“In a Violent Nature” delivers a Whitman’s sampler of horror tropes. Cabin the woods? Check. Attractive young woman in swimsuits? Check. ...

“In a Violent Nature” delivers a Whitman’s sampler of horror tropes.

  • Cabin the woods? Check.
  • Attractive young woman in swimsuits? Check.
  • Characters making the dumbest moves possible? Yup.
  • A masked killer with a creepy backstory? You betcha.

The twist?

Much of the movie is shot from the killer’s perspective. That sets the ultra-glory film apart from previous slasher entries. That conceit isn’t powerful enough at times, and even at a crisp 90 minutes there’s obvious fat to be trimmed.

The film’s gimmick is just enough to recommend it to horror fans. And if you thought the “Terrifier” films pushed the gore envelope, you’re in for a blood-soaked treat. 

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“In a Violent Nature” has little patience for character development, or even characters. We’re watching a supernatural killer rise from his sleep to slaughter everyone in its path.

That’s writer/director Chris Nash’s prime directive. And thank goodness he didn’t go the full Found Footage route. Even though we’re peering over the killer’s shoulder there’s plenty of shots that mimic a conventional film.

Long, slow exhale.

Along the way, we pick up scraps of the killer’s origin story. Seems it’s tied to a mentally challenged boy who was accidentally killed years ago, and his poor father met a similar fate.

Enter Johnny (Ry Barrett). He’ll be your killer for the feature presentation.

His spirit is accidentally summoned as the film opens. The revived monster wants to slice everything in its sight, including the standard-issue partiers.

None of them make an impact, rendering their generic dialogue painful.

The film doesn’t bother with smart phones or other modern gadgets, but it isn’t aggressively set in a specific time period, either. The cast’s collective acting chops echo ‘80s-era slasher films in another throwback element.

That’s not a compliment.

Much of the film asks us to watch the killer shuffling through the woods while we wait for something, anything to happen. We stare at the screen as if we were watching one of the “Paranormal Activity” films. What will move next?

More often than not, it’s just … nothing. There’s plenty of walking, though.

Remember how Randal described the “Lord of the Rings” franchise as “three movies of people walking to a f***ing volcano” in “Clerks II?”

He’d hate “In a Violent Nature.” (Adult language in the following clip)

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It’s still fascinating to watch the beast’s scarred, bald head as he presses on. He’s a force of nature. That approach still leaves too much time for us to check our smartphones.

For every painful stretch, there’s another that makes us sit up straight.

One, strictly for gore-hounds, shows the killer methodically slicing and dicing his victim. Another, shot from overhead, is a brilliant twist on a typical kill sequence.

You marvel at the evil while appreciating how a tired genre can suddenly feel so alive.

There’s little in the way of plotting or depth. It’s a revenge yarn, but even that angle is loosely applied. We’re here for the kills, with a monster that’s unafraid to flash its bottomless cruelty.

RELATED: WHY HORROR MOVIES ARE HAVING A MOMENT

The film’s third act suggests a shock for the ages. We don’t get what we expect, a quality seen through much of the movie. That willingness to defy convention is shrewd on paper, but sometimes horror tropes shouldn’t be denied.

Much of the film’s tension comes from audience expectations. We wait for things that almost always happen in horror movies. That awareness powers much of “Violent Nature.” It also reminds us that genre films, no matter the inventive style applied to them, must deliver the goods.

When they don’t …

HiT or Miss: “In a Violent Nature” serves up genre thrills in ways we haven’t seen before. The bad news? You’ll have to be very patient to see them.

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Nick Searcy can’t let it go. The “Justified” alum has seen too many suppressed videos and interviewed too many people punished by Team Bide...

Nick Searcy can’t let it go.

The “Justified” alum has seen too many suppressed videos and interviewed too many people punished by Team Biden.

The actor’s 2022 documentary “Capitol Punishment” showed the U.S. government cracking down on Jan. 6 protesters with extreme prejudice. “The War on Truth” bears a different name but builds on that legacy.

We’re once again forced to consider a terrible question. Has the Biden Administration declared war on MAGA nation and, by extension, our freedom to protest?

The answers aren’t simple. Some facts remain out of reach. Searcy’s film offers no rebuttals. It’s still hard to dismiss the first-person testimonies suggesting just that.

 

The 2022 film included details that seemed far-fetched at first blush. Even conservatives may have questioned a few of “Capitol Punishment’s” charges. Then, slowly, one news cycle after another backed some of the claims.

Searcy and co. proved prescient, and he brought some of the receipts.

The semi-sequel introduces us to more Jan. 6 protesters. Some claim they committed no violent acts on that fateful day. Others report inhumane conditions like undrinkable water and sheets of mold clinging to the jail cell sinks.

We hear repeated examples of the U.S. government treating these political outcasts as deadly foes. Why break out laser-guided rifles and flash bang grenades when a simple knock on the door would suffice?

Are these grandmas, military veterans and mild-mannered souls a clear and present danger? Hardly. And it doesn’t end there.

Some Trump supporters describe being banned by major tech platforms like PayPal, Venmo and Patreon following their arrests. Others reveal a system where taking a plea becomes the only option when facing the government’s legal team.

A few describe legal nightmares where critical evidence can’t be shared in court.

“The War on Truth” uncovers a sizable overlap with the Christian community. Many J6 protesters have a sturdy spiritual side, which guides their path through the haze of punishment.

Did that also put a target on their backs?

 

Like “Capitol Punishment,” “The War on Truth” occasionally sugarcoats the nature of the Jan. 6 protests. Some were clearly violent, and police officers took the brunt of their actions. The melee that followed proved a shameful spectacle.

No matter how many times we see MAGA patriots singing and praying that cold reality remains.

A haunting interview late in the film finds a J6 protester describing how she nearly got trampled in the day’s chaos. Later, she claims Capitol police pummeled her with metal batons even though she never threatened them.

Video footage from the encounter proves hard to make out, but it appears to corroborate some of her story.

She also claims that footage was held back from her legal team, a common charge related to Jan. 6 footage. Remember how media outlets howled over the prospect of more footage being released to the public?

She, too, got an early wake-up call from a small army of police and federal agents at her door on Arrest Day.

Is she making it up? Are the others? We’ve already seen enough Ring camera footage in the previous film to suggest otherwise.

