surface.

What a shame.

Joel Smallbone (For King + Country) co-wrote and co-directed a film where he plays his own father. David Smallbone’s music career is collapsing as the story opens in 1991. He decides to move his dutiful wife Helen (Daisy Betts) and their six children to America for a second (final?) chance.

David finds even worse luck in Nashville, forcing his family to improvise to pay the bills. They clean houses and mow lawns to make ends meet. Meanwhile, David feels like a failure for their lack of success.

They receive Christian charity from a local couple (Lucas Black, Candace Cameron Bure), but David’s guilt is all-consuming.

What he doesn’t realize is he has a musical prodigy under his roof – young Rebecca (Kirrilee Berger). Does she have what it takes to save the family’s fortunes? Or will David’s pride get in the way?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Like earlier faith-based movies, the rough edges behind “Unsung Hero” have been sanded to a pristine finish. Betts’ Helen is the family rock, and she never makes a false move. The same is true for the Smallbone brood, so aw-shucks cute it makes your teeth hurt.

That’s especially true for Rebecca, a critical character given no screen time of consequence. Does she have dreams of stardom? What does she think of her father’s willingness to uproot the family on a professional whim?

Who knows?

We watch Papa Smallbone teach the daughter a few show business tics, and it’s a cringe-worthy spectacle in all the wrong ways. The film also fails to fully celebrate the clan’s music, relegating key songs to deep into the third act.

Without giving the storyline away, the movie "Unsung Hero" should convict any mother or father who feels as though their children are somehow holding them back from pursuing their dreams. https://t.co/xrJyY0z09U

— Washington Times Opinion (@WashTimesOpEd) April 23, 2024

“Unsung Hero,” co-directed by Richard L. Ramsey, lacks the small, knowing details that made recent faith-kissed films like “Ordinary Angels” so memorable.

What works? Seeing a large, intact and joyous family on the big screen. It’s such a simple measure, capturing the lives many people live outside the Hollywood bubble. It’s still long overdue.

It’s understandable that David didn’t see his daughter’s potential on a certain level, but given his hunger for redemption and musical savvy it’s still partially unexplained.

LISTEN: The real-life David Smallbone opens up about ‘Unsung Hero’

A potential conflict between Black’s do-gooder character and Daniel also underwhelms. Why does Black’s character give, and give like he does? Does he understand why his kindness might not land the way he expects?

A smarter screenplay might delve deeper into these all-too-human themes. Not here.

It’s hard to gripe too much about “Unsung Hero.” It’s kind, uplifting and brimming with characters we rarely see on screen. It’s also impossible to wish the finished product fully captured the Smallbone family in all its glory.

HiT or Miss: “Unsung Hero” fails to capitalize on the faith-based film genre’s maturation, but it’s an undeniably moving family portrait.

The post ‘Unsung Hero’ Recalls Faith-Based Films of Yore appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Spiders are the new sharks.

Genre directors can’t get enough of the creepy crawlers. Can you blame them?

We’ve all been grossed out by larger-than-expected spiders sneaking into our bedrooms. They drop in like Ethan Hunt in “Mission: Impossible,” dangling overhead on invisible strands.

“Infested” is never that demure. It delivers softball-sized spiders and the most intriguing hero we’ve seen in some time. Too bad the story’s third act doubles down on commentary, not scares.

Young, entrepreneurial Kaleb (Theo Christine) is hustling his way through life in his hardscrabble community. He’s calculating but sweet – consider the exotic pets he lovingly cares for in his cramped room.

He makes the mistake of adding a large spider to his collection. This is no ordinary arachnid, according to an unsettling prologue that sets the horrors in motion.

The critter escapes, multiplies and begins taking over Kaleb’s apartment building.

It’s up to Kaleb and his unlikely allies, including sister Manon (Lisa Nyarko) and local MMA fighter Mathys (Jerome Niel) to save as many people as possible.

“Infested” serves up some top-tier scenes, benefiting from outstanding special effects. Is this a perfect marriage of CGI and practical effects? Hard to tell, but there’s never a moment where you doubt these spiders are oh, so real.

