Few films nailed the 1980s quite like “St. Elmo’s Fire.”

Scratch that. No movie captured the era as distinctly as Joel Schumacher’s 1985 potboiler.

The fashions – Crimped hair, shoulder pads, oversized blazers and Billy Idol-approved earrings.

The music – Not one but two iconic songs – “St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion)” by John Parr and “Love Theme from St. Elmo’s Fire.”

And, of course, the definitive Brat Pack ensemble – Rob Lowe, Andrew McCarthy, Ally Sheedy, Demi Moore, Emilio Estevez and Judd Nelson. Sorry, Mare Winningham, you didn’t follow “Fire” up with any Brat-approved classics.

Seen today with fresh eyes, the kind this critic brought to the 1985 film, “St. Elmo’s Fire” is more artifact than drama. It’s a time capsule gussied up as a 20-something drama.

Make no mistake. “St. Elmo’s Fire” isn’t good. The characters are wafer thin, as are many of the performances. The dialogue swings from freshman-level insights to hackneyed pearls of wisdom that dissipate on impact.

The plot pivots are made for maximum conflict, even when they don’t make a lick of sense. Even the supposedly heroic characters are either borderline stalkers or unable to defend their garish behavior.

So why the fuss so many years later? Why would Hulu dedicate an entire documentary to the film’s “BRATS,” the clique that defined youth culture for a short, mesmerizing spell?

How could Gen Xers look back on such a tortured vehicle when other ‘80s films earned their iconic status? “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?” “The Breakfast Club?” “Beverly Hills Cop?”

It’s simple. Beauty. Nostalgia. The dawn of so many curious careers. Remember Lowe’s disastrous turn as an Oscars host?

And the songs supplied the soundtrack to endless proms and first kisses.

The film’s concept is ripe for a remake, but with massive tweaks needed to the formula. The film’s aggressive lack of diversity wouldn’t stand up to modern scrutiny. Nor would Rob Lowe’s unctuous Billy and how he treats Moore’s flighty Jules late in the film.

“So rapey!” cries the offended Gen Zer. Yeah, that’s not too far off.

We cling to “St. Elmo’s Fire” because we can’t let our youth go quietly. Yes, Lowe at 60 looks at hearty as just about any soul his age, but he radiates the kind of youthfulness here that forgives all flaws.

Drunk? Unprofessional? Delusional? But look at that mug! And he plays the sax, albeit badly!

Moore proves she wasn’t fully formed as an actress. That’s being kind, and she’s not alone. No one emerges unscathed in this “Fire,” and direct some of the blame to a green Joel Schumacher. The veteran director also co-wrote this dramatic slop, and some of the clunky lines must have come from his pen.

Here’s a few that would make John Wayne wince.

She is the only evidence of God I have seen with the exception of the mysterious force that removes one sock from the dryer every time I do my laundry.

Love, love, you know what love is? Love is an illusion created by lawyer types like yourself to perpetuate another illusion called marriage to create the reality of divorce and then the illusionary need for divorce lawyers.

You know there are more people in law school right now than there are lawyers on the entire planet? Think about that.

Whoa!

Yet, like the deeply flawed 1989 romp “Road House,” “St. Elmo’s Fire” is endlessly watchable. The fights, meltdowns and out-of-left-field pivots are irresistible.

Who thought that plot twist merited a final draft look? Do you know anyone who acts like this?

Heck, who attempts suicide by laying still in a quiet room with the windows down, surrounded by curtains and cloth?

The forced camaraderie early on is yet another issue, although by the end you do get a sense of their shared kinship. Perhaps they realize they’re all so deeply troubled no one else will have their backs?

Estevez’s pursuit of “Dr.” Andie MacDowell is a first-degree howler. He’s entitled and brash, and while young men have always followed their crushes beyond boundaries, the lengths he goes to here are absurd. And his heroic moment at the end is somehow worse.

Yet nearly 40 years later we still genuflect to “St. Elmo’s Fire.” That Hulu original let McCarthy look back at the era, the journalist who gave the stars their iconic branding and the cultural ramifications of their work.

Deep? Maybe not. It’s still a snapshot of youthful innocence and indiscretion that never goes out of style.

Long live the “Pack.”

The post ‘St. Elmo’s Fire’ – The Ultimate ’80s Movie? appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

John McTiernan’s “The 13th Warrior” (1999) is the Michael Crichton adaptation that, unlike “Jurassic Park” (1993), you might have passed on.

Chances are, you’re like me and heard some terrible things long before the film hit theaters. Based on Crichton’s 1976 novel, “Eaters of the Dead,” which was a re-telling of “Beowulf” but with Vikings, the film was set to be released during the summer of 1997.

I can recall a paperback edition with the Coming Soon label that didn’t make good on its promise for years.

The rumor spreading was that no one was happy with McTiernan’s rough cut, so Crichton stepped in and reshot a great deal of it. When the film finally arrived, late into the summer of 1999, it was like a last gasp.

The uninspired promotional campaign showcased a poster with a close-up of an eye and a Viking ship. The tagline declared it was from the director of “Die Hard” but, if the powers that be at Disney had really understood what they had, and how to sell it, they would have mentioned a far different McTiernan film that is a stronger comparison.

More on that later.

Antonio Banderas stars as Ahmad ibn Fadlan, an Arab poet who is recruited by the Vikings as the 13th man on their mission to take down a mountaintop of warriors who wear animal skins and, yes, eat their prey.

For most of the first act, the film doesn’t work and is presumably where most of the cutting and recutting took place during the years-long restructuring and post-production process. By the time the opening credits have finished, so much exposition and quick cuts have occurred, with scenes quickly fading into another scene and yet another, one might be lost by the time McTiernan’s name turns up.

Despite the word that Crichton reshot a lot of it, McTiernan still gets sole directorial credit, though he and Crichton share producer credit.

Clearly everyone involved has seen “Braveheart” (1995), as a colorful army of burly dudes makes up the supporting cast of mighty, fearless, powerful and testosterone-fueled Viking warriors. Still, despite ample time spent getting to know these characters (who sport names like Herger, Skeld and King Hrothgar), none are truly developed and provide anything more than an action figure likeness.

The 13th Warrior – We love #Vikings at the Salty Nerd #Podcast. How about you? What is your quick thought on this film? Do you have a favorite Viking film? pic.twitter.com/MM7u3zy7ET

— The Salty Nerd Podcast (@salty_nerd) August 12, 2023

For example, my favorite of the Vikings is played by Vladimir Kulich, who looks an awful lot like Viggo the Carpathian. What can I tell you about him? He seems cool wielding a sword. Ditto just about everyone else.

Banderas is miscast as a befuddled, out-of-his-league, put-upon everyman who must stand up and fight. Unlike McTiernan protagonists Jack Ryan (“I’m just an analyst!”) and John McClane (“Welcome to the party, pal!”), whose casting of Alec Baldwin and Bruce Willis sold the characterizations, Banderas is obviously too strong and capable to be a fall guy for long.

If McTiernan had instructed Banderas to play the role while wearing coke bottle glasses with a piece of tape in the middle, he still wouldn’t come across as not manly enough to hang out with actors who look like they just clocked out of their Medieval Times shift.

