Must love dogs. No, really.

“The Friend” is a testament to grief, loneliness and the bonds beyond traditional romance. All of the above hinges on a Great Dane that might be our finest animal actor, the Laurence Olivier of the canine set.

If you can’t stand sharing space with a four-footed beast, “The Friend” won’t land as required. If a dog ever became an integral part of your family, you’ll sit and stay for this “Friend.”

httpv://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpgLdI–F9M

Naomi Watts stars as Iris, a novelist suffering from writer’s block and, more importantly, the sudden death of a close friend.

Can we have a moratorium on New York-based stories centered around writers, let alone scribes suffering from writer’s block?

End of rant.

The lost “friend” is Walter (Bill Murray), a thrice-married writer who had beautiful women orbiting his larger-than-life persona.

Walter doesn’t get much screen time – his death happens early in the film – but it helps immeasurably that Murray plays him. Who else but the “Ghostbusters” alum could engender such fierce loyalty in wives, ex-wives, former lovers and, most of all, Iris?

He did leave Iris with a parting gift, of sorts. It’s Apollo, a spotted Great Dane who Walter insisted live with her if something ever happened to him.

Iris lives in a rent-controlled apartment that doesn’t allow dogs. Naturally, she’s less than thrilled to learn about Walter’s dying wish. And, to be fair, Apollo takes up a LOT of room.

Still, she’s a dutiful friend so she accepts this gargantuan roommate. It’s the start of an unlikely journey, one that finds Iris questioning her old friend, her future and whether she can ever get Apollo off her bed.

He. Will. Not. Budge.

“The Friend” isn’t filled with “Beethoven”-style yuks or cutesy reaction shots. It’s grounded from start to finish, a gentle essay touching on themes that matter to the over-50 set. Death. Loneliness. Regret.

Kibble.

Apollo is a sight to behold, but his gentle face conveys more emotion than you expect. Directors Scott McGehee and Stacey Battat wring the most out of the dog’s fascinating mug. His body language does the rest, as only dogs can.

How many “actors” can hang with a pro like Watts?

She’s saddled with a difficult task, beyond co-starring with a chronic scene-stealer. She’s a lost soul who clings to her friend in ways that seem Abbie-Normal, to paraphrase “Young Frankenstein.”

On the surface, Walter was a piece of work. He seemed self-absorbed and oblivious to his effect on those around him.

A late revelation about his ties to Iris is stomach curdling. Yet he commanded respect, nay love, in profound ways.

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The dramatic elements in “The Friend” rarely rise above a simmer. Iris may lose her apartment if she can’t find a home for Apollo, but the screenplay isn’t as worried about that as she should be. Her ties to one of Walter’s exes (Carla Gugino, solid as ever) offer more texture but nothing thematically formidable.

Less, as is often the case, is more.

“The Friend” is a subdued tale dependent on Watts’ star power, Murray’s appeal and the power dogs have on our lives. And maybe even our souls.

One of the movie’s final shots says it all. If it doesn’t melt your heart, consider yourself a “cat person.”

HiT or Miss: Naomi Watts anchors “The Friend,” a gentle ode to the healing power of Man’s Best Friend.

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You’d expect a film focused on Israeli hostages to take sides in the Middle East conflict.

“Torn” does, to a degree.

It’s also sympathetic to those who see posters of the kidnapped civilians as propaganda.

To a degree.

Truth matters, and it’s hard sympathizing with those eager to call for violence, intimidation and outright bigotry. It’s to “Torn’s” credit that the filmmakers broaden the story’s scope. They also couldn’t deny reality.

Many people tearing down those heart-tugging posters have hate in their hearts.

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The documentary introduces us to two pro-Israeli protesters who leaned on street art following October 7. They created posters of kidnapped civilians, akin to old-school milk cartoons featuring the portraits of missing children.

Except some of the kidnapped souls were infants.

Their simple act of defiance started out small. They initially wondered if they had misjudged the moment. Within days, social media spread the message. Hundreds, maybe thousands, joined their cause across the globe.

The Big Apple became Ground Zero for the poster movement.

Suddenly, you couldn’t go far without seeing their handiwork. And it didn’t take long for pro-Palestinian forces to declare war on their efforts.

RELATED: CRITICS IGNORE ‘SCREAMS BEFORE SILENCE’

“Torn” examines that seemingly unthinkable reaction. What could have been a jeremiad against anyone who did just that becomes a complicated look at protest in the 21st century.

Yes, we see thuggish souls ripping down posters and cursing anyone recording their actions. Many wear masks and shout anti-Semitic curses.

Others decry how little attention is paid to Palestinians in harm’s way. The latter point hits home in “Torn.” Some of the most ardent pro-Israeli voices in the film are willing to listen.

So is director Nim Shapira, who refuses to ignore the other side of the argument. Shapira doesn’t take the partisan bait, either. He keeps U.S. politics mostly out of the frame.

A few exceptions are noteworthy.

We see former Biden spokesperson Karine Jean-Pierre refuse to condemn those tearing down the hostage posters. And, twice, we see President Donald Trump in connection with pro-Israeli measures.

The discipline is impressive given how the two parties have reacted to both October 7 and its aftermath. The team behind “Torn,” much like the recent “October 8,” avoids political infighting.

We meet people connected to the hostages as well as Jewish intellectuals who share provocative takes on the subject. Some argue that to “cancel” those who tear down posters only restricts public debate.

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Others are critical of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

Some personal tales prove powerful beyond words. A Jewish shopowner shares her attempts to keep the posters outside of her jewelry story intact. Day after day, vandals tear them down, until a confrontation with pro-Palestinian protesters turns violent.

What are the odds?

Her anger and, later, sense of defeat speaks to how far the Big Apple has fallen.

Shapira’s camera can only provide so much balance. The number of pro-Palestinian forces resorting to unfettered bigotry and violence speaks volumes.

The documentary can’t help but let the truth have the final say.

“Torn” is handsomely produced and never devolves into groupthink. It’s also a necessary part of a conversation that should be happening stateside and beyond.

HiT or Miss: “Torn” delivers a sobering look at a topic many would assume offers black-and-white answers.

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Jason Statham is a throwback movie star.

Icons like John Wayne knew what fans expected of them and kept delivering film after film. Today, comic actors yearn to do dramatic work and serious stars stretch for comedies.

Statham isn’t doing Shakespeare anytime soon, nor is he eager to reinvent himself. He delivers bone-crunching action on demand, from last year’s “Beekeeper” to his latest, “A Working Man.” 

The action yarn is meatier than previous Statham affairs. Just when you think the story will offer new layers to his brand he settles for standard-issue mayhem. That’s frustrating, but let’s hope Statham’s intensity never goes out of style.

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The action film, based on Chuck Dixon’s long-running Levon Cade series, casts Statham as a man who can’t escape his past. His soft-spoken character once broke bones as a former Royal Guard warrior. Now, he’s content to work construction for a family-owned business.

Simple. Clean. A dearth of dead bodies en route to work.

He’s paid a stiff price for his killing ways, like losing custody of his adorable daughter Merry (Isla Gie). He hopes life as, wait for it, a “working man” will let her back into his life. 

That plan ends when his boss’ adult daughter Jenny (Arianna Rivas) goes missing. The police appear helpless or hapless – take your pick. Levon owes everything to his employer (a barely used Michael Peña), a virtual second family to him.

So Levon puts down his construction helmet and goes to work, the kind of work that brings the pain. Yes, there will be Russian gangsters, sex trafficking and more.