Director Sebastien Vanicek maximizes our natural fears, including one killer scene in a bathroom. Try watching it without scratching your body for unseen bugs. Later, the building’s use of timer-based lights adds another can’t-miss way to keep us engaged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Vanicek isn’t just interested in scare tactics.

The run-down neighborhood is a character unto itself, part of France’s immigrant class where hope feels out of reach. We see that in the menagerie of characters pitted against the spiders, a melting pot of frustration and pain.

Kaleb and Manon recently lost their mother, another ache impacting the storyline.

Our heroes fear the police and the future, but it’s the former that matters as the story progresses. It’s hard to miss the social commentary afoot, but for much of the movie Vanicek and co. balance it beautifully with the genre trappings.

The third act reverses that approach.

RELATED: WE NEED MORE HORROR MOVIES LIKE ‘STING’

The more the story vilifies the police, the less control Vanicek has over the scares. And, sadly, the less coherent his story becomes.

“Infested” is never dull, and once the spiders start taking over huge swathes of the building the tension takes over. Too bad the dialogue is so loud and screechy you’ll want to savor the scares with the sound off.

Yes, people are frightened, but do they have to scream their line readings?

On Shudder from April 26th… #infested #sebastienvanicek #florentbernard #harrytordjman #Shudder pic.twitter.com/npQRSphtl1

— Emmanuel Bonami (@emmanuelbonami) April 20, 2024

Kaleb is our guiding light through the darkness. He’s no saint, but his compassion for his neighbors gives the film a blast of humanity. He won’t live down to the expectations of others. That’s especially true with a bigoted neighbor (Emmanuel Bonami) who keeps accusing Kaleb of drug peddling.

Some of the best horror movies benefit from social commentary, from “Get Out” to “Night of the Living Dead.” “Infested” feels the same for a while, but Vanicek’s direction gets muddled mid-film.

Where are our heroes going? The crucial sense of space that masters like James Cameron deliver is missing here. The final battle dispatches with any sense of realism, even by horror film standards.

As is, “Infested” is a solid entry in the growing SpiderVerse genre, a tale of heroism in the heart of darkness.

HiT or Miss: “Infested” stumbles toward its finale, but for much of the running time delivers precisely the spider thrills we seek.

The post ‘Infested’ Will Get Under Your Skin appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

There’s a growing list of stories that Hollywood would never tell again.

“Blazing Saddles” shoots to mind, but so do “The Producers,” “Soul Man,” “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” and “The Toy.” (The last entry, to be fair, makes sense)

Add “Beautiful Girls” to that growing list.

The 1996 ensemble tells uncomfortable truths about the male mind from start to finish. A key subplot involving a precocious 13-year-old girl wouldn’t make it past the first draft in 2024.

Even the actress who played her agrees.

Yet “Beautiful Girls” remains wise, elegant and quietly hilarious. That a movie with so much going for it couldn’t be produced now speaks volumes.

Timothy Hutton stars as Willie, a big-city pianist coming home for his high-school reunion. The old gang welcomes him back, including snow plow drivers Tommy (Matt Dillon), Paul (Michael Rapaport) and Kev (Max Perlich).

Willie is at an emotional crossroads, and he hopes going back to his roots will light his path forward.

Bad idea.

Nothing changes in the fictional Massachusetts town where the story is set. His old buddies are similarly stuck, most unable to forge adult relationships.

Paul pines for supermodels rather than process the end of his relationship with Jan (Martha Plimpton). Tommy can’t stop cheating on his beautiful, sympathetic girlfriend Sharon (Mira Sorvino). And everyone comically laments how Mo (Noah Emmerich) got “stuck” with a wife and kids.

So why does Mo look so happy?

‘Beautiful Girls’ premiered in theaters 27 years ago, February 9, 1996 pic.twitter.com/tHJJHqgmPL

— RetroNewsNow (@RetroNewsNow) February 10, 2023

A stunning stranger (Uma Thurman) sets the boys’ tongues wagging, and a pre-teen with an old soul (that’s a young Natalie Portman as Marty) flummoxes Willie.