Two extraordinary contrivances work in Banderas’ favor: the first is a montage where Fadlan learns to speak the Viking language just by observation and listening to them chat during a nightly campfire- a few dissolves (over what appears to be two meals) and voila! Everyone in the movie can understand each other and is now speaking English!

McTiernan got away with this before: remember the cool fade-in/fade-out in “The Hunt For Red October” (1990), a canny bit of filmmaking that instructed the audience that, despite the Russian and American characters, we the audience will now only hear Sean Connery and everyone else speak English.

That movie got away with it. Here, it’s a huge stretch but hey, we need to move the story along, so fine, our lead can decipher languages by listening to people speak.

The 13th Warrior, directed by John McTiernan from a screenplay by William Wisher, Jr. and Warren Lewis and starring Antonio Banderas, Diane Venora, Vladimir Kulich, Dennis Storhøi, Omar Sharif, Anders T. Andersen and Tony Curran, was released on this day in 1999 (USA) pic.twitter.com/hpl8GiyvWe

— Horror31 (@Horror31) August 27, 2021

The other jaw-dropping bit of movie contrivance that “The 13th Warrior” gets away with is yet another montage: Fadlan decides to join the Vikings in battle, but he can barely lift a sword: after a very-brief montage, he not only customizes his weapon but can chop off the tops of a spear. He even has Indigo Montoya moves at his disposal.

Whatever.

Because Fadlan is played by Banderas, he always looks cool in action and holds his own in the big set pieces, but the element of suspense intended at the screenplay level (can someone raised to be peaceful hold his own among savages?) is not there.

Omar Sheriff is in the film’s painfully clunky first act and vanishes soon after. Diane Venora, playing the wife of one of the Vikings, has almost no dialogue but has an unforgettable moment: when villains invade camp, she turns to a young handmaiden protecting a room of children, hands her multiple knives and instructs her that, if the villains come near the children, “you know what to do.”

Whoa. Thankfully, we never get the “13th Warrior” equivalent of the offscreen Youngling slaughter from “Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith” (2005).

For a while, it doesn’t seem like the film will ever connect…then we get to the film’s final hour, which is comprised of three gigantic action sequences, that are so sensational that everything that wasn’t working in the early going vanishes from memory.

A nighttime battle with the Wendol, who are illuminated by torches in a glowing mist, is simply awesome. So is the invasion of their mountain lair, in which we meet the Wendol Queen, a truly scary sequence.

She’s played by Susan Willis who, amazingly also played Mrs. Guttman in “What About Bob?” (1991), where she yelled the immortal line, “Burn in hell, Dr. Marvin!” Her one scene in this is unforgettable.

Born on this day: Michael Crichton (1942-2008).

Here’s the 1977 Bantam edition of Eaters of the Dead, with cover and interior illustrations by the unmistakeable Ian Miller.#BOTD pic.twitter.com/3g1t5YY2lk

— Michael Sellars | Horror Writer | (@HorrorPaperback) October 23, 2021

The conclusion is a burly battle by swords in rain and mud, with huge splashes of blood with every swing; it’s played in semi-slow motion and, like the two fantastic set pieces before it, is breathtaking in its staging and imagery.

Did Crichton really direct the majority of “The 13th Warrior”? I doubt it. Much of the imagery is right out of McTiernan’s body of work: the blinding light shining through the doors during the first Wendol attack is reminiscent of McTiernan’s “Nomads” (1986), the assault on the Wendol headquarters (more like a death cave of monsters) creates claustrophobia and coherent geography the way McTiernan’s “Die Hard” does (“Now I know what a TV dinner feels like!”).

Most of all, despite the touting on the film’s poster, the McTiernan film this resembles the most, and I can’t give a bigger compliment, is “Predator” (1987). The portrayal of warriors who must face an enemy they initially don’t understand, are fearful of and must learn how to fight, as well as the setting, waterfall and woods terrain and the final confrontation between warrior and unholy creature of destruction, are all a clear reflection of “Predator.”

Watch the two back-to-back and, well…you’ll either cry out “Valhalla!” or grow hair on your chest.

The post ’13th Warrior’ Is as Bad as Advertised, Until … appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Abbott and Costello. Laurel and Hardy. Wilder and Pryor.

Reynolds and Jackman?

The stars of “Deadpool & Wolverine” have done just one film together, but their debut pairing is as funny as any modern comedy.

Maybe funnier.

Want a rich story that won’t insult your intelligence? Sorry, Bub. This is all about the meta winks, fan service and grossout humor.

All of the above is so lovingly crafted that you’ll barely notice the slipshod story and bald exposition.

OK, maybe a little.

Ryan Reynolds’s Deadpool is growing up, at least by his standards. He longs to reconnect with his old flame Vanessa (Morena Baccarin), but she wants him to be something more than a “Merc with a Mouth.”

She needs … a hero.

He gets that chance when he meets Mr. Paradox (“Succession’s” Matthew Macfayden), an unctuous type who oversees the Time Variance Authority. And he has some terrible news.

The world’s current timeline is marked for extinction, and it can only be saved by the one person who embodies its mercurial balance.

That’s Logan AKA the Wolverine (Hugh Jackman). Who, as we all learned in “Logan,” is dead.

Confused? Yeah, this story’s a mess even by comic book film standards. And it gets sloppier from here. That may chase some away, but the value of a good “Deadpool” saga is in the jokes, the meta moments and Reynolds’ irrepressible wit.

Reynolds snags a Wolverine from one of many multiverses (yes, THAT again) and they end up in The Void, a place where the screenwriters can conjure anything to make the Comic-Con crowd go wild.

And boy, do they do just that.

Now, they’ll have to defeat Cassandra (Emma Corrin, very effective), the superpowerful woman running The Void to save the universe.

Just recapping the basic plot beats is enough to make one’s teeth ache. It’s silly and beneath a multi-gazillion dollar franchise.

Really. C’mon, team. Do better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Director Shawn Levy (“Date Night,” “A Night at the Museum”) funnels all his energy into the funny business.

Sight gags. Running gags. Meta gags. Gay sex gags. Indescribable sex gags. MCU gags. 

And, best of all, fourth-wall breaking rants that smite Disney, Fox, the MCU and so much more. And wouldn’t you know it? A shockingly high percentage land. 

Hard.

Reynolds deserves oodles of credit. He’s one of five credited screenwriters, and his juvenile brand of humor is plastered all over the screen. His timing is flawless and his heart is in every yuk.

Deadpool is his creation, his baby, and he’ll do the toddler no harm.

Jackman attacks Wolverine from a dramatically different perspective. He’s all rage and regret, a killing machine with a bruised and battered Id. We’ve seen it over the course of too many films to count (eh, go find the Wikipedia page … we’ll wait) and he’s just as committed here.

Except the terrain is radically different. There’s little narrative structure to fall back on. It’s talent, star power and elbow grease in one muscle-bound package. Jackman still finds the broken soul of his character, and the screenplay spares just enough time to let it flower.

Miraculous.