“Truth” runs roughly two hours, and it’s shocking there’s enough galling information to push the documentary to that point. The film doesn’t offer much in the way of slick production values, sticking to traditional nonfiction visuals.

The stories provide all the necessary color.

Documentaries can weave powerful narratives while leaving key details behind. The mainstream media is expert at this approach. We still don’t know all the stories surrounding Jan. 6 and the extreme actions to bring those who broke the law that day to justice.

The folks featured in “The War on Truth” may not be sharing all the pertinent details of their cases. Searcy’s heart goes out to the assembled voices in the film, and he occasionally is overwhelmed by emotion hearing their tales.

There’s no “other side of the story” presented here.

“The War on Truth” demands we keep digging into the matter, asking more questions and letting the protesters speak.

It’s hard to disagree with that. It’s an American’s duty to do so.

HiT or Miss: What “The War on Truth” lacks in Hollywood polish it more than makes up for in its dizzying array of inconvenient truths.

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Screenwriters are finally addressing China’s “struggle sessions” of the 1960s. The country’s cultural revolution, where government-backed y...

Screenwriters are finally addressing China’s “struggle sessions” of the 1960s.

The country’s cultural revolution, where government-backed youth violently attempted to erase the “Four Olds,” got an unflattering close-up in “3 Body Problem.”

Now, the hero behind the fact-based “Sight” recalls how China’s Red Guard tried to crush his professional dreams. It’s part of an ambitious and occasionally stirring drama that feels constrained all the same.

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Dr. Ming Wang (a sublime Terry Chen) is one of the country’s leading eye surgeons. He can bring vision back in near-impossible cases, and his skills have earned him sizable media buzz.

He’s flummoxed by an Indian girl blinded by her mother for the cruelest reasons possible. Her physical damage seems beyond even Dr. Wang’s skill set. The attempt to restore her vision forces him to confront his troubled childhood and an emotional legacy he’s yet to resolve.

He grew up in China during the Cultural Revolution, and his plans to study medicine got seemingly crushed by Red Guard thugs. The film doesn’t shy away from the Maoist movement or its insidious nature. 

We’re also introduced to Lili (Sara Ye), someone who meant the world to Ming both then and now.

Director Andrew Hyatt (“The Blind,” “The Frozen”) alternates those flashbacks with a nimble touch, but Ming’s family strife cries out for richer details. As is, the tensions play out in a perfunctory fashion.

What should have been the film’s emotional lynchpin is just a few bullet points on our hero’s personal resume.

Greg Kinnear co-stars as Dr. Wang’s medical partner, and their complicated relationship offers a refreshing break from the cookie-cutter narrative. Had “Sight” delved deeper into their bond the bland flashbacks would be more forgivable.

Kinnear remains an underrated performer whose naturalistic approach enhances every movie he’s in.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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The story mostly steers clear of faithful messaging, but when it’s showcased later in the film it lacks resonance. 

There’s still an undeniable allure to Dr. Wang’s journey. He stares at his computer screen, willing the best way to treat his patience to appear. That dedication isolates him from friends. It also threatens a possible romance with a kindly bartender (Danni Wang).

Their scenes show another side of the good doctor, and watching her warm to his innate goodness is something rarely seen today.

Too many screen romances hang on farcical meet-cutes and misunderstandings. 

“Sight” can’t help but move audiences with its selfless hero. The tale puts a human face on innovation, revealing the sacrifices that make breakthroughs possible. Dr. Wang’s life story deserves the spotlight, and thanks to Chen’s performance it’s rewarding despite its imperfections.

HiT or Miss: “Sight” offers old-school entertainment, but it’s hard not to see a better movie lurking beneath the surface.

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Renny Harlin’s “The Strangers: Chapter 1” is a remake of the 2008 original and the first of three new films scheduled to be released through...

Renny Harlin’s “The Strangers: Chapter 1” is a remake of the 2008 original and the first of three new films scheduled to be released throughout the year.

Well, I think it’s a remake unless this eventually aligns itself with the original and justifies that sometimes the same thing happens in movies, just to different people, as in the 2011 remake/prequel to “The Thing.”

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A pleasant but clueless couple, Maya and Ryan (Madeline Petsch and Froy Gutierrez), take a road trip and find themselves stranded in Venus, Oregon. The town has bad internet reception, run-down diners (don’t you dare ask for a vegetarian alternative!) and unfriendly locals.

Maya and Ryan wind up in an Airbnb and believe their romantic gestures are going to allow them a full night of sex and sleep, but we know better.

Why? Because the movie begins with title cards that not only inform us of how many murders take place in this country, but how many people have died since you, dear filmgoers, have been sitting in this movie theater (William Castle, eat your heart out).

Oh, and the first scene in the movie depicts a guy getting axed to death by a trio of hooded killers, in a setting just down the road from where Maya and Ryan are discussing their hopes and dreams.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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It appears that Harlin studied writer/director Bryan Bertino’s “The Strangers” (2008) and made a studious effort to copy and enhance it, making everything bigger. Despite a professional effort to meet and exceed the expectations of the first film, the spare, tight and tragic quality of Bertino’s film is missing.

So is the moving intro and lived-in dynamic between its leads, played beautifully by Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman. With far less money and fanfare, Bertino created the best contemporary home invasion horror film; everything about it felt like a long shot, from the long-delayed release date to casting leads who seemed at odds with the genre but were perfect for the roles.

Here, the new leads are played by capable actors but the characters, from the very start, are irritating. I’m happy to show compassion for anyone being stalked by scary killers late at night but, even under the stress of being terrorized, why do Maya and Ryan always drop their keys, cell phone, inhaler and found weapons?

RELATED: YOU BETTER SHUT THE DOOR ON ‘THE OWNERS’

Harlin’s film somehow manages to overcome an awful start, with cliches stacked high enough for this to be a self-parody. Once we get to that fateful late-night knock at the door, this works better than expected. Two moments (a subtle twist on the view from a keyhole and a mirror reflection during a piano recital) are especially haunting and Harlin throws lots of impactful bits at us.

It’s something of a twist having Ryan not depicted as an alpha male, though Maya is hardly Laurie Strode (if you’re alone in a creepy cabin in the woods, the last thing you should do to pass the time is loudly play the piano!).

It’s all very drawn out, making it seem far longer than the 90-minute running time. While the initial sequel/remake, “The Strangers: Prey At Night” (2018), was a dud, at least the novelty of a new setting (an abandoned trailer park) made it feel less redundant than it actually was.