“Beautiful Girls” boasts plenty of moving parts, but director Ted Demme never loses control of the plot or the big picture. It’s a treatise on manhood – the immature instincts, carnal cravings and lust for something new.

It’s hardly a dude-bro portrait. These men are by and large pathetic, but we’re almost always in their corner.

Paul lacks the maturity to commit, fearing someone prettier is lurking around the corner. When love slips through his fingers he all but howls at the moon.

Why would Tommy even look at his old flame (Lauren Holly) when Sharon is by his side?

And then there’s Willie, who seems to have it all yet can’t help but wonder what kind of woman Marty will be someday.

Is that creepy? Yes and no. 

Men can’t stop seeking new challenges, and fresh ways to explore love. For Willie, young Marty is the future woman, the person who will come into his life after he commits to his safe, steady girlfriend (Annabeth Gish).

His attraction to Marty isn’t sexual. It’s a complex fantasy tied to fear of commitment.

As Scott Rosenberg’s astute screenplay later notes, somewhere a man is wishing he could be with the girl you have right now.

A woke “Beautiful Girls” reboot would be almost unrecognizable. The story would constantly kick our protagonists when they’re down, adding so many “girl power” asides to show us what we see for ourselves.

Tommy gets his comeuppance late in the film, but it’s both organic and earned. No lectures, please. Life has a way of delivering them without a syllable.

These young men are real, raw and unshaped. They’re in their late 20s, and they still have some growing up to do. White privilege? Surely you jest.

They’re not deified or attacked for who they are. That’s just reality, and woke is the enemy of truth.

FAST FACT: “Beautiful Girls” screenwriter Scott Rosenberg may have the most eclectic resume in Hollywood. “Girls” proved his most consequential early credit, but he went on to pen “Con Air,” “Gone in 60 Seconds,” “Kangaroo Jack” and “High Fidelity.”

Women get little overt say in the story but they still matter. Sharon is an emotional punching bag, but she’s hardly the first woman willing to overlook a chronic affair. Tommy’s lover (Holly) is portrayed as a succubus, eager to ignore her marital bonds for quick, meaningless sex.

Rosie O’Donnell interrupts the story for overt commentary on male flaws, the closest thing “Beautiful Girls” has to a modern-day lecture. Her sass and brief screen time make those scenes digestible.

Thurman is idealized beyond reason. She’s stunning yet approachable, loves whiskey and is willing to flirt with Paul to make his ex jealous. Thurman’s performance is spotless, another way “Beautiful Girls” exposes the male mind.

She’s the supermodel Paul can’t stop thinking about. And, of course, he blows his chance with her.

The main male characters in “Beautiful Girls” are funny and flawed, relatable but stubborn in their groupthink. They learn and grow a little before the story wraps, but they’ll be making the same mistakes a few more times before long.

That’s life. That’s what Hollywood once recognized before the Thought Police arrived on the scene.

The post ‘Beautiful Girls’ Couldn’t Be Made Today. Here’s Why appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Alex Garland wasn’t kidding.

The writer/director of “Civil War” said his dystopian thriller didn’t take political sides. The film bears that out, focusing entirely on journalists scrambling to cover a country at war with itself.

The problem? “Civil War” isn’t action-packed in a traditional, rah-rah sense. Nor does it shed new light on what it means to be a war correspondent.

What’s left? Visceral moments and the sense that almost anything can happen on screen. Like Garland’s previous film “Men,” that sense of storytelling chaos papers over plenty of flaws.

And “Civil War’s” flaws could fill an AT&T phone book.

America’s second Civil War may be reaching a critical stage, and veteran photojournalist Lee (Kirsten Dunst) is racing to D.C. to capture it. She’s joined by an aging New York Times scribe Sammy (Stephen Henderson), her fiery partner-in-crime Joel (Wagner Moura) and a rookie shutterbug named Jessie (“Priscilla” standout Cailee Spaeny) who talks her way onto the team.