“Deadpool & Wolverine” goes the “Spider-Man: No Way Home” route in stunning ways. Nothing more will be shared here, but your inner geek will cry out in joy.

Most of all, you’ll laugh. A lot. It helps to know the genre, the iconography and the minor moments that made the MCU matter.

The very best part of “Deadpool & Wolverine?” It’s the ultimate palate cleanser for a franchise that profoundly lost its way. It brims with affection and goodwill, acknowledging the missteps and eager to march in a fan-friendly direction.

Will it take? We’ll know once the Avengers reassemble. For now, savor a sublimely silly, over-the-top romp starring actors who care about one thing above all else.

Let’s put on a show.

HiT or Miss: “Deadpool & Wolverine” is a smorgasbord of violence, in-jokes and actors who treat every scene as if it could be their last in their signature costumes. They care. You will, too.

The post ‘Deadpool & Wolverine’ – The Year’s Funniest Comedy appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Remakes are hardly new, but Hollywood is increasingly impatient about cinematic do-overs.

The recent “Mean Girls” updated the 2004 comedy, but at least it added musical numbers to the Burn Book formula.

“The Strangers: Part 1,” now on Blu-ray, reboots the 2008 sleeper film for a “new” generation. This time, the sequels are baked into the title, but the new tale doesn’t dramatically differ from the source material.

It’s like the upcoming “Alien: Romulus” sequel baldly stealing the original movie’s tag line – “In Space, No One Can Hear You Scream.” “Chapter 1” is generic but rarely dull, the kind of horror that holds you over until better, more imaginative fare arrives.

Maya and Ryan (Madelaine Petsch, Froy Gutierrez) are celebrating their fifth anniversary – not of marriage, mind you – when their car breaks down in Microscopic Small Town USA.

They get stares from the local, natch. They also suspect foul play when their new-ish car stops working. They make the best of it by renting a rustic cabin for the night.

Heck, this might be a happy accident. Think again.

Knock knock. 

“Is Tamara there?” asks a poorly lit stranger on the property’s front porch. She’s not, but the female stranger won’t take that for an answer.

RELATED: A SECOND TAKE – ‘THE STRANGERS – CHAPTER 1’

The rest goes down as expected, with masked figures lurking about the property with bad intentions. One difference? Maya and Ryan are smitten kittens, and that sweetness gives depth to the horrors to come.

It’s impossible not to root for their survival.

A sense of aching familiarity stains “The Strangers: Chapter 1.”

At least the tepid “Wrong Turn” reboot introduced radical new elements to the saga. This “Strangers” update traces the original with shocking fidelity. Heck, the creepy stranger at the door even asks for the same unseen person.

Where IS that Tamara anyway? That’s not an Easter Egg. It’s just weak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Director Renny Harlin, who hasn’t helmed a major project since 1999’s “Deep Blue Sea,” conducts the reboot with an air of efficiency. Unusual camera angles? Check! Solid genre performances? Check! Horror tropes so familiar they’re like members of our extended family?

Triple check.

One example? The protagonists visit “Small Town ‘merica” only to find people who greet them with shifty eyes and shiftier scowls. The couple, in turn, instantly distrusts the locals.

The Blu-ray edition features two featurettes tied to the saga. The first, “Reimagining a Classic: Making “The Strangers – Chapter 1”  offers clues about the rest of the trilogy. It’s a primer on Hollywood in 2024, obsessed with both remakes and sequels, although the creative team appears fully invested in the story’s lore.

The commentary suggests the most frightening element of the “Strangers” mythology could be discarded in Chapters 2 and 3 – we may learn more about these ghouls than what’s shared in the original story or reboot.

We’re also bombarded with plot details, one of the worst tropes of any Blu-ray extra. We’ve already seen the movie and added it to our film collection. We know what happens scene by scene.

“A Hostile Environment: The Visual Design of “The Strangers – Chapter 1” lets movie fans geek out over production design details. We’re invited into Harlin’s creative process and the choices he made during the shoot.

Given his considerable resume, including “Die Hard 2” and “Cliffhanger,” that’s a treat.

The home video release also includes audio commentary with producer Courtney Solomon and Petsch.

HiT or Miss: “The Strangers: Chapter 1” is a slick, effective and hopelessly predictable reboot.

The post ‘The Strangers: Chapter 1’ Blu-ray Teases What’s Next appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Glen Powell wears a cowboy hat in “Twisters,” the spiritual sequel to the 1996 hit.

How unnecessary.

His swagger and old-school machismo make such headgear moot. And he’s a perfect fit for this Oklahoma yarn brimming with Heartland-friendly themes and a decided lack of lectures.

They even left the Climate Change screeds off screen.

Yes, the tornado theatrics are increasingly silly, but “Twisters’” throwback charm can’t be denied.

Daisy Edgar-Jones stars as Kate Cooper, an idealistic “storm chaser” scarred by tragedy. The terrific opening shows her fellow chasers getting hammered by a larger-than-expected tornado.

Five years later, she reluctantly re-teams with a fellow survivor named Javi (Anthony Ramos). He craves her innate weather sense and, to be fair, maybe smitten in other ways.

Kate and Javi have serious competition in the hunt to tame wild tornadoes. Tyler (Powell) chases storms for his bustling YouTube channel, treating the life-or-death twisters like your average influencer.

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Kate and Tyler instantly clash, but wouldn’t you know it the icy chill between them melts before too long.

Did that require a spoiler alert?

Can they corral their budding emotions while keeping Small Town Oklahoma safe from all those storm fronts?

This IS a sequel, remember, so we’re guaranteed more twisters than a Weather Channel highlight reel.

Director Lee Isaac Chung (“Minari”) deprives us of the ’90s-era cheese many expected from this franchise revival. Yes, the CGI theatrics are decidedly big, but Kate’s personal journey anchors the sillier bits.

It helps that Maura Tierney’s portrayal of her down-home momma adds to Kate’s development.

The rest is up to Powell, flashing A-list charm without breaking a sweat. Yes, Tyler is cocksure to the core, but the screenplay grants him enough depth to balance that bravado.

Edgar-Jones holds her own with Powell, never falling for any girlboss tropes. Her emotional wounds are never far from the surface.

The Oklahoma setting, treated with reverence over ridicule, sets this summer entry apart from most blockbusters. The soundtrack packs a decided twang, another unfamiliar layer from La La Land.

For all the bombast there’s the aching sense of what tornadoes do to families and communities. 

Total devastation. Kudos to Team “Twisters” for reminding us.

Another winning element?

The film offers up a love triangle without a boo-hiss villain. The film’s romantic elements are there for all to see, but they’re never shoved in our faces or downgraded for the sake of storytelling.

Be warned. There’s still a scene in an airport, as if the filmmakers couldn’t resist the hoariest rom-com trope.

The film’s two-hour running time is, once again, a mistake. The more we see of these hellacious twisters, the less magnificent they become.

Still, Chung wrings plenty out of that Mother Nature fury, and the chasm between ’90s CGI and today couldn’t be more dramatic.

HiT or Miss: “Twisters” can’t help indulging in Hollywood-style storms, but considerable star power and storytelling finesse keep this blockbuster spinning.

