September 5 and Saturday Night: Two Reviews for the Price of One!!

**THIS REVIEW IS SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS**

September 5: 4 out of 5 stars – SEE IT.

Saturday Night: 1.5 out of 5 stars – SKIP IT.

Last year two films came out that dealt with the behind-the-scenes drama of major events in television history, and I think it useful to review them both together…a two for one if you will.

September 5 dramatized ABC’s coverage of the kidnapping and killing of the Israeli Olympic team at the 1972 Munich Olympics, and Saturday Night chronicles the drama surrounding the premiere of Saturday Night Live in 1975.

Contrasting and comparing these films is useful because they both highlight the possibilities and the pitfalls of this very specific genre – the tv movie, or more accurately – the movie about tv.

Let’s start with September 5, which is directed by Tim Fehlbaum and written by Fehlbaum and Moritz Binder. The film was released on December 13th, 2024 and is currently streaming on Paramount+. It stars Peter Sarsgaard, as Roone Arledge – president of ABC Sports, Ben Chaplin as Marvin Bader – head of operations at ABC Sports, and John Magaro as Geoffrey Mason – head of ABC control room in Munich.

September 5 is an extraordinarily effective and affecting movie that is able to build and maintain dramatic tension, and believability, despite audiences already knowing how the story ends.

Director Fehlbaum, along with cinematographer Markus Forderer, are able to create a vivid reality in the claustrophobic confines of the ABC Sports control room in Munich as globe changing events are taking place a mere hundred yards or so from their location.

Fehlbaum never gives in to the temptation to break from the control room perspective and give a glimpse into the hostage situation or elsewhere. Everything we as viewers see is what Arledge, Bader and Magaro are seeing in the control room.

Fehlbaum also makes a very wise choice in his direction of actors, namely he keeps the performance style minimalist – there are no big dramatic speeches, no emoting, just realism of regular people doing their important jobs under extreme pressure….pros being pros. This approach makes it feel like you’re watching things actually unfold and not a movie, which heightens the drama and the emotional impact of the tragic events ABC is covering.

Another key to the film’s success is Hans Weibrich’s editing, which is subtle but tight, and keeps the film at a compelling pace and a captivating run time of 93 minutes.

September 5 is a real gem of a film – masterfully crafted and directed towards adults, the type so rarely made nowadays, and I highly recommend it…so much so that I think you should subscribe or get a free week to Paramount + just to watch it.

The drama covered in September 5 of ABC’s coverage of the massacre of the 1972 Israeli Olympic team is important because the decisions made in that control room still resonate in our culture today. For example, the decision to use the word “terrorist” to describe the Black September militant group who committed to kidnapping and killing – as opposed to say “commando” or “militant” or the just as loaded “freedom fighter”. This choice set up the paradigm under which the Middle East in general, and Israel in particular, would be covered by the media for the next fifty plus years, and continues to this day.

Which brings us to another television event that still resonates fifty years later, and that is the birth of Saturday Night Live, which is dramatized in Jason Reitman’s film Saturday Night.

Saturday Night hit theatres on September 27, 2024, and is now available to stream on Netflix. The film, which is directed and co-written by Jason Reitman, tells the tale of the wild and whacky events surrounding Saturday Night Live’s premiere on October 11, 1975.

The film follows Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) as he scrambles to put out a multitude of fires – which include out of control creative egos, corporate pressure and union resistance, not to mention the culture clash between old school television people and the young rebels Michaels has gathered for his SNL team.

There are lots of very familiar faces here…like Chevy Chase, John Belushi, Dan Akroyd, Gilda Radner, Laraine Newman, Garrett Morris, Jane Curtin, Andy Kaufman, Billy Crystal, Jim Henson, George Carlin and Billy Preston. For the most part, the actors playing these icons are, not surprisingly, less than a shadow of the stars they are portraying.

The one exception is Cory Michael Smith, who is quite good as Chevy Chase. Others, like Matt Wood as John Belushi, and Nicholas Braun as both Andy Kaufman and Jim Henson, are brutally bad.

Gabriel LaBelle, who plays Lorne Michael and who previously played Steven Spielberg in The Fabelmans – quite the power players, is much too young for his role here and lacks the charisma and charm to carry this movie for its bloated 109-minute run time.

Another problem with Saturday Night is that it tries to build tension through music and pacing, but it all falls very flat. It has no life to it, no energy, just a bunch of watered-down Aaron Sorkin-esque walk and talks that are a tsunami of sound and fury signifying nothing.

The actions of the characters in the film run counter to the drama building because none of them seem particularly frantic about going live in less than an hour. The most moronic of sequences involves Lorne Michaels leaving the studio with like ten minutes to go before airtime and walking to the skating rink at 30 Rock, where he has a talk with Gilda Radner and John Belushi. What makes this scene even dumber is that mere moments before Michaels gets there, Gilda Radner gives a melancholy speech to Belushi about how she feels like she’s in the future looking back at this momentous occasion…which of course is supposed to be moving since both Radner and Belushi died much too young…but it just feels contrived and manipulative and takes you out of the story even more than everything else.

Another gigantic issue with the film is that Reitner decides to make a pseudo-comedy about very funny people…which if you’ve ever spent even a millisecond with a comedian you’d know they are the most miserable and existentially burdened humans on the planet. Comedians are funny when they perform, and diabolically dramatic and depressed when they don’t…and Reitman never captures the suffocating gravity of that truth.

Instead, the Saturday Night just flits and flirts from one flaccid bit to another where something supposedly momentous occurs and then something else and then there’s this other thing and then the show starts and everything works out. Yawn.

I am sure it is no coincidence that this film came out the same year that SNL had its 50th anniversary, but the movie fails in every respect to make anyone care about that first show, or to elucidate why it mattered and still does today.

Saturday Night is exactly what you shouldn’t do when making a movie about the behind the scenes of a television event, and September 5 is exactly what you should when making a movie about the behind the scenes of a television event. Where September 5 is precise, meticulous, and contained, Saturday Night is vague, frivolous and dramatically scattered.

I watched the two films on back-to-back nights and it made me really appreciate the craftsmanship and artistry Tim Fehlbaum put into September 5, and the lack of detail and skill of Jason Reitman gave to Saturday Night.

The bottom line is this…September 5 is one of the best films of last year and you should definitely check it out…and Saturday Night is instantly forgettable and not worth a moment of your time.

©2025

11th Annual Slip-Me-A-Mickey Awards - 2024 Edition

11th ANNUAL SLIP-ME-A-MICKEY AWARDS

The Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® awards are the final award of the interminably long awards season. The Slip-Me-A-Mickey™®, or as some lovingly call them, The Mockeys™®, are a robust tribute to the absolute worst that film and entertainment has to offer for the year.

Again, the qualifying rules are simple, I just had to have seen the film for it to be eligible. This means that at one point I had an interest in the film and put the effort in to see it, which may explain why I am so angry about it being awful. So, any vitriol I may spew during this awards presentation shouldn't be taken personally by the people mentioned, it is really anger at myself for getting duped into watching.

The prizes are also pretty simple. The winners/losers receive nothing but my temporary scorn. If you are a winner/loser don't fret, because this year’s Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® loser/winner could always be next year’s Mickey™® winner!! Remember…you are only as good as your last film!!

Now…onto the awards!

WORST FILM OF THE YEAR

Blitz –A truly idiotic story, poorly executed…what happened to Steve McQueen? Once upon a time he was one of my very favorite directors and now he’s embarrassing himself, and frankly…me, with this amateur hour, woke-fueled garbage. Yuck. This movie is so atrocious it actually made me root for the Nazis to win World War II. Shame on you Steve McQueen…shame on you.

Trap – M. Night Shyamalan jumped the shark about twenty years ago and now he’s just flailing around in a kiddie pool filled with his own excrement. This is another idiotic story that is egregiously executed. M. Night needs to say goodnight and go away forever.

Megalopolis – Francis Ford Coppola is one of the greatest directors in film history, and Megalopolis is one of the biggest misfires in modern cinematic history…make it make sense. This movie is painfully awful…and so often borders on unwatchable it feels like it should be classified as a snuff film.

Juror #2 – Clint Eastwood is 2,000 years old and is still churning out shoddy and shitty movies like a man half his age. I’m glad Clint is alive and still working…I just wish he’d a make an even halfway decent movie that didn’t make me laugh out loud at how bad it is.

Nightbitch – This will shock you…but this is another astonishingly idiotic movie that is so poorly executed you’d be more entertained watching your neighbor’s dog shit on your lawn than watching this piece of shit. Everything about it is so stupid it makes my colon twinge.

And the loser is…NIGHTBITCH – This movie is so grating, so stupid, so self-serving, delusional and retarded it should force-watched, Clockwork Orange style, by terrorists in CIA prison camps as a form of torture. I also believe every single person associated with this film, or who liked this film, should be imprisoned in said prison camps for life.

MOST OVERRATED FILM OF THE YEAR

Emilia Perez – Jesus Fucking Christ this movie musical with the worst music in the world is unconscionably awful and so are the people who think it’s good, or even watchable. Thirteen Oscar nomination for this turd? Good Lord.

A Complete Unknown – This movie is the poster child for mundanity and is so painfully paint by numbers it feels like it never really existed. It is like a made-up movie they talk about on “Entourage” or something. Bob Dylan seems like he’s an original and interesting guy…but somehow they made a movie about him that is allergic to being interesting and is never once original.

And the loser is…EMILIA PEREZ – At least A Complete Unknown had good music in it…unlike Emilia Perez. Emilia Perez is the most virtue signally, moronic, dramatically flaccid, cinematically inept movie and yet it got thirteen Oscar nominations, which boggles the mind. How anyone could think this movie is even passable, nevermind good, is beyond me.

WORST PERFORMANCE OF THE YEAR

Adam Driver – Megalopolis – This doughy doofus is a turd with feet who was maddeningly miscast as a genius architect/city planner in Megalopolis, which is pretty funny because to look at him you’d think he has Down’s Syndrome or is at the very least Down’s Syndrome adjacent. Can this talentless fuck stick just go away already…please?

Saleka Night – Trap – Nepo baby embarrasses self in daddy’s movie – a story as old as cinema itself. This talentless lady makes Sophia Coppola in Godfather III look like Meryl Streep. Yikes.

Scoot McNairy – Nightbitch – God this guy absolutely sucks in Nightbitch…but on the bright side he also totally sucked in A Complete Unknown…so I guess it’s official…Scoot McNairy sucks. By the way…if this guy’s name was Doug McNairy instead of Scoot…he’d never get hired. Hollywood is fucking retarded.

And the loser is…SALEKA NIGHT – Trap: Saleka Night is so awful in Trap that she manages to make nepo babies look even worse than they did before – which is quite an accomplishment. This young lady needs to go to her luxurious room in her father’s expansive mansion and think about how awful she is at acting!!

SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT IN CINEMATIC MALPRACTICE

Marielle Heller - Nightbitch director:  Ms. Heller is such an awful hack of a director, and always has been, that she should not only not be allowed to direct movies for the rest of her life, she should also not even be allowed watch movies for the rest of her life. Anyone this bad at their job needs to be punished in the extreme. Ms. Heller’s Nightbitch is supposed to be a comedy horror movie and yet it isn’t comedic or horrifying…but it is laughably bad and horrible…which I guess is as good as Ms. Heller can do.

POS ALL STARS

JLo and Ben Affleck – Ok JLo and Ben Affleck…please just fuck right the fuck off you fucking fucks. I don’t care about your fatal attraction to one another, I don’t care about your love or marriages, and I don’t care about your now dwindling careers. I don’t care about either of you…at all. So if you want to get back to together…that’s fine…JUST DON’T MAKE A PUBLIC SPECTACLE OF YOURSELVES!!

In the most predictable turn of events since gay sexual assaulter Kevin Spacey came dancing out of the closet with jazz hands flying, after the newlyweds for the second time JLo and Ben Affleck did annoyingly narcissistic movie projects together like JLo’s vomit inducing This is Me…Now: A Love Story or her vanity documentary The Greatest Love Story Never Told, and did Ben Affleck’s unfunny and annoying Dunkin Donuts commercials featuring JLO, they woke up one day and realized they are just as awful together as they are individually, and that the other one is just as awful as they are and want to get away from them like we all want to get away from them both.

I now beg both JLo and Ben…please…stay divorced and stay away from each other. Oh…and please stop doing fucking Dunkin Donuts commercials or shitty movies with whatever unfortunate asshole is your next spouse….it won’t end well…trust me…and no one wants to see or hear about it.

Oh…and while I never want to hear about Ben Affleck’s private life that he makes oh-so-public and then complains about people focusing on his private life made public, ever again…JLo…can you please do me a gigantic favor? Can you please disappear off the face of the earth you talentless whore? You are an atrocious “singer”, an abysmal actress and an all-around waste of human flesh…SO PLEASE GO AWAY!!

And also…JLo and Ben…congrats on being Piece of Shit All-Stars!!!

POS HALL OF FAME

Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs aka Diddy – Speaking of JLo…her former “boyfriend” Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs, aka Diddy, is in deep doo doo for being a sexual predator and piece of shit during his nearly thirty-year run as a music impresario, rapper and all-around annoying public figure.

Diddy has always been a poseur who play acted at being tough…and apparently straight. He has always reeked of being on the down-low, and it was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes to see that he was, like so many in the rap game, at least a part-time flaming homosexual and pederast if not pedophile.

Diddy’s persona as a brilliant business man was always as believable as his claim to being a talented music maker…in other words – not at all.

Diddy’s music is an embarrassment, and his business acumen is, like his sexuality and his popularity, a charade. Diddy is an intelligence asset and con-man, much like Jeffrey Epstein, who was put in place by a powerful group to serve a purpose…and he did that very well.

His music (and the music of his company Bad Boy), was meant to sow discord and depravity…and with backing by media and moneyed interests, it succeeded.

But apparently Diddy has run afoul of his paymasters…and now he sists in jail waiting for a cavalcade of charges against him to be adjudicated.

My guess is that Diddy may walk scot-free because he has the goods on a lot of powerful people which will serve as a get out of jail free card…or…he might get shivved in jail and take his secrets to the grave.