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You don’t have to read the credits to sense something totally ’80s about “A Working Man.” Levon can take on a battalion of armed-to-the-teeth baddies and emerge triumphant.

Remember that Reagan-era warrior John Rambo?

Yes, Sylvester Stallone co-wrote “A Working Man,” and the icon’s knack for loner heroes dominates the frame. Add director David Ayer, who just worked with Statham on “The Beekeeper” and doesn’t have a fussy bone in his body.

They’re a perfect match for the material.

Levon is endlessly patient in his pursuit of young Jenny. He’s part detective, part bloodhound, and he’s never intimidated wherever he ends up.

That’s part of Statham’s appeal. The rest? He’s 57 but moves like a 30-year-old, refusing to age in a genre that often pummels older stars. Just ask Daniel Craig, Liam Neeson and Keanu Reeves, all of whom have asked the inevitable question.

Am I getting too old for this [bleep]?

For Statham, the answer remains, “not even close.”

Ayer understands Statham’s appeal and what audiences crave from his handiwork. Yes, the action is intense and satisfying, but in the quieter moments, the actor’s empathy shines through. We saw that in “The Beekeeper” when his hero avenged a senior citizen bilked out of her life savings.

Here, he’s a doting dad who desperately wants to leave his killing ways behind. Life has other ideas, and that’s good news … at least for us.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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The film’s colorful villains punch up the story, but they also clash with the grittier elements on display. Statham’s Levon Cade isn’t a superhero, even if he can dispatch a small army at will. He’s a hand-to-hand combat kind of guy, and that skill is never pretty.

Some discordant elements spoil the fun.

Why introduce a live wire like the blind but resourceful Gunny (David Harbour) if you’re not going to give him more screen time? Perhaps the film’s franchise potential offers an unspoken answer.

The screenplay downplays the sex trafficking angle, reducing some of the dramatic stakes.

It’s also frustrating to consider how “A Working Man” might have tweaked the Statham formula. Levon craves a normal life after years of bloodshed, but circumstances drew him back into the fray.

What if he missed all that death and destruction on an instinctual level?

Statham is a good enough actor to suggest that duality. “A Working Man” is too busy following the star’s bulletproof brand to consider those layers. Statham is here to punch the clock, break some bones and prep for his next action assignment.

No complaints there.

HiT or Miss: “A Working Man” delivers mostly what Jason Statham fans expect, but it misses the chance to dig deeper into his screen persona.

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We expect a lot from Mel Gibson when he steps behind the camera.

Blame “Hacksaw Ridge,” “Apocalypto” and “The Passion of the Christ.” Heck, the auteur’s debut, 1993’s “The Man Without a Face” deserves applause, too.

So when “Flight Risk” hit theaters earlier this year critics were less than overwhelmed. The project, on the surface, is beneath Gibson’s talents. It’s a genre romp that wraps in 90 minutes and features subplots best served in a B-movie setting.

Methinks they missed the point.

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“Flight Risk,” on VOD platforms and arriving on 4K UHD (+ Blu-ray™ + Digital) Combo Pack SteelBook®, Blu-ray™ and DVD on April 1, is a palate cleanser for Gibson … and us.

He’s gearing up to shoot “The Passion of the Christ” sequel next, so this must have been an artistic warmup for that audacious task. Audiences, in turn, get a perfect Saturday night title. “Flight Risk” grabs you by the scruff of the neck and hangs on until the end credits start.

Gibson didn’t tax himself with the project, but it also benefited from his populist DNA. He knows how to stage the pulpy elements, and he’s aided by a small but mighty cast.

Michelle Dockery stars as Madolyn, a troubled FBI agent tasked with shepherding a star witness to trial. She located sad-sack Winston (Topher Grace) in a rundown Alaska motel. Now, the two must fly to Anchorage and, later, Seattle to make sure he can squeal on his boss.

Easy peasy, right?

It doesn’t help that the plane’s pilot, Daryl (Mark Wahlberg) is too chatty for his own good. He also has something to hide, turning this seemingly benign flight into a fight for survival.

OK, the trailer gives away Daryl’s intentions, but it’s still fun to see Good Guy Wahlberg play against type.

More, please.

Did critics give “Flight Risk” a harder time due to Gibson’s off-screen woes? Or, did they expect a prestige picture from him and found the film’s grindhouse veneer off-putting? It’s impossible to say, but “Flight Risk” is too much fun to deny in any scenario.

(This teaser video should have let everyone know what to expect…)

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It’s a battle of wits in the sky, as Madolyn uses all of her resources to keep Winston alive and Daryl at bay. The film unwisely introduces a larger element to the story, a potential leak within the FBI that led to Madolyn’s plight. 

That’s never given the depth it deserves. Why not jettison the angle and stick with the basics? Three people. One gun. A plane that may or may not have someone to land it.

That’s more than enough, assuming you can swallow a few gaps in logic.

Grace could do his role in his sleep, but he injects Winston with a humanity we don’t see coming. Meanwhile, Dockery’s character couldn’t be less of a Mary Sue. She’s a brave, resourceful heroine who still strikes us as  vulnerable.

Give her an action franchise, stat.

RELATED: ANOTHER TAKE ON ‘FLIGHT RISK’

The script won’t win any awards, but it’s efficient and rarely makes us wince. That’s more than some thrillers can boast. Have you seen Anthony Mackie’s “Elevation?” Yikes.

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The sole Blu-ray extra, “Risk Management: Making ‘Flight Risk,'” offers an eight-minute glimpse at the production. Screenwriter Jared Rosenberg shares how the pandemic influenced the film’s themes, while we learn the thriller took just 22 days to shoot.

The featurette may be brief, but it captures how many of the shots came to be. The plane cabin looks as small as advertised on set, forcing an intimacy on both cast and crew. Plus, we see how green screens and multiple cameras pulled off the finished product.

Or, as the Oscar-winning director explained, “You gotta go in there and MacGyver the whole thing.”

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Jeannot Szwarc’s “Somewhere in Time” (1980) has always maintained this constant presence in my life, mostly because it’s the only movie that could, without fail, make my mother cry.

In fact, even mentioning the film to her casually does the trick. I used to tease my mom endlessly about this movie. Now, I’m no longer immune to it. In fact, I’m a fan, though, like Christopher Reeve’s main character, it took me many years.

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“Somewhere in Time” begins in 1972, where Reeve stars Richard Collier, a playwright who is elated by the success of the opening night of his latest production. In walks an elderly woman who is immediately drawn to Richard.

She goes right up to him and says, “Come back to me.” It’s quite the opener.

Years later, Richard takes a trip to the Grand Hotel, located at Mackinac Island in Michigan, a real place (more on that later). While researching a work in progress, he comes across the photograph of a gorgeous, long-deceased woman, who he learns was once Elise McKenna.

Elise was a celebrated stage actress in the early 20th century and Richard can’t stop staring endlessly at her framed photo in the Grand Hotel Museum.

We get it: Elise is played by a luminous Jane Seymour.

Richard’s studious research gives way to an all-out obsession. A chance conversation on the possibility of time travel, as well as some nifty occurrences to support the theory, suggests the old woman at the beginning of the film was no mere groupie.

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Using painstaking hypnosis, Richard is able to travel back in time and encounter Elise before the fateful photograph was taken (a wonderful, telling moment). Richard has two very real problems: in order to keep himself back in time, he cannot think of anything contemporary, and he is third wheel to Elise’s jealous, controlling manager (a commanding Christopher Plummer).