They know danger lies ahead, and the early leg of their road trip confirms those fears.

Meanwhile, the beleaguered U.S. President (Nick Offerman) says the war against the Western Front is going well, but reality offers a different perspective.

Can these intrepid reporters stay alive long enough to photograph history in the making? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“Civil War” strips away every important element of the conflict. Why did Texas align with California against the president? How did the seceding states snag so much military hardware? What caused the split in the first place? How did the country’s political parties feed the fissure? Why did this president disband the FBI and declare a second war against the press?

No clues are given. None.

Garland erases all of the above, but he struggles to replace them with something substantial. We learn that some war journalists are often adrenaline junkies.

Whoa!

Others have seen too much mayhem and take a soulless approach to their craft.

So why don’t they ever, you know, do some journalism? We never see Joel so much as crack a notebook open to capture what’s unfolding. He’s not a photographer, so he must be a reporter … right? The same holds for Sammy.

Lee and Jessie are constantly snapping pictures, but they’re never in touch with their editors or are shown transmitting photos. 

The only notable arc is how Lee initially treats Jessie. The young journalist looks up to Lee, but Lee insists the 20-something isn’t ready for the gig. She recalls being a young reporter herself, and the memory alarms her.

That early friction could have led to an interesting, mentor-like relationship. Garland’s screenplay doesn’t follow that thread to its natural conclusion.

You could argue that “Civil War” says everything it wants to say in the first half hour. The rest of the film is a jangle of raw nerves and uncertainty.

That’s often where Garland shines.

RELATED: IF WE CAN’T SURVIVE ‘CIVIL WAR’ WE’RE ALREADY DOOMED

Garland’s previous film, “Men,” may have been flawed, but his nimble camera work made even daffy sequences crackle. Here, the perils faced by the journalists give the film a sense of purpose, and his camera once again makes every tense moment count.

One extended sequence, featuring the great Jesse Plemons as a redneck rebel, is so unnerving it carries us to the final, formulaic battle. The scene wraps with a ghoulish visual sure to haunt audiences.

Politically speaking, all sides behave badly. We see amateur soldiers killing others for sport. Western Front types similarly exterminate their foes without a second thought.

President Ron Swanson is a fascist.

War … is hell. That’s a message always worth sharing, but why pit Americans against each other to do so?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Offerman’s President isn’t a certain real estate mogul. In fact, he’s barely on screen. That’s another massive mistake, especially given how the story’s third act makes him such a monumental figure. Plus, casting Ron Swanson as a fascist leader is such a juicy idea why not follow through with it?

Make no mistake. He’s the film’s villain. So why can’t we get to know him, at least a little?

The journalists on the run fare a little better. They’re relentlessly strong in pursuit of the story, and none suggest the kind of rampant corruption found in real-life journalism today.

Yet another missed opportunity.

“Civil War” is rarely dull, but its fiery finale features more than a few missteps. That includes an emotional epiphany that never happens.

Stunning.

It’s equally stunning for a film to arrive with such culture war fanfare and deliver so little in return.

HiT or Miss: “Civil War” strips away every socio-political element of the war in question, but it fails to compensate with something equally tart.

The post ‘Civil War’ – Raw, Original and Utterly Pointless appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Horror and dumb go together like peas and cah-rots, to paraphrase Forrest Gump.

Think:

There’s a serial killer on the loose … let’s split up!

The monster sure looks like it’s dead. Let’s drop our weapons!

You know the drill.

“Abigal” is a different kind of dumb. The film’s screenplay insults us at every turn. You can’t help but question what’s happening instead of letting go and having fun.

Young, talented Abigail (Alisha Weir, very good despite the story around her) gets kidnapped as the story opens. The fledgling ballerina is the daughter of a powerful mob boss, and a gaggle of goons hopes to squeeze him for a tidy ransom.

That makes sense, except what the thugs don’t realize is that Abigail is more than a gifted dancer. She’s a vampire, and by kidnapping her they may have sealed their fate.