The important thing is that Diddy’s guest list from his famous parties, and the videos made at those parties, will only see the light of day in order to serve as a distraction or obfuscation from the Epstein lists and videos. Those Epstein lists and videos will never, ever see the light of day…because the people who have them are the same people who put Diddy in a position of power in the music industry, and are the same nefarious elites who run our government, media, Hollywood, and Wall Street.

Diddy is little more than a distraction from Epstein, and he will serve that purpose going forward and will be discarded or deceased before he ever tells his many tales…and he has many tales to tell.

The bottom line is that Diddy and his ilk, rich and powerful people who prey upon the young and the desperate, are the biggest pieces of shit in the universe…and they all belong in hell…but for now we congratulate Sean Combs – aka Puff Daddy/Diddy to the Piece of Shit Hall of Fame…you’ve certainly earned it you fucking piece of shit!!

And thus ends the fourth annual Slip-Me-A-Mickey™® Awards!!! To the winners/losers…don't take it personally…and God knows I hope I don't see you again next year!! To you dear reader…thanks for tuning in and we'll see you again next year!!

©2025

11th Annual Mickey©®™ Awards - 2024 Edition

11th ANNUAL MICKEY©®™ AWARDS

The ultimate awards show is upon us!!!

The Mickeys©™® are superior to every other award imaginable…be it the Oscar, the Emmy, the Tony, the Grammy or even the Nobel. The Mickey©®™ is the mountaintop of not just artistic but human achievement, which is why they always take place AFTER the Oscars!

This year has been a rather sub-par one for cinema but there are still a multitude of films eligible for a Mickey©™® award.

Actors, actresses, writers, cinematographers and directors are all sweating and squirming right now in anticipation of the Mickey©™® nominations and winners. Remember, even a coveted Mickey©™® nomination is a career and life changing event. 

Before we get to what everyone is here for…a quick rundown of the rules and regulations of The Mickeys©™®…The Mickeys©™® are selected by me…I am judge, jury and executioner. The only films eligible are films I have actually seen, be it in the theatre, via screener, cable, streamer or VOD. I do not see every film because as we all know, the overwhelming majority of films are God-awful, and I am a working man so I must be pretty selective. So that means that just getting me to actually watch your movie is a tremendous accomplishment in and of itself…never mind being nominated or winning!

Enough with the formalities…let's start the festivities!!

Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin...

Ladies and gentlemen…welcome to the 11th annual Mickey©™® Awards!!!

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY

Jarin Blaschke – Nosferatu: Blaschke beautifully photographs this film and gives it a desaturated look with a stunning contrast between light and shadow and magnificent framing. A true cinematic master work that is glorious for cinephiles to behold.

Lol Crawley - The Brutalist: In many ways this is a minimalist piece of cinematography which does a lot with a little, and always in service to the story. From the opening tracking sequence on the boat to the insightful slow pan in the granite quarry, Crawley shows he can tell a story with visuals alone, and do it with aplomb.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…JARIN BLASCHKE – NOSFERATU: An exquisitely shot film that goes to the top of the vampire cinematic catalogue.

BEST EDITING

Sean Baker – Anora: Sean Baker wrote, directed, produced and edited Anora and he did all of those jobs exceedingly well. The editing on this film is pretty miraculous as it keeps the proper pace and tone throughout and never fails to make every scene crackle with dramatic energy.

Hansjorg Weibrich - September 5: This movie could’ve felt dull and claustrophobic but thanks to Weibrich it is perfectly paced and wondrously put together and squeezes every ounce of drama out of its story and setting.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…HANSJORG WEIBRICH - SEPTEMBER 5: In lesser cinematic hands, this movie is entirely forgettable but Weibrich’s edit turns this into a tight and taut dramatic thriller.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Bill Skarsgard – Nosferatu: Do what you’re good at…and Skarsgard is good at being creepy, and he turns the creep up to 11 as a horny vampire in Nosferatu. An original and truly horrifying take on the age-old vampire character.

Jesse Plemons – Kinds of Kindness/Civil War: Plemons is nominated for two performances…the first for his scene stealing work in Civil War as a “real American”, which was a stunning piece of acting, and for his performances in the anthology film Kinds of Kindness. Both films highlight Plemons’ impressive versatility and subdued volatility. Plemons is one of the best actors working today.

Yuri Barosov – Anora: From the get go Yuri Barosov jumps off the screen in Anora and commands audience attention. His performance is quiet and subtle yet shows a level of charisma that is startling. One hopes he gets a ton more work from now on.

Karren Karagulian – Anora: Karagulian is fantastic as the handler who must try and control and contain a wild Russian rich kid in Anora. Karagulian’s energy, intensity, subtlety, comedic timing and commitment are crucial to the success of Anora, and shows him to be a very skilled and talented actor.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…KARREN KARAGULIAN – ANORA: Karagulian’s funny and ferocious performance in Anora is the hidden lynchpin to the entire movie…and now he has a Mickey©®™ for his efforts!!

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Margaret Qualley – The Substance: Qualley is an outstanding actress and she dives in headfirst into her role as the “ingenue” in The Substance. She lights up the screen with a dastardly, doe-eyed and sometimes demonic presence that is beguiling.

Monica Barbaro – A Complete Unknown: Who the hell is Monica Barbaro and where has she been hiding? Barbaro nearly steals the entire movie from under Bob Dylan’s prominent nose despite the fact that her character is criminally underwritten. A commanding and compelling performance all the way around.

Lady Gaga – Joker: Folie a Deux - I am not a fan of Lady Gaga…but I have to admit that she really is terrific in Joker: Folie a Deux, as she fits right in with the vibe of the film and gives it an allure and edge that is mesmerizing.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…MARGARET QUALLEY – THE SUBSTANCE: Qualley brings a life and tempestuousness to The Substance that invigorates the film and elevates the material…and now she has a Mickey©®™!!

THE GENRE CATEGORIES MICKEY©®™ WINNERS ARE…

BEST HORROR FILM

Nosferatu – Everybody knows the Nosferatu/Dracula story…and yet Robert Eggers films his version so exquisitely, and his cast deliver such glorious performances, that this movie becomes an instant classic.

BEST ACTION FILM

Furiosa – The chase scenes in this movie are, not surprisingly considering George Miller is at the helm, astonishing. Visually vibrant, this movie contains some of the best and most breathtaking stunt sequences in years.

BEST COMEDY FILM

Anora – This is technically a dark dramedy but it still qualifies for me as a comedy. This movie is wickedly funny, powerfully poignant, and painfully insightful.

BEST ANIMATED FILM

Flow – The animation in Flow isn’t the best you’ll ever see but the depth and magnitude of the story are as profound as you’ll find.

BEST ACTOR

Joaquin Phoenix – Joker: Folie a Deux - Once again Phoenix disappears into Arthur Fleck and his alter ego Joker and gives a twisted and terrific performance as the most hated person and character in the world. Phoenix is still the best and boldest actor in the world.

Colman Domingo - Sing Sing: Domingo is absolutely astonishing as a dramatically driven prison inmate. This performance is both combustible and contained and is a gift to the art of acting. I had no idea Domingo could be this good…but he is…he really is.

Ralph Fiennes – Conclave: Fiennes, as always, gives a meticulous and mesmerizing performance as a Cardinal navigating Vatican intrigue. A joy to watch this master craftsman at work.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…COLMAN DOMINGO – SING SING: Domingo’s exquisite performance in this movie is so intimate and intricate it is difficult to adequately describe. It is such a poignant, profound and powerful piece of acting work that it has elevated Colman Domingo to the absolute heights of artistic achievement with a Mickey©®™ award!!

BEST ACTRESS

Mikey Madison – Anora: Madison so thoroughly embodied a certain New York archetype that it felt like I was watching a home movie. A daring yet subtle performance that showed Madison has some serious chops when given the right material and direction.

Demi Moore – The Substance: I’ve never really thought much of Demi Moore as an actress, but in The Substance, she gives a phenomenal performance that speaks to the reality of the actress’ experience in the shithole that is Hollywood.

Emma Stone – Kinds of Kindness: Emma Stone’s overlooked performance in the arthouse anthology Kinds of Kindness is funny, intense and disturbing, and reveals an artistic depth uncommon in today’s cinema.

Lily Rose Depp - Nosferatu: Depp has been much maligned in her career, but she went balls to the wall as the love interest of a vampire in Nosferatu. Depp gives as committed and courageous a performance imaginable in a role that in lesser hands would have been ridiculous to the point of disaster.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…LILY ROSE DEPP – NOSFERATU: Depp’s performance is such a tour de force it elicited giggles from moviegoers uncomfortable with such levels of commitment…that is an indictment of our imbecilic audiences and an endorsement of Depp’s artistic integrity and commitment. No one is laughing now that Lily Rose Depp has a Mickey©®™!!

BEST ENSEMBLE

Nosferatu: Lily Rose Depp, Nicholas Hoult, Aaron Taylor Johnson, Emma Corrin, Willemn Dafoe and of course Bill Skarsgard, give fantastic performances in this gothic drama.

Anora: Mikey Madison, M<ark Eydelshteyn, Yura Borisov and Karren Karagulian are all so good in this movie that it boggles the mind. A terrific ensemble with absolutely zero weak links.

Kinds of Kindness: Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons, Willem Dafoe and Margaret Qualley crush their roles in this crazy anthology film that features acting brilliance across the board.

The Substance: Demi Moore, Margaret Qualley and Dennis Quad chew scenery and bring this movie to life with aplomb. All three give very brave and courageous performances for different reasons.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…ANORA: Top to bottom this cast just doesn’t miss. A truly remarkable collective performance.

BEST DIRECTOR

Sean Baker – Anora: Baker brought a unique and original vibrancy, humor and drama to this twisted, modern-day screwball dramedy that made it deliriously compelling and captivating.

Robert Eggers - Nosferatu: Eggers is an exquisite filmmaker obsessed with detail, and his attention to cinematic detail is what makes Nosferatu so absorbing despite the fact that we all know the story.

Brady Corbet – The Brutalist: Corbet’s ambition and audacity are off the charts and he is reaching for the stars with The Brutalist…and he almost gets there.

Todd Phillips – Joker: Folie a Deux: I know, I know, I know, everybody hated this movie but me…but Todd Phillips gave a big budget middle finger to his critics and supporters alike with Joker 2, and he did it by making the most insane arthouse franchise film in history…and for that he gets a much-deserved Mickey©®™ nomination. Hey everybody…look at the big balls on Todd.

Tim Fehlbaum - September 5: Fehlbaum takes a story we already know in a contained setting and through sheer skill and talent fills it with exquisite drama. A truly remarkable achievement by Fehlbaum to avoid all the traps laid out before him and to make this film work as well as it did.

And the Mickey©®™ goes to…ROBERT EGGERS – NOSFERATU: Eggers is such a singular talent that he turned an age old story into a cinematically breathtaking, and darkly heartbreaking, blockbuster. Eggers is well-respected as a craftsman, and now he has the ultimate in prestige and respect in the form of The Mickey©®™ award!!

 BEST PITCURE

10. Furiosa – George Miller’s wild ride is bumpy at times but has a visual brilliance to it that can be breathtaking.

9. The Substance – This movie is as insightful about the female experience in Hollywood as any you’ll see. It loses its way in the third act but the first two acts are riveting.

8. Late Night with the Devil – This overlooked gem of a horror film is really original and very effective in conveying its creepiness and its relevant ideology.

7. The Brutalist – The Brutalist is ambitious and audacious, but unfortunately never quite lives up to its spectacular first half.

6. Kinds of Kindness – Yorgos Lanthimos is an acquired taste…and I’ve acquired it. This wild and weird anthology that always leaves you guessing is shockingly compelling from start to finish, and features some spectacular performances.

5. Sing Sing – This prison drama perfectly manages its mostly amateur cast and the underlying menace of life behind bars. A deeply moving and vibrant film that stays with you.

4. September 5 – Impeccably directed film that maximizes the drama without ever crossing over into melodrama. An undiscovered gem of a film.

3. Joker: Folie a Deux – This movie is a punchline…but the jokes is on all of us as director Todd Phillips once again is ahead of the curve in regards to the collective unconscious. Magnificent and malicious movie madness.

2. Nosferatu – A glorious exercise in cinematic mastery combined with electric performances makes Nosferatu a must watch.

And the Mickey©®™ for BEST PICTURE goes to…ANORA: Nosferatu won Best Director and Best Actress, but Anora comes from behind for the Mickey©®™ victory. Funny, insightful and frankly profound, Anora grabs you by the balls and never lets go…even after it ends. A masterful piece of moviemaking by Sean Baker and a fantastic cast, make Anora this year’s Mickey©®™ winner~!!

MOST IMPORTANT FILM OF THE YEAR

JOKER: FOLIE A DEUX and ANORA:

These two films, one much maligned (Joker) and the other much celebrated (Anora - Oscar and Mickey©®™ winner) are seemingly much too different to have anything in common.

One deals with a psychopathic comic book character singing show tunes as his demonic alter-ego, and the other with a strong-willed stripper striving for financial success.

But there is one thing that binds them both…namely that both films take place in worlds completely devoid of love.

Joker’s Gotham City and Anora’s New York are hellscapes because it is impossible for love to exist there, or for the inhabitants there to truly contemplate love and its absence. They aren’t sure what is missing but they know something huge and vital is…and its absence is destroying them….they try and fill it with money, sex, power…but nothing fills the void.

The reason these films are so important is because they reflect a growing darkness in our own world…where love in its many forms is being suffocated by a soulless culture hellbent on destroying love, beauty and truth.

It would be easy to think that love in the world of Anora is transactional…except it isn’t transactional, it is non-existent. Love is not the thing being bought and sold in Anora…power is…and dignity too. Love has nothing to do with any of it.

Joker’s Gotham is so devoid of love that it is hostile to human life like a planet with no oxygen and extreme temperatures. Arthur Fleck is so starved for love that he wastes away in this loveless landscape…but Joker…the devil…the king of hatred, cruelty and viciousness, thrives in this loveless world.

Love is not something that most people think about in regards to the big ideas of the world or geopolitics and all the rest…but a lack of love tells us a lot about what’s happening and what will happen.