Reeve, looking young and beautiful (he made this right after his initial “Superman” duty) is the main reason why this hokey, illogical love story maintains its grip. Another big reason is John Barry’s score – even before it gets to its famous theme, Barry’s composition is rapturous.

There are more shots of Reeve staring at Seymour’s portrait than the film knows what to do with, but Barry’s score, which does a lot of dramatic heavy lifting, keeps Swarzoc’s film feeling sincere instead of unintentionally funny.

“Somewhere in Time” has it both ways – it’s a cautionary tale about being terminally enamored by the past but also a wish-fulfillment fantasy about how Collier gradually realizes that time was always going to bring him together with the love of his life.

Szwarc’s film is slow but sweet and not only maximizes Barry’s contribution but Rachmaninoff’s “Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.” The film is such a pleasure to listen to.

This is a sweet, earnest and lovely film. The whole thing is simple and uncomplicated in its goals. It’s also among the looniest films to ever depict a concept of time travel. Richard Matheson’s screenplay is based on his 1975 novel, “Bid Time Return.”

The emotion of the film is easy to connect with, while the sci-fi is featherweight at best.

A shot of Reeve’s face reflected on Seymour’s portrait is key here. It’s a lovely metaphor visually (our minds connect us profoundly with those who are gone) but ridiculous and half-baked on a literal level. Remember, Richard is using a tape recorder and repetitious phrases to go back in time.

By comparison, a plutonium-fueled sports car makes far more sense.

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Richard isn’t using time travel to stop world wars from occurring, prevent human suffering, nor invest in future technology. No, he wants to keep staring at Jane Seymour.

Anyone who grew up watching “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman” can relate. For everyone else, you’re probably too cynical for this movie.

John Barry’s score is as lovely as one remembers but it also counters the silliness. When we keep cutting to yet another scene of Reeve gazing at Seymour’s portrait, the music swells and informs us that this is meant to be romantic longing, not remotely creepy.

“Somewhere in Time” feels like it should be longer by at least 10 minutes. There’s no follow-up with Plummer’s character in the third act, nor much reflection of how the present is impacted by the past, aside from what we’ve already learned from the first act.

If there’s a major factor as to why this weepy drama utterly works, it’s Reeve. When the character returns to his time, he’s terminally heartbroken. Reeve conveys this with such conviction, I found my cynicism backing down.

The actor is as passionately committed to the role as he once was to Superman.

Seymour manages to make her character a bit more than a mere plot device, though there’s not enough of an explanation for the Machiavellian pact she shares with Plummer’s character.

That said, Plummer, playing a Rasputin/Salieri figure, can do so much with a look or simple inflection, his character is intimidating in the way he usually reserved for outright villains or whenever Captain Von Trapp was rounding up the children via whistle.

Plummer can be so intense by being utterly still (note how he also does this in the 1978 “The Silent Partner”) and speaks so coldly and condescendingly to Reeve, you can’t help but flinch.

The chemistry between Reeve and Seymour makes up for the puppy love dopiness of their romance. A lengthy sequence of their first date, complete with a rowboat and horse and carriage ride, plays like a parody of a similar montage from “The Naked Gun” (1988).

There are so many questions this raises when it’s over, like why does it take Elise so long to find Richard later on, how can one mentally only fixate on the past while time traveling (wouldn’t an ‘70’s song get stuck in Richard’s head at some point?)

Matheson’s depiction of Richards’ journey is a device to meditate on the pain of disconnecting from the past.

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“Somewhere in Time” is about loss. Unlike the wish fulfillment fantasy of “Back to the Future” (1985), or even the espionage of “Tenet” (2020), the idea here is that if you’ve lost someone once, time travel will only allow one to experience that trauma twice.

Hence the phenomenon of “12 Monkeys” (1995), where we don’t realize how we’re facing destiny until it’s too late and impossible to go back.

Whereas the past/future contrast and wish-fulfillment fantasy of Nick Cassavetes’ “The Notebook” (2004) ultimately lead to the best possible happy ending that scenario can allow, Szwarc’s film concludes in a much heavier way.

I have never been to Mackinac Island, where the film mostly takes place, but I did call one of the hotel reps in 2012, when I was compiling data for a college thesis paper. I spoke to a friendly hotel authority who explained to me that the tourism the film created was still robust.

I also learned about I.N.S.I.T.E., an acronym for the International Network of Somewhere in Time Enthusiasts.

I’m now at an age where the aspects of “Somewhere in Time” that I used to find unintentionally funny truly get to me. I don’t stare endlessly at old portraits as Reeve’s character does, but I’m often taken aback by photos and keepsakes I encounter that transport me to a moment I’ll never get back.

I also find talking to my mother about it a different experience today. In fact, hearing her speak about the movie today actually makes me cry.

My mom will speak passionately about time gone by, losing herself in what Arthur C. Clarke once called “the mental mists of our minds.” She recalls with great emotion someone who hasn’t been alive for many decades.

I get it, as I’m now doing the same thing when I describe key figures of my past to my daughter, my wife or anyone who will listen. To remember someone long gone and recall affectionate details about them is a small way of keeping them alive.

That’s what “Somewhere in Time” is truly about.

The sad truths and rich emotions of the film have finally caught up with me. I guess it’s time to fill out an I.N.S.I.T.E. membership.

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“Tales from the Darkside: The Movie” is noteworthy for turning 35 this year, being one of the best (if not the all-time greatest) horror anthology films and showcasing the best performance from the chameleon-like David Johansen, who we just lost last month.

Johansen’s career began with fronting The New York Dolls before becoming a mainstream success as Buster Poindexter, then a character actor in film and TV, and ultimately returning to music.

He was a true original.

A dynamic performer on stage and a truly magnetic character actor, Johnsen is probably best known as the cab driving Ghost of Christmas Past who blows smoke out of his ears in the yuletide Bill Murray vehicle, “Scrooged” (1988).

However, cinephiles willing to take a deeper dive into Johansen’s brief but colorful movie run should note how great he is in “Tales from the Darkside,” an underestimated sleeper and a real find for horror fans.

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Director John Harrison’s film is tonally perfect from the start, opening in a small town where Betty, an attractive socialite (Deborah Harry) is returning home. She gives everyone she encounters on the drive home a friendly wave.

Once we see her behind closed doors we see what’s really up: within Betty’s sprawling kitchen is a prison cell, where she keeps a young boy named Timmy (Matthew Lawrence) hostage.

After days of fattening Timmy up with cookies, Betty is planning to cook him. Timmy delays his execution by reading Betty stories from the massive tome bearing the name, “Tales from the Darkside,” which she tossed in his cell as a means of killing time.

Timmy reads Betty three stories:

The first is “Lot 249” (updated but faithfully based on an Arthur Conan Doyle tale), about a college student (Steve Buscemi) who is able to reanimate a mummy in order to do some dirty deeds.

The second tale is Stephen King’s “The Cat from Hell,” in which Johansen plays a hitman hired to exterminate the cat of a wealthy geriatric (William Hickey), who believes his feline is evil. The old man’s instructions to the hitman: “Kill it, bury it, bring me its tail, so I can throw it in the fire and watch it burn.”

The third yarn is “Lover’s Vow” (from “Beetlejuice” screenwriter Michael McDowell) about a struggling artist (James Remar) who meets the love of his life (Rae Dawn Chong) on the same night that he makes a crucial promise to a terrifying creature.