It’s wonderful to see a horror movie that can be summed up in two tight paragraphs. Simple. Effective.

Deadly.

Except at nearly every step “Abigail” undermines that streamlined approach. The goon squad in question is effectively cast, including “Scream” alum Melissa Barrera, Dan Stevens, Giancarlo Esposito, the late Angus Cloud and Kathryn Newton.

No problem there. Yet the sequences leading up to the vampiric reveal are a snooze. These crooks bicker and brood, but there’s little wit to snack upon.

The screenplay, by Stephen Shields and Guy Busick, gets worse as the story progresses. The dialogue teems with obvious comments and way too much profanity. Stevens gets the worst of it. His character is akin to nails on a chalkboard sprung to life.

Horror hounds who live to see on-screen blood, however, will be in heaven. “Abigail” gushes with the red stuff, along with other internal organs. It’s SplatterVision, and at the very least it keeps viewers from nodding off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The bigger issue is clear.

Even dumber than dumb horror movies have an internal logic of sorts. Not here.

One minute, young Abigail can break through doors like they’re tissue paper. The next? They hold her at bay.

We’re told her vampirism doesn’t mesh with the undead lore we’ve seen from countless movies. Later, it’s all about wooden stakes and the fear of sunlight.

Huh?

RELATED: BEST ’80s VAMPIRE MOVIES

Our antiheroes make it all but impossible to cheer on. Barrera, whose bond with her off-screen child is the only humanity seen on screen, barely makes an impact. At one point we’re asked to feel sorry for a vampire despite all the dead bodies littering the screen.

Sorry. That’s not happening.

“Abigail” doesn’t know when to quit. Literally. The running time is inexcusably long, allowing for even more head-scratching reveals and faux endings.

You’ll have a laugh or two, and the cast mostly knows to keep tongues buried in cheeks. Otherwise, the visual chaos that is “Abigail” isn’t worth a look.

HiT or Miss: “Abigail” starts strong but ends up burying audiences in a flood of dumb vampire shtick.

The post ‘Abigail’ Is Too Bloody Dumb for Its Own Good appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

The Coens. The Russos. The Farrellys. The Duplasses. The Safdies.

The Chinas?

No, Paul and Benjamin China aren’t in the rarified air of those famous directorial duos. Not even close.

Still, the China Brothers’ indie debut, “Night Shift,” is so confident in its storytelling that you can’t help but ask a simple question.

What else do they have up their sleeves?

A troubled woman named Gwen (Phoebe Tonkin) arrives at a just-north-of-seedy motel to tackle the night shift. She’ll be paid in cash and work alone until owner Teddy (Lamorne Morris) relieves her at 7 a.m. 

What could go wrong? Plenty, of course. This is a horror movie, after all.

Gwen has troubling hallucinations of undead customers lurking on the grounds. A sedan keeps driving slowly past the motel as if its driver is casing the joint.

Plus, Gwen’s state of mind appears a bit wobbly long before things start going bump in the night.

If you think you know where this is going, you’re probably wrong.

The China Brothers take their time setting the story in motion, relying on strong performances to lay the necessary groundwork. Morris doesn’t get much screen time, but he judiciously uses it to create a character we know all too well.

Awkward. Kind. Untethered by certain business realities.

Teddy’s initial chat with Gwen is delightful, the kind of sly exchange that lacks a single horror trope. Unless you consider a Bates Motel-style stuffed animal or three.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Tonkin is just as good as our beleaguered heroine. She’s resourceful but not dumb, eager to make the best of an awful situation until things spin out of control.

Madison Hu co-stars as Alice, a motel guest who becomes Gwen’s de facto ally. Their scenes add another intriguing layer to the story.

The Brothers’ camera work is never flashy, just self-assured. They know how to build tension and nudge the proper elements in motion without drawing attention to themselves. “Night Shift” feels like a movie made by industry veterans who care more about the finished product than cinematic gimmicks.

And one scare in particular is a corker.