The post ‘Twisters’- A Blockbuster for Heartland USA appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Peter Hyams’ “2010: The Year We Make Contact” (1984) was the first time a director dared to make a sequel to a Stanley Kubrick film.

Of course, today this is commonplace, with Mike Flanagan’s excellent “Doctor Sleep” and that shaky portion of “Ready Player One” (making Jack Torrance a video game character – nice one, Steven) some obvious examples.

Any day now, we’ll probably hear about a sequel, prequel or “world building” spinoff of “A Clockwork Orange” or “Dr. Strangelove.” Nothing is sacred anymore.

The first (and unlikely to be last) sequel to Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” (1968), Hyams had to do more than prove himself a worthy heir to the narrative created by Arthur C. Clarke’s 1951 short story, “The Sentinel,” and the staggering approach presented by Clarke’s richly-layered sci-fi narrative.

Note: Clarke’s novelization of “2001: A Space Odyssey” coincided with the film’s release.

There’s also Kubrick, whose style is as recognizable and impressive as it is nearly impossible to duplicate, let alone with feeling and purpose.

Hyams’ film begins with an eerie prologue, in which we hear a faded, bone-chilling recording of astronaut David Bowman (Keir Dullea) utter, “My God, it’s full of stars). A wordless, dread-inducing series of images from the first film and a data reading fill in newcomers on what has happened since the events of “2001.”

The U.S.S. Discovery remains in orbit, the hibernating crew is dead, astronaut Frank Poole is dead, and Bowman encountered a Monolith, which is still present, while he himself has gone missing.

The story then jumps to 2009, where Heywood Floyd (played previously by William Sylvester, now portrayed by Roy Scheider) is approached by a Russian scientist about joining a mission to investigate what happened on the U.S.S. Discovery. Floyd joins the robotic creator of HAL (Bob Balaban) and an oddly afraid-of-heights astronaut (John Lithgow).

Alongside a tense Russian crew, led by a great Helen Mirren, Floyd makes direct contact with Bowman, or whatever it is he has become after merging with the Monolith.

The first new line of dialogue is “Neatness is a good quality.” The same can be said of Hyams’ direction and approach to staging and filming scenes. While nowhere near Kubrick’s famously painstaking framing and aim for visual perfection, Hyams’ choice of shots smacks of precision.

Almost all of Hyams’ subsequent films, many of which I like a lot, have been criticized for being underlit or lying too heavily on “natural light.” Here, there is a beauty and fastidiousness that doesn’t match Kubrick but certainly creates splendid visuals and a continuity between the films.

Whatever Hyams’ film lacks in the comparable intellectual discovery or poetry of Kubrick’s film, the scale, sense of wonder and possibilities remain intact.

The sci-fi film “2010: The Year We Make Contact” was released in theatres today in 1984. #80s #80smovies pic.twitter.com/aUUVDl40F4

— LandOfThe80s (@landofthe80s) December 7, 2022

“2010” is smart, adult-minded sci-fi, possessing a seriousness and grandeur that matches the original. It also lacks the cold presentation, slow pacing and often challenging narrative of the original, which, nevertheless, I still prefer.

Hyams’ film is gorgeous but also compassionate.

The visual effects are mostly breathtaking, even as this is a space opera set in the age of Atari. Some of the blue screen effects are dated, but the Oscar-nominated visions are mostly spectacular. The antiquated touches include a visual telling us that OMNI Magazine, PAN AM Airlines and tape cassettes would still be around in the 21st century.

More importantly, there’s a feel of pre-perestroika 1980s, particularly in the scenes with the Russian/American astronaut collaborations. This makes Scheider an interesting choice for the lead, since he has that great monologue about Glasnost in “The Russia House” (1990).

The sole U.S./U.S.S.R tensions are conveyed in the harsh exchanges between Scheider and Mirren, excellent playing the head of the Russian side of the operation.

The actors are not there simply reacting to the special effects, as Scheider is commanding and Lithgow, particularly during his big scene, acts as the audience surrogate. Scheider and Lithgow have a moment where they discuss the best place on Earth to get a hot dog, which might be the most relatable part of the film.

There are wondrous moments throughout: SAL 9000, the female version of HAL (voiced by an uncredited Candice Bergen) asks her creator before being shut down, “Will I dream?” A beautiful question.

Floyd lives in a home with dolphins as house pets, a visual that has stayed with me, even as I question the practicality of the idea.

I loved the part where Floyd comforts a frightened Russian astronaut, a wordless, sentimental moment that I doubt Kubrick would have included.

It’s wild seeing Balaban (ideally cast as the human equivalent of his creation) floating around inside HAL and not Dullea – after some fine tuning, we hear Douglas Rain’s voice once again and it made me catch my breath.

Mary Jo Deschanel (yes, Zoey’s mother) plays Bowman’s widow and has a sad and eerie moment where she can talk to whatever her husband has become; Hyams caps the scene with her sitting alone and defeated, a visual that still haunts me.

FAST FACT: Roger Ebert gave “2010” a positive review but called it a movie of its time, lacking poetry. “it is a triumph of hardware, of special effects, of slick, exciting filmmaking. This is a movie that owes more to George Lucas than to Stanley Kubrick, more to “Star Wars” than to Also sprach Zarathustra.”

Floyd’s encounter with the Star Child-embodied Bowman is mesmerizing; Bowman changes to various forms and ages during their discussion. As a lifelong “2001” fan, this is the scene that left me the most awestruck.

Less effective is the bit where an invisible Bowman brushes the hair of his hospitalized mother, a sentimental and goofy bit that the film didn’t need.

In the end, HAL and Bowman make good on their promise of presenting humankind with “something wonderful” and leave us with an optimistic message, giving the film an upbeat, happy ending. I wish it weren’t so, as it’s just too pat.

What almost redeems this misstep is that final shot, going full circle back to the wonder and possibilities of the Monolith. “Thus Spoke Zarathrusta” replays and it ends on a near-perfect note.

Scheider’s narration and much of the dialogue inform us of every plot turn eliminating the mystery and cold human void of Kubrick’s approach. Steven Spielberg’s “A.I. Artificial Intelligence” (2001) recreated a Kubrickian environment and feel where the characters, artificial and otherwise, express feelings for one another.

Clarke writes like Michael Crichton, in that sometimes his characters talk too much. Look for Clarke’s cameo: in the early wide shot of the benches in front of The White House, Clarke is sitting to the far left, feeding birds alone.

Also, hit the pause button and take a look at the Time Magazine cover that is being passed around for a great Easter Egg hidden in plain sight.

Released during the year everyone assumed George Orwell’s worst fears would be realized, Hyams film is a faithful adaptation of Arthur C. Clarke’s 1982 novel, “2010: Odyssey Two.”

Clarke’s subsequent novels in the series are underrated, as I have a soft spot for “2061: Odyssey Three” (published in 1987), which predicted long-distance phone calls would be extinct by that year.

Despite a long-past-due interest from David Fincher and Morgan Freeman, I still want to see Clarke’s “Rendezvous With Rama” made into a film. For now, we can revisit “2010,” which was a mid-size hit in 1984 but, because of what came before it, remains a controversial sequel.