With every tale he spins for Betty, Timmy entrances his captor. Is it enough to keep her from cooking him?

RELATED: TERROR IN THE AISLES PERFECTLY CAPTURES 80s HORROR

What is the film’s point of origin? It’s complicated, but here’s the brief version: EC Comics, once touted as “Educational Comics” when everyone knew them to publish shocking, boundary-pushing and fiendishly funny comic book tales, used to publish “Tales from the Crypt,” Weird Science” and “Vault of Horror” comic books.

These controversial and groundbreaking comic books inspired “Night of the Living Dead” director George A. Romero to make “Creepshow” (1981), his loving, passionately stylish tribute to EC Comics.

“Creepshow” was a sleeper hit, and Romero wanted to do it as a TV series – because of rights issues, he was unable to use the “Creepshow” name. Thus, the rechristened “Tales from the Darkside” aired in 1983 and ran for four seasons.

Romero was an executive producer on the “Tales from the Darkside” series and the feature film.

Eventually, the similarly formatted “Monsters” followed (1988-1991), as well as the 2019 “Creepshow” series on Shudder, going on four seasons and the official, albeit belated, extension of Romero’s film.

Today, there are ample streaming channels airing dozens of horror-themed series. In the 1980s-1990s, though, it was a shock to see the likes of “Tales from the Darkside,” “Darkroom,” “Freddy’s Nightmares,” “Monsters” and “Friday the 13th: The Series” on regular TV. Their low budgets and reasonable PG-rated content were countered by genuine scares.

I’d argue that the most jolt-inducing of the bunch was “Tales from the Darkside,” with its sinister theme music (by Donald Rubinstein and Erica Lindsey) pulling you in.

I used to watch the series at midnight, after “Saturday Night Live,” and would sometimes find the theme music too scary to keep watching. On other nights, when I’d see an entire episode, I’d be too afraid to go back to sleep.

As a young teen, the only thing scarier than watching “Tales from the Darkside” at midnight, with all the lights in the house turned off, was seeing the trailer for “Tales from the Darkside – The Movie.” It remains one of the only coming attractions previews to make me jump out of my seat.

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Harrison’s delightful, devious film may not have the groundbreaker status of “Dead of Night” (1945), nor the ongoing cult popularity of Romero’s “Creepshow” or Michael Dougherty’s “Trick r Treat” (2007), nor the all-star lineup of the infamous but almost-great “Twilight Zone – The Movie (1983).

However, because it moves so briskly, doesn’t overstay its welcome and hits us with just three tales, “Tales from the Darkside: The Movie” succeeds for giving us maximum entertainment value in 93 minutes.

“Lot 249,” which features not only a young, already scene-stealing Buscemi but also a good Christian Slater and, in a memorable film debut, Julianne Moore. The future Oscar winner already comes across like a major movie star (despite the indignity of her final scene, though it’s a memorable bit).

Moore and Buscemi give sharp turns and the final image (which mirrors the conclusion of the “Something to Tide You Over” segment of “Creepshow”) is a keeper, though the setup is overly complicated. Like the mummy itself, “Lot 249” is clumsy but always amusing. I love how the mummy is a victim of circumstances since his ability to kill is imposed on him.

Who knew one could weaponize a mummy?

“The Cat from Hell” installment is so good, the movie should have concluded with it. The make-up effects by KNB EFX are especially gag-inducing here. Johansen, cast against type as a slick killer for hire, does a great slow burn and has a solid give-and-take with Hickey, a wonderful actor with a voice as distinct as Johansen’s.

“The Cat from Hell” is the most stylish of the episodes, with clever, theatrical lighting designs, color schemes and clever “cat vision” POV shots. By the time the cat slashes the crotch of Johansen’s pants, we know he’s been outmatched by the feline.

The fade out on this segment is hilarious and absolutely disgusting.

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“Lover’s Vow” is a good vehicle for Remar and Chong and gets the period setting right (note that there’s a poster for “Star Trek – The Motion Picture” in the 1979-based opening act). Anyone who fondly remembers Masaki Kobayashi’s “Kwaidan” (1965) will be a step ahead of this story, an adaptation of “The Woman in the Snow.”

Harrison’s film and Kobayashi’s masterpiece would make a killer double feature. “Lover’s Vow” fades to the final confrontation between Timmy and Betty, in an appropriately nasty conclusion that couldn’t be more satisfying.

While “Creepshow” is the more well-known anthology film, I prefer Harrison’s approach to conveying horror comics as cinema, versus Romero’s work on “Creepshow,” which is clever but busy and on-the-nose. To be fair, “Creepshow” is about horror comic book storytelling, whereas Harrison’s film is about books and storytelling as a literal means of escape.

Harrison himself gives the film a good score, with each segment having its own theme (a similarly winning touch utilized by Jerry Goldsmith in his score for “Twilight Zone – The Movie”). Of the three segments, only “Lover’s Vow” is slightly overlong. Reportedly, the three segments used to be reversed, with “The Cat From Hell” always the middle story, while “Lover’s Vow” used to be first and “Lot 249” was once the closer.

The final line-up is perfect, though “The Cat from Hell” is the main attraction here, as is Johansen’s performance. If you’re a fan of Buster Poindexter, Blondie, Stephen King and cats, you’re gonna love this one.

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This isn’t your grandfather’s “Snow White.”

Savvy souls understand that going into Disney’s live-action take on its 1937 animated film. Judged on its own merits, the new “Snow White” delivers in ways live-action cash grabs films often don’t.

It can stand on its own, boasts strong performances and doesn’t bludgeon you with woke.

Yes, Rachel Zegler’s heroine is empowered in ways that are thoroughly modern, and Team Disney tweaked other factors to make it less “problematic.” Zegler’s performance still feels rooted in our storytelling past.

That matters. So does this “Snow White.”

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Zegler’s Snow White, like the classic film, has a somber backstory. She grew up the child of a kind Queen and King (that order isn’t accidental on-screen). Her mother died when she was just a girl, and her father disappeared years later after remarrying a woman with less than noble intentions.

Yes, that’s Gal Gadot as the Evil Queen. The King, apparently, isn’t a great judge of women.

Snow White grows up under the Queen’s punishing glare, resigned to a life of misery. That changes when the Evil Queen’s talking mirror – unavailable even at Amazon.com – tells her she’s no longer the fairest of them all.

That honor goes to the now-adult Snow White, driving the Evil Queen to the brink of madness. She casts Snow White out of the castle, sparking an adventure that includes a noble warrior, seven CGI dwarves and a forest full of adorable critters.

Said warrior is Jonathan, played by Andrew Burnap. He’s not a prince, thank you very much, but a Robin Hood-esque figure warring with the Evil Queen.

The film feels uncertain about their love connection, torn between a feminist ache to eschew men (ick!) and fidelity to the source material. Jonathan’s presence is critical to the story, but “Snow White” keeps pushing him to the side.

This is her story, by golly, and no cisgender man will get in the way. Even his heroic, third-act escape is edited to lessen the achievement.

Offensive? Updated? Your mileage will vary. Just know that “Snow White” is shrewdly assembled, rarely dull and avoids most narrative clutter.

Most.

 

 
 
 
 
 
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The screenplay is credited to Erin Cressida Wilson but she apparently had help. The dialogue isn’t whipsmart, and a few exchanges sound suspiciously like 21st-century banter, but it’s sweet when required and never insulting.

That’s a rave given the sorry state of screenwriting at the blockbuster level.