The introduction of two wealthy snobs (Patrick Fischler, Lauren Bowles) into the motel is a rare misstep. It’s meant for comic relief, but their appearance proves more of a distraction.

Otherwise, “Night Shift” is the kind of indie horror treat that proves how resourceful, and nimble, the genre can be in the right hands.

HiT or Miss: “Night Shift” delivers smart scares, a delicious twist and the kind of assured performances that keep up engaged from start to finish.

The post ‘Night Shift’ Offers Bates Motel-Brand Chills appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Confession: This critic loves movies where innocents scramble in the woods while something or someone hunts them down.

Think of thrillers like “Backcountry” or the sublime “Alone” as prime examples.

The plots are simple but effective. And who can’t relate to a person thrust into a life-or-death challenge? It’s like “Squid Games” in Mother Nature.

Yet “Prey,” a German thriller now streaming on Netflix, might be among the worst of this guilty pleasure sub-genre. 

We follow five allegedly close friends on a different kind of bachelor party. They don’t need strippers or booze, just a little male bonding in the woods.

It’s Roman’s big day, and the film features flashbacks to him (David Kross) and his future bride (Maria Ehrich) canoodling on the beach.

Hmm.

He’s joined by his brother Albert (Hanno Koffler), who seems like a jerk from the jump, and three other mates.

Their stripper-free plans go south when a shot rings out somewhere in the woods. A second, louder POP follows. Whoever fired that gun is getting closer.

Turns out there’s a sniper on the loose, and if the friends don’t find shelter they won’t live long enough to eat the wedding cake. That’s all you need for a genre film, but we’re treated to some workplace tension between the friends.

Might that add another, vital layer to the thriller? Nothing doing, sadly.

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In fact, there’s little chemistry to be found in this Wolfpack-plus-one. The dialogue reeks of First Draft-ism, and while we’re not seeking the next Tarantino script it dampens whatever chills spill from the premise.

The hapless quintet can’t rally for an effective battle plan or even muster the sense that their lives are in danger. Sometimes they bicker, forgetting a sniper’s scope is lurking nearby. The next moment, they leave themselves so cartoonishly vulnerable you almost want them to take a bullet.

Don’t feel bad for that reaction. It’s just Horror Movie Morality 101.

The story suggests the fragility of the male ego along with an unspoken nod to the MeToo movement. Just know the killer in question harbors a motive that won’t make sense even under the most sympathetic lens.

“Prey’s” third act features a mind-numbing reveal that adds a silly boost to the proceedings. By then we’re waiting for the last shot to be fired.

Please. Put us out of our misery.

Even the film’s final seconds disappoint. From start to finish, “Prey” isn’t worth the stream.

HiT or Miss: “Prey” packs a can’t-miss premise that, shockingly misses by a country mile.

The post Why ‘Prey’ Makes the Least Out of Sniper Setup appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Director Larry Fessenden pumped new life into Frankenstein’s monster with 2019’s “Depraved.”

The genre veteran’s attempt to reimagine the werewolf genre, alas, deserves a swift silver bullet.

“Blackout” is sluggish from start to finish and marinates in stale progressive talking points. The creature itself is the ultimate let down. When a horror film’s budget is this low, you’re better off showing less, not more.

That worked for Steven Spielberg and the malfunctioning robot shark in “Jaws,” no?

Not here. It’s hardly the only flaw in this bargain-basement dud.

A nasty prologue hearkens back to ‘80s slasher films, from the gratuitous nudity to its practical effects. No movie should peak in the first five minutes.

We soon meet Charley (Alex Hurt, son of the late William Hurt), a haunted artist looking for a fresh start.

Or is it an ending?

He’s eager to leave his small town of Talbot Falls but something keeps getting in the way. Whenever the moon is full he turns into a werewolf and everything he tried to achieve during the day falls apart.

Charley is obsessed with a local developer (Marshall Bell) eager to build a resort sure to hurt the region’s ecosystem. How bold to make the villain a rich developer who only sees dollar signs!

Our hairy hero also tries to shield a Mexican immigrant from locals who insist the “newcomer” is responsible for a recent murder.