Taken on its own terms and artistic goals, it isn’t on the level of Kubrick but it gets halfway there, which is remarkable. Hyams’ film is oddly underrated but it holds up better than many remember.

During its best, most majestic passages, the movie is, indeed, something wonderful.

The post ‘2010: The Year We Make Contact’ Isn’t Kubrick, But It’s Close Enough appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Some movies define their genre in ways time can’t touch.

Go ahead and make a killer shark movie. You won’t lap 1975’s “Jaws.” The same holds for 1973’s “The Exorcist” (possession thrillers) and 1991’s “The Silence of the Lambs” (serial killer tales).

For a while, “Longlegs” evades “Silence’s” gargantuan shadow. It helps that we don’t get a full look at the killer in question, and director Osgood Perkins has us in the palm of his hand.

The thriller can’t sustain that early drumbeat of dread. The film’s final moments remind us why certain films are iconic while others merely tease that status.

Maika Monroe plays Lee Harker, an FBI agent with a keen puzzle-solving style. Her boss (Blair Underwood) assigns her to investigate a long-running case involving mutilated families. Clues are in short supply, but Lee’s early hunches pay off in a hurray.

Hmmm.

She appears to be on the Spectrum, and her strained ties with her mother (Alicia Witt) suggest a less-than-cheery childhood. This isn’t Clarice Starling, that’s for sure.

The more Lee probes the case, the more baffling it becomes. The scariest part for the young FBI agent? The killer may be connected to her in ways she can’t understand.

Longlegs Director Osgood Perkins Doesn’t Watch New Horror Movies https://t.co/UaMmQiwUaM

— ComingSoon.net (@comingsoonnet) July 12, 2024

Director Perkins (son of Anthony) lets us meet the killer from the jump. That’s Longlegs (Nicolas Cage, buried in ghastly makeup), a shambling mess of a man with a high-pitched voice. At first you’ll think “Longlegs” took a page out of “Lambs'” trans playbook, but it’s merely a deeply disturbed soul out for blood.

Ironically, the film spills less of it than you might expect.

We don’t get a full look at Longlegs right away, and that delayed reveal is the film’s secret weapon. We hear that voice, see those mannerisms and imagine a monster from our worst nightmares. Cage does the rest, and having his recognizable face buried under latex does the story a favor.

The first half of “Longlegs” is sublime, from the nonstop dread bleeding into the frame to Monroe’s arrested turn as Lee. Yet her character never evolves over the story, nor do we see fresh layers as her hunt marches on.

That’s not Monroe’s fault. Perkins’ script gets thinner when it should be taking shape.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Serial killer stories have certain tropes, and “Longlegs” does its best to acknowledge and subvert them. Yet one key difference feels like a cheat, damaging the film’s critical scenes.

Said difference can’t be revealed without a gargantuan “spoiler alert” warning.

Perkins takes his time setting the story in motion, and that discipline mostly works in his favor. Later in the film that technique takes a precious turn, like the director puts too much faith in the story’s deliberation.

Modern films struggle to stick the landing, and “Longlegs” is a textbook case of just that. Mysteries are mostly resolved, but they’re unsatisfying and missing the tension so expertly arranged in the first act.

The finale also makes poor use of Cage, who neither embraces his inner “Mandy” nor keeps his natural energy under wraps. The balancing act is perfection, something that can’t be said of the film itself.

HiT or Miss: “Longlegs” is a cut above most horror films, but the story’s magnetism dims as we learn more about the serial killer’s m.o.

The post Why ‘Longlegs’ Isn’t the Next ‘Silence of the Lambs’ appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

“Fly Me to the Moon” hijacks the mother of all conspiracy theories for our rom-com age.

The ’60s era film follows a love story caught up in a fake moon landing scheme.

Sound silly? It is until it isn’t. And then it is again.

“Fly Me to the Moon” offers some retro charm, two appealing leads and a rom-com structure that won’t make your eyes roll. That’s increasingly rare of late. You’ll have to swallow the film’s meandering tone to soak in its old-school pleasures.

Scarlett Johansson stars as Kelly Jones, a marketing whiz tasked with making NASA both hip and worthy of government cash. The Space Race is on, but not every politician is eager to steer enough greenbacks to emerge victorious.

Leave it to Kelly, whose beauty and guile reduce grown men to quivering puddles.

Cole Davis (Channing Tatum) is an exception. 

Sure, they have a meet-cute moment early in the film, but as NASA’s launch director he doesn’t like how Kelly bends the truth to get things done. Little does he know she’ll do more than bend it soon enough.

She’s coerced into staging a faux moon landing by a mysterious operator (Woody Harrelson, having a blast) just in case the actual mission fizzles.

Will Cole and co. deposit a man on the moon? Can Kelly convince enough bureaucrats to pick up the tab? How often will the film take pot shots at President Richard M. Nixon, whose Watergate chicanery is still years away?

Very often, to answer the latter question. The film also mocks people of faith, another sign you’re watching a 21st century production.

Otherwise, “Moon” delivers a more thoughtful brand of rom-com. Yes, you’ll laugh, mostly thanks to sly supporting turns by Harrelson and Ray Romano. The latter plays a NASA veteran who has more on the line than mere hubris.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The unabashed scene stealer? Jim Rash as a fey director tasked with making the faux landing come to life. Yes, he’s a walking, whining cliche but Rash makes him marvelous anyway.

The production values are spotless, recreating the look and feel of the late 1960s without shoving it in our faces. Johansson reminds us how versatile she can be, flitting from serious marketing guru to someone melting over Cole’s moral code.

Tatum doesn’t have to stretch as much. He’s the sober spokesman for science, although his equilibrium gets wobbly whenever Kelly enters the frame.

“Moon” boasts a zippy appeal straight out of a ’50s rom-com, but there’s way too much story in play. The film blows past the two-hour mark when a tighter running time would be a better fit. Did Rock and Doris ever hang around that long?

We’re exhausted by the end, and the “will-they-or-won’t-they” element of the story becomes an afterthought.

You half expect “Moon” to say something profound, or profoundly obvious about modern conspiracy theories. That would have broken the spell Johansson and Tatum try so hard to evoke. One sequence finds Cole defending “science,” and it’s hard not to imagine Dr. Anthony Fauci demanding a closeup.

The focus returns to the overblown plot in play, and we’re back in the 1960s where the story belongs.

HiT or Miss: “Fly Me to the Moon” offers a throwback romantic comedy that, sadly, overstays its welcome.

The post ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ Delivers a Seriously Silly Rom-Com appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Louis C.K. went from comedic genius to social pariah, and he had no one but himself to blame.

The comic’s off-screen behavior, specifically exposing himself to female comedians, earned his professional cancellation. No ugly tweet or blackface shtick, mind you.

These were real-world actions that hurt people.

Except he refused to go away.

The documentary “Sorry/Not Sorry” examines C.K.’s fall from creative grace, from the rumors that dogged him for years to his shocking comeback.

It’s a New York Times production, so the film suggests his cancellation should be permanent. The liberal newspaper is no friend to free speech in the modern era.

Just ask Sen. Tom Cotton.