Director Mark Webb (“The Amazing Spider-Man” saga) had all that Disney cash to create a realm to keep our senses satiated. The film reeks of CGI splendor, but it’s rarely overpowering. Even the woodland creatures, who often do our heroine’s bidding, aren’t force fed to us.

Live-action tales typically drown viewers in ones and zeroes. Webb keeps them under control in “Snow White,” and we’re the better for it.

The film is mostly faithful to the original story up until the third act. That’s when The Zegler Effect takes over. Girlbossery ensues, yet it’s organic to the narrative up until that point.

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Purists will revolt, and understandably so, but “Snow White” lacks the clunky mechanics of some woke films. There are no lectures about a woman’s place in society, no screenplay nods to fourth-wave feminism. Snow White is fulfilling her destiny in the only way she knows how.

Let’s not forget “Snow White” is a musical, cribbing classic “Dwarf” ditties like “Heigh-Ho” with several new tunes including the effective “Waiting on a Wish.” Zegler’s voice is wonderful, as is her attention to detail. She’s dialed in without appearing to break a sweat.

“Snow White” doesn’t buckle under the scars of its pre-release woes, including the addition of CGI dwarves. The latter are fine, but given the live-action nature of the story, a merry band of actual little people would have been better.

The “magical creatures” teased in that pre-release production still appear, but they’re integrated into the story. They still add little and, occasionally, hold the story back. And why is one of those “creatures” a little person actor when Disney refused to hire other little people to play the dwarves? 

Weird!

“Snow White” features a moment or two that might scare little children, but its morally pure heroine delivers on the story’s ageless appeal.

That’s what family-friendly audiences still crave in the modern marketplace.

HiT or Miss: Yes, “Snow White” gives the classic tale a feminist spin, but sturdy storytelling and an on-point Rachel Zegler charm us anew.

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You couldn’t ask for a better team to revive the gangster genre.

Director Barry Levinson gave us 1991’s “Bugsy.” Scribe Nicholas Pileggi co-wrote 1990’s “Goodfellas.” And Robert De Niro, well, ‘nuff said.

The trio unite for “The Alto Knights,” a film that works best as a reminder to re-watch “Bugsy,” “Goodfellas” or any pre-“Fockers” De Niro flick.

Even “The Adventures of Rocky & Bullwinkle.”

The drama, based on true events, makes one cataclysmic mistake before the film even opens. That casting choice may have ruined “Alto Knights” on its own, but don’t leave the atrocious screenplay out.

It’s equally at fault for making “Knights” a surefire Worst of 2025 nominee.

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De Niro plays Frank Costello, a crime boss who never carries a gun and avoids the seedier side of his profession. It served him well through the years, but his quiet rivalry with childhood chum Vito Genovese (De Niro, again) threatens that uneasy peace.

Wait … De Niro is playing BOTH leads? Are the characters twins? No. Are they brothers. Nope.

So … why? Sit through “The Alto Knights” and you won’t find the answer.

It’s a distraction the film can’t shake, but it ends up being just one of many sins committed over two brutal hours.

The film’s early moments feature an exposition dump combined with Levinson’s busy visual choices. We’re bludgeoned by black and white photographs, bumpy camera work and flashbacks to ’50s era stock footage.

It’s unnecessary and leaves us feeling woozy, not engaged.

The film’s chronological spasms aren’t helpful, either. De Niro’s Frank Costello serves as a chatty narrator, suggesting the film underwent sizable edits and needed something to stitch the narrative back into place.

It doesn’t always work, leaving a choppy film with odd story gaps. Consider Vito’s wife (“Sopranos” alum Kathrine Narducci), who goes from an adoring spouse to his enemy without scenes depicting her transition.

“Jarring” barely describes it.

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Pileggi’s screenplay keeps telling us how to feel and what to think, violating the number one saw in the businss.

Show, don’t tell. Even worse?

Core themes and character traits are similarly repeated without much in the way of depth or development. It seems impossible to defang a real-life mobster rivalry, but Levinson is sadly up to the task. 

The film’s credible production values offers some relief, and a few cultural touches suggest the creative team understands gangster culture.

Beyond that, we’re left watching two De Niros struggle to make the connection between the dueling mobsters. We’re told they’re lifelong friends with diverging views of the “business.” What we see are two old men with little in common beyond the occasional, “back in the old days” banter.

At times, “The Alto Knights” serves as a cautionary tale tied to the American dream, but even that subtext gets lost early on and never recovers.

Debra Messing affects a fun New Yawk accent as Frank’s wife, but she isn’t given enough to do and rarely fleshes out their complicated marriage. She’s desperate to lure him out of the gangster business, but he’s too disinterested to make it happen.

Yes, just when you think you’re out, they pull you back in. But couldn’t Frank at least burn some calories toward that end?

Secondary characters add color but little depth.

Fellow “Sopranos” alum Michael Rispoli gives the film a familiar patina, but comparing “Knights” to the HBO classic series is never flattering.

The same can be said of gangster classics like “Goodfellas” or “The Godfather.” The team behind “The Alto Knights” knew the risks of revisiting the mob genre. The key players stepped on virtually every rake in their path.

HiT or Miss: “The Alto Knights” begins with a terrible casting decision and only grows worse from there.

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Bong Joon-ho’s “The Host” (2006) is the film I tell everyone they need to see if they want to know how extraordinary the South Korean filmmaker’s talent truly is.

Some would say to seek out Bong’s “Snowpiercer” (2013), a popular favorite, or his jaw-dropping, genre-defiant Best Picture winner, “Parasite” (2019).

I suspect that anyone who felt let down by “Mickey 17” (including this writer) will want to revisit the work that made Bong so acclaimed in the first place.

For me, the quick response has always been “The Host.”

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It begins in 2000, with the only scene in English, with Scott Wilson playing an American doctor instructing his lab partner to “pour the formaldehyde down the drain opener.” We cut to dozens and dozens of bottles of poison going down the drain.

Right from the start, we’re in monster movie territory, but the scene is as shocking as it as darkly funny. We know what happens when scientists mess with nature, let alone the Han River, but the scene is also played for real.

The American doctor is aware of the poison he’s about to unleash and his partner is horrified by the instruction, which he ultimately follows. The opener is perfect – black comedy but stomach churning.

Cut to years later, when a fisherman, noting the obvious aftereffects of the poison spreading in the water stream, witnesses a deformed tadpole swim past him.

“How many tails did it have?” he asks.

Again, we laugh because we know we’re watching a monster movie, but the moment is still chilling.

Eventually, we meet the Park household, a charming, tight knit working-class family working next to the Han River. Someone spots a massive, weird-looking object hanging from the bridge, which dives into the water and emerges into a crowd of people as a quick-footed eating machine.

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It only takes “The Host” 11 minutes to get to the film’s extraordinary intro to the monster, which resembles a giant tadpole crossed with a mountain lion. In broad daylight, the monster is somehow both funny and really scary.

The F/X in this and every other scene is amazing. By the time Bong’s film is 20-minutes old, it already feels like a classic.

The initial attack scene is the film’s artistic peak, as the editing, cinematography, music, pacing and masterful use of slow motion create a flawless set piece. I can’t think offhand of a monster unveiling that takes place on a sunny day where we clearly see the threat and, instead of the illusion being obvious, the clarity of detail and movement are this vivid.

In addition to capturing and destroying the monster, the plot becomes about the search for Hyun-seo (Ko Ah-sung), the youngest of the Park family, who becomes the monster’s prisoner. Song Kang-ho’s performance as her blonde-haired, goofy and lovable father is the film’s heart and comic relief. Also on hand in the rescue is Nam-joo (Bae Doona), the Park family member with Olympic-level archery skills.