For instance, the distinct absence of any love, or the ability to love, in these movies speaks to the American Empire’s devolution into capitalistic self-destruction. At this stage of the American Empire’s collapse, love is often transactional, a commodity to bought or sold in order to gain money, power or both.

In our cancerous culture, where religion is corrupt, wealth is worshipped, government self-serving, and pornography and gambling mainstream, vices have are now virtues and beauty and truth sullied and maligned. In this state of existance, the spiral downward for the American Empire isn’t just inevitable, it is accelerating at break neck speed, for with love goes humanity, decency and dignity.

Anora, like many Americans, had to detach from her moral and ethical foundation (and her humanity, decency and dignity) given to her by tradition (in her case her Russian ancestry), in order to pursue money by selling her soul and body one piece at a time…intentionally ignoring the fact that neither of these are limitless resources.

Arthur Fleck is the delicate and damaged among us…he is a fish out of water in this hateful world…the love he needs to survive isn’t kept from him because he is repulsive, he can’t get it or give it because it is non-existent in the world. He gasps and flounders about desperate for the life sustaining substance to fill his gills…but it’s not there for him…or anyone else…and its absence will undoubtedly kill him, sooner rather than later.

We are all either Anora or Arthur Fleck, and the evil ruling elite of oligarchs and aristocrats that lord over us don’t just not care about us, they actively hate us and want to exploit us and see us suffer. If you doubt this simply open eyes and look around at our country…homelessness, drug addiction, suicide, violent crime, broken homes and families, children abused, unhealthy food, malignant pharma, casino banks, justice-free justice system…and all the rest.

We will, if we haven’t already, like Anora and Arthur, be forced to degrade and demean ourselves at the altar of the ruling elites power and wealth, just to survive, or be crushed under the weight of the loveless world they force us to inhabit.

This is not a democrat or republican issue. This is not as conservative or liberal issue. This is an existential issue. And this issue isn’t just a fight for our literal survival, it is also a fight for our souls.

First, they crush your spirit, and then they suck out your soul. Arthur Fleck had his spirit crushed and then his soul taken by the darkness. Anora had her spirit crushed and sold most of her soul, but realized at the very last moment that she had one last chance at redemption and wholeness.

We are all either Arthur or Anora right now, and either the devil within us is going to take over or we’ll grasp on with all our might at the last vestiges of light in our dark world and save our souls from the malicious ghouls in charge who want to take them.

Don’t let them take them. Don’t let them win. Love one another. Use that love as a shield as you go to battle to destroy the ones who rule and despise you.

This is the only way.

On that oh-so-pleasant note…thus ends the 11th annual Mickey©®™ awards!!

Thanks for reading and all your support through the years…and stay tuned for the Slip-Me-A-Mickey©®™ awards coming soon!

©2025

Oscar's Round Up - The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

OSCARS ROUND UP

Well…that was tough.

At the 97th Academy Awards some good things happened…namely that Anora, a movie I like and respect, won a bevy of awards – most notably Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actress. And some bad things happened…like I had to sit through an abysmal Oscar telecast to see Anora win.

The Oscar telecast, as is its wont, ran an excruciating four hours and was chock full of lifeless musical numbers and impotent gags and jokes as it was hosted by feverishly flaccid unfunnyman Conan O’Brien.

The Oscars’ consistent futility through the years has earned it a well-deserved thrashing on the pop culture whipping post…and last night’s telecast was a target rich environment for those foolish enough to watch, but smart enough to discern the dearth of quality entertainment.

The Oscar telecast now only seems to exists for the sole purpose of being the target of much deserved ridicule from the viewing public. The highlight of my night watching was exchanging cutting barbs with friends over the inanity and banality of the entire enterprise.

Conan O’Brien is an acquired taste…and I can proudly declare that, just like herpes, syphilis and AIDS, I have never acquired it. Conan is, first and foremost, a writer…a bad writer but a writer nonetheless. He is not a performer. And it shows.

Conan’s go-to shtick is to be faux edgy and mix it with a narcissistic self-deprecation that reeks of arrogance. He relied heavily on that formula last night and it fell flat.

Conan’s opening gag, a play on the movie The Substance, where he crawls out of and back into Demi Moore’s body, was remarkable for how poorly constructed it was. The bit could have been funny as the premise was good, but Conan bungled it and prolonged it unnecessarily, thus defeating its purpose. As Shakespeare has taught us…”brevity is the soul of wit”, and I do declare - Conan O’Brien has no soul.

The comedy only got worse from there. The lowest point in terms of comedy was when Conan did a bit with Adam Sandler. The bit was a bad idea because it wasn’t funny, it was poorly executed and most of all…Conan and Adam Sandler are two of the most unfunny human beings to have ever been considered comedians. The two of them doing a bit together is like a black hole of humor…no laughs can escape the gargantuan sucking of it all.

Speaking of sucking…there was the Dune sandworm bit…which became a recurring bit. The less spoken about this the better.

The show also featured some of the worst musical performances in recent memory.

The show opened with Ariana Grande giving us as mediocre a rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” imaginable. This was followed by Cynthia Erivo, who I have been told is the greatest singer alive, belting out a decidedly pitchy rendition of “Home” from The Wiz and “Defying Gravity” from Wicked…both were exceedingly underwhelming.

Then there was the bizarre tribute to James Bond, which for some reason featured three songs, all of them sung so poorly it felt like some community audition show on cable access.

Some person named Lisa sang “Live and Let Die”, and did so very poorly. She was followed by a stunningly awful performance by Doja Cat of “Diamonds are Forever”. The highlight of Doja Cat’s performance was that she was singing notably off-key…you go girl!! And finally, someone named Raye sang an amateur version of “Skyfall” and it felt like a bad karaoke night had broken out at the Dolby theatre.

Then of course there was a tribute to Quincy Jones where Queen Latifah, who isn’t a singer but rather a rapper – and has the weak, tepid voice to prove it, attempted to sing “Ease on Down the Road” from The Wiz. The entire tribute, from Oprah and Whoopi Goldberg’s intro to Queen Latifah’s brutal belching out of the tune, were an embarrassment to the greatness that was Quincy Jones.

As for the awards…it was Anora’s night and writer/director/editor/producer Sean Baker won four awards himself and gave pleasant and heartfelt speeches each time at the podium. Others were less dignified.

Adrien Brody won his second Best Actor Oscar and automatically became the worst actor in history to have won two Best Actor Oscars.

Brody’s speech was rambling, self-serving and overlong…sort of like his acting career. That he was being cheered on and coached by his girlfriend Georgina Chapman…who has a real-eye for talent…she used to be married to Harvey Weinstein, says a lot about Brody, Hollywood and The Brutalist, and none of it good. It was also a nice touch that he called out “anti-Semitism” at the same Oscars where the Best Documentary winner No Other Land, about Israel’s apartheid and ethnic cleansing against Palestinians, can’t get distribution in the United States…just more proof that Hollywood, of all places, is “anti-Semitic”. What a fucking doofus. Yo Adrien, can’t wait to see you being awful in a second-rate movie or tv show in the near future!!

There were also a bevy of pronouncements about “first ever” status among winners. So, the guy who won Best Costume Design was the “first Black man” to ever win the award. Yawn. No one gives a shit or should give a shit.

In the pre-show red carpet coverage Julianne Hough gave a land acknowledgement about how the Oscars were taking place on the indigenous land of various tribes. These tribes, like all native tribes, have been fucked over a billion times by the federal, state, city and local governments here in the U.S.

That said, land acknowledgements irritate the shit out of me because they are solely designed to signal virtue, which is a repulsive form of moral preening and narcissism.

The bottom line on this issue is this…if it means so much to you quit making empty gestures like land acknowledgements and just give the fucking land back to the native tribes. And shut the fuck up.

As for the fashion…once again there were some major mistakes that stars made that always baffle me.

Little Timmy Chalamet dressed in an all-yellow suit that looked like it could have been made of denim and that made him look like he was a background dancer in a Big Bird stage show or Curious George’s handler. Timmy is 29 years old…but this outfit made him look like he was 12…not a good look Timmy.

Zoe Saldana, winner of Best Supporting Actress, wore an egregiously designed dress that made her look like a cheap lamp in a thrift shop. She’s a beautiful woman but goodness gracious she looked ridiculous.

There were a bevy of “performers”…like Doja Cat, who was dressed like a cat, and Miley Cyrus, who was dressed like a Belgian hooker on Halloween, who showed off their tattoos. I have to say visible tattoos on a woman look extraordinarily trashy. It also didn’t help that Miley shaved her eyebrows for some reason…and she doesn’t have the face for no eyebrows.

The biggest news about the Oscars, and what my readers have been dying to find out…is whether I won my Oscar pool for the 30th year in a row. The answer is…yes…of course I did. But to be fair I had a very bad night, going a paltry 16-23 in my picks.

The good news though is that the film I liked the most out of the nominees, Anora, won Best Pic, Best Director, best Editing and Best Actress.

Speaking of Best Actress, the biggest surprise of the night was Anora’s Mikey Madison beating odds-on favorite Demi Moore for the gold. I was shocked when it happened and happy for Mikey Madison, but it was impossible to not feel bad for Demi Moore, who, by all accounts, is a decent human being who has really fought hard to survive in this nasty, nasty business.

Oh…and one last thing…in an attempt to end on a positive note. I thought the funniest bit of the night was Ben Stiller giving out the Production Design Oscar on a set that failed to work in lifting him from below the stage, to stage level. It was a clever bit and was impeccably executed…kudos to Ben Stiller.

Too bad Conan O’Brien wasn’t as clever or funny as that bit.

Alright ladies and gents…that’s my Oscar round up. Stay tuned to this website in the coming days as the biggest awards show of all time…The Mickeys®©™ will be announced as will the Slip-Me-A-Mickey®©™ Awards!!!

So hydrate and buckle up everybody because the party has just begun!!

©2025

SNL50 - In Search of More Cowbell

Everything Old is Old Again

Saturday Night Live, the comedic cultural cornerstone, celebrated its 50th anniversary this past Sunday night with a three-and-half-hour celebratory episode.

The SNL50 show was a messy mishmash of music and sketches from different eras that accurately portrayed the overarching uneven narrative of the franchise as it paid tribute to itself.

I’ve been watching SNL from the just about the beginning and have seen the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Sunday’s SNL50 was neither of those, which makes it exactly what it should be for an anniversary show…passable.

Most of the prominent SNL players from the show’s long history were there with some notable exceptions. Of course, there have been some all-time greats who have gone on to their eternal reward much too soon, people like John Belushi, Gilda Radner, Chris Farley, Phil Hartman, and Jan Hooks. But notable absences on stage beyond the dearly departed were iconic SNL stars like Chevy Chase, Dan Akroyd, Billy Crystal, Dana Carvey and Bill Hader.

There were some very big comedy stars there though.

Eddie Murphy was like a tiger re-released into the jungle…he devoured every scene he inhabited with a level of funny ferocity and fury that only he can muster.

Murphy is the most talented man to have ever been on the show and seeing him unleashed back in his element with the added incentive of competition against his peers, made for comedy gold in two vibrant sketches.

Will Ferrell, who is maybe number two on the all-time SNL list behind Murphy for out and out comedic chops, did not fare so well. He was his usual gregarious and goofy self, but his rhythm and timing seemed off and he was out of sync all night.

While Murphy and Ferrell are the top two performers in SNL history, my personal favorite, Bill Murray, crushed his lone appearance when he ranked the top Weekend Update anchors of all time. Murray is the master of timing and he toyed with the audience and with Weekend Update host Colin Jost in glorious fashion. (As an aside…my favorites in the show’s history are in no particular order - John Belushi, Bill Murray, Eddie Murphy, Martin Short, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph, Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader)

The rest of the night was bumpy.

Steve Martin’s opening monologue was subdued and somewhat staccato, as Martin never fully grasped the material and was not able to read the cue cards with any vigor.

Tom Hanks stepped into a Black Jeopardy sketch midway through to replace Eddie Murphy…never a wise move…especially when Murphy had already stolen the sketch in the first 30 seconds. Hanks was uncomfortably bad but he was put in an unwinnable situation.

Other sketches, like the Lawrence Welk sketch, the wedding party sketch, the Broadway musical sketch and the alien abduction sketch, were pretty weak.

The Welk sketch was just chaotic and never fully coalesced as Will Ferrell was just a bit off and the bits fell flat. That sketch is usually very funny but it was much too awkwardly written and performed here to be decent.

The Wedding Party sketch just isn’t that funny to begin with and cramming it into a big show like this felt foolish. It also ran on forever and never hit its stride.

I’ve never been much of a fan of Kate McKinnon and find her “alien abduction” character to be decidedly one and done material, so reprising that flaccid character for the 50th anniversary seemed a stretch too, even with the addition of Meryl Streep.

I must admit that for the most part I really don’t get the John Mulaney thing…and that continued Sunday night as Mulaney’s big musical comedy number seemed like a muddled mess of Broadway inside jokes that misfired.

There was one interesting John Mulaney moment in the show and that was when he interjected into Steve Martin’s monologue with a joke about how difficult guest hosts are and that of the nearly 1,000 that the show has had, it is shocking that only two have committed murder. The joke was funny…and was obviously intended to be directed at O.J. Simpson and Robert Blake…but Alec Baldwin was in the studio and conspicuously absent from sketches until he made a late appearance introducing a video clip later on in the show…and I couldn’t help but wonder how uncomfortable that joke made him.

One final thing comedy wise…I know people love Adam Sandler, but I find him so egregiously unfunny and comedically pedestrian as to be criminal. I think Sandler, who only has two gears – idiotically infantile and atomic levels of shmaltz, has set the art of comedy back centuries in his career, so when he showed up to play one of his god-awful songs…this time a saccharine one, I rolled my eyes and cringed. Others feel different and think the song was very moving…but the only thing it moved on me was my bowels.

SNL has been a showcase for musical acts during the entirety of its run, and it had four musical performances Sunday night to celebrate that fact.

The music Sunday night was…well…it just was.

