The Finest Hours.  Craig Gillespie, dir.  I resisted going to this one.  “Just another disaster movie,” I said.  Two things convinced me to see it.  First, it’s a true story.  Second, it’s set on Cape Cod.  Having lived in the Boston area for many years, I’m familiar with the Cape.  We have our little inn there, the Nauset House Inn, where we love to stay; it’s conveniently near many of the settings in the movie.  We’ve taken boat tours off Chatham around the bar and on to Monomoy Island to see the sites and cool off on a hot summer’s day.  We’ve taking whale-spotting excursions off Provincetown.  We’ve spent more time on Nantucket than Martha’s Vineyard, a vacation site for the rich and powerful.  We’ve laughed at the Kennedy compound and remembered faux environmentalist’s Ted’s NIMBY attitude about windmills damaging his view.

The sea is a constant character in the lore of the Cape.  It can be placid and beautiful; it can also be a horrible and murderous monster.  This film is about a Coast Guard rescue launched from the station at Chatham, a rescue that took place in February 1952 in the maws of the monster.  The oil tanker SS Pendleton split in two.  Chief Warrant Officer Daniel Cluff (Eric Bana) sends Botswain Mate First Class Bernard Webber (Chris Pine) and two others out in a small boat.  That’s considered a suicide mission by some, but Cluff doesn’t know those seas (at least he doesn’t in the movie).  Because you can look up the history, it’s a not a spoiler to say that Webber and friends saved all but four of the thirty stranded on the back half of the tanker (the other half went down, carrying the captain and other members of the crew to a watery grave).

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[One flop and one surprise today—not bad for Hollywood.  The first review contains my second published poem!  You should boycott the Oscars.  Chris Rock will be the only black face on stage.  The Golden Globes are much more honest about assessing films and actors.  I wonder if Hillary Clinton will have anything to say about that—she’s married to the “first black president,” after all!]

Joy.  David O. Russell, dir & screenplay.  Summary: A major flop about a mop turns you sour wastin’ star power.  I could blame the director and his terrible screenplay, but what were these talented actors thinking when they signed up to make this loser?  Jennifer Lawrence shone in Silver Linings Playbook, but not much anywhere else, including Hunger Games, where she was tiresome and boring.  She should choose films more wisely.  (Situations and language more appropriate for adults, but nothing more than what you might see on cable).

13 Hours. Michael Bay, dir.  Like Concussion, this movie is probably one the NY Times will NOT promote in its mission to coddle moneyed and political interests.  Trump, in his cheap-beer, effervescent elan and true to his dirty political persona, handed out enough tickets to the movie to fill a theater.  Where the Times is coming from, of course, is that they’re pro-Hillary, this movie reflects poorly on her, and Trump knows it.  Whether the blame rests squarely on her shoulders, as SecState during the Benghazi fiasco, she’s tainted by the events you’ll see in this movie.

So, what’s the story?  A few contractors took it upon themselves to buck the CIA and try to save Chris Stevens, who was sent with only two bodyguards to the consulate in hotbed Benghazi (or did he initiate the trip?—it doesn’t matter, and we’ll probably never know the truth).  Consulates are notoriously unprotected while embassies are usually fortresses (the one in Bogota only lacks moats to be a medieval castle).  The CIA station head working in Benghazi, according to the film, resisted sending the contractors to the consulate to bail out the ambassador because that CIA station was top secret.  In order to ensure that the secrecy was maintained, the U.S. government left the job of protecting the facility to the contractors.

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[We’ve been so busy during the holidays that we haven’t seen many movies.  Not many have interested me anyway.  Here are two that might float your boat.]

Concussion.  Peter Landesman, director and screenplay; Jeanne Marie Laskas, author of the medical mystery.  This is also a conspiracy story involving the NFL and the federal government attempts to protect America’s favorite gladiator sport.  It’s about how the problem of concussions became public thanks to a Nigerian doctor played by Will Smith (he probably deserves an Oscar, by the way).  It’s interesting that the cover-up still continues—there are no ads for this movie in the NY Times!  As indicated in the movie, the NFL thinks they’re better than God, and Goodell is its prophet and protector.  Rabid fans might not like this movie; logical and reasonable ones will.  Parallels with Big Tobacco are obvious—at least the players now know what awaits them in the future.  (A+; PG-13, I suppose, but there’s strong language even if you discount the football violence.)