RELATED: TOP 10 SCARIEST OLD-SCHOOL MOVIE MONSTERS

Bong’s brilliant monster movie takes a second act turn that felt like paranoid sci-fi 20 years ago but now feels like a scary look ahead. Scenes of the family under quarantine and held prisoner by Hazmat suit wearing captors provide uneasy reminders of the Coronavirus pandemic, even as the scenes are meant to be, on some level, satirical and darkly comic.

The portrayal of government procedure during an outbreak is chilling, even as Bong is sending it up.

As in most monster movies, the authority figures are the problem, while the heroes are the believers who are courageous enough to face the unthinkable. While the contagion sequence goes on too long, the thrilling rescue scenes are everything you’d want.

This combo of social commentary and monster movie is always striking, though the wisest choice was making it a family story, as the narrative is about the effort to reunite a broken family unit.

I cared deeply about the Park family, which not only gives the film its human core but characters whose uncertain outcomes only elevates the suspense. The comedy becomes madcap and is sometimes forced but, considering the intensity, always welcome.

“The Host” is an eco-Kaiju, like all Kaiju monster movies – the subtext is environmental impact, and the devastation brought on by a man-made creature. While it may be too artsy for those expecting a more traditional Kaiji film, it’s also the kind of film that knows if you’re going to introduce archery early on, it had better pay off in the end.

Made post-“Memories of Murder” (2003) but before “Mother” (2009), “Snowpiercer” and “Okja” (2017), Bong’s “The Host” became one of South Korea’s top-grossing films and garnered hype worldwide. I remember reading about it in a magazine spread that gave a glimpse of the startlingly vivid creature effects.

I saw the film at the 2006 Denver Film Festival at a midnight screening. I left the theater utterly exhilarated (the following night, I returned to the same theater, where the same slot was given to “Pan’s Labyrinth.” It was a great year for the fest).

Subsequent films like “Cloverfield” (2008), “Pacific Rim” (2013) and “Monsters” (2010) also excel in expanding the expectations and human center of Kaiji films. “The Host” is so good that it plays like an ideal double feature with “Godzilla Minus One” (2023).

By showcasing one of cinema’s greatest movie monsters, the jaw-dropping spectacle of “Rodan” (1956) and the troubling allegory of “Godzilla” (1954), Bong created one of the best films of 2006 and a monster movie as moving as it is awesome.

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Warren Beatty’s “Dick Tracy” (1990) arrived just when comic book movies were about to become a priority for major film studios.

This was due to the massive box office success and audience adoration of Tim Burton’s “Batman” (1989) and “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” (1990).

The thing about Beatty’s film, which was made while “Batman” was conquering the world, is that it doesn’t play like a mainstream, franchise-building action movie. Now 35 years old and aging far better than expected, “Dick Tracy” is an art film disguised as a popcorn movie, a personal, thrillingly stylish and wonderful approximation of its Chester Gould source material.

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Gould’s comic strip turned the likes of Eliot Ness and Al Capone into pure-hearted, incorruptible (and yes, untouchable) Dick Tracy and vile, connected Big Boy Caprice. The comic strip, even at its goofiest and most fanciful, resembled a film noir presented as a surrealistic crime story for kids.

Beatty takes it further, as the film isn’t in black and white (though the opening credits briefly suggest it might be) but with every scene, set and costume presented in primary colors. Beatty’s film is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

Even today, with some of the optical effects showing their age, the film is still radiant, as the color always pops.

Beatty’s middle-aged Tracy is a sleepless crime fighter, always adorning a bright yellow fedora and overcoat. Tracy is stringing along the loyal Tess Truehart (Glenn Headley) but is taken aback by his sudden attraction to nightclub singer Breathless Mahoney (Madonna).

The problem is that Mahoney has become the arm candy of Caprice (Al Pacino in an Oscar-nominated performance) and Tracy has suddenly found himself as the surrogate father of a tough homeless child he calls The Kid (Charlie Korsmo).

There are lots more actors paired with wild characters to mention, like Dustin Hoffman as the incomprehensible but obviously guilty Mumbles, James Caan as an ill-fated rival of Caprice, William Forsythe’s vivid, nasty Flattop and Paul Sorvino’s “Lips” Manliss, who is unlucky enough to take a “bath” as his punishment.

In addition to the sets and costumes, there’s also the make-up, in which all of the villains are presented as grotesque monsters, their inner rot visible in their colorful expressions.

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“Dick Tracy” won Academy Awards for art direction, make-up and best original song, though “Sooner or Later (I Always Get My Man)” is just one of the great songs here penned by Stephen Sondheim. Despite respectable box office, rave reviews and the Oscars, “Dick Tracy” was not the mega-hit the studio expected, though Disney certainly tried.

The months leading up to the film’s release saw Disney mimicking the media saturation that Warner Bros. utilized to pull in audiences salivating over “Batman.” In addition to the marketing blitz that included action figures and Topps trading cards, Disney actually sold T-shirts that worked as an opening night ticket that first-show audiences would wear as they entered the theater.

The message on the shirts: “I Was There First.”

FAST FACT: “Dick Tracy” earned $103 million in U.S. theaters in 1990, good for ninth place that year. The number one attraction? “Ghost.”

There was also Madonna’s monster hit accompanying album, “I’m Breathless,” inspired by the film and featuring one of her signature hits, “Vogue.” Yet, for all the loud harrumphing that greeted the film’s arrival, the film itself is smaller and better than the hype that preceded it.

For starters, “Dick Tracy” really moves, hitting the ground running from the start and establishing character and world building as the credits briskly splash across the screen. The story by screenwriters Jim Cash and Jack Epps Jr. (who co-authored “Top Gun,” making them a weird choice for this film) is square and fairly straight forward.

Figuring out the identity of a literally faceless villain named The Blank is the film’s biggest puzzle.

Otherwise, it feels like a state-of-the-art enhancement of the original “Dick Tracy Meets Gruesome” (1947), where Tracy was played by Ralph Byrd and the title villain was played by Boris Karloff. That’s the beauty of Beatty’s film – as exciting and funny as it is, there’s nothing remotely contemporary about it.

The idea was to capture the essence of Gould’s comic strip and fashion a story about a diligent crime fighter finding himself late in life.

Beatty was 53 when the film was released and a year away from marrying Annette Bening and settling down. The parallels between Beatty and Tracy are obvious, but a more important aspect is how “Dick Tracy” fits with his other directorial choices.

Like “Reds” (1981), “Bulworth” (1998), “Heaven Can Wait” (1978) and “Rules Don’t Apply” (2016), “Dick Tracy” is also about a character who struggles to find himself while fighting against the system.

Beatty is ideal in the lead, though he has given better performances. Madonna’s iconic status serves her well here (and, it goes without saying, the musical numbers are wonderful) and Pacino, sort-of spoofing his outsized turn in “Scarface” (1983), is dynamic, hilarious and nasty.

A caveat – Pacino’s wild turn in this movie was Oscar nominated and not his soulful, anguished turn in the same year’s “The Godfather Part III” (1990).

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“Dick Tracy” has a similar content problem as “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” (1988) from the same studio – both movies are masterpieces but, despite their PG ratings, too sleazy and grownup for kids and a little too silly for some adults.