The show opened with the corpse of Paul Simon singing his hauntingly melancholy hit “Homeward Bound” with the luminous Sabrina Carpenter. Simon looks and sounds like he’s been soaking in a formaldehyde bath for the last fifteen years, while Sabrina Carpenter is so inconceivably, sublimely gorgeous, she seems like she was created in an anime lab somewhere.

Carpenter got the first laugh of the night when in reply to Paul Simon saying he first played “Homeward Bound” on SNL in 1976, she blurted out, “I wasn’t alive then…and neither were my parents”.

As for the song itself, Paul Simon simply can’t even pretend to sing anymore, which is sad, but thankfully Sabrina Carpenter, who is a pop princess - but there is no doubting that she has an exquisite voice and a charming stage presence, is a versatile and thoughtful duet partner and she carried the song without grandstanding…no small feat.

The second musical act was Miley Cyrus, who is the antithesis of Sabrina Carpenter. Why the hell is she famous again? The classless Cyrus is such a toxic combination of odd traits that don’t ever seem to gel at all…at least in my eyes. But apparently people love her.

Miley’s rendition of Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” (made famous by Sinead O’Connor’s stunning cover) with Brittany Howard was devoid of everything that made Sinead’s version so great…namely artistic depth and soul.

Sinead was a walking wound, an Irish female Christ crying out to her father from the cross “why have you forsaken me?” with every song she inhabited. Miley Cyrus is a pop princess nepo baby who sings with the unsubtle zeal of a trailer park meth head prostitute barking at the moon while searching for a lost pack of menthol cigarettes.

For the third musical break Li’l Wayne performed with The Roots but I skipped that shitshow entirely because, to be frank, I think hip hop/rap is a grotesque, artless and thoughtless excuse for music, it is nothing more than a marketed minstrel show and noise machine that is so beyond awful and so asinine as to be lower in artistic value than month-old crocodile piss.

Speaking of old crocodile piss…the final musical number of the evening went to Paul McCartney, who closed the show by performing “Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight/The End”. Notice I didn’t say he sang those songs because what McCartney was doing doesn’t rise to the level of singing.

Like his elder by a year Paul Simon, McCartney looks and sounds like he’s two thousand years old and unfortunately, he has completely lost his singing voice.

It was odd watching McCartney, who resembles a cool grandmother at her grandson’s wedding trying to keep up with the young people. It was cute at first but as it went on it became more and more uncomfortable as the possibility of the second to last Beatle dropping dead of natural causes on SNL became more and more possible, if not probable.

Ultimately, the fact that SNL has survived 50 years is incredibly impressive. In a corporatized entertainment industry, any entity, nevermind a comedic one, surviving more than a few years is reason to celebrate.

That SNL has, through some very, very lean years, been able to stay, if not funny, at least alive, is one of the more miraculous things to ever happen in television.

The show has, through sheer force of will (mostly Lorne Michaels’ will), been able to stay in the conversation for half a century even when it lacked talent, skill, insight and comedic chops.

The current cast is as dull and devoid of star power, charisma, comedy talent and vitality, as any cast in the show’s long history, but somehow SNL persists…and will for at least the foreseeable future.

The bottom-line regarding SNL50 is that the show was sometimes funny, sometimes cringy, sometimes exciting and sometimes boring…just like almost every other episode of SNL over the last half century.

As for the bigger picture regarding SNL...the fact that Kenan Thompson, who is deathly allergic to being even remotely funny and brings absolutely nothing to the comedy table, is the longest running cast member in SNL history…and is still in the cast…speaks to the Sahara level talent drought the show is currently enduring.

The reality is that, to paraphrase former Boston Celtics head coach, and current St John’s head basketball coach, Rick Pitino, “John Belushi, Dan Akroyd, Chevy Chase, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, Eddie Murphy, Billy Crystal, Dana Carvey, Mike Myers, Chris Farley, Phil Hartman, Norm Macdonald, Will Ferrell, Amy Poehler, Tina Fey, Maya Rudolph, Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader, ain’t walking through that door. “

No, they ain’t…so SNL is gonna have to work really, really hard to survive long enough to see its 60th anniversary. As much as the show consistently disappoints me…I have to admit I’m rooting for it to make it to its next milestone, if for no other reason than to see a reinvigorated Eddie Murphy unleashed once again.

©2025

A Different Man: A Review - The Elephant Man in the Room

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2.75 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT. This is definitely a flawed and uneven film, but it is also a film that features a fantastic performance from Sebastian Stan, so it’s worth giving it a shot on streaming.

A Different Man, starring Sebastian Stan, chronicles the travails of Edward (Stan), a man suffering from a severe case of neurofibromatosis, which gives him a grossly disfigured face and leaves him socially isolated.

I knew nothing about A Different Man before seeing it – didn’t know the plot, the genre, the purpose or meaning behind the film…and if I’m being honest, after having watched it, I still feel like I still don’t really know all that much about it.

A Different Man is not a terrible movie, not at all, in fact it has a lot going for it, not the least of which is a superb performance from its star Sebastian Stan, but it is a frustratingly uneven film.

I won’t give much of the film away…not even a whiff of spoilers here…but the first half of A Different Man is a really cinematically invigorating experience, as it sets itself up as a very vibrant drama accentuated by Stan’s terrific acting work.

But then about midway through, the film transforms and transitions from an intriguing drama to a rather farcical comedy. The tonal shift is jarring and, in my opinion, very unsatisfying.

The second half of the film is so tonally off-kilter to the first half that it feels frivolous and superfluous, two things which the first half most definitely is not.

That is not to say that the more comedic material falls flat…it doesn’t. There are some legitimately funny scenes and sequences in the second half of the film…like a discussion about JFK and Lincoln, it just feels out of place and like it should be in a different movie.

In fact, there are a few different movies struggling to break out in A Different Man but we don’t get to glimpse enough of any of them for this movie to truly shine.

For example, as previously stated this could’ve been a really gritty and gruesome character-study drama. Or it could have been a sort of absurdist, reality-bending psycho-dramedy. Or it could have been a flat-out farcical comedy. It ended up trying to be a bit of all of them and ending up being not quite enough of any of them.

This film is writer/director Adam Schimberg’s third feature, and interestingly enough, it is his second major feature dealing with physical, specifically facial, disfigurement.

Schimberg was born with a cleft-palate and brings a unique and very interesting perspective to the navigation of disfigurement issues from both sides of the coin.

He also brings a somewhat intriguing cinematic and narrative style. One can’t help but think that Schimberg has a great movie in him that he just hasn’t quite matured as a filmmaker enough to produce. I think once he figures out what exactly he wants to say and how exactly he wants to say it, he’ll be a powerful auteur.

The very best thing about A Different Man is Sebastian Stan as Edward. Stan gives a remarkably versatile performance which features existential drama, frantic comedy and everything in between.

Stan’s Edward, particularly in the first half of the film, is so well-done, and so specific and detailed, that it is actually shocking considering he is best known for playing Bucky Barnes in the Marvel movies.

Watching Stan flex his artistic acting muscles instead of his actual muscles was a joy to behold. Even after the shift in the second half of the film, Stan stays committed and keeps on crushing this role, showing a versatility and skill level that is astonishing.

Sebastian Stan was nominated for a Best Actor Oscar this year but it wasn’t for A Different Man, but rather for his work as Donald Trump in The Apprentice. I have not seen The Apprentice so I can’t speak to his work in it, but I will say that Stan definitely deserves a nomination for his work in A Different Man.

The rest of the cast do very good work as well, most notably Renate Reinsve as Ingrid and Adam Pearson as Oswald.

Reinsve is fantastic as Edward’s subtly seductive, arthouse, manic pixie dream girl, neighbor Ingrid. She is one of those actresses who so effortlessly commands your attention. She never pushes too hard and never gets lost in the lesser parts of the script.

Pearson, who plays Oswald – Edward’s sort of alter-ego, is a magnetic screen presence who has a such a vivid and visceral energy to him that he is undeniable.

Ultimately, A Different Man could have and maybe should have, been a different movie. But the movie that it is, I suppose, good enough…or at least interesting enough, to be worth watching.

The film is currently streaming on MAX, which is where I saw it, and although I think it has some flaws and some issues, I also think it is worth giving it a watch especially if you have MAX.

A Different Man is not a great film, or a particularly profound film, or a keenly insightful film, but it is a unique enough film, and better than most of the thoughtless junk out there, to be worthy of watching.  If you go in with tempered expectations you might come out feeling a bit more positive about it than I did. And regardless of whether you connect with the film or not, you will definitely leave it feeling a great deal more respect and admiration for Sebastian Stan as an actor and artist than you did going in.  

©2025

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 131: A Real Pain

On this episode Barry and I mull over the Jesse Eisenberg directed arthouse darling A Real Pain, starring Best Supporting Actor Oscar nominee Kieran Culkin. Topics discussed include our happiness that the film exists, musings on the state of Kieran Culkin, and an examination of our mixed feelings on the film. 

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota - Episode 131: A Real Pain

Thanks for listening!

©2025

Nightbitch: A Review - This Mangy Dog Won't Hunt

****THIS REVIEW CONTAINS PLOT POINTS AND MILD SPOILERS!! THEREFORE: THIS IS TECHNICALLY NOT A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!****

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Flaccid and flavorless feminist gruel.

Nightbitch, starring Amy Adams, chronicles the weird and wild travails of a mother as she navigates raising a toddler, perimenopause and the modern world.

Nightbitch, which is written and directed by Marielle Heller and is adapted from the Rachel Yoder book of the same name, describes itself as a “black comedy horror” film. I take umbrage with that description since the movie is not funny, darkly or otherwise, nor is it horrifying….it’s just bad.

Nightbitch starts out in quite compelling fashion as Amy Adams’ character, simply named “mother”, struggles with the mind-numbing repetitiveness and inanity of raising a toddler, in this case her son, named, “baby”. Mother’s husband, who goes by the clever moniker “husband”, is away for work from Monday to Thursday so mother must do everything on her own.

A very interesting premise and a captivating first twenty minutes about the unique difficulties of raising a toddler quickly gets derailed when a tsunami of heavy-handed, insipid, intellectual and dramatic vapidity and vacuity around gender roles and modern-day feminism comes to the fore.

The movie shifts from arthouse realism into the mire of symbolism and surreality, as mother starts to show the early signs of morphing into a dog. Again, this could’ve been a nice segue into a “body-horror” type of cinematic exploration, but instead this metamorphosis ultimately is used just as “woman tapping into her primal power” symbolism, which is about as original, interesting and captivating as watching a dog take a shit on your lawn.

This movie could have, and frankly should have, been a serious and slightly comedic meditation on how devastatingly difficult it is for women to mother a toddler in the modern world. Or it could have, and should have, been a body horror film about a woman losing herself, physically, mentally, emotionally, and artistically to motherhood and menopause/middle-age. But it is neither…it is a pitiful and pedantic tantrum by a middle-aged woman angry at her intellectual and artistic impotence and her career and familial failures and needing to blame anyone but herself.

It is also so archetypally and mythologically obtuse and contrary to collective human consciousness and conditioning as to be astounding. For example, why is a woman seeking to connect with her primal power, morphing into a dog? Dogs are pack animals and are usually led by an alpha male…so even in this feminist fantasy film, the dream is of being a male instead of an empowered female. Odd.

Another issue is the tone deafness of the class politics of the film. Mother, and all the mothers in the movie by the way, live some of the most privileged lives imaginable. They are rich enough to be afforded the option of not working and staying home to raise their children. This used to be standard operating procedure here in America, but in the last fifty years it has become a sign of rare privilege and less and less likely.

Mother is completely unaware of how spoiled she is as she lives this extraordinarily privileged life and yet still manages to wallow in her narcissistic melancholy and navel-gazing ennui. She is, at a minimum, an upper-middle class woman who can afford to not have a job and stay at home and raise her one child. The child, by the way, is so well-behaved as to be absurd, and yet still she can’t handle it.

This flaccid film is so unconscionably blind to class politics because it is designed to be nothing more than a vehicle for some of the most-trite and laughably moronic modern feminist politics imaginable.

The eye-rolling level of cringe in this movie becomes nearly unavoidable as it rolls along. For example, mother is an artist…because of course she is since she’s never actually worked a day in her life…and she’s also a former Mennonite…because of course she is because she has to be connected to some weirdly archaic lifestyle and religious background. And of course her husband is one of those pussified eunuchs who lacks both balls and any semblance of muscle tone or masculinity, who serves little to no purpose in mother or baby’s life except for supplying food, clothing and shelter.

The relationship between mother and husband says a great deal about the film. When mother and husband argue it’s because he’s an idiot and thoughtless and selfish, not because she is spoiled and irrational (which she is).

Mother was an artist “in the city” but wanted to stay home with the baby and gave up her career to do so. Husband is the bread winner….as they both agreed upon prior to the baby being born. But now she regrets that decision and somehow it is all husband’s fault for not being able to both read her mind and see into the future.

Mother decides she is unhappy and it’s all husband’s fault because he gave her everything she ever wanted…but it wasn’t what she wanted. So, she says raising this child on her own is too difficult so she wants to get separated…which will really solve the issue of being overwhelmed by having to take care of a child by yourself by removing the other adult in the equation. Brilliant….or should I say “great idea stupid bitch”.

And then…for some strange reason because he’s the one who makes money and has always been the one making money and it’s his fucking house…he moves out into an apartment complex with all the other divorced/separated dads. How about this nightbitch…it’s his fucking house and you’re the one with the problem, so you get the fuck out…how does that sound you hairy fucking mongrel? But no, Mr. Limp Dick puts his tail between his legs and goes to sleep in his race car bed in his studio apartment with all the other sad sacks at the singles complex. Pathetic.

Mother then spends her time getting back in touch with her primal nature – morphing into a dog and hunting with the pack late at night. She also spends time with other moms who all agree that “women are gods” and that “women create life!” The funny thing about this sort of bumper sticker feminism is that it is so stupid it makes my teeth hurt. For example, women don’t create life…men AND women create life…women carry it in their bodies after men inseminate them. Sort of a big difference. Also…why do I have to explain 5th grade biology to this idiotic movie?