Star Wars: The Force Awakens.  J. J. Abrams, dir.  I waited for the hype to die down a wee bit to review this one.  Curiosity moved me—I was more curious to see if it lived up to the hype, of course.  It doesn’t.  None of the stories in episodes I through VI were great; in VII there is NO story, unless you count Han and Leia’s kid idolizing his grandfather a story.  There are some new faces in addition to the old ones.  The new female protagonist is a clone of the Hunger Games heroine, and the new male protagonist is more just a bow to diversity—they’re both OK although not believable.  Harrison Ford still steals the show, what there is of it.  Frankly, I couldn’t understand what all the cheering was about, but, then again, I never liked Star Wars.  Even the “surprises” were predictable.  (C+; some little kids might get scared at times, so parents should be with their little ones, but this is G.)

In libris libertas….

The Hunger Games: Mockingjay #2.  Francis Lawrence, Dir.  All bad!  I felt like I was a passive spectator of the video game Call of Duty, only it was about an inept bunch of futuristic warriors.  Never could get past the idea of bows and arrows, but I guess it makes sense if there’s no NRA around in futuristic dystopias (I always look for the positives, even in a dystopia).  The slimy gray zombies were the final touch, though—completely unnecessary (a plot gimmick in the original book?).  This ponderous series is based on Suzanne Collins YA novels, more fantasy than sci-fi (certainly not good sci-fi), and the movie reflects that target audience in almost every aspect (the dialogue is often infantile and reeking of sappy sentimentality).

I confess I didn’t see the first three movies.  Didn’t want to see this one either.  My only experience with this franchise was via “peeks inside” and reading the blurbs for the books on Amazon because I was curious to see what all the hubbub was about.  Never saw anything worth spending my time on.  (Although plenty of people feel otherwise, I can live with being the lone voice in the wilderness.)  Did I miss back-story info from those earlier movies?  Yeah, some of the lesser characters, hangovers from the previous movies, were a bit confusing to me at times, but for the most part everything was all too predictable and mind-numbing.  Like I said, Call of Duty has more plot.

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Movie Reviews #20…

[Apology from Steve: Either I missed reviewing some recent movies I’ve seen, or we were too busy this fall for a lot of movies.  No matter.  Here’s a long one for the Thanksgiving holidays in the U.S.  If you’re traveling during these days, have patience and be super careful.  Have a wonderful time with family and friends.  And, whether you’re religious or not, there’s always something to be thankful for in your own life and room for a thought or two about those who are in dire straits.]

SPECTRE.  Director, Sam Mendes.  The movie-goer will be shaken, not stirred.  Bond, James Bond, is back.  First, the shaken: This is the quintessential Bond movie, filled with gimmicks (“smart blood”—c’mon!), explosions, car and helicopter chases (lots of helicopters), and pretty much an absurd plot that harkens back to Herr Blofeld and SPECTRE, that crime syndicate that wants to dominate the world.  Of course, SPECTRE is modernized.  Bond’s loose-cannon status comes to the fore, the new M (Ralph Fiennes) is a wee bit ambivalent about 007, and C wants to end the license-to-kill program.  It’s all good fun.

Second, the not stirred: Skyfall had some depth, probably the most of any of the Bond films.  It also had Adele performing the theme song.  I figured SPECTRE would disappoint in comparison.  It sets the bar high for any Bond film that follows it.  Trolling the old films for ideas didn’t help my perception.  By the time Roger Moore became Bond, I was already tired of Blofeld and his Persian cat.  And frankly Daniel Craig was looking a bit old in SPECTRE like Roger Moore always looked in his Bond films.  Craig can still play the tough guy, but you wonder if he manages it by ODing on Boost, that nutritional drink for the elderly.

Lea Seydoux does a good job as Bond’s main squeeze in this one.  She just might be the most talented actor in this film.  I’m predicting a bright future for her.  Of course, if psychs were like this, all men would be in therapy!  Her profession is a wee bit farfetched, but she bounces from denying grief at daddy’s death into Bond’s arms in a convincing fashion, playing a kick-ass female rather than the usual Bond eye-candy.  Andrew Scott is completely miscast as C.  No way in hell someone this young gets this high in the Brit’s security establishment.  He looks like a lawyer just out of law school and without any experience.  Not convincing at all.