My mother did not appreciate having to explain to me why Breathless seductively refers to the title character as “Dick” and that it had nothing to do with his real name being Richard.

Perhaps Disney was afraid of potentially alienating its audience and scaring anyone away with a more appropriate PG-13. All that to say – I’d hesitate to show it to young children, due to the violence as much as the innuendos.

For everyone else, “Dick Tracy” is still dynamite.

RELATED: BATMAN AT 35: BLEAK, BROODING AND STILL WORTH THE HYPE

As a comic book adaptation, the approach feels like George A. Romero’s living comic book approximation of “Creepshow” (1981) blended with the richness of Robert Rodriguez’s “Sin City” (2005), minus the gleeful, ghoulishness and gore of the former and the nihilism of the latter. Beatty clearly loves Gould and the world he nurtured from 1931-1977.

The radiant cinematography by Vittorio Storaro, crisp editing by Richard Marks and scoring by Danny Elfman are all at a master-class level. “Dick Tracy” may no longer be a priority at the Mouse House, but this is one of the few summer “event” films that is overdue for the Criterion Collection and a re-release, so everyone can see how amazing the film still looks on the biggest screen possible.

Yes, I’m saying “Dick Tracy” needs to return to movie theaters and greet a new audience that grew up with the MCU and DC Comics on film.

If Disney has the moxie to make this happen, I promise to wear my “I Was There First” T-shirt a second time…or maybe just a yellow overcoat.

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Peter Browngardt’s “The Day the Earth Blew Up: A Looney Tunes Movie” is a charming, antic and beautifully crafted animated film that generously taps into the inspired silliness of the source material.

The movie tells us that Daffy Duck and Porky Pig grew up together in a Norman Rockwellian farmhouse on the brink of foreclosure. While Porky succeeds at finding jobs, Daffy, who is basically a lunatic, is the one who always messes things up for both of them.

When Porky falls in love for the first time, he understandably braces himself with the expectation that Daffy will do something to ruin everything for him.

Meanwhile, an alien invader takes over a chewing gum factory and partakes in a bizarre plot for world domination.

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There are plot strands and visual references from “The Blob” (1958), “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (1956 and 1978), “Night of the Creeps” (1986) and even “Armageddon” (1998), though the films are wisely never name checked and the satire isn’t overly announced.

Compare that to the “Pulp Fiction” gag in “Space Jam” that was hilarious in 1996 but now seems extremely out of place.

It could be argued that the humor here is more akin to “Animaniacs” (1993) than the old school Tex Avery/Chuck Jones/ Friz Freleng cartoon masterpieces that were often voiced by Mel Blanc. The jokes that don’t connect are all mercifully brief contemporary references – I’m not sure why the Daffy Duck would reference twerking videos on Instagram.

Thankfully, the gags come so fast, for every joke that doesn’t land, there’s one a few seconds later that does the trick.

The pairing of Porky and Daffy is somewhat odd since Daffy is such a wild character and Porky is, well, just a talking pig who stutters. I wish Daffy were teamed with that eternal wiseass Bugs Bunny or a real oddball like Marvin the Martian,

At least the buddy comedy dynamic is firmly in place.

If Daffy is utilized especially well here, it’s because A. we all have one friend like Daffy, the wildcard who is endearing and embarrassing, and B. the plot leans on Daffy acknowledging how he overdoes everything and would better succeed in life if he reconsiders his personal strengths.

It’s a refreshingly honest touch in a movie featuring chewing gum that sprouts eyeballs.

Also, there’s a scene where Daffy has a public breakdown and gives a ranting speech on stage, completely naked, which is so bizarre, funny and exactly what you’d expect from him.

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As of 2025, we have yet to see the shelved, reportedly wonderful “Coyote Vs. Acme,” the shot in 2022, part live action, part animated comedy starring John Cena, Will Forte and Wile E. Coyote (the latter is my favorite Looney Tunes character).

I hate that we may never see “Coyote Vs. Acme” (someone, pretty please, drop it on MAX), but I am delighted that a fully animated, utterly crazy and faithful in spirit Looney Tunes movie has arrived in the age of primarily CGI animated works.

I grew up relishing every time “The Looney Looney Looney Bugs Bunny Movie” (1981) would play on HBO, but that film (and the ones that followed) were mostly a compilation of the best cartoons airing Saturday morning.

I still enjoy “Space Jam” but couldn’t stand the sequel.

Since “Coyote vs. Acme” is in some kind of corporate limbo (if it hasn’t been erased, as rumored, then it’s been indefinitely shelved, a preferable status), then this is currently the best of the Looney Tunes movies so far.
Porky Pig and Daffy Duck carry this into a sublimely silly state of Nirvana.

However, if it’s a hit and another Looney Tunes animated buddy comedy is announced, I hope Warner Bros. Animation pairs up Yosemite Sam and Pepe Le Pew, two colorful weirdos who I’d happily watch in absolutely anything.

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Of all things, this movie made me think of how bizarre chewing gum is: it’s been around in some form for centuries and is an industry of making flavored strips that we chew and discard when it becomes a sticky, stale mess.

Gum is a frequent supermarket impulse buy for me. Why on Earth do we endorse something that is best known for appearing unwanted and stuck beneath a table? Until I saw how aliens use pink bubble gum in this movie to achieve their bizarre goals, I don’t think I’ve ever thought so much about gum in my life.

Thanks, Porky and Daffy.

Three Stars (out of four)

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The day after the October 7 terror attacks Times Square teemed with anti-Israeli voices.

And they only grew louder.

“October 8” chronicles the antisemitism spike following the worst terror attack since 9/11. Director Wendy Sachs (“Surge”) connects the harrowing dots, from Hamas hijacking the Left’s talking points to the inscrutable silence of human rights groups.

What emerges is a vital document for our times. One talking head wonders if we’re living in 1930s-style Germany, the moment before antisemitism became deadly on a mass scale.

We’re not there yet. The current normal remains unacceptable, framed by cowardice from those claiming to protect marginalized groups.

“October 8” is relentless, necessary and never less than shocking.

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The film opens with October 7 survivors sharing first-person accounts of Hamas’ savagery.

The calendar flips to Oct. 8. Anti-Israel protesters flood cities and colleges to cheer on the massacre. More than 30 groups at Harvard blamed the savagery on Israel, not the ghouls who raped, tortured and killed innocents.

It’s a stunning turn of events, one disconnected from worries over Israeli’s retaliation. The country was busy counting the dead and the missing at the time.

That ghoulish disconnect is enough to anchor a documentary. “October 8” is just getting started.

Groups like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch stood down in the weeks following the terrorist attacks. Hollywood stars, who weigh in on virtually every hot-button issue, spoke out briefly but, later, were reduced to near silence.

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Stars like Patricia Heaton, John Ondrasik, Michael Rapaport and Debra Messing, an executive producer on the film, have been the exceptions to the rule.

“I felt completely betrayed by Hollywood,” Messing says on screen. Fellow “October 8” star Rapaport is even more blunt.

“Hollywood celebrities speak out about so many differing things,” the “Atypical” actor says, from BLM to trans issues. “You should be ashamed of yourself for not saying anything about the hostages.”

The film compares that reaction to celebrities rallying behind the “BringBackOurGirls hashtag campaign against Boko Haram a decade earlier.

“October 8” relentlessly highlights hypocrisy on steroids.

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College students have done nothing but speak out following the Oct. 7 attacks. They’ve blocked Jewish students from attending classes, saluted Hamas’ barbarism and spray-painted vile slogans on university grounds.