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I won’t spoil what happens, but this one not only repeats the finale of the first movie (and lamely tries to top the “Because you were home” line), it fulfills its Chapter 1 ambitions with a lame, mid-credits stinger that appears to be setting up a routine Chapter 2.

If Harlin can include the cantankerous population of Venus and address the odd, unnamed church that everyone apparently attends in chapter 2, then he may have something. Otherwise, this competent but overextended sequel is trying too hard.

It’s also nasty and cruel, but even a glance at the poster could have told you that.

Harlin’s last great film, “The Long Kiss Goodnight” (1996), is also his best. Since then, he’s been making lots of B-movie schlock, sometimes with generous budgets (like the 2004 “Exorcist: The Beginning”). He’s a real talent, particularly in the action/adventure genre, as his “Cliffhanger” (1993) and “Die Hard 2” (1990) demonstrate.

I’m still hoping that Harlin will make a big comeback. For now, here’s the first in a trilogy that, from the outset, appears to be inching into a three-hour, big-budget remake of the first film.

In a summer where I’ll be first in line to watch Kevin Costner unspool the first in his multi-chaptered epic westerns, I’m currently unconvinced that we needed to stretch, inflate, and repackage “The Strangers.”

If chapters 2 and 3 wind up becoming horror classics, it will be a pleasant surprise. For now, it’s safe to say that, despite some tricks Harlin has up his sleeve, the novelty is wearing thin.

Two Stars

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There’s something surreal about a 70-something auteur like George Miller directing films like a Red Bull-addicted teen. Miller proved it an...

There’s something surreal about a 70-something auteur like George Miller directing films like a Red Bull-addicted teen.

Miller proved it anew with “Mad Max: Fury Road,” an overrated but dizzying display that revived the dormant franchise. That film’s prequel, “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga,” offers even more of that visceral pop.

So much more, in fact, that you’ll be begging for the end credits. It’s numb-a-thon like few others, a crush of post-apocalyptic tropes in search of a point.

It never arrives.

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The film opens with a lazy rehash of how we got here. Wars. Pollution. Greed, Yada yada yada. Even “Furiosa” seems disinterested in the post-apocalyptic details.

We’re immediately plunged into the steampunk world of Mad Max sans Max, complete with cool cars, greasepaint-clad workers and key characters from “Fury Road.”

Yes, this is Furiosa’s origin story, and the film delivers her biography in Jackson Pollock fashion. The narrative, broken into chapters, tracks her evolution from an orphaned pre-teen (Alyla Browne, excellent) to a world-weary warrior played by Anya Taylor-Joy.

Theron’s gave Furiosa a formidable presence. She wasn’t muscle-bound, but you would never mess with her. Taylor-Joy also has screen presence to burn, but she can’t conjure what Theron gave to the franchise.

Intimidation.

It doesn’t help that she’s more survivor than warrior. The story doesn’t give her enough bravura moments to show why anyone should take her seriously.

The rest is a mess, a crush of warring tribes battling over oil and weaponry. The story bumps along, veering from one confusing set piece to the next. Some individual moments stun, showing Miller’s strength in crafting loopy, one-of-a-kind action beats. Then, we’re back to the cinematic mayhem and we unplug from the storytelling mainframe.

Again and again.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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Chris Hemsworth gets a meaty role as Dementus, the story’s villain. He’s a blustery baddie with a soft spot for Furiosa. That angle is quickly discarded, and the film is all the worse for it.

Then again, why bother with such trifles as storytelling nuance? We got sand, car crashes and mayhem aplenty?

The more the story lumbers on, the less sense Dementus makes. The screenplay doesn’t know what to do with Hemsworth’s baddie, leaving a void in the story that can’t be filled. The MCU star’s decision to ham it up makes things worse.

That approach worked for Jason Momoa in “Fast X.” Not here.

Miller recently weighed in against nasty things like “dialogue,” and his angst couldn’t be any clearer on screen. The conversations here careen from perfunctory to pointless, with wit in very short supply.

We’d kill for some comic relief or just a few well-deployed yuks to make the grim business go down easier. Nothing doing.

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Taylor-Joy has little to say, but previous stars have left an impression with far less dialogue. If memory serves Mel Gibson didn’t wax philosophical in the original “Mad Max” trilogy.

That’s not to say “Furiosa” lacks serious selling points.

Tom Holkenborg’s score is sublime, suggesting what Hans Zimmer might bring to the saga. The visual imagination, while cribbing liberally from past “Mad Max” tales, remains fascinating.

Production values are off the charts, and it appears practical stunts were the order of the day. It shows.

And so what? We just endured “The Fall Guy,” another big-budget yarn with cool stunts and a mindless story. Is this how Hollywood wants to revive the film industry?

Good luck.

“Furiosa’s” final moments aren’t what we expect. It’s worse, a showdown with no tension or point. The same holds for this unnecessary prequel.

HiT or Miss: Like nonstop action that never leaves an imprint in your brain? “Furiosa” is the film event of the year.

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Why was it necessary to make “Irena’s Vow” in this day and age? Must we have yet another drama about the Holocaust, especially another flir...

Why was it necessary to make “Irena’s Vow” in this day and age?

Must we have yet another drama about the Holocaust, especially another flirting with “Gentile Savior” cliches?

So much about the topic has already been said on film. Did we really need to make yet another one when there are already so many others out there, both dramatizations and documentaries alike?

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Sadly, yes.

Antisemitism and other bigotries continue to choke us in what is supposed to be mankind’s most enlightened era.

Look at what happened in Israel on October 7 (I saw the movie at the Windsor International Film Festival just three weeks after those terrible events) and what has been raging in Ukraine for the past three years. Look also at news coming from China, Turkey and Azerbaijan, even if they don’t get the headlines they deserve.

Maybe even peer out your window, especially if you live in a college town or major city. Some are demanding a ceasefire in Gaza while calling for the destruction of an entire nation.

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Even take a hard glance at elected representatives who refuse to take a stand against Hamas’s barbarism and Putin’s butchery. There are still stories from nearly a century ago that have yet to be told but must be recounted for the lessons they impart about our present crises.

We will always need to be reminded over and over again not just of this disgraceful chapter in human history, but also of those brave souls who defied evil and put human life ahead of all else.

Irena Gut (later Opdyke) was one such soul.