It was decades ago when I read ALL of Ian Fleming’s Bond stories.  I frankly can’t remember Blofeld and SPECTRE, but some days I have trouble remembering what I ate the day before, so that doesn’t count for much.  As is often the case, the books were often better than the corresponding movies (although Sean Connery matched my mental image of Bond in Dr. No), but the movie makers soon ran out of books and turned to original screen plays.  Except for Skyfall, they’ve always been lacking and quite formulaic.  The movie SPECTRE is no exception.  Still fun, though.  (PG-13.)

In elibris libertas….    

[Note from Steve: This week’s featured movies were both directed by women.  That’s probably a good thing.  Men tend to make high testosterone action flicks; women more pensive flicks about social situations.  Which is better?  Dunno, but maybe the day will come when we turn these stereotypes on their heads.  These films are comfortable both comfortable fits—you won’t be dropping your box of popcorn.]

Learning to Drive.  Isabel Coixet, dir.  Ben Kingsley does well in every movie he’s in, even as a fake terrorist in Iron Man.  He seems to delight in playing exotic characters, too.  Here he’s a Sikh cab driver by night and driving instructor by day in the most polyglot of cities, New York.  Patricia Clarkson plays a woman who’s an emotional wreck because her husband of many years leaves her for a younger woman.  Kingsley is spot on, Clarkson overacts.  Cultural contrasts play a starring role.  There are some comedic moments and some dramatic ones.  Sikhs are often misunderstood and wrongly persecuted in this country.  Kingsley’s character was even persecuted in India along with his family.  Lots of visual tidbits to watch for here—discrimination against the Sikh’s arranged bride by a black store clerk, for example.  Worth seeing, and B+ (PG-13, but G except for one scene).

The Intern.  Nancy Myers, dir.  Robert De Niro saves this movie like Kingsley saves the last one.  He plays a seventy-year-old intern, applying for the job because he’s bored with retirement.  As an ex-VP, his character understands corporate dynamics a lot more than the internet startup’s owner, played by Anne Hathaway.  De Niro’s character thinks she’s fit for the job; you probably won’t.  The worst character is her philandering husband, although you can’t blame the guy completely—Hathaway’s character is immersed in her business, to say the least.  The plot was weak.  The highlight, about the middle of the movie, wasn’t enough to save it.  De Niro did.  A pleasant piece of fluff, I suppose, so I’ll give it a B-; it’s worth going to in order to see a master at work (completely G, although your kids wouldn’t understand any of it).

CSI: the Final Episode.  Not exactly a movie, but movie-length, last Sunday’s final episode of the 15-year-old show was a bit nostalgic, weird as always, and irregular.  Many regulars returned, including Grissom.  Heather, the S&M lady turned therapist, is also back.  The case is weird because it involves her and her clients.  It’s also a bit sappy at the end.  The bombs never looked real to me (some were).  They never explained who the crispy critter in the burned car was.  But if you grew to like this forensics-art show and get past the bad science (immediate turn-around on DNA tests, for example), this show was steady entertainment from a well-aged franchise.  It was the original and always the best of the CSI spinoffs.  TV drama as it used to be—not HBO, Netflix, or other cable lightweights; this one rates an B+ (in spite of all the blood, gore, and sexual innuendoes and situations, it’s still PG-13).  If you missed it, catch it any way you can.

In elibris libertas….

[Note from Steve: I guess we’re in the summer doldrums, dog days of summer, or whatever you call it.  There have been a few weekends where there’s nothing worth seeing on the silver screen.  But this review is a little longer than most, so that’s compensation for you.]

Man from U.N.C.L.E.  Guy Ritchie, dir.  OK, forget that the Soviet Union never cooperated with anyone after World War Two.  (I’m reading a bio of Churchill—they didn’t cooperate much during the War either, but, in their defense, Papa Joe and his Bolsheviks were in survival mode.)  Forget that getting American, British, and Russian spies to work together was an impossible mission that even Mr. Phelps couldn’t handle.  And forget that the acronym is more of a stretch than saltwater taffy.  This movie is fun and has the right mix of Cold War tension, irony, and James Bond-like tongue-in-cheek not to have to depend on the nostalgia factor from the TV series.  Consider it a prequel to that series.  The film’s much better than the recent Mission Impossible film.