The subject matter remains undeniably rich, and the crush of opinions and perspectives makes “Sorry/Not Sorry” an essential watch.

The film’s unexpected takeaway? C.K.’s downfall was another Weinstein moment. No, the comedian didn’t sexually prowl on starlets like the disgraced movie producer. The similarities remain stark for one simple reason.

Everyone knew. And no one spoke up.

Some of those who kept quiet appear in the film, like prolific TV producer Michael Schur of “Parks and Recreation” fame. He knew … something … but wouldn’t quit C.K.

Now, he has regrets.

“The Daily Show’s” Jon Stewart, steeped in comedy culture for the past two-plus decades, claims ignorance.

If lower-tier comics heard all the stories, how did they escape Stewart’s inner circle? And he’s hardly alone.

Blind items and backstage chatter pointed to C.K.’s dark side. He had talent, power and the ability to create projects from the ground up. So no one challenged him.

RELATED: LOUIS CK: POLITICAL CELEBRITIES ARE ‘OBNOXIOUS’

There’s something sociopathic about C.K.’s response to his actions. When cornered, he delivered a strong message that stopped short of him saying, “I’m sorry.” Critics pounced on that, but his statement hit all the major points.

Yet he never used his platform to expand on those themes. Instead, he quipped about the matter, refusing to engage with how a progressive comic hurt the women in his orbit.

His critics are right when they say he could have done so much more post-scandal. He’s also under no obligation to do so. He is a comedian. He’s there to make us laugh.

That’s his prerogative, but a comic with his skill set could have weaved something profound from his actions.

Noam Dworman, owner of the Comedy Cellar. allowed C.K. back on stage at the start of his revival tour. The free speech warrior eloquently explains why a private business has every right to book whichever act it pleases.

“Sorry / Not Sorry” could have used a few more sober perspectives like his.

Watching woke comedian Michael Ian Black defend C.K. on artistic grounds only to swiftly backpedal says plenty about the current state of comedy and free speech.

The film downplays how C.K. reconstructed his comedy career, not with appearances on Colbert’s couch but via an email list and today’s podcast realm.

Another unexplored part of the film? One reason for C.K.’s shocking comeback has a Donald Trump connection. It’s ironic since C.K. was one of the first major stars to make the Trump/Hitler comparison. Yet it’s hard to deny he became a Trumpian symbol of Cancel Culture overreach.

Buying a C.K. ticket is a thumb in the eye to scolds who demand we cancel artists for any number of reasons.

“Sorry/Not Sorry” reveals the personalities behind some stand-up comics. They’re shown to be dark, biting and personally troubled. There’s an angst that fuels their humor.

Those tears of a clown are far too real.

Did C.K. have a tortured childhood? Did that fuel his insights and dysfunction? It might have been intriguing to learn more about the comedian’s background. He turned down an opportunity to defend himself in the film, but that’s not the only way a journalist can suss out the back story.

One comic says “white men” are allowed to come back from cancellation, noting how C.K. was able to sell out Madison Square Garden post-scandal. The film hits theaters shortly after Jonathan Majors’ comeback tour kicked off.

Jonathan Majors has been cast in his first movie role since his assault conviction, the independent thriller “Merciless.” https://t.co/ypDmabpLU4

— New York Times Arts (@nytimesarts) June 25, 2024

Meanwhile, Kevin Spacey has yet to restart his formerly red-hot career.

There’s something performative about the outrage on display in “Sorry / Not Sorry.” Why are some stars canceled and others aren’t? Why are some apologies accepted and others aren’t?

How did Howard Stern get away with, well, everything for 30 years but Jimmy Fallon had to do a groveling, on-air apology for a 20-year-old blackface joke

Ezra Miller’s lack of cancellation rushes to mind. So does former President Bill Clinton, who never lost his liberal base even at the height of LewinskyGate (or after).

Here’s betting those who want C.K. to exit the stage permanently would vote for Clinton again if they could. Recall how feminists strained their necks looking the other way when Tara Reade accused Joe Biden of sexual assault.

The documentary doesn’t have enough time to veer in that direction, but it matters.

It’s to “Sorry/Not Sorry’s” credit that the film lingers in one’s mind, raising as many tough questions as it tries to answer about a case that speaks volumes about 21st-century culture.

Now, if more New York Times content could produce similar results…

HiT or Miss: You may not agree with everything shared in “Sorry/Not Sorry,” but it’s a smart, engaging snaphot of a scandal that epitomizes our pop culture moment.

Photo Credit: Louis C.K. photographed at the Toronto International film festival 9/17/17 for The New York Times’ article Asking Questions Louis C.K. Doesn’t Want to Answer by Cara Buckley. Photo Credit: Angela Lewis for The New York Times.

The post ‘Sorry / Not Sorry’ is the Louis C.K. Documentary We Need. Mostly appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Terry Gilliam’s “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” (1989) became one of those legendary movies that was noted more for its troubled production than the quality of the film itself.

Like “Heaven’s Gate” (1980) or “One from the Heart” (1982), the film’s reputation as the pinnacle of excess and directorial irresponsibility created a tsunami of negativity that the film’s pithy marketing campaign never overcame.

For a film noted to have a massive budget, elaborate visual effects and major cameos, the film played briefly, only in hundreds of theaters, before most discovered it on videocassette. The story of the film’s making is like the film itself: outsized, wild and always entertaining.

While Gilliam’s film may have been a beast to make, this is, with or without the pre-release hype, a fantastic and transporting trip through the vast worlds and possibilities of the imagination.

It begins with an Overture. We’re introduced to a theater troupe, illustrating how the stage can create the fantastical by using only cloth, paper sets, costumes and a willing ensemble. The actors are bravely performing for an audience as a war is occurring outside.

The theater shakes and bits of rubble and dust fall from the ceiling as audible blasts sometimes drown out the dialogue. Onto the stage marches Baron Munchausen (John Neville, utterly perfect), who declares that the version of his life events being portrayed on stage is phony and exaggerated.

The Baron then tells the audience exactly what really happened, as whimsical fantasy and harsh reality start to blend together.

In the “real” world, the Baron is befriended by a whippersnapper named Sally Salt (a young Sarah Polley). The two set off on a journey to reunite the Baron with his trio of offbeat warriors: Berthold (Eric Idle), who has amazing hearing, Adolphus (Charles McKeown, who also co-wrote the screenplay with Gilliam) who has amazing eyesight, and Albrecht (Winston Dennis) who has amazing strength.

Once reunited, the Baron will not only face his prior foes but, possibly, save the war-torn town where the play is still taking place.

Along the way, we make pit stops and encounter The King and Queen of the Moon (a raunchy, wild bit of comedy from Robin Williams and Valentina Cortese), Venus (Uma Thurman) and Vulcan (Oliver Reed) and an instance where someone asks aloud, “Is there a doctor in the fish?”