A nurse living in Tarnopol in eastern Poland during the Nazi Occupation, she hid 12 Jewish factory workers in the cellar of the home of Wehrmacht officer Eduard Rugemer, for whom she was working as a housekeeper. He allowed her to work for him after noting her German-sounding name and “Aryan-looking” appearance meant she probably wasn’t “too Polish” for the Gestapo.

When Rugemer found out the truth, she forced Gut to become his mistress under the threat of informing his superiors of her actions. Having no choice, Irena went along with his blackmail, but as depicted in the film, she in turn forced him to confront his conscience and question his role in the Nazi regime.

“Irena’s Vow” recounts this harrowing story with sensitivity but also an appropriate sense of urgency and desperation. Sophie Nélisse, who is quickly maturing into a fine actress, gives a quiet, low-key performance suiting both the character of the real-life person she plays as well as the dire situation she found herself trapped in.

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Ten years earlier, the teenage Nélisse also gave a fine performance in the similarly-themed “The Book Thief,” but the much smaller “Irena’s Vow” is a better movie. The latter more honestly deals with the evils of the era.

As Rugemer, Dougray Scott is better than usual. He still tends to overdo it in certain scenes (this habit nearly killed his once-promising career), but this time he’s been able to add some nuance to his performance.

He finds humanity in his characterization, just as the real-life Rugemer eventually found it in himself.

Director Louise Archambault is part of an exciting new generation of Quebecois filmmakers that includes Xavier Dolan and Denis Villeneuve of “Dune” fame, She hasn’t received their level of international recognition yet, but it will likely come calling.

Her work is suffused with a sort of Bressonian humanism and genuine empathy that is rarely found in contemporary cinema, at least in North America. Archambault’s previous film “Gabrielle” was my favorite movie of 2013, a beautifully acted and masterfully directed story of a young woman with Williams Syndrome struggling to achieve independence.

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The same year as “Irena’s Vow” she also directed “One Summer,” a gentle comedy about a parish priest who brings the local homeless with him on a much-needed vacation. Her films don’t merely take a compassionate look at the less fortunate but are commentaries on the very nature of compassion itself.

She reveals the complexities and difficulties that arise when we assist the less fortunate or those in desperate need of assistance (“Gabrielle” is as much about the family members and volunteers trying to help the title character as it is about her and others in her situation) yet suggests things will work out for the best when we ultimately do what is right.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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There is relatively little violence in “Irena’s Vow,” yet what we see is brutal enough to convey the horrors of the era. Early on, Irena’s decision to resist is solidified when she witnesses a Nazi soldier wrench a Jewish baby from its mother’s arms, throw it on the ground and then stomp it to death.

This horrifying scene is based in truth, but the reality was even more terrible: as Archambault related at the screening I attended: in real life the soldier tossed the child in the air and then shot it several times before the body hit the ground.

Later, an entire Catholic family, including the children, is executed by public hanging to warn others what will happen if they also defy the Occupation by sheltering Jews in their homes. We feel at every moment the danger of being found out that Irena and her charges lived under, an authenticity further brought on by the filming conditions.

The production was originally planned to shoot in the city of Tarnopol, now Ternopil in the Ukraine, but for obvious reasons, they were unable to do so. So filming took place in Lublin, which is still close enough to the Ukrainian border that filming was frequently interrupted by the sounds of missiles striking and bombs going off.

The key scene in the film is when Irena, no doubt reminded of the baby’s murder, refuses to provide for an abortion when one of the women in hiding is found to be pregnant. It’s not just her Catholic faith that prevents her from doing so: as she explains, if she allows this procedure to go through, and prevents another Jewish life from entering this world, she will be complicit in Hitler’s genocidal goals.

This scene inspired the most discussion and argument among the audience I attended, some of whom thought the movie was putting forward an explicitly anti-abortion message.Scene from Irena's Vow film 2024Archambault explained that while such a pro-life viewpoint is not her own, it was more important to tell the story in a way that reflected Irena Gut’s experience as well as to be as truthful as possible to the historical record. The recreation of this moment was necessary to convey the depth of Irena’s commitment to her cause.

Later, she will seemingly disregard her Church’s rules regarding the sanctity of marriage, but although this decision tears her up, she must do so to respect her more important dedication to the sanctity of human life-the true vow of the film’s title.

Although Israeli-Canadian screenwriter Dan Gordon (adapting his play to the screen) has written some of the better “faith-based” movies of recent years, this film does not fall into that narrow category. The Christian beliefs of Irena Gut may be essential to her actions and motivations, but the screenplay instead emphasizes universal values regardless of one’s belief system.

Still, there is one brilliantly directed and edited scene that demonstrates the dichotomy between true faith and those who have perverted religion in the name of evil. Upstairs in Rugemer’s home, a raucous and vulgar Christmas party goes on, the drunken revelers oblivious not just to the refugees huddled below but to the fact that they’re celebrating the birth of a Jewish child.

Meanwhile, Irena looks on as the lighting of the menorah simultaneously takes place in the cellar, the makeshift congregants softly singing their Hannukah blessings as one candle after another is slowly lit. At the end of the ceremony, the leader of the prayers gently and sincerely tells their guest “Irena…Merry Christmas,” an acknowledgment of their shared humanity as well as thanking her for acknowledging theirs.

Which tales of the Righteous Among the Nations should be told next?

Given the current world situation, I suggest that any filmmaker wishing to tell more such stories look at those of Mohamed Helmy, Khaled Abdul-Wahab and Abdol Hossein Sardari for future dramatizations. Each also defied religious differences and cultural tribalism to save human lives and would serve as important examples for contemporary audiences all around the world.

If only we didn’t so desperately need to tell their stories at this point in time.

The film’s final shot is of the real Irene Gut-Opdyke reunited with the now-grown up Roman Haller, the child she insisted be allowed to be born.

A.A. Kidd is a sessional university instructor in Canada who proudly volunteers for the Windsor International Film Festival. He appreciates classic movies, hard science fiction and bad puns.

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John Schlesinger’s “The Day of the Locust” (1975) is finally available after decades of being out of print. Following its box office failur...

John Schlesinger’s “The Day of the Locust” (1975) is finally available after decades of being out of print.

Following its box office failure, Schlesinger’s unsettling, robust epic, depicting characters struggling for work during the Golden Age of Hollywood, could only be seen on a murky VHS transfer. Now, thanks to Arrow Video, the film has been remastered on Blu-ray, with loads of extra features and a commendable new print of the film itself.