Mother, now free on the weekends because exceedingly well behaved baby is busy overwhelming incompetent husband at the single’s complex, creates a massive amount of art that celebrates the power of mothers, and she puts on a big art show and presents in the suburbs. The art mother makes is so laughably bad, pretentious, derivative and trite it makes a toddler’s play-dough snake look like Michelangelo. The banal atrocity that is mother’s art is obvious to everyone watching the movie but apparently no one involved in making the movie. But the lesson of all this nonsensical junk is that mother can only be her true goddess self without that useless husband around…and even more menacingly…without that annoying baby occupying her precious time too.

On the bright side, Nightbitch is a wonderful encapsulation of how modern feminism teaches women to be deathly allergic to responsibility and to blame others for their personal, political, artistic and financial failures.

The “patriarchy” that the nightbitches scapegoat are made up of the rough men they love to loathe, but these are the men who carved out a place for these feckless women to live their silly, mindless, meaningless lives the way they choose…and yet still, all they can do is bitch about it.

Writer/director Marielle Heller, is one of those less-than-talented people who somehow, almost magically, con people into thinking they have actual talent. Trust me, she doesn’t have an ounce of it.

Nightbitch fits right in with Heller’s flimsy filmography, which includes Can You Ever Forgive Me? and A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, because like all the other movies, it’s a mind-numbing, sub-mediocrity. It is poorly shot, poorly written, poorly executed and devoid of any real purpose or meaning except to pose as having a deep purpose or meaning.

Amy Adams is an actress I have always liked but she is on one hell of a streak of shitty movies. Her last decent movie was Arrival, and that was in 2016!

Adams dives right in to her role here as mother, and apparently gained weight for the role, which is ironic because the film is so philosophically and cinematically weightless.

She does the best she can with what she’s given but it never coalesces into a coherent or compelling performance. There is no arc, no insight, no genuine humanity or behavior. Everything feels like Amy Adams play-acting as a middle-aged feminist avatar.

Adams seems to be in a very disorienting career death spiral which started out with her aggressively attempting to finally win an Oscar after six nominations, and has morphed into her desperately flailing away in an attempt to save her moribund career.

Nightbitch was released into theatres on December 6th, which is ironic because that is one day before Pearl Harbor Day and this movie was a massive, massive bomb. The only difference between this movie and Pearl Harbor is that people paid attention to Pearl Harbor.

The film had a budget of $25 million and it made measly $170,000 at the box office. It didn’t make that its opening day, or even opening weekend, that’s how little it made in the entirety of its run. $170,000. YIKES!

A flop this bad and a box office bomb this big can be career death for a movie star and a moviemaker. Adams and Heller are on very thin ice going forward.

The film is now available to stream on Hulu…but as you may have guessed, you really don’t need to stream it. It’s stupid and even worse, it’s pointless AND gutless.

The topic of the struggle of motherhood in all its complexities is one ripe for exploration, but Nightbitch ain’t that. This movie is so toothless, so artless and so thoughtless, that it is anti-cinema made manifest. Avoid it at all costs.

©2025

Wolfs: A Review - This Star-Studded Dog Won't Hunt

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.5 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Nothing to see here at all.

Wolfs, starring Brad Pitt and George Clooney, is the new movie on Apple TV + that tells the tale of two New York City based lone-wolf “fixers” who are forced to work together on a complicated job.

The film, written and directed by Jon Watts – who is best known for directing the recent Spider-Man movies, describes itself as an action comedy, which is a bit of an inaccurate moniker since Wolfs is neither action-packed nor funny.

The film follows the travails of Jack (Clooney) and Nick (Pitt) as they are called to the hotel room of Margaret (Amy Ryan), who is running for District Attorney. Unfortunately for Margaret, the young man she brought back to her hotel room for a tryst has died and so she calls a secret number and a fixer is sent. Then there’s a twist and another fixer is sent and these two lone wolf fixers do not want to form a pack and work together. Comedy is supposed to ensue…but never does.

Writer/director Watts uses a lot of filmmaking techniques, like numerous quick edits on mundane events like a car backing out of a parking space, and languid camera movements, to give the impression of cinematic sophistication, but he fails at even the most rudimentary elements of storytelling.

With a convoluted story and middling direction, the movie is forced to rely upon the star power of Brad Pitt and George Clooney.

Pitt and Clooney have, to varying degrees of success, previously worked together in the Ocean’s Eleven movies, and their reunion on Wolfs is meant to cash in on their status and stardom. In other words, Wolfs is our chance to hang out with two handsome, cool, movie stars for two hours – lucky us.

Unfortunately, Wolfs features zero chemistry, zero comedy and zero coherence. It is one of those movies where as you’re watching it you feel like you’re waiting for the story to actually start and it never really does.

The plot of Wolfs has all the clarity of a drunk toddler’s storytelling while playing with action figures. The rules of the world in Wolfs are random, arbitrary, confusing and ultimately annoying. Nothing makes much sense and it seems as though none of it was really meant to.

In this way Wolfs is a perfect companion piece to the previous movie Apple Films released, The Instigators, starring Matt Damon and Casey Affleck. Both movies are so vehemently vapid, vacant and venal as to be apocalyptic. If some poor soul were to watch these bro-fueled bombs back to back they’d be tempted to light themselves on fire in order to feel something, anything at all, and to kill the malignant stupidity that was just implanted in their brains.

The final scene of Wolfs is the one that helped me to understand how Clooney and Pitt see themselves, or at least see their pairing, and it is astonishingly delusional. I won’t give anything away except to say that this scene is meant to demonstrate that Clooney and Pitt are the modern-day Paul Newman and Robert Redford.

Let me be as clear as I can about this…Clooney and Pitt are not Newman and Redford. Not even close. They never have been and they never will be.

To be fair, Pitt has matured into a much better actor than his pretty boy beginnings would’ve hinted, and he’s become a very astute and successful producer as well. His choice in projects and his taste are admirable, but let’s not kid ourselves, he’s no Robert Redford.

Clooney is, obviously, not Paul Newman, who was one of the greatest actors and movie stars in Hollywood history. Clooney is now, and frankly always has been, a bad actor, a bad movie star and a truly terrible director.

For the last twenty-five years or so Clooney has been one of those people who populate our culture who are only famous for being famous. He’s the male equivalent of Jessica Simpson, and equally as vacuous.

It has been reported that Clooney and Pitt were paid $35 million each to star in Wolfs, which if true, is pretty amusing. Apple’s desperation to be a player in the movie business has forced them to pay exorbitant prices to talent in exchange for truly abysmal movies. Considering that Martin Scorsese’s Killers of the Flower Moon is the best Apple movie ever made, and is one of Scorsese’s lesser films, is an indictment of Apple, the movie business and Killers of the Flower Moon.

Wolfs spent a week in theatres before hitting Apple TV+ on Friday September 28th. It will, rightfully, languish on that atrocious, backwater of a streaming service, mercifully hidden from wider audiences. Those without Apple TV+, and those unable to navigate the incomprehensible maze that is Apple TV+ to find Wolfs, are blissfully unaware of how truly lucky they are.

In conclusion, Wolfs is a poorly conceived and poorly executed movie that is so small and inconsequential as to be instantaneously forgettable. It means nothing. It has nothing. It is nothing.

©2024

The Instigators: A Review - A Boston Bro Bore

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A lifeless and laugh-less Boston-based heist comedy that is not the least bit interesting or entertaining.

The Instigators, starring Matt Damon and Casey Affleck, tells the tale of Rory and Cobby, two mismatched, down on their luck, sad sack Bostonians who get hired to pull off a heist.

The film, which is directed by Doug Liman and was co-written by Casey Affleck, is currently streaming on Apple TV+ - which is maybe the worst designed streaming service in the history of mankind…a fact that no doubt leaves Steve Jobs twisting and turning in his grave.

Speaking of twisting, turning and graves, The Instigators is best described as a comedy-heist movie, although it isn’t the least bit funny and the heist isn’t remotely compelling.  

The Instigators is as middling as middling can be as it is a lifeless, mostly charmless, gratingly predictable exercise.

The failure of this film is somewhat baffling as it is chock full of acting talent. Besides Damon and Affleck there’s Paul Walter Hauser (one of the best and one of my favorite actors), Hong Chau, Michael Stuhlberg, Ron Perlman, Alfred Molina, Ving Rhames and Toby Jones.

Despite this solid cast the acting is, frankly, mostly dreadful. Perlman, in particular, seems to be in another movie entirely as his performance is unconscionably cartoonish.

Everyone else seems to be just going through the motions as there isn’t a real person to be found on-screen for the duration.

Casey Affleck and Damon too seem to be painting by numbers as they play an emotionally distant wise cracking, Boston smart ass with a heart of gold who teams with emotionally traumatized and distant Boston dad with a heart of gold. Yawn.

This is well-trod ground for both of these guys and it definitely feels that way watching this movie as neither of them seem to be the least bit engaged and are only cashing in on their tired, well-worn Boston personas.

One final note regarding the cast, and that is regarding Jack Harlow. Harlow plays a criminal named Scalvo and I just don’t get it with this guy. I genuinely don’t understand who this Harlow guy is, where he comes from or why they are trying to make him into an actor or a movie star. I saw him in the remake of White Men Can’t Jump and had the same feeling. I just don’t get it at all. Can we please just remove Jack Harlow from public life? Please.

As for the directing, Doug Liman seems to be just as disengaged as the cast. The film is listless and flat and never gains any momentum - dramatic, comedic, or otherwise.

There’s a big Limen-esque car chase while Petula Clark’s hit song “Downtown” plays and you know it’s supposed to be the action comedy centerpiece of the film and a major highlight but it is decidedly lackluster, underwhelming and cinematically flaccid…as is the entirety of the movie.

That car chase is Liman play-acting at being Doug Liman – whose famous car chase in The Bourne Identity is a cinema classic, just like Damon and Affleck are play-acting at being deviations of their more famous and successful Boston characters from Good Will Hunting and Manchester-by-the-Sea.

Ultimately, The Instigators is an empty and fruitless cinematic endeavor that lacks both comedy and cool. Nothing matters in this movie because nothing is even remotely real. The stakes are never heightened because the characters are never clearly defined beyond stereotype and caricature.

The Instigators is a product of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck’s production company Artists Equity, which is a bad sign for that endeavor going forward. The company’s first film, Air, which starred Damon and was directed by Ben Affleck, showed some promise, but The Instigators is a major step back.

If Damon and Affleck want to be real producers who bring meaningful change to the film industry, they have to make films that matter. And the only films that matter are films that are very good, or very successful, or both. The instantly forgettable The Instigators is none of the above.

This is the type of film that you should be able to mindlessly watch and get a few chuckles from…unfortunately The Instigators can’t even muster the energy to be mindless, yet fun, entertainment. It’s a dull, poorly designed and constructed vanity project that no one, not even the people in it or who made it, really gives a shit about. And neither should you.

©2024

Beverly Hills Cop 4: Axel F - A Review: Eddie Murphy...is that you?

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT/SEE IT. It’s a formulaic action-comedy…but it does boast an engaging and energized Eddie Murphy…something we haven’t seen in a really long time.

It’s hard to believe it but Beverly Hills Cop, the blockbuster action comedy that made Eddie Murphy a megastar, hit theatres forty years ago in 1984.

To put that into context, consider that forty years before Beverly Hills Cop, World War II was still going on and Bing Crosby was the biggest star in Hollywood.

It’s easy to forget now, but Eddie Murphy was, back in the 1980’s, the most massive star in the Hollywood universe – he was like Bing Crosby with ba-ba-ba-balls. He was the biggest tv star (SNL), movie star and comedian on the planet…he was so big he put out musical albums that were atrocious but they still sold well and got continuous radio play. I mean, who could forget the hit song “Boogie in your Butt”?

Murphy’s superstar status, which reached its apex in 1984 declined slowly…and then all at once. In the wake of his supreme successes with 48 Hrs. (1982), Trading Places (1983), Beverly Hills Cop (1984) and Coming to America (1988) the quality of work began to decline - despite a minor renaissance in 1992 (Boomerang, The Distinguished Gentleman).

In an effort to salvage his stardom Murphy made Beverly Hills Cop 3 in 1994 and it was brutally bad and instantly forgotten. At that point the bloom was definitely off the Murphy rose. He then sold his soul and dignity and dove into the Nutty Professor and Dr. Doolittle franchises and his cache and career went precipitously down from there.

Murphy has spent the last quarter of a century – with the exception of 2006’s Dreamgirls, churning out the laziest, most awful, money-grab garbage imaginable.

In recent years he has returned to his earlier successes in the hopes of a career resurgence or a money infusion. First there was Coming 2 America, a sequel to 1988’s brilliant Coming to America…which is arguably Murphy’s last good movie. Coming 2 America was a comedically flaccid venture devoid of Murphy’s charm and heart that so effectively fueled the original.

And now there is Beverly Hills Cop 4 which premiered on Netflix July 3, 2024. Murphy is back as Axel Foley, the wise cracking Detroit cop who is a very fast-talking fish out of water in the posh confines of Beverly Hills. Also back are Taggart and Rosewood, John Ashton and Judge Reinhold respectively, as well as Paul Reiser as Axel’s fellow Detroit cop Jeffrey and Bronson Pinchot as Serge. Joining the festivities are Beverly Hills Cop newcomers Joseph Gordon-Leavitt as a cop, Kevin Bacon as a bad guy cop and Taylour Paige as Axel’s adult daughter.

Beverly Hills Cop 1 and 2 were big hits and perfect vehicles for Murphy’s charisma and comedy. Beverly Hills Cop 3 (1994) was apocalyptically awful. Beverly Hills Cop 4 is…somewhere in between.

Is Beverly Hills Cop 4 a good movie? No. Is Beverly Hills Cop 4 a bad movie? Not really. It’s just sort of a formulaic movie (that somehow cost $150 million to make!) that plays out in front of you and then it’s over and no one will really care one way or the other.

The one notable thing about Beverly Hills Cop 4 though is that it’s the first movie in decades…maybe since Bowfinger (1999), where Eddie Murphy seems engaged and energized and not simply there for the check.

Murphy, at his height, had an undeniable charm and charisma that dominated the screen, which is why it was always so jarring to see him dead-eyed and dull sleepwalking through the second half of his career.