THE ADVENTURES OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN 1988 dir. Terry Gilliam, a fantasy of heroic tales of the Baron & his friends travel adventures as a city is attacked by invaders …or is it? John Neville, Eric Idle, Sarah Polley, Uma Thurman, Robin Williams, Oliver Reed and more, Surreal fun pic.twitter.com/5yw5skMo66

— Andy House (@AndyHouse18) June 14, 2018

The first act is cluttered with design, as the ramshackle stage production where Munchausen recites his tall tales is contrasted with the glorious widescreen visions of Munchausen’s “reality.” The transitions from the makeshift play to the stories-within-the-story are brilliant, akin to the “black and white” to color transitions of “The Wizard of Oz” (1939).

The flashback sequences, which push the plot forward, are long but focused, with the episodic nature of the story and Gilliam’s tendency to go bombastic countered with the heart in the performances and pathos in the story.

Munchausen is not unlike Don Quixote in that, if he stops dreaming and surrenders to what is real, he will die. In the same all-or-nothing manner in which Gilliam shapes his films, Munchausen tells his stories like his life depends on it, because it does.

Depicting a theater as a portal for one’s imagination is not just a lovely allegory but would actually become the literal story of Gilliam’s forthcoming “The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus” (2009). Munchausen is both Gilliam and Quixote, the tired but ferocious dreamer who not only would appear in some form in every Gilliam film but finally had a vehicle of his own in Gilliam’s decades-in-the-making “The Man Who Killed Don Quixote” (2018).

Neville completely gets Munchausen, as the veteran actor connects to the inner light within Munchausen’s eyes, which sometimes reveals inspiration and, at other times, outright madness. Idle’s performance as Berthold is my favorite of the actor’s non-Monty Python roles.

Look for a funny Sting cameo and Jonathan Pryce, who once played the embodiment of a rebelling dreamer in Gilliam’s prior masterpiece, “Brazil” (1985), is cleverly cast as the complete opposite. He’s a vile bureaucrat who Pryce’s Sam Lowry would have pushed against.

Upon release in pre-summer 1989, “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” only lasted briefly in theaters, though the studio did little to counter pre-release claims that the film was out of control. Whereas the production had setbacks and noted disputes, the film itself is busy and big, but in no way a catastrophe.

Rather than get in front of the bad early headlines, the limited release and unfocused ad campaign seemed to indicate the worst. While the age of the videocassette allowed the cult following to build, it must be noted that this still isn’t appropriate for young children.

It’s just too creepy and contains more decapitations (albeit comical) than your average “Friday the 13th” sequel.

The film was produced in Federico Fellini’s legendary (but delipidated) Cinecitta sound stages and shot by Giuseppe Rotunno, a Fellini vet. Like every film Gilliam has made, the film is jaw dropping to look at. Every few minutes presents another one-of-a-kind spectacle.

Behold, the hot air balloon made of ladies’ undergarments! See a mountain-sized Robin Williams’ head floating in space! Watch as the Baron is astride his horse and, at full gallop, jumps out of a tall building and lands on his feet!

That’s barely scratching the surface. Gilliam is among the very few filmmakers who, whether you love his movies or loathe them, will show you something you’ve never seen before.

“The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” lumbers at time but not a minute passes without another awe-inspiring moment casually floating by. While time has caught up with it, this was among a group of would-be cult fantasies, like “Dragonslayer” (1981) and “Return to Oz” (1985), that did not play in theaters but enthralled me every time I’d pop in the videotape.

The third act, where the Baron has a rematch with the sultan is the film’s most exciting. Gilliam has the showmanship to know that you build with each act, allow emotion and character involvement to accumulate with each scene and to leave the best stuff for the very end. Gilliam’s film is, if you haven’t guessed by now, one of my favorites and an early lesson not to judge a movie by the bad press that preceded it.

On the other hand, allow me to set my childhood wonder towards the film on the shelf and engage with a dreadful feeling I had revisiting it this year: I fear the ending may be something of a trick, a bit of bad news Gilliam is hiding from us, but I don’t know for sure.

Ask yourself this: is the upbeat finale real or just another of the Baron’s stories? The ending has such a moving final reveal but, rather than delight in the joyous, triumphant manner Gilliam presents on the surface, I started to really think about it and considered another dire possibility.

It’s the same dread I now feel re-watching “The Fisher King” (1991). I wonder if the fate of Robin Williams’ Parry can be taken as presented or if Gilliam is ending things before we can take a step back, consider the source of the story and realize we’ve been told yet another tale. In fact, a story that eclipses a sad reality.

I don’t know if this is the case and I hope I’m wrong. Then again, if Gilliam is simply reshaping and retelling Cervantes’ “Don Quixote” with most of his films, then…you know what? Never mind. I’ll choose to live in the dream and run through the playground of my imagination, which is what “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen” is all about.

The post ‘Adventures of Baron Munchausen’ Debunks Oldest Hollywood Saw appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

The best faith-based films have dirt under their fingernails.

It’s one thing to praise Jesus and the power of God. It’s another to acknowledge the bumps and bruises along the spiritual way.

It’s why “Sound of Hope: The Story of Possum Trot” is a winner from start to finish. The true story of a small Texas town that opened its arms to vulnerable children isn’t here to sugarcoat reality.

Nor does the saga downplay the Christian roots embedded in the tale. Those elements are inextricably tied together.

The story opens in 1996, centering on Bishop W.C. Martin (Demetrius Grosse) and First Lady Donna Martin (Nika King) of Possum Trot, Texas.

Donna’s saintly mother, who reared 18 children, passes early in the film. That leaves the grieving daughter to reconsider her modest brood. Can’t they summon her late mother’s spirit and give a home to more children?

She starts digging into the adoption process and finds a trove of troubled foster children. Let’s start there, she says to herself.

Bishop isn’t convinced.

His reservations power the film’s early sequences. How often do you see a couple fight over the prospect of foster children and, later, the husband attempts to seduce his wife with Bible verses?

This isn’t your average faith-based drama.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Donna teams with a pragmatic social worker (a solid Elizabeth Mitchell) to adopt two foster children. That’s only the beginning.

Bishop leans on his charismatic sermons to inspire other families to open their homes and hearts. It won’t be easy. The flock stumbles under the pressure of adding troubled kids to their homes. Traumatized kids act out, early and often.

Their respective finances take a hit, too.

Can the Martins lead the way? Or will their newest foster child Terri (Dianna Babnicova), a girl who thinks she’s a cat, prove love can’t actually conquer all?

Grosse and King are so marvelous, both separately and together, you’ll wish there was an acting honor for dual performances. Grosse’s pulpit work is first rate, but it’s how he combines a loving spirit with masculinity that sells the character.

King’s First Lady has enough love for all of her East Texas town, but she’s no saint. Her relatable meltdowns flash her emotional limits.

A lesser screenplay might deify the duo. Not “Sound of Hope.”

At one point Mitchell’s social worker cops to her own limitations. When pressed about temporarily caring for two foster kids she quips, “I’d take them home with me, but I have drinking to do.”

Dirt. Fingernails.

The younger performers give similarly sharp turns, particularly Babnicova. Poor Terri reverts to a feline persona when emotionally cornered. The film doesn’t delve deeply into that tic, all for the better. What’s more measured and worthwhile is the loss of trust Terri has for everyone in her orbit.

“Sound of Hope” gently details what these foster children have endured, from horrifying scars to wounds that hint at lifelong trauma.