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Based on Nathanael West’s 1939 novel of the same name, “The Day of the Locust” is a sprawling ensemble piece, set during the Golden Age of 1930’s Hollywood, focusing on the activity in the lives of three figures: a starstruck writer named Tod Hackett (William Atherton), a starlet named Faye Greener (Karen Black) and a kind, meek man named Homer Simpson (Donald Sutherland).

Their interactions are long and tortured, as their levels of success, social acceptance and personal worth fluctuate wildly throughout the story.

This was among the first films I’ve ever seen to suggest that personal and moral sacrifices are essential to becoming a successful film artist, in a career full of opportunities for moral compromise. Call it the anti-“Singin’ in the Rain,” as no one here finds the kind of Happy Ending that typically greets Tinseltown characters and filmgoers in the comfort of a movie theater.

In fact, there’s a legendary climax that takes place during the premiere of Cecil B. DeMille’s “The Buccaneer” which erupts into a horrifying, apocalyptic explosion of chaos. There are two things about “The Day of the Locust” that have never left me: one is the image of a dead horse at the bottom of a swimming pool, jokingly noted as a decoration (but is it?).

Then there’s the aforementioned grand finale, which is so shattering there’s just no way to prepare for it.

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It’s a shocking, bitter film, designed in part to spin a tale of moral degradation and artistic rot in pursuit of fame, but also a cautionary tale on how the struggle for a Hollywood breakthrough will only find many opportunities to lose one’s dignity.

It’s noteworthy that the film was released by Paramount Pictures and makes reference to the studio, since this is as anti-Hollywood as it gets. If “Singin’ in the Rain” extolled the value of pursuing your dreams, applying your talent, pushing through setbacks and finding true love in the midst of personal glory, then this is the film to sober anyone out of such optimism.

Most of the characters are complex, behave in contradictory ways and are often impossible to like. Note the ever-present chocolate ice cream cone – Faye is childish and unstable, an unkind, driven and fickle would-be star.

Yet Faye is also savvy enough to be too much for Simpson, who is kind and patient in a way that this environment pushes to the very edge.

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Black is fearless in the role that should have elevated her career (instead of hurting it). Atherton finds the right notes in playing a character that, like his co-stars, I always found fascinating but impossible to root for.

Atherton is best known for playing persnickety villains (“Ghostbusters” and “Die Hard” became his calling cards) but note how well he makes Hacket grapple with a moral conscience but is unable to pry himself from his obsession with Faye.

Simpson explains to Faye how, as a child, he found a way to eat liver by covering it up with bread, his way of saying that working in Hollywood is kind of like that. Not even “The Player” (1992) is this bitter about the film industry and how it devours the innocent and enables the immoral.

Why would anyone want to watch a movie like this? Because Schlesinger’s directing and the work of his cast are extraordinary and the film, as savage as it gets, has one amazing set piece after another.

“The Day of the Locust” is difficult and challenging for how extreme its climactic sequence is and for how off-putting the characters can be. It’s also one of the richest, most unguarded and spectacular films ever made about the allure and trap of Hollywood fame.

Damien Chazelle’s “Babylon” (2022) is a strikingly similar film, and the comparison came into focus with the release of Chazelle’s equally controversial and superior work, which was also a major box office flop. Both are among the greatest films ever made about seeking fame and creative fulfillment in a vile environment where everyone is out to use and exploit the innocent.

I don’t share the dour cynicism towards Tinseltown and Hollywood artists present in “The Day of the Locust” (or, for that matter, “The Player”). That said, history provides us with dozens of anecdotes of actors and artists who were abused and devoured by the movie studio system, then and now.

“Babylon” mirrors Schlesinger’s film in several ways (both are from Paramount Pictures!), but it’s difficult to imagine another studio releasing something this pessimistic about the companies that release motion pictures and the denizens who work for them.

Schlesinger’s film came after his groundbreaking Best Picture winner and pop culture phenomenon “Midnight Cowboy” (1969) and before his unforgettable “Marathon Man” (1976). By most accounts, the making of “The Day of the Locust” was miserable and difficult. Yet, the end result isn’t a flawed work with visible seams but a searing, hot-tempered masterpiece.

Except for out-of-print and murky VHS and DVD transfers, it’s been impossible to find for years. Seeing the film now, cleaned up and uncut, is to witness an ahead-of-its-time and depiction of artistry and self-destruction in unison.

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“The Office” alum John Krasinski knows we’re starved for original stories. He may also sense the need for the family-friendly films Disney ...

“The Office” alum John Krasinski knows we’re starved for original stories.

He may also sense the need for the family-friendly films Disney used to make. His newest project, “If,” checks both boxes with a black Sharpie.

The harsh reality? Creative kiddie film magic is easier said than done. Krasinski recruits a Murderers’ Row of voice talent and adds the visual chops he flashed with 2018’s “A Quiet Place.”

The result? A tale even shaggier than its big, purple character.

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The prologue introduces us to a girl bonding with her dying mother.

The story flashes forward a few years, and the now-12-year-old Bea (Cailey Fleming) is back in the hospital, but this time it’s her father wearing the hospital gown.

And you thought killing off Bambi’s mother was bleak?

Bea’s dad (Krasinski, trying too hard – just like his movie) assures her he’ll be fine. She’s not convinced, and it’s impossible not to feel her anxiety. Young Fleming is the film’s secret weapon.

While daddy awaits his undisclosed surgery she’s under the care of her kindly Grandma (Fiona Shaw). Bea ends up spending time with a handsome gent who lives in Grandma’s New York City apartment building.

That’s Ryan Reynolds as Cal, and he has the magical ability to see everyone’s Imaginary Friends, or IFs. Some are big, purple and fuzzy like Blue (fellow “Office” mate Steve Carell), while others are all manner of shapes and sizes.

Bea shares his unique gift.

Why? How? Huh?

Krasinski maxes out his creative license to build his fantasy realm, and we’ll forgive him as long as the storytelling magic kicks in.

It never does.

Soon, Bea is traveling all over New York City to either reunite IFs with their kiddie creators or find new best friends for each.

Neither storyline is compelling or fully realized. The flop sweat starts to puddle up, with the potential to flood the theater.

Krasinski uses every skill at his disposal to make “If” fly, and nearly every time the results land with a thud. A musical number set to Tina Turner’s “Better Be Good to Me” (the film LOVES the soul legend’s ’80s comeback) is pure chaos.