Clip after clip, much of it unseen on legacy media, captures the staggering moral collapse. What have we done to the next generation?

A segment on The New York Times’ attempt to blame a hospital attack on Israel hints at the press’ culpability in the antisemitic wave. We need a separate documentary to cover the extreme media bias against Israel.

Maybe two.

RELATED: ARE CRITICS SHUNNING ‘SCREAMS BEFORE SILENCE?’

“October 8” is never dull, and the film’s sober approach is welcome. So is Sachs’ decision to keep politics off-screen. We do see brief interviews with Democrats like Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand and Congressman Richie Torres, but the film eschews partisan finger pointing.

That’s frustrating for conservatives who seethed as Democrats looked the other way while Hamas sympathizers ran wild.

Others behaved far worse. Rep. Rashida Tlaib happily spread that New York Times slander without apology, another damning clip briefly featured in the film.

More familiar footage, like the Ivy League presidents tap-dancing around Jewish hate, gets a lingering closeup.

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Sachs’ ability to connect cultural threads over the decades is impressive. Her apolitical approach is shrewd and necessary. The messages within “October 8” must reach as many people as possible.

Politics shouldn’t matter when it comes to renouncing hate.

HiT or Miss: “October 8” offers a bleak look at antisemitism’s surge in the wake of Hamas’ 2023 attack on Israel. It’s not to be missed.

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Dan Berk and Robert Olsen’s “Novocaine” is the latest post-“John Wick” thriller in which the lead is put through a physical gauntlet and the audience can ooh and aah at dazzling choreography and the sound of bones snapping.

These types of movies have come a long way.

The shaky cinematography and deadly serious storylines of the Jason Bourne series have given way to the vengeance and mythos-building and oversized, wonderful and vividly staged duels to the death of the “Wick” franchise.

What’s most important about those films, as well as the best from James Bond or Samantha Caine (that’s a “Long Kiss Goodnight” reference) is that we care about the characters more than the actual mission. In “Novocaine,” an ultra-violent gimmick, repetitive fight scenes and an emphasis on nihilism over wit drown out a promising start.

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Jack Quaid stars as Nate Caine, a bank worker who has an uneventful life and manages to be self-sufficiently alone and also bored by always playing it safe. Amber Midthunder plays Sherry, the newfound love in Nate’s life who gets him out of his comfort zone and convinces him to go out on a date.

When Sherry finally gets Nate to herself, he confesses a startling secret: he can’t feel pain and has to plan his day in order not to injure and/or impale himself, as he’d be the last to find out. When the bank is robbed the next day and Sherry is put in harm’s way, something kicks in with Nate.

He now has a newfound mission and springs to Sherry’s rescue.

As comic variations on “John Wick” go, I greatly prefer “Nobody,” the 2021 Bob Odenkirk-led sleeper, which was character-driven as well as funny and brutal. In “Novocaine,” the protagonist is presented as a gimmick – he gets the stuffing beaten out of him but is only winded, often talking during fights and not always aware of the objects that have impaled him in between fists flying at his face.

It’s a limited idea and as thin as the characters.

Quaid’s highly mannered performance, a series of ticks and prim and proper mannerisms, reminded me of a caffeinated Topher Grace. Admittedly, Quaid’s performance and character grew on me, but the actor was better showcased in this year’s “Companion.

“Novocaine” admirably takes its time and isn’t in a rush to get to the action. In fact, if you haven’t seen the trailer and walk in without knowing the plot, it actually plays like an old-school romantic comedy for the entire first act.

A dinner date conversation belatedly introduces the central concept, though the payoff is just a series of scenes that are so grisly that the eventful second and third acts are hard to watch.

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To be clear, this isn’t about a man who learns he possesses superpowers. We see Nate constantly on the verge of death after yet another increasingly nasty fight scene. I found the similarly ugly “Kick-Ass” (2010) and its wretched 2013 sequel to be equally hard to like and not as “edgy” as the hype indicated.

Those films and “Novocaine” attempt to be envelope-pushing without truly giving us people onscreen to care about. A halfhearted attempt to shape this as a blood-spattered love story fizzles mid-movie.

What we’re left with is the perverse spectacle of watching the son of Jack Nicholson (who plays the film’s heavy) beat the living daylights out of the son of Dennis Quaid. Both Jack Quaid and Ray Nicholson have what it takes to go the distance as actors, and I wish them well.

Overall, “Novocaine” isn’t bad, but I wanted it to be over long before Nate weaponizes his fist by bashing them repeatedly into shards of broken glass.

Why? To embed the shards in his knuckles and weaponize his punches, of course!

Two Stars (out of four)

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John Lithgow has a tendency to nibble on scenery.

Or, in the case of “Cliffhanger,” devour it without mercy. He even admits as such.

Now, at 79, the actor has the perfect marriage of those impulses with “The Rule of Jenny Pen.” It’s a fiercely original tale where he’s joined by Oscar-winner Geoffrey Rush.

Together, they spin a morbid web of aging, loneliness and creepy hand puppets. “Pen” never works up into a genre lather, but the results are never less than engaging.

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Judge Stefan Mortensen (Rush) suffers a massive stroke behind the bench as the story opens.

He’s deposited into a nursing home where workers strain to restore his mobility. Stefan is understandably glum, but his despair goes beyond the stroke’s aftermath.

He appears lonely, for starters. No one visits to brighten his mood. No flowers or cards adorn his bedside. He’s forced to share a room with a fellow patient (George Henare), an indignity he refuses to hide.

Worst of all, another patient haunts his room at night, dancing about with a silly puppet permanently affixed to his hand.

That’s Lithgow’s Dave Crealy, a senior with plenty of life left in his body. He’s a regular at the center, using his “Jenny Pen” puppet to sing songs and interrupt the lives of everyone in the facility.

He’s a first-class bully and no one will stand up to him, not even the center’s staff. And he uses Jenny Pen as his enforcer.

It’s scarier than it sounds.

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How can Dave run around unchecked? It’s a question the film doesn’t fully address, although there are hints along the way. That’s more than enough to set this duel in motion.

Rush’s character is wholly convincing, from his arrogant mien to the stroke’s cruel side effects. He’s trapped in his body, unable to fend off Dave’s increasingly violent visits. Rush’s face conveys the depths of his misery and, later, horror.

The screenplay shrewdly lays out enough of Dave’s back story to justify his actions. Stefan’s plight offers a bleak mirror image of Dave’s pain.

One character might learn from the errors of his ways. The other chooses the very worst lessons from his past.

Fascinating.

Director James Ashcroft (“Coming Home in the Dark”) uncorks morbid visuals from a stark setting. Jenny Pen becomes a larger-than-life presence, a horror movie tic teased out for maximum impact.

The puppet’s empty eyes are the embodiment of cruelty.

“Jenny Pen” isn’t a quick burn. The story is in no rush to get to the next adrenalized set piece, and the pacing can be problematic, even for a cagey genre yarn.

Lithgow’s performance is near-perfection. He’s older but no less vivid in his ability to create a monstrous figure, one whose devotion to cruelty is a work of brutal art.

The facility appears clean and moderately well run, but there’s a machine-like efficiency which offers another layer of unease. The indignities of aging are never far from the screen.

Two wonderful actors. A story we haven’t seen before. Direction that makes the most of its setting and themes. What’s not to relish about this “Rule?”

HiT or Miss: “The Rule of Jenny Pen” may be the year’s most original horror film, one aided and abetted by two actors at the top of their games.

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