But in Beverly Hills Cop 4 Murphy is back being at ease and comfortable on screen. Axel Foley is sort of the Eddie Murphy of old and Murphy makes the most of it. He is funny, cool (but not too cool) and enjoyable to be around. You never feel like Eddie Murphy is phoning it in and just going through the motions…which is a refreshing change of pace.

The film follows its action-comedy roots and sticks pretty tight to the formula…a formula which it perfected back in 1984 and which others have used and abused ever since with ever more diminishing returns. To give an indication of how culturally mammoth the original Beverly Hills Cop movie was and what an extraordinary talent Murphy was, consider that Michael Bay poached the formula with his Bad Boys franchise and had to use both Will Smith AND Martin Lawrence to fill the Eddie Murphy role.

Beverly Hills Cop 4, which is the directorial debut of Mark Molloy and is written by Will Beall and Kevin Etten, is very conscious of the franchise’s past and winks along to the nostalgia. For example, in the first ten minutes of the movie it features the hit songs from the Beverly Hills Cop movies in the 80’s. It opens with Glenn Frey’s “The Heat is on”, followed by Bob Seger’s “Shakedown”, then the Pointer Sisters “Neutron Dance”, and of course the franchise’s synth-heavy anthem by Herbie Hancock. That Glenn Frey and one of the Pointer Sisters are dead, and that Bob Seger is permanently retired, only goes to emphasize how damn long ago that first film really was.

The plot of Beverly Hills Cop 4 is not really important. Just know that there’s trouble in Beverly Hills involving Axel Foley’s estranged daughter and he comes to LA from Detroit to figure everything out and make things right. Taggart (John Ashton) is now a police chief in Beverly Hills, Rosewood (Judge Reinhold) is a private detective and Serge (Bronson Pinchot) is still a weirdly gay-ish foreign man about Beverly Hills.

There’s a copious amount of plastic surgery apparent on both Reinhold and Pinchot’s distorted faces (oh Hollywood!) and none of the old cast bring the same joie de vivre as Murphy does, but what can you do?

There are some action sequences, none of which move the needle very much. And there’s some shootouts which feature villains who can’t shoot straight and good guys who can.

You won’t care about the convoluted plot or how it resolves (it resolves exactly like you think it does) or anything like that, but the only reason to tune in, then tune out and watch Beverly Hills Cop 4 is to see Eddie Murphy.

Murphy isn’t his old self in this movie…and he isn’t even a shadow of his former self in this movie…but he is a shadow of a shadow of his former self…and that’s better than anything Will Smith and Martin Lawrence or any other pretenders to the Murphy crown could ever hope to muster.

If you like Eddie Murphy, then Beverly Hills Cop 4, despite being mindless and middling movie mundanity, is worth watching to remember what was…and what might have been.

Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2024

Anyone but You - A Review: Sydney Sweeney Busts Out

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. Despite Sydney Sweeney’s breast efforts, this movie falls flat.

Anyone but You, the rom-com starring Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell, hit theatres back in December and became a bona fide box office sensation. I missed Anyone but You in theatres but it’s now on Netflix and I just watched it…and I have some thoughts.

The film, written and directed by Will Gluck, tells the story of Bea (Sweeney) and Ben (Powell), two attractive people who had a magical meet cute but then for some moronic reason now hate each other and are forced to attend a getaway wedding in Australia. In order to stave off prying parents and make ex-lovers jealous, Bea and Ben decide to pretend to be a couple at this wedding…which of course is not just a lesbian wedding but an inter-racial lesbian wedding because we live in a pandering hellscape.

The premise of the film is absurd to the point of abject stupidity, and the filmmaking on display is at best amateurish…so why did this film make $219 million at the box office. I’ll tell you why…because Sydney Sweeney is a force of nature…or more accurately stated, Sydney Sweeney’s magnificently magnetic mouth-watering melons are a force of nature and may in fact be so perfect as to be the epicenter around which the known universe rotates.

I’m kidding…sort of. Sydney Sweeney is an odd duck…she’s certainly beautiful and sexy…and her ample bosoms are the greatest thing this country has produced in the last 200 years…but she also talks like she has a hearing impairment and has the facial expressions of the new kid in the special ed class.

To her great credit though she is totally game and up for anything to try and get a laugh in this movie…most of the time she fails miserably but it is her commitment to the buffoonish bits that makes her such an appealing and compelling screen presence.

Sweeney is sort of a cross between Bridget Bardot and Jennifer Lawrence. She’s not as naturally gregarious or hot-girl-next-door-ish as Lawrence or as incandescently sexy as Bardot, but she’s got roughly 25% of each woman within her and that makes her 50% interesting.

Sweeney’s co-star, Glen Powell, is poised to be the next “it” guy and it’s easy to see why in this movie. He’s certainly handsome in a rather boring and sterile way, but like his co-star he too is down to do whatever needs be done to make a bit funny. Again, the bits rarely if ever work, but Powell’s commitment to them is very endearing.

Powell feels like a hybrid between Matthew McConaughey and Ryan Gosling. He’s sort of a safe version of the lesser parts of both men. Powell isn’t as charming and sexy as McConaughey or as funny and talented as Gosling, but he’s sort of in the same ballpark…if it’s a really, really big ballpark…like the Big House in Michigan – home to the NCAA Football National Champion University of Michigan Wolverines (Go Blue!).

Despite the charms of Sweeney and Powell, Anyone but You is, frankly, dreadful. It is painfully stupid, poorly shot, and except for Sweeney and Powell, exceedingly poorly acted. For example, GaTa, who plays the lesbian bride’s brother and Ben’s friend, may be the worst actor I’ve seen in a feature film in the last decade. This guy is so awful it felt like a mentally ill homeless man wandered on to the set and no one had the heart to ask him to leave.

But in GaTa’s defense, much better actors didn’t fare any better. For example, veteran actors Bryan Brown and Dermot Mulroney both give astonishingly poor performances that are not just awful but embarrassing. Brown and Mulroney’s performances feel like they’re from two people who’ve never seen a movie, never mind acted in one. The once promising Rachel Griffiths doesn’t fare any better.

The truth is that the only reason to watch this witless movie is to spend two hours with Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell. Whatever Sweeney’s and Powell’s faults as actors the one thing that is undeniable about them is that they are both extremely likable…and in today’s watered-down movie culture that’s more than enough to pass as a “movie star”.

Anyone can guess what the future holds for Sweeney and Powell. Sweeney, who was quite good in HBO’s Euphoria and The White Lotus, needs to navigate the perilous minefield that is being a sex symbol in our current culture, no easy task as being so sexually appealing to men can often turn the female audience against an actress. She and her team will need to figure out how to make men want her and women relate to her – something Anyone but You successfully accomplishes. One hopes that she can find her way and build a career filled with much better films and interesting roles…she certainly has shown flashes of the talent and skill required to become an actress of impact.  

Glen Powell seems to have a much lower ceiling than Sydney Sweeney, but a much higher floor only because he is not the type of actor men will dislike since he isn’t one of those grating Hollywood pansy-ass pretty boys. Powell’s greatest strength is that he seems to be a good dude…and while he is good looking, he isn’t too good-looking…hence the high floor/low ceiling.

As for Anyone but You and whether you should watch it…well…I can’t imagine telling anyone that they need to see this movie. It is instantly forgettable and aggressively idiotic. It’s the type of movie you watch on a plane when there’s nothing else available, or when you’re on the couch recovering from surgery and can’t quite reach the remote without bursting your sutures.

The bottom line is that Anyone but You is a bad movie, but years from now we might look back on it as the big box office breakout for the biggest, breastiest movie star of all time, Sydney Sweeney, and say “thanks for the mammaries”…I certainly hope so.

 Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2024

The Idea of You: A Review - Looking for Love (and Entertainment) in All the Wrong Places

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. An insidiously venal piece of rom-com slop.

The Idea of You, the new Amazon movie starring Anne Hathaway and Nicholas Galitzine, is one of those insipid romantic comedies that is neither romantic nor comedic.

The film, written by Jennifer Westfeldt and Michael Showalter and directed by Showalter, tells the tale of Solene Marchand (Hathaway), a 40-year-old divorcee and single mother who owns an art gallery in Los Angeles.

Through happenstance Solene takes her teen daughter and her friends to Coachella for a music festival and there she meets and begins a love affair with Hayes, the lead singer of a popular boy band, who happens to be sixteen years her junior.

The story of The Idea of You, which apparently is based upon a book of the same name that no self-respecting human being should have ever read, is one of those divorced wine-mom wet dreams where middle-aged women can imagine themselves being so uber-desirable and hyper-successful and amazing that some high value, wealthy, famous and handsome young stud falls head over heels for them.

For an outsider like me, who is neither divorced nor a wine mom desperate for glory days gone by, this story and the character of Solene seem both fantastical and frankly pathetic. No doubt I would be run out of the mid-day chardonnay ladies book club for voicing such a misogynistic and hateful opinion.

The problems with The Idea of You go well beyond the ridiculous premise. The film bills itself as a romantic comedy yet there isn’t a single thing in it that is even remotely funny or even approaching funny.

The romance side of it is pretty lacking as well, as Hathaway and Galitzine have all the sexual chemistry of week-old dog turd roasting in the hot sun.

That Anne Hathaway is once again playing a sort of ugly duckling transformed into a princess (sexy or otherwise) is, to borrow from her favorite acting tick, eye-rolling. Yes, she has succeeded in this type of role in the past in films like The Devil Wears Prada and those Princess Diary movies, but the bloom is off the rose and it falls entirely flat in The Idea of You.

Ms. Hathaway is certainly a beautiful woman, and to pretend like she’s not or that she’s some frumpy old hag, is absurd to the point of being annoying. Even more absurd is the fact that her daughter in the film, Izzy (Ella Rubin), looks like she is Solene’s slightly younger sister.

In fact, the age difference stuff is the most-inane part of this entirely inane movie. Solene is forty but looks thirty-three, and Hayes is twenty-four and looks thirty-two, and Izzy is seventeen and looks twenty-eight. Everyone seems to be in the same suffocating age bracket and none of it makes any sense whatsoever.

Another extremely annoying part of the movie is that viewers must suffer through musical performances by Hayes and his insufferably awful boy band. Galitzine is apparently a singer in real life, so I assume he’s doing the actual singing in the movie, and I suppose it’s fine, it’s just that the songs are so god-awful atrocious as to be criminal. And that we must sit through entire renditions of these terrible songs that seem interminable throughout the film, feels like a crime against humanity.

In addition, Galitzine’s Hayes and his boy band bros are supposed to be the biggest boy band around but they are so relentlessly amateurish and such raging mediocrities, and their performances so stilted and underwhelming that it all seems even more ridiculous than the asinine premise of the movie.

The Idea of You also violates one of the rules that rarely if ever fails me, namely that if a character must run the gauntlet of a gaggle of rabid journalists/paparazzi at any time in a movie…then that movie sucks. I cannot recall a time when this rule was violated and the film was good and The Idea of You is perfect evidence of the rule’s validity.

Now, to be clear, I am not exactly the target audience for this film. But it is streaming on Amazon and that behemoth has put its considerable corporate heft behind the movie and promoting it, so it caught my eye and I gave it a watch…so you don’t have to.

What is so striking to me about The Idea of You is that this movie, its aesthetics, its tone, its story, the performances and everything about it except its star, is a Hallmark level piece of work. If this were starring Lacey Chabert and running on Lifetime, no one, myself most of all, would even know it exists or ever watch it. But because it stars Anne Hathaway and Amazon is behind it, it is thrust into the cultural spotlight and is taken seriously…or as seriously as a movie like this can be taken.

The truth is that if this movie were made fifteen years ago and starred Julia Roberts and Ryan Gosling, then it maybe, might’ve had a chance to be a big hit. But it wasn’t…and it definitely isn’t.

Anne Hathaway has her charms, but in a role like this in a film like this, they wear unconscionably thin, and Nicholas Galitzine is neither sexy enough nor interesting enough to move the needle in either direction, and so, The Idea of You ends up falling decidedly flat.

If you are looking for a mindless piece of rom-com entertainment, best avoid The Idea of You because it is either too mindless…or ironically, not mindless enough, to be of any value or worth.

The bottom line is that The Idea of You is a bad idea made into a bad movie, and rom-com lovers who seek it out will be looking for love in all the wrong places.

 Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2024

May December (Netflix): A Review - A Comedy Wrapped in a Social Commentary Inside a Melodrama

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SEE IT/SKIP IT. This movie, like its subject, is elusive, but if you look at it through the proper lens, it often becomes fascinating.

May December, starring Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman, is a dramatic reimagining of the salacious story of Mary Kay Letourneau, a school teacher who fell in love with her 13-year-old student back in the 1990s causing a huge scandal.

The film, which premiered on Netflix December 1st, is directed by esteemed auteur Todd Haynes and written by Samy Burch.

May December follows the story of Elizabeth (Natalie Portman), a famous actress cast to star in a tv movie as Gracie, the woman who had a scandalous affair with her 13-year-old student Joe. Gracie went to prison for the rape/sexual misconduct with a minor, but when released resumed her relationship with the then-of-age Joe and later married him and had two children with him.

Elizabeth comes to Savannah, Georgia and integrates herself into Gracie’s life in order to better understand the character she will be playing in the tv movie. She observes Gracie and her family and community, and each night goes back to her hotel room and tries to capture Gracie’s essence by mimicking and imitating her.

But as time goes on the truth about Gracie and Joe, and even about Elizabeth, becomes more and more murky, and more and more elusive.

Director Todd Haynes is a unique filmmaker. I remember the first film of his that I ever saw was Safe (1995), which also starred Julianne Moore. That film was a very tense, deliberate, psycho-drama that was masterfully assembled.

Since then, I’ve found myself less enamored with Haynes’ work. His acclaimed films Far from Heaven and Carol felt decidedly flaccid and his more off-kilter attempts, like Velvet Goldmine and I’m Not There fell flat.

May December though feels a bit different in that as a straight drama, it’s a colossal misfire, but as a sneaky comedy, melodramatic parody/satire, it works incredibly well. The question, of course, is whether Haynes is intentionally trying to be funny or if all of the comedy is purely unintentional.