Some reviewers didn’t like the acting.  I reveled in it, but I understood why those reviewers said that: they were channeling the TV series.  Like the restart of the Star Trek franchise or Mission Impossible films, you have to put aside any preconceptions about what the film should be and just sit back and enjoy the fun.  The acting was spot on.  Like USA’s White Collar, Solo is an ex-thief in this version, turned into a CIA spy via the same conditions—avoiding jail time—and Henry Cavill plays the part with perfect aplomb.

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Mr. Holmes.  Bill Condon, dir.  In this adagio with significant meaning, Ian McKellan is great.  It is the story of the great detective trying to remember his last case; it’s also the story about his friendshiup with a little boy that bridges an immense generation gap.  It occurs after World War Two.  That last case caused Mr. Holmes to retire, seeking refuge in a country he owns.  The boy is the son of a widow, the housekeeper of the manor.  During his last days at the manor, we revisit that last case and one associated with prewar Japan in continuing flashbacks that are a bit hard to follow.

Fans will enjoy the references to the Holmes mystery stories, and the black-and-white film is pertinent too.  Most of all, you will see in-depth character studies not common in a film.  Is this Ian’s last?  I hope not.  But, if it is, he’s going out on a high note.  A+.

Minions.  Pierre Coffin and Kyle Balda, dirs.  While kids will certainly enjoy this animated masterpiece, an adult background (40+ is recommended) is needed to pick up on the pop trivia references.  Not much escapes the lampooning here, including Richard Nixon, Queen Elizabeth, and many sixties songs, as the little fireplugs carry on their search for a wonderfully evil master, starting all the way back in prehistoric times.  This is the prequel to Despicable Me, and it’s great fun.

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Terminator Genisys.  Alan Taylor, dir.  This series is as tired as Schwarzenegger looks.  We have had a rash of series “extensions,” from Bourne to Ice Age and minions.  It’s all a wee bit tiring and shows that very little originality is left in Hollywood.  (With all the good books out there, is it just laziness or a shared myopia with traditional publishers, only betting on the “sure horses” even when they’re ready for the glue factory.)  That Damon-less Bourne flop should have been a lesson to the Hollywood moguls.  I guess Mr. S is in a midlife crisis and needs something to do beyond counting his millions—or his philandering costs a lot more than it should.  At least he’s not running for president—the GOP doesn’t need another clown (and he can’t run anyway—too bad California didn’t have a citizenship req to run for governor).

OK, I did have fun.  My tactic of viewing the original Terminator beforehand was smart.  There’s a lot more reference to that original in this new flick than in Jurassic World (see below).  Like that Star Trek movie, we’re now in a parallel universe—rather, timeline.  The changing timelines can be a bit confusing, though, but I’d have to watch it again to detect inconsistencies.  I suspect they’re there, but I was distracted by all the pyrotechnics.  There’s a hint at The Many Worlds Theory of Quantum Mechanics (not mentioned per se).  If you want a good time travel plot, read Hogan’s The Proteus Operation.  There’s a lot of action in that one too.

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Aloha.  Dir. Cameron Crowe.  Bradley Cooper and Emma Stone, A-listers.  Slow start, but it improves to ho-hum.  Major casting error with Stone, and Cooper flops big time after American Sniper and Elephant Man (why didn’t he win a Tony for that performance?).  But I expect the fault lies in the chaotic but plodding screenplay and the directing of same.  “Aloha” is the “ciao” of Hawaiian—it can mean many things, including “goodbye,” which is what you’ll want to say to this one.  I’ll give it a D only because of the scenery, but you can see better views in Magnum PI and Lost reruns and in that “old movie” Jurassic Park (it was on about a gazillion cable channels as Spielberg promotes the new version, Jurassic World, which looks absurd).

Spy.  Dir. Paul Feig.  Melissa McCarthy, Jude Law, Rose Byrne, and Jason Statham, A-listers, plus many cameos.  I changed my mind about McCarthy in St. Vincent and recent episodes of Mike and Molly, so I wasn’t surprised that this movie is entertaining.  I know some people can’t stand her.  Profanity comes out of her mouth as fast as bullets out of an automatic pistol in this one.  It’s a spoof on the Bond franchise and more and deserves its R rating, but it’s great fun.  Watch for hilarious details, especially in the credits.  Forget about Aloha above—this one’s actually worth the ticket price.  I rate it A+ with a caveat: profanity, violence, sexual innuendoes, projectile vomiting, flatulence, and some questionable selfies might seem over the top.  But if you don’t laugh at this movie, you really need to develop a sense of humor.

In elibris libertas….