If you sense writer/director Fessenden has a progressive axe to grind, give yourself a prize.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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This isn’t the first socially-conscious horror film, but it might be the worst example in recent memory. The screenplay is cartoonishly blunt and, much worse, repetitive. It’s one thing to lay out a story’s hard-Left thesis. It’s another to double and triple down on them.

Need more progressive tropes? How about a black character’s fear of being shot by the police? Or the yokels clad in camouflage who won’t leave the local immigrants alone?

The only thing missing? The red MAGA hats.

Even Joy Reid might cringe at how crudely “Blackout” wallows in progressive talking points.

Fessenden telegraphs his intentions early on, from letting his camera linger on election-year signage to Charley’s near-constant lectures. He might be the least appealing wolf in modern cinema.

The film uses images of the character’s late father – photographs of a younger William Hurt – to suggest their tortured relationship. To say it’s a distraction is beyond obvious, especially since Hurt died not long ago.

Plus, the elder Hurt would never headline a movie as junky as this.

The screenplay is alternately hammy and on-the-nose, and for some reason everyone uses Charley’s name again, and again, in conversation. “Blackout” is a better drinking game than a movie – take a shot every time a supporting character utters the name, “Charley.”

Advise a physician before attempting said game.

The film’s title refers to Charley’s drinking habits, and using lycanthropy as a metaphor for alcohol abuse isn’t bad. Nor is how Charley’s do-gooder spirit conflicts with his obvious flaw.

He knows he turns into a killer when the moon is full but rarely takes measures to protect the innocent from his transformation.

Fessenden can’t do much with either ripe element. Instead, he focuses on showcasing the film’s tiny budget.

We see way too much of the wolf-life Charley, from his sub-standard makeup to the way Hurt fails to inject his actions with anything wolf-like. Scenes of the transformed Charley running through the woods are embarrassing.

It’s no surprise “Blackout” features a literal lecture in the third act against the evil white people trying to punish Mexican immigrants. It’s a dud, but so is every element of “Blackout,” from glaring plot holes to our hero’s cursed romance with an old flame (Addison Timlin).

Nothing works. Nothing.

Indie horror films routinely outkick the coverage, delivering some of the genre’s best thrills. “Blackout” lives down to its budget.

HiT or Miss: “Blackout” is a genre bomb of the highest order.

The post ‘Blackout’ Offers Low-Rent Werewolf Shocks appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Every kid deserves a pet, but the young heroine in “Sting” gets more than she bargained for.

The latest arachnid thriller spins from a familiar premise but turns into a family affair.

Sound confusing? Not in the hands of director Kiah Roache-Turner (the “Wyrmwood” franchise), who brings a plucky sense of humor to the shocks without going the full horror-comedy hybrid.

The results hardly reinvent the genre, but it’s as sturdy a thriller as you’ll find in the indie ranks.

Young Charlotte (Alyla Browne) is feeling abandoned following the birth of her brother. Her mother and stepdad (Penelope Mitchell and Ryan Corr) aren’t bad people, but between paying the bills and caring for an infant Charlotte feels left behind.

So when she discovers a spider in her bedroom she decides to make it her pet.

Kids these days!

She doesn’t know that the critter came from outer space, an origin story that doesn’t make much sense but can be quickly ignored for genre expediency.

The widdle spider, or Sting as she dubs him, has a voracious appetite and grows at a frightening clip. It’s not long before Charlotte’s pet starts making itself at home in her apartment building.

RELATED: 31 DAYS OF HORROR: ‘EIGHT-LEGGED FREAKS’ 

Said building is full of “characters,” the kind that makes horror movies even more engaging. That includes Charlotte’s grandmother, a dementia-addled soul deployed for black humor purposes.

Charlotte’s stepfather has enough trouble before Sting enters the scene. He’s juggling multiple jobs and making a mess of it. And Charlotte pines for her biological dad, not her mom’s new beau.

That family friction, which could have played out in a perfunctory fashion, gets serious screen time in “Sting.” It’s not window dressing but a way to put Charlotte’s behavior in context.