One hint that Haynes is shooting for comedy is the recurring, and hilariously bad, music cues. The soundtrack for this movie is laugh out loud awful…and absolutely perfect for a cheesy, exploitationist, made-for-tv movie…just like the one Elizabeth is making regarding Gracie’s fall from grace.

There’s a scene in May December where Gracie’s adult son from her first marriage, Georgie, who is an absolute trainwreck of a human being, attempts to blackmail Elizabeth into getting him the job of “music supervisor” on the tv movie she’s making about his mother. How that resolves itself is never entirely clear but by the awful sound of the music in May December, I think if Georgie didn’t get the gig on Elizabeth’s film, he definitely got it on May December.

Haynes also treats us to some immaculately crafted, cheesy as hell zoom shots, and tightly choreographed scenes that are epically hilarious in the most subtle of ways.

The funniest part of the film though is that both Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman, seem to be completely unaware that this is a comedy and entirely locked in to melodrama mode…and are both pretty awful at it.

Moore sports a grating and completely contrived lisp that is the height of distraction, and Portman is so mannered as to be a mannequin. Both of them are constantly acting, which is exactly what both of their characters are doing as well. It’s like they’re in a hall of mirrors and the real people, Gracie and Elizabeth, are impossible to differentiate from the spate of reflections upon reflections.

Speaking of mirrors, that’s not to say that there isn’t magic between these two acting icons. On numerous occasions Moore and Portman share a small space in the film and despite the lisps and the over-acting, the scenes crackle with life. These scenes are often shot, masterfully, in mirrored spaces, like bathrooms or changing rooms, and watching Moore and Portman work their instinctual magic through a camera and through a mirror or multiple mirrors, is absolutely mesmerizing.

Also mesmerizing, is Charles Melton, who plays Gracie’s victim and now husband, Joe. Melton gives the most layered, nuanced and finely crafted performance imaginable, and one of the best performances of the year. Melton, who is best known for starring in the CW series Riverdale (which I’ve never seen), is so present, genuine, grounded and exceptional as Joe it’s like he’s in a different movie altogether.

Another standout performance is by D.W. Moffet, who plays Gracie’s first husband Tom. Moffet has essentially one scene in the movie, and it’s a conversation between Tom and Elizabeth - who is asking him about the experience of being on the wrong end of Gracie’s infamous affair with an underage boy. Moffet is extraordinary in this compact scene. In lesser hand this scene is just an exposition dump and some mugging for the camera, but Moffet turns it into a profound and deeply moving drama all its own.

As the film unfolds, viewers can either accept it as a piece of heightened parody and camp, or can resist it and be extremely disappointed in it as a straight drama that gets lost in a swamp of melodrama.

I chose to enjoy the comedy of it all, and laughed out loud on numerous occasions…like when Natalie Portman’s Elizabeth does a skin-care commercial that is just like a real-life Natalie Portman skin-care commercial. I don’t know why I found that so funny…but I burst out laughing nonetheless.

If you’re looking for a smart, sly, sneaky and subtle comedy about predatory relationship power dynamics, the exploitative nature of our culture and the venality of fame, then May December is for you.

If you’re looking for a high-intensity, prestige drama that will move you deeply, then May December is not for you.

I chose the former and thought May December was a worthwhile cinematic venture. I think if you go into it with the proper, finely-tuned expectations, you’ll end up appreciating it and be glad you watched.

 Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2023

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 110 - Cocaine Bear

On this combustible episode, Barry and I ingest heroic amounts of cocaine and then incoherently yell at each other about the comedy/horror movie Cocaine Bear. Topics discussed include guilty pleasures, bad taste and the perils of living with bears. 

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 110 - Cocaine Bear

Thanks for listening!

©2023

The Killer (Netflix): A Review - The King of Cold-Blooded Cinema

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

My recommendation: SEE IT. A quintessentially Fincher film in every way. Coldly cinematic, diabolically dehumanized and darkly comedic, this movie’s icy embrace is undeniably compelling.

The Killer, director David Fincher’s new film about a fastidious assassin for hire starring Michael Fassbender, premiered on Netflix this past Friday, November 10.

David Fincher is one of the great auteurs of his generation, and his filmography, which, including The Killer, is twelve films deep, reveals a craftsman of such obsessive precision that it borders on the maniacal.

The Killer is the first Fincher film in his impressive filmography though that seems to unflinchingly reflect the artist himself, as the protagonist, an unnamed assassin, is every bit as meticulous and obsessed with process as the filmmaker telling his story.

The Killer seems to inhabit the same cold, nearly inhuman universe as previous Fincher films like Seven, The Game, Fight Club, Zodiac and even The Social Network. In a very real sense, The Killer feels like a thematic and tonal sequel to those films in the Fincher Cinematic Universe, just told from a different perspective.

Speaking of perspective, The Killer is told, with one notable exception, entirely from the assassin’s subjective perspective, and it is informed by the protagonist’s inner monologue as he goes about his ruthless business. This subjective approach is brilliant as it immediately connects us to the killer (Michael Fassbender) and in doing so compromises the viewer’s moral and ethical standing. We are so immersed into the mindset of this killer-for-hire that we simply accept his profession and ultimately root for him to succeed.

A nearly complete subjective approach to cinematic storytelling is not an easy thing to accomplish, and the proof of that is that other filmmakers rarely ever even attempt it. The God-like urge to show the audience something beyond the protagonist’s limited perspective is just too tempting and so directors succumb, which ends up watering down the audience’s experience.

In The Killer, Fincher and his cinematographer Eric Messerschmidt are, as always, masters of cold, yet deliriously crisp, visuals. Fincher’s signature, Carravaggio-esque, darkened, muted color scheme and use of forbidding shadows make for a glorious visual experience. As does Messerschmidt’s seemingly effortless camera movement and exquisite framing.

Adding to the perverse joy and humor of The Killer is Fincher’s use of the music of 1980’s British alternative band The Smiths. The assassin’s personal playlist on his ipod nano is chock full of The Smiths and their iconic and ironic anthems. Fincher matches his visuals to The Smiths soundtrack and it injects dark comedic irony into many scenes and elevates the film to an enormous degree.

In another rarity, the assassin’s voice-over, which reveals his inner monologue, also elevates and propels the film. Voice-overs are usually the sign of a director flailing, but in this instance the voice-over draws the viewer in to the unreliable narrator’s state of mind.

Fassbender’s killer is like Fight Club’s protagonist, but instead of saying to himself, “I am Jack’s complete lack of surprise”, he says things like “trust no one”, “anticipate don’t improvise” and “skepticism often gets confused for cynicism”.

That the killer is often saying these things to himself while he is actually doing the exact opposite makes for an amusing and revealing trend.

As for Fassbender as the unnamed killer, he is perfectly cast. Fassbender is capable of saying everything while not speaking a word. His lithe frame and steely eyes are all the performance he needs and it fits masterfully with Fincher’s diabolically frigid cinematic style.

Tilda Swinton and Charles Parnell both have very brief, but extremely well done, supporting turns in The Killer, but besides that there is nothing but Fassbender and his delightfully dead pan voice-over.

The Killer, like much of Fincher’s work, seems to me to be a commentary on man’s struggle with his fast-fading humanity in a dehumanizing world.

Fassbender’s killer character seemingly wants to make himself mechanical, like some impervious, emotion-less Terminator. In order to do so he repeats his emotionless mantras like an inhumane prayer or playbook and wears an Apple watch to control his sleeping patterns and even his heartbeat (and maybe, just maybe, deep down to remind himself that he is indeed a human being with a heart).

Yet, despite this nearly mechanical meticulousness, the killer’s failures and mis-judgements, which are numerous, prove him to be all too human despite his best efforts.

The Killer also makes clear that maintaining one’s humanity isn’t just a struggle in the blackened human heart, it is an even more elusive goal in the grim outer world as well. In the world of The Killer, and in the real world, everything is corporate controlled and mechanized/digitized. You don’t use your hands to pick a lock in this modern world, you use your phone or a device to hack it. You don’t use your hands to hotwire a car, you use a fake credit card to rent it. You clean your filthy human body in an anti-septic shower in a soulless airport lounge for corporate customers with frequent flyer miles, like it’s an automated car wash. You don’t wear disguises to conceal your human face, but instead have multiple digital identities named after 70’s sitcom characters that were mere approximations of real people – and whom empty modern people devoid of, and detached from, their cultural history will never recognize.

The mechanized/digitized world, dehumanizes and isolates everyone who touches it, which enables Fassbender’s assassin to swim effortlessly through this icy, corporate-controlled pseudo-simulation of life like a shark through the frigid waters of the Atlantic.

Fassbender’s assassin, for all his inhuman mantras about “don’t trust anyone” and “forbid empathy”, is oddly inspired on his bloody spree by the most human of all emotional states…revenge. In this way, the killer fails miserably at his mechanical/digital ideology while only succeeding in deluding himself.

The somewhat anti-climactic conclusion of The Killer may leave some viewers unsatisfied, but I found it inspired and delightfully diabolical (and without giving away spoilers – it is insightful because it savagely exposes the deeply ingrained power dynamics of class in America, and rightfully eviscerates the proletariat for its flaccid weakness).

The truth is that Fassbender’s killer, for good and for ill, is every single one of us whether we want to believe it or not. Our culture has left all of us just as dehumanized and dead inside as the killer, and just as ultimately incompetent and impotent despite our instinctual desire to be just as demonically depraved.

Fincher masterfully lures us in with his gorgeous and entertaining filmmaking style, and convinces us to identify with, and root for, a committed serial killer. It’s an ugly business, but Fincher makes it look beautiful…and we are ultimately just as guilty as the man pulling the trigger.

I really love David Fincher as a filmmaker, although admittedly, I don’t like all of his films. Some of them, like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Gone Girl (yes, I know, I am decidedly in the minority in that I hate Gone Girl with a passion), are truly awful. Some of them, like Zodiac and The Social Network are magnificent masterpieces. The Killer is not as great as Zodiac and The Social Network, but it is definitely among the better films in Fincher’s filmography.

If you like Fincher films you will, not surprisingly, love The Killer, as it is quintessential Fincher. If you find Fincher films to be hit or miss, I would recommend you at least give The Killer a shot. It’s on Netflix so it doesn’t cost you anything…so why not?

The reality is that in our current culture of mediocrity there’s a desperate dearth of quality films from truly great directors, so you need to enjoy superior artistry when given the chance, and The Killer is definitely your chance.

 Follow Me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2023

No Hard Feelings: A Review - An Impotent Sex Comedy in the Age of Political Correctness

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. A sexless sex comedy that fails to be funny.

No Hard Feelings, a much-hyped comedy starring Jennifer Lawrence, hit theaters back on June 23rd, but I, like most people, didn’t trek out to the theatres to see it then. But it is now available on Netflix and I finally got a chance to check it out.

The film tells the tale of Maddie Barker (Lawrence), a 32-year-old working class Uber driver and bartender living amongst wealthy elites in her hometown of Montauk in the Hamptons.

Maddie lives in a modest home in the otherwise tony Hamptons left to her by her mother when she died. Despite her house being paid off, Maddie cannot afford the local property taxes and must hustle to make ends meet. The town repossesses her car due to unpaid taxes and therefore Maddie is unable to do her Uber side hustle and faces the loss of her home.

She then stumbles upon an ad placed by a wealthy couple who want to socialize their helicopter-parented, nerdy, shy, reclusive 18-year-old son Percy (Andrew Barth Feldman) for the summer before he goes off to Princeton. In return for Maddie “dating” their son they will give her a used Buick Regal…as long as Percy never finds out about the arrangement.

The deal is made and then comedy is supposed to happen but never really does.

No Hard Feelings, which is written and directed by Gene Stupinsky, a writer/director/producer of the American version of The Office, was supposed to be a glorious renaissance for the raunchy comedies of the first decade of the 21st Century – like 40-Year-Old Virgin and Wedding Crashers. Unfortunately, the renaissance of raunchy comedy will have to wait as No Hard Feelings falls as flat as a shit pancake and never even manages to muster a minimal chuckle.

The film’s comedic beats are all a bit off and never land with any rhythm or power. Stupinsky’s direction is shoddy as performances are uneven and many scenes feature continuity errors that speak to a less than sturdy hand at the directing wheel.

Stupinsky’s script is even worse than his direction as a big part of the reason why the film stumbles from sub-par scene to sub-par scene is that the story is unnecessarily complicated.

For instance, the twists and turns of Maddie needing to get a car so she can then work as an Uber driver in order to earn enough to pay off her taxes, is convoluted and dilutes any narrative momentum. Why not just simplify and say Maddie needs $20,000 to pay off her taxes and these rich parents will pay her that to date their teenage son? That approach would streamline the story and allow the characters and their relationship to develop instead of wasting time setting up a premise that doesn’t work.

As charming as Jennifer Lawrence can sometimes be, and she can be extremely charming at times, her performance here is an unruly mess that never coalesces.

For example, Lawrence does a very courageous full frontal nude scene in the film that is played entirely for laughs, but it’s so poorly executed and so tonally and narratively obtuse that it just feels uncomfortably stupid instead of ballsy and bold…and I say that as someone who wholly encourages Jennifer Lawrence, and any actress really, to do as many full-frontal nude scenes as possible. Needless to say, this particular full-frontal nude scene isn’t even remotely funny, never mind the least bit titillating.

Andrew Barth Feldman plays the neurotic Percy and is as charismatic and interesting as a stray tumbleweed. Feldman brings no inner life to his character and so Percy is just a walking, lifeless prop who loiters on screen. To call Feldman’s performance flimsy would be generous.

Percy’s parents are played by Laura Benanti and a ghastly looking Matthew Broderick. Benanti is quite good in the small role as the overbearing, self-conscious mother. Broderick, on the other hand, looks like he ate two Ferris Buellers and is auditioning for the role of the corpse in a stage revival of Weekend at Bernie’s at a dinner theatre just off the interstate in Dayton, Ohio.

Broderick is a perfect example of Stupinsky’s weakness as a director, as his line readings are so flat that he monotonously misses the rhythm and beat of every joke in every scene.