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The laughter never bubbles over as it should, and the forced whimsy might be too much even for the younger set.

“If” isn’t afraid to plumb dark emotions, respecting its audience in the process. Still, a thirdact twist is so manipulative it’s hard not to cry foul. Before then, the film sputters along with little spark save its impressive cast.

Sam Rockwell. George Clooney. Amy Schumer. Lou Gosset, Jr. Phoebe Waller-Bridge. Matt Damon.

They try their best, particularly Carell who would crush his role had it packed any real laughs or emotional resonance.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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“If” is oddly confusing, stumbling from one subplot to the next with little rhyme or reason. At first, Bea pushes away the painting set of her youth, unwilling to embrace her imagination. The screenplay can’t effectively tease out that potential storyline.

Another squandered subplot? Grandma loved dancing as a little girl. When the story finds her reclaiming that talent it leaves us feeling cold.

The story hadn’t set us up for that cathartic reaction.

You want to cut “If” some slack with all your heart. It’s a film about the precious father-daughter bond, a tale that extols the power of a child’s imagination even in cruel times.

Only a Scrooge-like critic would cry foul, right?

You still have to connect those themes to a coherent story. And the recent “Toy Story” films mined similar themes to far greater effect.

The only magic behind “If” is how it stumbles at every step.

HiT or Miss: “If” has its heart in the right place, but in almost every way it’s a crushing disappointment.

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Fentanyl isn’t just a Colorado problem. It’s everywhere, and by all reasonable measures, it’s getting worse. “ Devastated: Colorado’s Fenta...

Fentanyl isn’t just a Colorado problem. It’s everywhere, and by all reasonable measures, it’s getting worse.

Devastated: Colorado’s Fentanyl Disaster” zeroes in on the blue state for a (mostly) apolitical look at the roiling crisis.

Soft-on-crime policies can’t help but elbow their way into the documentary, but the stories of young lives lost to the crisis keep the emphasis where it belongs.

Something must be done. And soon.

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“Devastated” opens with a harrowing 911 call.

Five Colorado residents died from taking Fentanyl, a ghastly primer for the crisis in play. We hear from law enforcement, drug counselors, coroners and others on the front lines of the losing battle.

Fentanyl is wildly addictive, fatal in tiny doses and lurking in pills that trick unsuspecting users. Forget crack and Meth. This Opioid is the mother of all drugs, courtesy of Mexican drug cartels too eager to make a profit.

There’s a China connection, too, although that angle isn’t explored in great depth.

The film deftly balances first-person testimonies, statistics and strong visuals to make the case for action. Most of all, we meet the families who lost loved ones from the drug.

Steffan Tubbs (“Denver in Decay”) floods the screen with home movies of those gone too soon, youthful faces brimming with potential.

They’re gone, all gone, and more will join them shortly.

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“Devastated” strains to leave politics off screen. The filmmakers tried to interview both Denver Mayor Mike Johnston and Gov. Jared Polis.

Both declined.

Their absence speaks volumes, but the blame often falls on both parties in both Colorado and D.C. An early clip shows a Republican and Democrat joining forces for legislation to defang Colorado drug laws.

Tubbs, formerly a right-leaning talk show host as well as fair and balanced news anchor, can’t help but pin some of the problem on what’s briefly referred to as “one-party rule.” Colorado may have been purple in the recent past, but it’s cobalt blue in 2024.

Who else deserves the blame, especially given the chaos in blue-controlled cities nationwide?

FAST FACT: The CDC says Fentanyl is 50 times more potent than heroin and is illegally added to other drugs to make them “cheaper, more powerful, more addictive and more dangerous.”

The Fentanyl crisis could fuel a 10-part docu-series, but “Devastated” proves both efficient and comprehensive. We learn how social media connects teens to the drug, how our porous southern border makes matters worse and the most ghoulish part of the cartel’s mindset.

For every Coloradan who dies from Fentanyl, another 10 customers replace them.

“Devastated” could use a slight trimming, and a few early anecdotes add little to the subject in hand. Otherwise, the documentary moves briskly, balances powerful interviews with chilling facts and is never less than absorbing.

And, sadly, all too necessary.

HiT or Miss: “Devastated: Colorado’s Fentanyl Disaster” is a cultural battle cry to do something, anything to stem the flood of Opioids into the country.

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It’s hard not to feel jaded by yet another musical biopic. “Ray.” “Rocketman.” “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “Bob Marley: One Love.” “Judy.” “Respec...

It’s hard not to feel jaded by yet another musical biopic.

“Ray.” “Rocketman.” “Bohemian Rhapsody.” “Bob Marley: One Love.” “Judy.” “Respect.” That’s a partial list, of course. What we really need is “Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping 2.”

Along comes “Back to Black,” the tragic tale of Amy Winehouse’s rise and fall, and we greet it with arms tightly folded. Will she hear her song played on the radio for the first time? What about fights with management over her career’s trajectory?

“Back to Black” takes a different, more humane approach. The camera focuses on the doomed chanteuse, her colorful attitude and dark love life.

Yes, there’s music aplenty, and star Marisa Abela embodies the late singer as well as anyone likely could. The story rightly stays on the soul we lost too soon.

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Abela’s Amy is a sweet young woman with a voice that belies her lithe frame. It’s a throwback to jazz singers of yore, throaty and echoing scabbed-over wounds. It’s her ticket to fame, but she’s less interested in the trappings that come along with it.

She’d like to fall in love first, which means she doesn’t mind hurting her business dealings if the approach doesn’t feel right.

What does? The way Blake (Jack O’Connell) makes her heart pound darn near clean out of her body. Their chemistry crackles, and suddenly a film with modest ambitions finds its pulse.

Their initial meeting is a corker, filled with sexual tension and souls colliding. O’Connell plays up Blake’s hunger and vulnerability. Amy’s heart is ripe for the taking.

These two are destined to be together, but their dueling addictions mean trouble. Someone is gonna get hurt.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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The business side of Amy, Inc. is mostly set aside, and the ravenous paparazzi also are defanged by the script. We see musical recreations, but they’re not the main attraction.

The great Eddie Marsan plays Papa Winehouse, a curious character who evolves from scene to scene. He’s a stern pappy one minute, an enabler the next. Amy’s beloved Nan (Leslie Manville) leaves a fiery impression but doesn’t factor enough into the story.