Cardboard characters are at a minimum. Even a well-heeled pastor is given a modicum of grace.

Much of “Sound of Hope” is set in church, and those scenes hum with authenticity and reverence. Grosse deserves much of the credit, but the creative team behind “Sound of Hope” respects the cultural rhythms in play.

The film preaches but somehow isn’t preachy.

Audiences will come away with a fresh appreciation for foster families and the need to reach beyond one’s comfort zone. And, chances are, they’ll need an electrolyte boost after the emotional end credits.

The film’s final scenes and real-world updates are brutal to the tear ducts.

HiT or Miss: “Sound of Hope: The Story of Possum Trot” will leave your spine stiffened and eyes glistening.

The post ‘Sound of Hope’ – Bring a Kleenex Box (Maybe Two) appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.

Mark Molloy’s “Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F” is the long-rumored, decades-belated sequel to the film that put Eddie Murphy on top during the Reagan administration. It’s also the first one that’s really good.

Yes, you read that right. It took 40 years, but someone finally made a solid follow-up to “Beverly Hills Cop” (1984), and the reason this one sticks (and the hit-and-miss follow-ups that preceded it didn’t) is that it understands the character of Axel Foley and is willing to explore him.

Murphy is back as Foley, a police officer still living in Detroit, a local legend for the cases he cracked and the laws he broke along the way. Foley’s commanding officer, played by Paul Reiser, asks him if it’s time to retire, or if Foley needs the action on the streets more than it actually needs him.

It’s a valid question.

Meanwhile, Foley’s estranged daughter, Jane (Taylour Paige) is an attorney who works in Beverly Hills, as far away from her father as she can manage. A case involving family friend and cop Billy Rosewood (Judge Reinhold) leads Jane into incredible danger and results in Billy disappearing with a vital piece of evidence at stake.

Axel returns to Beverly Hills, where another cop, Det. Abbott (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) eventually helps him, but not before he reminds Foley of his infamous past.

The plot is both overly complicated and predictable. Yet, the dynamics between old friends and the father trying to reconnect the broken bond with his daughter are as important here as the sleuthing going on. There’s also a lot of action, more than I expected, in fact- the said-to-be $150 million price tag is no joke, as it appears that, if this is the last time we’re seeing this character, then Murphy and mega producer Jerry Bruckheimer want to go out with a bang.

RELATED: WHY ‘BEVERLY HILLS COP’ IS THE PERFECT ’80s MOVIE

“Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F” survives an iffy opening sequence, which offers some auto smash-ups and the first of many nods to the franchise (both “The Heat is On” and “Shakedown” are featured early) but doesn’t seem to be above the laid-back silliness of “Beverly Hills Cop III” (1994).

Once this becomes an ensemble piece, we not only harken back to what made the first one so great, but the sharp casting choices sell it.

Murphy is in good form, funny and enthusiastic but willing to play into Foley’s flaws; he’s aided by Paige, the standout from “Zola” (2020) whose unsentimental, no-nonsense take on what could be the film’s most maudlin character is a nice surprise.

So is Levitt, terrific and playful in what could have been just another sidekick. Once we get a look at Kevin Bacon playing Captain Grant, we have an obvious idea who the villain is, but Bacon plays him in shades that suggest a complex, compromised social climber (Foley notes his shoes as a giveaway) and not a mustache-twirling heavy.

It’s fun to see Reinhold and Bronson Pinchot again (though it’s even more forced here than it was in “Beverly Hills Cop III” how Serge is plugged into the story) but the biggest pleasure is the dramatic heft John Ashton still gives as Taggart, filling in for his movie mentor Ronny Cox.

The cast makes this such a pleasure, I didn’t mind that, for all the wild action and good laughs, this is a dialogue-heavy character study as much as it is a legacy sequel (in fact, it’s more satisfying as the former than the latter).

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Molloy makes an impressive directorial debut after helming a slew of standout commercials. It’s interesting to look at the four “Beverly Hills Cop” films and note how, for the commercial and of-their-time qualities they have, each has a very different style and approach to how the character is presented.

The 1984 original wasn’t just a blockbuster but it’s still one of the best films of its year. Director Martin Brest, a few years away from following it up with “Midnight Run” (1988) and “Scent of a Woman” (1993), made the first installment tough and straight forward. Murphy’s electric performance was not just a series of bang-on funny bits but a rich contrast between Foley’s down-to-earth manner and the materialistic world he was suddenly immersed in.

Yes, the soundtrack is iconic, and the film is endlessly quotable but there isn’t a bad scene in it. On the other hand, the first sequel “Beverly Hills Cop II” (1987) was helmed by Tony Scott, looking and feeling like Scott and his mega-producers (Bruckheimer and the late Don Simpson) had just stepped off the set of their “Top Gun” (1986) and placed Foley into that world.

“Beverly Hills Cop II” can be exciting, and Murphy has some choice moments but it’s a sour, cold film, as Scott’s mega-slick imagery and another knockout soundtrack can’t overcome a story that isn’t interesting and villains that are hard to care about.

Scott took Brest’s scrappy original and made it an MTV video, complete with Murphy as Foley no longer vulnerable but, like the man playing him, a bonafide superstar.

John Landis’ “Beverly Hills Cop III” arrived with both the star and director in need of a hit and, despite the foolproof premise (its “Die Hard” in Disneyland!), the film mostly misses. The third installment has an excellent opener, showing us Foley on a case in Detroit that goes south and results in the only father figure in his life being murdered.

For a while, the movie defies its bad reputation, until the premise is forced (why must Foley always have to fly over to Beverly Hills, again?) and the amusement park sequences misfire. In addition to a song soundtrack and score that don’t always work, “Beverly Hills Cop III”, despite the R-rating and ample profanity, oddly feels like it’s aiming to be the more mainstream, watered-down alternative to the first two.

Landis and Murphy have made good movies before (their 1988 “Coming to America” deserves the ongoing adoration) but the third “Cop” is goofy and, bizarrely, feels like a Disney movie instead of a supposed send up of the Disney company.

I’m happy to report my fear that the fourth “Beverly Hills Cop” would be another comedy sequel debacle like “Anchorman 2” (2013), “Dumb and Dumber To” (2014) or “Zoolander 2” (2016) is unrealized. There are flaws, like how the screenplay by Will Beall, Tom Gormican and Kevin Etten is involving but has no real surprises.

Still, of the many legacy sequels popping up on how a fondly remembered character is now in the latter years of life and needs to consider their mortality, it’s stronger than expected.

Also, it is nothing like the debacle that was “Coming 2 America” (2021) or a close-but-not-quite disappointment like “Another 48 HRS.” (1990). I’m a lifelong Murphy fan (yes, I even like “Harlem Nights”) and am happy to report that he gives this fourth and hopefully last (might as well walk away on a strong note!) entry as Axel Foley the comic and dramatic heft it needed.

Paramount Pictures was once Murphy’s creative homebase but, if this and the great “Dolemite is My Name” (2019) are any indication, then Netflix is working out for Murphy as much as Beverly Hills has overall for Axel Foley.

Three stars

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