It also raises the dramatic stakes, exactly what makes a genre thriller pop.

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The title character comes to life via (mostly) practical effects and, considering the film’s indie roots, it’s an impressive feat. Spiders arrive with a built-in ick factor, but “Sting” doesn’t take that for granted.

We also get imaginative kills along with some predictable shocks, but once Sting outgrows his mason jar home the pace proves relentless.

Performances are strong across the board, including young Browne. It’s a shame her character gets a “Home Along”-style makeover, but otherwise the film’s tone and presentation prove consistent.

There’s even a slick prologue that plays a pivotal role in the third act, and it comes with a surprise you won’t see coming.

“Sting” respects the audience enough to deliver a full-bodied family drama between the bloody bits, and it’s sturdy enough to make it stand up to scrutiny.

Strong production values. Old-school effects that look shiny and new. A respectful take on fatherhood in all its guises.

“Sting” hits the mark over and again.

HiT or Miss: “Sting” serves up strong practical effects, a complicated heroine and enough family strife to make the down moments as potent as the creature scenes.

The post We Need More Horror Movies Like ‘Sting’ appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

No movie franchise is safe from revival.

Now, it’s “The Omen’s” turn despite a weak 2006 attempt to give the devil his due. Again.

“The First Omen” craves a do-over.

The prequel follows an aspiring nun who discovers something sinister within the church. We all know where that will lead.

Director Arkasha Stevenson shows considerable promise in arranging horror movie tropes. Too bad the story at the heart of the film betrays her.

Aspiring nun Margaret (Nell Tiger Free) arrives in Rome brimming with faith and optimism. She’s reunited with an old friend in the church, Cardinal Lawrence (Bill Nighy), and connects with a fellow believer who seems a bit … secular for the gig in question.

We’re even privy to a scene where nuns talk like the quartet from “Sex and the City.” It’s one of many threads the film can’t follow through on.

Our novitiate also meets a troubled girl (Nicole Sorace) who leads her to some horrifying discoveries. There’s an insidious plot underway that betrays the Church in profound ways.

“The First Omen” opens with a scene that telegraphs its kill so baldly you’ll want to blink it away. There’s a twist, but it’s still too obvious for horror fans. It’s still creepy enough to give us some hope.

That’s hardly the only time the prequel lays out its cards like that. We’re also treated to a recreation of a key death from the original film. Call it an homage if you will. It plays out as tired and unnecessary.

The biggest issue is clear. The dark plot behind the film doesn’t make enough sense. The risks behind it are so vast it suggests a serious examination of its results. And that doesn’t factor in the moral weight of its machinations.

Show that on screen and you’ve got something deep, dramatic and rich. Instead, we see nothing of the kind, rendering it dramatically inert.

Far better is Free, given tasked with holding the wobbly film together. She’s up to the challenge, showing both faith and an understanding that her beliefs will be challenged in ways she never expected.

RELATED: WHY HORROR MOVIES ARE HAVING A MOMENT

Director Stevenson evokes a chilling atmosphere and dutifully recreates the period in play. The story opens in 1971, making it link directly to the Gregory Peck original. The musical cues, while never as sublime as what Richard Donner uncorked in 1976, are sufficiently creepy.

Scares, sadly, are in short supply. We do get two weak jump scares and one trick of the light that proves shockingly effective. The rest is a grab bag of body horror and de facto horror bloodshed.

“The First Omen” teases how various cultures exploit the weak, from the worker protests happening outside church walls to the plot leading to the demon child’s arrival. Stevenson, who co-wrote the screenplay, treads carefully here, letting audiences make the necessary connections.

It’s impossible to miss the film’s feminist messaging, and it’s hardly a tale to be shared within Christian circles. That’s fine. Next, time, make a sturdier horror movie to bring said messages home.

HiT or Miss: “The First Omen” successfully ties into the 1976 original. That’s where the good news ends.

The post Why ‘The First Omen’ Can’t Measure Up to the Original appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.