“Back to Black” doesn’t hide the seeds of the singer’s destruction. This isn’t Baz Luhrmann’s “Elvis,” mind you. Winehouse’s addictions were highly advertised during her short life, and the screenplay has no interest in fudging the record.

“Back to Black” is neither insulting nor prophetic. We learn little new about the music industry, and we already know how this story ends. Director Sam Taylor-Johnson wants us to remember a damaged soul whose heart couldn’t beat back her growling addictions.

“Back to Black” won’t let us forget that.

HiT or Miss: “Back to Black” doesn’t reinvent the musical biopic. Instead, it reminds us of the soul behind all the hit songs.

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I’m not going to pretend “Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace” wasn’t one of the most disappointing movies of all time. Fans had wait...

I’m not going to pretend “Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace” wasn’t one of the most disappointing movies of all time.

Fans had waited 16 years for George Lucas to revive his wonderful Star Wars saga. He had the opportunity to give us what we had been hoping for for so long. But both the script and the filming felt like they were first takes, and what in the world is a trade federation doing in a “Star Wars” adventure?

Put these complaints aside. “The Phantom Menace” is still an enjoyable film. Anyone ages 8 to 80 can enter into the magical realm of “a galaxy far, far away…” and go on a fun ride.

And no, I never thought Jar Jar Binks was all that annoying.

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While I can see where the second episode is painful (my third least favorite film of the franchise––just ahead of Episodes 9 and 8, respectively), and episode three is better, “The Phantom Menace” doesn’t deserve all the hate that it has gotten over the past 20-plus years.

Somebody else out there must have something nice to say about it…right? Note: “The Phantom Menace” scored an impressive second-place finish earlier this month during its 2024 re-release.

‘Superman III’ (1983)

Not long ago, I wrote how “Superman: The Movie” is still relevant, and why it remains my favorite comic book movie. While I can understand arguments against the fourth installment, “The Quest for Peace,” I’m surprised “Superman III” isn’t well liked.

After all, it has everything you’d expect in a Superman film. The sequel embodies the essence of a Superman comic book more than any of the other films. The story seemingly jumps off the pages onto the big screen.

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It has charm, humor (thanks to a great performance by Richard Pryor), good guys who are really good and bad guys who aren’t so bad. Plus, it has the standard Superman characters that we love (even if they appear only for a brief period, including Margot Kidder’s Lois Lane).

Plus, we get a cinematic glimpse of Superman’s hometown of Smallville and meet Lana Lang (Annette O’Toole).

I know some of it might seem cheesy, but it’s aimed for 8-to-10-year-old boys and like I said, it’s a Saturday morning cartoon that sprung to life. It’s fun, lighthearted and innocent––and that’s what a Superman movie is all about.

‘The Legend of the Lone Ranger’ (1982)

All three of these movies speak to the inner child in me. There’s nothing like the adventurous spirit of a young boy. And those of us who grew up watching The Lone Ranger reruns know this.

In fact, I still have a vinyl record album of “The Lone Ranger” radio serials. So it’s no surprise the 1981 film would be something I gravitated toward in adulthood.

But it wasn’t until the past year or so that I learned of “The Legend of the Lone Ranger’s” poor reputation.

Why? This is––well almost––the perfect Lone Ranger story. I mean, sure, if it had a top-name director, A-list stars and a script polish it could have been better.

As is, “The Legend of the Lone Ranger” does justice to the masked man’s legacy. You could tell they wanted to get it right.

It sticks true to the character’s origin story, packs plenty of action, fine cinematography, a decent soundtrack and a good cast. “Taxi”-era Christopher Lloyd does a fine job as the villain.

I’m curious what the actual Lone Ranger’s actor’s voice sounded like (veteran actor James Keach replaced star Klinton Spilsbury’s vocals.)

And like “Superman III,” it embodies the character’s spirit almost perfectly, even slightly in epic form. I realize that’s a stretch, but it’s superior to the painfully awkward 2013 version starring Armie Hammer and Johnny Depp.

Jeff Miller is a husband, dad, pastor, artist, writer and all-around good guy (for the most part). He lives in the Western Finger Lakes Region of New York State with his wife, Diana. He has three grown children. Jeff has two blogs of his own, A Closer Look and Flashback Friday Christian Music Review. Jeff is also a contributor to Kingdom Winds, where you can read his sermons online.

This column originally appeared at A Closer Look.

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“A Quiet Place” introduced a wrinkle to the dystopian genre. The world as we know it ends courtesy of creatures who hunt the surviving huma...

“A Quiet Place” introduced a wrinkle to the dystopian genre.

The world as we know it ends courtesy of creatures who hunt the surviving humans. The “Bird Box” franchise spun from this premise, as did subsequent “Quiet Place” projects.

On paper, “Arcadian” is another riff on that formula. Add Nicolas Cage, and visions of “Mandy” and “Willy’s Wonderland” flash through our heads. 

Nothing doing.

“Arcadian” offers a soulful blend of family drama and monster mayhem. It’s smart and patient, and fathers will relish an undercurrent of paternal love. Take that, Toxic Masculinity! 

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Nicolas Cage plays Paul, the father of two teens surviving in a post-apocalyptic America. The prologue teases a smoldering skyline, but the action picks up roughly 15 years later.

Paul and sons Joseph and Thomas (Jaeden Martell, Maxwell Jenkins) live on an abandoned parcel, using societal scraps to make their lives easier. Their days are filled with mundane chores and sibling squabbles.

At night, they board their home up to keep the creatures who stormed the earth at bay. We don’t know much more than that, but director Benjamin Brewer is content to look forward, not back.

Paul’s family gets a jolt when Thomas goes missing. Now, Paul must recover his lost son before the creatures do.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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“Arcadian” is in no rush to reveal the creatures in play. We spend quality time with Paul’s clan, watching them motor across the land in a makeshift car, scouring for scraps. Papa Paul imparts his life skills to the lads, who listen in ways modern teens don’t.

Father knows best when monsters stalk the land.

Other humans live nearby, including a teen girl (Sadie Soverall) with an eye for Thomas. It’s still every man for himself in this bleak new world.

Once the beasts make their presence known, “Arcadian” kicks into high gear. The creature effects are top notch, and the monsters boast an attack mode unlike anything we’ve seen before.

It’s terrifying.