No Hard Feelings was hyped quite a bit back in June when it hit theatres, as it was held up as a sort of rebirth of the raunchy sex comedy but from a female perspective. This approach was novel but ultimately fell short of expectations as the film only made $87 million on a $45 million budget.

Of course, if No Hard Feelings had switched the genders and had a 32-year-old man trying to bang a nerdy 18-year-old girl, it may have created a nuclear meltdown and caused its creators to be sent to the gulag by woke culture warrior Torquemadas for atomic levels of toxic masculinity and cultural problematicity.

The truth is that the traits that made 40-Year-Old Virgin and Wedding Crashers funny, and remarkably successful and popular, namely their raunchy, risqué and randy nature, are verboten in our painfully tight-assed current culture. And so, when a film like No Hard Feelings comes along and tries to emulate that previous era’s comedic tone, but only within very stringent creative and comedic, politically correct limits, it’s neutered before it starts and stands barely a chance to be successful on any level, be it creatively, comedically or financially.

No Hard Feelings is aware of the woke hurdle it must overcome and even tries to chide the suffocating political correctness of this era in a sequence at a high school party, but it, like every other sequence in the film, falls flat and feels decidedly flaccid.

The ceiling for No Hard Feelings was that it could’ve been mildly amusing…but it needed the script to be sharper and the direction to be more precise for that to happen as it would’ve given a chance for Jennifer Lawrence to shine. But the egregious limitations of our current cultural age upon comedy, and the glaring skill and talent limitations of Gene Stupinsky as a writer/director, scuttled the possibility of No Hard Feelings being even average before it ever got going.

If you missed No Hard Feelings back when it was in theatres in June, you dodged a bullet. The truth is No Hard Feelings is too bland and dull to even elicit hard feelings from me…only indifference. This movie represents much of what is wrong with the current state of film comedies…so trust me when I tell you there’s no need to waste your time on this sub-par, unfunny, toothless comedy.

©2023

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 106 - Ted Lasso Season Three

On this long-awaited episode, Barry and I kick around season three of Apple TV's Ted Lasso. Topics discussed include the misery of comedy without conflict, the cancer of self-satisfied tv shows, and the incomprehensible fall of a once enjoyable series.

Looking California and Feeling Minnesota: Episode 106 - Ted Lasso Season Three

Thanks for listening!

©2023

Ted Lasso - Season Three: A Review - Feminized and Unfunny

****THIS REVIEW REVEALS PLOT POINTS!!! THIS IS TECHNICALLY NOT A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!!****

My Rating: 1 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. This once great show is now truly awful.

Season one of Ted Lasso premiered on the fledgling streaming service Apple TV+ back in August of 2020, a very toxic, turbulent and tumultuous time as the U.S. presidential election between Trump and Biden was kicking into high gear.

The amusing show about a good-natured simpleton from Middle America thrown into the cutthroat swamp of high stakes British football became a phenomenon for the sole reason that it was relentlessly benign in a culture growing more aggressively malignant by the moment.

Ted Lasso, both the show and the character, was like a cool breeze on a sweltering day as its optimism was a satisfying reprieve from the suffocating negativity that had, and has, come to dominate American discourse.

The first season was crisp, concise and comedically coherent. It featured a charming, Emmy-winning performance from Jason Sudeikis as the fish-out-of-water title character, and also from an ensemble cast portraying a wide array of amusing soccer misfits.

Unfortunately, the show fell into the trap of believing all the “nice-guy” hype surrounding it and as a result lost its way on season two, which premiered in July of 2021. Gone were the numerous obstacles Ted had to face in season one, like a boss yearning for his failure, and in their place came nothing but vacuous soft smiles and vapid platitudes.

As bad as season two was, it pales in comparison to the atrocity that is season three, which premiered on March 15, 2023 and is supposedly the series finale.

To be as succinct as possible, Ted Lasso season three is a steaming pile of shite.

Season three feels like it was written by a group of liberal, Los Angeles, wine moms who simply can’t comprehend anyone disagreeing with their insipid, insidious and ideologically impotent beliefs, and who ban anyone who dare do such a hateful and hurtful thing.

The show’s infectiously benign nature featured in season one is now long gone, replaced by phony and flaccid politically correct posturing that is egregiously unfunny and frankly repulsive for its shameless pandering.

All of the male characters are now completely castrated, as is all of the conflict and therefore comedy. Gay themes, women’s empowerment and immigration politics take center stage, while comedy exits stage left. Gay story lines or political topics would be fine for the show to explore if there were actual comedy to extract from them, but conflict is necessary for comedy and season three of Ted Lasso is deathly allergic to any and all conflict.

For example, the gay relationships on display are embraced whole-heartedly by every single character with no exceptions. The working-class Brits and the third-world immigrants on the AFC Richmond roster not only accept but celebrate their gay teammate instantaneously…how realistic. The only holdout among the team is because the gay player lied, not because he’s gay. No players even good-naturedly tease the gay player, never mind torment him. Ted Lasso even gives a speech saying basically that being accepting of the gay player isn’t enough…you have to actively affirm his sexual preference.

Then there’s the gay relationship public relations tart Keely (Juno Temple) gets in to with her female venture capitalist boss Jack (Jodi Balfour). First off, it’s very odd that neither of Keely’s ex-lovers, Jamie and Roy, notice her new sexual orientation or comment on it at all.

In addition, if Jack were a man, she’d be easy to peg as a sexual predator and asshole, but because she’s a lesbian no one bats an eye to her controlling and predatory behavior.

Counter to that, Rupert (Anthony Head), former owner of AFC Richmond and ex-husband to its current owner Rebecca (Hannah Waddington), is a philandering, low-life piece of shit and that is made abundantly clear as the show goes out of its way to punish and humiliate him. What makes a rich lech like Rupert different than Jack? He’s using his money and power to sexually exploit women…just like Jack…but Rupert has a penis which apparently makes him the devil.

Ted Lasso is infected with a virulent misandry and repugnant male-phobia as it seemingly can’t do anything but hate and ridicule men. All of the male characters are weak-kneed caricatures of what faux feminists think men should be, as opposed to what they really are.

For example, most real men (but certainly not all) would accept their gay teammate, but they would also relentlessly bust his balls…and the gay teammate would feel accepted because his buddies were busting his balls like they bust everybody else’s balls. This is how actual men behave around one another and communicate with one another.

And then there’s the ridiculous immigration garbage. Sam (Toheeb Jimoh), a Nigerian player on Richmond, gets into a Twitter kerfuffle with some British politician over turning away boats of African immigrants. You think the working-class British players on the team might have some different opinions on immigration than Sam? You think Jamie Tarrt (Phil Dunster), the Manchester-born, blue-collar boy who is thrilled to play for the English national team, might want to tell Sam to shut the fuck up and go back to Nigeria – the country he so desperately wants to represent in the World Cup? You think a real football rough guy like Roy Kent might think “England for the English” and might get in Sam’s face over it?

A clash between Sam and Jamie over immigration might actually be really funny, since neither one of them are particularly bright (poor Sam seems mildly retarded as all he ever does is smile). Instead, the show just has Sam’s restaurant trashed by supposed white supremacists and then the whole team comes together to clean it up. How hysterically funny. Just kidding…it isn’t.

The worst character of all is team owner Rebecca, played with nauseous self-righteousness by Emmy winner Hannah Waddingham. Rebecca is no longer the villain – because it is forbidden for women to be villains on Ted Lasso, instead she is now a picture of feminist power…yet does little more than smile every two seconds like a brain-damaged toddler.

That Rebecca, who only owns the team because she was a bartender who fucked the married owner – Rupert – who she then divorced and took for half his fortune, is held up as a paragon of modern feminist virtue and entrepreneurial verve is one of the more unintentionally funny things in the entire show. That the big conclusion to Rebecca and Keely’s stories – is that they decide to start an AFC Richmond Women’s soccer team, made me laugh out loud for its impotence, idiocy and desperate pandering. As an aside…the only thing in the world worse than women’s soccer…is women’s basketball.

What isn’t funny about Ted Lasso is poor Ted Lasso, who is now reduced to just blurting out his inane, folksy words of wisdom like a coked-up Tony Robbins with Tourette’s. Sudeikis is obviously mailing it in at this point and his Lasso is as lackluster as it is deeply depressing.

What is even more bizarre than its total lack of comedy and humor is that season three of Ted Lasso makes virtually no sense in terms of storylines.

Nate the “wunderkid” (Nick Mohammed), has a story arc that is so incoherent it boggles the mind. The same is true of alleged tough guy Roy Kent, played by Brett Goldstein, who is as believable as a tough guy as Richard Simmons. Both Roy and Jamie Tartt were two of the more interesting characters at the start of the show and season three turns them into eunuchs and then takes a gigantic, sloppy shit right on top of them leaving behind an odious mess.

To be clear, I absolutely fucking hated Ted Lasso season three. FUCKING HATED IT. Part of why I hated it is because I liked season one so much. But after season one all the male characters got castrated and all the funny went right out of the show.

If you hate men and hate to laugh yet love soft smiles accompanied by gentle guitar and piano music, then season three of Ted Lasso is definitely for you. If you don’t…then Ted Lasso is not for you and you should avoid it at all costs as it will only infuriate you with its cornucopia of feminized anti-comedy.

 Follow me on Twitter: @MPMActingCo

©2023

White Men Can't Jump (Hulu): A Review - A Flagrant and Fragrant Foul of a Basketball Movie

****THIS IS A SPOILER FREE REVIEW!! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS ZERO SPOILERS!!****

My Rating: 1.25 out of 5 stars

My Recommendation: SKIP IT. This rotten remake has no redeeming value or reason to exist.

Back in the old, dilapidated, smoke and championship banner filled Boston Garden, the dynastic Boston Celtics of Bill Russell, John Havlicek, Dave Cowens and Larry Bird had the greatest of home court advantages because the famed parquet floor on which they played had numerous dead spots. These dead spots would greatly reduce or eliminate the bounce of the ball thus making dribbling a much less automatic action. The Celtics took great advantage of this court abnormality by funneling unsuspecting opponents to dribble into the dead spots and thus either turn the ball over or slow their attack.

The Celtics made the unwise decision to move out of the charming, rat-infested old Boston Garden in 1995 and left their dead spot parquet advantage, and their mystical, magical, luck of the Irish mojo, behind. Their new home, the corporate, cold mausoleum known as TD Garden, has no such advantageous anomalies, and in turn has only produced just one Celtic championship banner in its near thirty-year existence…a stark contrast to the 16 championship banners the team won during their 48 years playing at the old Garden.

Which brings us to the new White Men Can’t Jump movie which premiered on Friday on the streaming service Hulu. The film, a remake of the 1992 Ron Shelton basketball comedy, reminded me of the old Boston Garden not because it is worthy of championship banners, but because it is so riddled with dead spots it has no bounce to it at all.  

The film, which follows the trials and tribulations of two basketball has-beens, Kamal and Jeremy, desperate for one last touch of hoops glory, is written by Kenya Barris, directed by something called Calmatic, and stars Sinqua Walls and rapper Jack Harlow. The end result of this third-rate group of moviemaking wannabes is a vacant, vapid and hollow shadow of the 1992 version which starred Wesley Snipes, Woody Harrelson and Rosie Perez.

To be clear I am not one of those people who is repulsed by this new film because I adored the original. The truth is I hated the original White Men Can’t Jump. The main reason for that was that Woody Harrelson and Wesley Snipes were embarrassingly bad at basketball. They couldn’t even remotely fake being able to play…and as someone who did play and who was a huge fan of the sport, I found that a hurdle much too great to overcome.

The good news is that this new version features marginally better, but still not great, basketball, but that doesn’t overcome the astounding lack of chemistry and the charisma deficiency of the two lead actors, Sinqua Walls and Jack Harlow.

Snipes and Harrelson lacked basketball ability, but what they didn’t lack was chemistry and charisma. Walls and Harlow on the other hand can somewhat simulate playing the game but have all the spark of two bodies lying next to each other in refrigerated drawers at the morgue.

Harlow, who if you don’t know is a famous rapper – and yes, I still find the notion of white rappers to be just as cringey as you do, need not worry about quitting his day job and heading to Hollywood to be the next white Will Smith, as God knows the black one is already white enough.

Walls at least played basketball in college at the University of San Francisco – where Bill Russell won two NCAA championships before leading the Celtics to 11 NBA titles…but unfortunately for Walls and for us, he is no Bill Russell on the basketball court or Wesley Snipes in front of the camera. He is a rather dull, one-dimensional actor devoid of any compelling inner life and his basketball ability is not what I would describe as aesthetically pleasing.

To be fair to Walls and Harlow, the script they have to work with is a scattershot piece of garbage. Walls’ character Kamal has a dark past and an odd relationship with his father, but none of these things are adequately fleshed out and are thus rendered annoying and unsatisfying to the viewer.

Harlow’s character Jeremy struggles with serious drug addiction but that battle never takes shape or is given any narrative energy and ends up just being ignored instead of dramatically exploited.

The two men’s personal lives, which feature the love interests Imani (Kamal’s wife - played by Teyana Taylor) and Tatiana (Jeremy’s girlfriend played by Laura Harrier), also fall decidedly flat.

Kamal and Imani’s marriage has all the familiarity of two people passing each other in a bus station. Jeremy and Tatiana’s relationship could be dramatically promising due to it being inter-racial and Jeremy’s drug addiction, but none of those topics are ever explored.

The director of this dud is Calmatic, a commercial director whose only other major film credit is the 2023 remake of the 1990 movie House Party. If you were unaware that the new House Party was released this past January then that makes two of us. Calmatic has no idea how to tell a story or how to elicit coherent and compelling performances from his cast and thus has no business directing films.

The bottom line is that the new White Men Can’t Jump is an instantly forgettable, meaningless, lifeless, purposeless exercise in nothingness. I’d say the film is a brick or an airball but the reality is that this movie soiled itself in the locker room and never even made it out to the court to take a shot.

If you really want to laugh while watching some basketball drama featuring bad acting, skip White Men Can’t Jump and tune in to the NBA playoffs starring the King of the Receding Hairline LeBron James as he shamelessly flops all over the court.

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