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Cage doesn’t so much as nibble on the scenery, a blessing given the somber tone in play. The role may not enhance his combustible brand, but it reminds us how strong he can be without going The Full Cage.

Brewer’s camera, so invested in the day-to-day lives of Paul’s family, deftly adjusts to the new threat. It helps that the creatures are smart enough to adapt to the environment, a quality that spikes the tension.

“Arcadian” has more in common with “A Quiet Place” than you might think. That film featured a pro-life message combined with a salute to parenthood. The main characters sacrificed everything to keep their children safe, summoning a strength they didn’t know was possible.

Here, Paul relentlessly teaches his children to care for themselves. It’s Rugged Individualism 101, and you can see the youngsters mature as the movie progresses.

Masculinity matters in this dystopian landscape, and “Arcadian” isn’t shy about it.

That message doesn’t interrupt the story’s flow. It’s embedded in both the action sequences and the pivotal third act.

Like most genre films, a few moments in “Arcadian” don’t add up. Consider a poorly realized scene where one of the teens tries to capture a creature.

We pine to know more about the creature threat and how they conquered humanity. Leave that to the sequel.

As is, “Arcadian” is a satisfying thriller with something to say about the human experience. 

HiT or Miss: “Arcadian” is one of 2024’s best surprises, a smart genre romp bolstered by Red State values.

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“Wicked Little Letters” might drag The Critical Drinker out of the multiplex and into the art house. It’s what would happen if Ken Loach t...

“Wicked Little Letters” might drag The Critical Drinker out of the multiplex and into the art house.

It’s what would happen if Ken Loach tried to direct a comedy from a script by John Oliver and Hannah Gadsby. Each scene and every line seems shamelessly calculated to draw applause as well as laughter from audience members it expects to be on its wavelength.

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The story is based on actual scandal that occurred in Littlehampton, England in 1920. The coastal town is depicted as a filthy and crowded maze of fences and clotheslines where chickens wander the streets and a single outhouse services the entire neighborhood.

All that’s missing is Michael Palin skipping along the cobblestones, singing how every sperm is sacred.

Among the inhabitants are spinster Edith Swan (Olivia Colman), who lives a near-cloistered existence with her religiously strict father (Timothy Spall) and ineffectual mother (Gemma Jones). Her father’s near fanaticism has clearly rubbed off on Edith, and she makes every effort to live up to his impossible standards.

No wonder she recoils at the arrival of free-spirited Irishwoman Rose Gooding (Jessie Buckley), who is seemingly in gleeful revolt against everything Edith has been raised to accept. She curses like a sailor, drinks like a fish and worst of all enjoys very loud sex with her common-law husband Bill (Malachi Kirby) that disturbs the peace in the adjoining Swan household.

So Edith develops a plan to get rid of her neighbor: she starts sending cruel, profane letters to herself, full of obscene insults and vulgar accusations, and points the finger at Rose being the culprit.

Her scheme seems to work at first, as Rose is arrested and the case becomes a national cause celebre. That is, until police officer Gladys Moss (Anjana Vasan) starts to investigate and begins to suspect that Swan has pulled a Jussie Smollett.

The movie opens with a title card letting us know that the story we are about to see “is more true than you think.” That’s just a sly way of letting us know the film makers have taken more than their fair share of liberties with the facts.

It will not surprise anyone to learn that the real Bill Gooding wasn’t black or that the real Gladys Moss wasn’t South Asian (I was indeed surprised, however, to find out that the elaborate invisible ink scheme to expose Swan really did unfold for the most part as it did in the movie).

For that matter, the real Rose Gooding was not actually Irish, but English born and bred. Why the change in nationality? Beyond the fact that actress Jesse Buckley is herself Irish, there seems to have been a need to have made her an immigrant in the movie just to further stack the deck against Edith Swan.

It’s not enough making her a bluenose prude; they have to suggest she’s a xenophobe as well.

And therein lies the major problem with the script. The film makers clearly take joy in exploiting a real-life case for sociopolitical cheap shots. All throughout the film we are reminded constantly of not just the unfairness of the British class system (gee, we’ve never had that hammered to us before, have we?), but of the repressive, sexist, patriarchal etc., nature of English society from a century ago.

Even this atheist grew tired of the film’s potshots against Christianity, and the frequent suggestions that Edith’s behavior can be simply be excused by her domineering father and strict religious upbringing (the real Edith Swan may have in fact been suffering from mental illness).

The film’s Gladys Moss is similarly made into a feminist martyr, surrounded by sexist boors who disparage her abilities and take credit for her work. She herself even feels the need to remind the other characters that she is not Officer Moss but Policewoman Moss, as if the constant bombardment of misogyny has diminished her own sense of self-worth.

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Of all the cast members, only Jones seems aware that she’s playing a real-life person. Nearly every other actor descends to the same broad level as the script with the exception of Anjana Vasan, whose performance consists of simply moving her eyes to one side or the other whenever someone else is speaking.

Even the normally faultless Timothy Spall can’t help giving us a one-dimensional caricature instead of an actual, fully-realized human being.

Every once in a while Colman shows signs of locating the humanity of the real Edith Swan, but each time she is let down by the script’s need to make her into a paperback villain.

Buckley seems to be trying to subvert the film’s intentions by giving an absolutely insufferable performance as Rose Gooding. You actually find yourself nearly sympathizing with Swan every time Gooding shows up, with Buckley screeching and screaming every line, and indulging in every lower-class Irish stereotype imaginable.

The filmmakers obviously wanted to make an analogy between the Swan-Gooding case and modern-day Internet trolls and doxxers. The film’s Edith Swan is an incel before her time, focusing her anger from being repressed at those who are different and are able to indulge themselves freely, when she really should be focusing it at the oppressive social structures and mores that are truly responsible for her sad situation (the way the last scene between Edith and her father plays out, she shows signs of finally realizing this).

Yet the filmmakers should probably step carefully here.

Besides Smollett and other hate-crime hoaxers, the case most resembles the modern-day jeremiad against J.K. Rowling, who has been targeted by online mobs upset at her defense of the rights of women.

These attacks are driven by envy more than anything else, and those making them disingenuously claim she’s the real bully in this situation.

How odd it is that the Rose Goodings of today are also its Edith Swans.

A.A. Kidd is a sessional university instructor in Canada who proudly volunteers for the Windsor International Film Festival. He appreciates classic movies, hard science fiction and bad puns.

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