Reviews

Killers of the Flower Moon

/ Chase Clark / Leave a comment

Well, it’s here. The time has finally come. Martin Scorsese’s latest, Killers of the Flower Moon, is in theaters, which means two things: 1. You should go see it, and 2. I can review it.

Filmed in and around Pawhuska, Oklahoma, Killers of the Flower Moon is the story of the Osage Murders in the 1920s. After black gold is discovered on Osage land, the entire Nation becomes rich beyond their wildest dreams. In an opening cinematic meant to look like an early newsreel, Osage women are shown flashing large jewels and furs, men are in suits and hats, and they’re driven around by their lowly white cabbies. From there, we’re introduced to Ernest Burkhart (Leonardo DiCaprio), a World War I vet fresh off the train. He’s a simple man, and cowardly, and his uncle, “King” William Hale (Robert De Niro), can smell the loyal dog in him at their reacquaintance.

Ernest makes his living as a cabbie. That is, until he meets and falls in love with Mollie (Lily Gladstone), a local Osage woman taking care of her ailing mother. Mollie is two very important things to Ernest: beautiful and rich. Hale encourages his nephew to marry the woman, and soon, there’s a wedding, and little Burkharts running around not long after. The couple are in complete marital bliss, despite the rampant death surrounding them. But then, the murders start hitting closer to home. One by one, Mollie’s mother and sisters die, and even she is starting to show signs of the “wasting death”. Believing her illness is related to her diabetes, she takes insulin shots paid for by Hale. Though the book the film is based on took its time to reveal the masterminds behind the murders, the film makes it clear early on that Hale is not the guy you want providing insulin for your sick wife.

After an explosion of dynamite kills her cousin, Reta, and Reta’s husband, Bill, Mollie is tired of waiting on the local authorities to do anything and goes to Washington D.C. to plead with the president to investigate the murders. A former Texas Ranger, Tom White, is sent to Osage country to get to the bottom of it, and thankfully, he’s good at what he does. The murderers are brought to justice, and finally, William Hale’s reign of terror is ended.

A lot has already been said about how this film shifts focus from Tom White and the creation of the FBI to the relationship between Ernest and Mollie. Just to throw in my two cents, it was the right decision. Not only does it avoid the White Savior trope that a lot of these movies can fall into, it also gives the story a much-needed emotional core and depth. We should all be able to look back at these events in our country’s history and be appalled, but when you connect it to these people that we care about and fear for, we’re once less removed from their horror. Scorsese has never shied away from terrible violence in his films, and that remains true in Killers of the Flower Moon. Wide shots of the murders come quickly and without warning. We are made to witness it all.

Despite some of these scenes, the film is beautiful to look at. Oklahoma rarely gets recognition for its dazzling landscape, but its here for all to see. Gorgeous horizons, rolling hills, and golden fields of tallgrass fill the frame and paint a vibrant picture of the plains. The camera is always at work and rarely static. There’s not a dull shot in the film, but there are some that stand out from the rest. One that comes to mind is a scene where Hale is burning the fields around his house for the insurance money, and the images become distorted and dreamlike as the camera focuses through the flames. One of the earliest shots in the film is a group of young Osage men dancing in a field beneath a geyser of oil as droplets rain down on them in slow motion.

Another high point of the film is the score from the late Robbie Robertson, guitarist and songwriter for The Band. Robertson, who was of Native American descent, has collaborated with Scorsese on multiple films, but Killers of the Flower Moon might be his best work. Being a Scorsese movie, it’s very blues-heavy, but there’s a major emphasis on percussion that drives it along and keeps it close to its Indigenous roots, most notably in that aforementioned scene with the men dancing under the spraying oil. There are blues, gospel and Native American songs from the time sprinkled throughout as well, adding to the authenticity of the film.

Killers of the Flower Moon boasts incredible talent in front of the camera. It’s only the third collaboration between Robert De Niro and Leonardo DiCaprio, despite both of them working with Scorsese for decades, and they are both true to form. I’m sure both of them will be strong contenders come Oscars season. However, the performer I want to draw special attention to is Lily Gladstone. Gladstone’s entire filmography can be counted without taking off your shoes, and she is a demanding presence even when sharing the screen with someone like DiCaprio. It probably helps that Mollie is the analog for entire Osage Nation that we’re supposed to care for and sympathize with, but regardless, this woman can act. True to character, she says very little, but in that silence, she says so much. There’s a fortitude and intelligence behind her eyes.

SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT

Is everyone who is trying to avoid spoilers gone? Okay, good. Back to Lily Gladstone. Before the film transitions to its coda, Gladstone’s Mollie confronts her husband on his involvement with the murders. She tries to get Ernest to admit to poisoning her, but he can’t bring himself to do it. She’s known for some time that he was involved, but she gives him one last chance to come clean and prove that there’s still honesty between them. When Ernest refuses to admit to anything other than insulin, Mollie gets up and walks out on him without another word. She doesn’t have to say anything. Her face says it all. The scene is particularly heartbreaking, in no small part due to Gladstone’s performance.

Now, about that coda. From this scene, the movie transitions into a radio show. A recreation of an early Lucky Strike Hour radio program acts as our epilogue in lieu of title cards explaining where the characters are now. It explains that both Hale and Burkhart were sentenced to life in prison (and both got out early on good behavior), and in a very poignant moment, Scorsese himself makes a cameo to give us Mollie’s obituary. He explains that she died at 50 from complications with her diabetes, and was buried next to her family that preceded her. The very last words of the film are his: “The murders were never mentioned.” There’s a duality going on here. On the one hand, there’s a critique of Scorsese’s own actions as a filmmaker – taking a tragedy and turning it into entertainment – but on the other hand, there’s an argument for the need and value of storytelling. Without David Grann’s book and without Scorsese’s film, how many people would even know about these murders?

The film is wisely bookended with two Osage ceremonies. The very first scene is a burial of a pipe as the Osage people mourn the loss of their culture as new laws demand that they learn the history of White Men. They cry for the loss of their language. They cry for the loss of their history. The very last shot of the film is a modern drum ceremony shown from a bird’s eye view. As the kaleidoscopic image fades to black, we realize that Osage history is not lost, as long as there are people with the power to tell it.

Night of the Comet

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The entire world watches and waits to see a comet pass across the sky that hasn’t been seen from Earth since the age of the dinosaurs. Something once-in-several-lifetimes like this deserves some serious attention, so comet watch parties overtake the evening’s festivities. There’s just one problem: the comet turns those who witness it to dust, or worse, they turn into zombies that will soon become dust. Lucky for sisters, Reggie and Sam, as well as a few other characters we meet along the way, they miss the event. The world they wake up to is a post-apocalyptic dust bowl where the only sound is a prerecorded radio show coming in over the air waves.

Night of the Comet is hardly a zombie movie. As a matter of fact, it is hardly an apocalypse movie. Really, what Night of the Comet is, is a conspiracy movie. A group of scientists who knew about the effects of the coming comet hid themselves to survive the night, but one idiot scientist left the air vent open and the comet dust came in and infected them all. In a desperate attempt to give themselves more time to discover a cure for the comet’s effects, they are killing innocent survivors to harvest their untainted blood. It’s up to Reggie and Sam to stop them before they kill all the remaining survivors.

The synopsis may not make it clear, but Night of the Comet, more than anything else, is a comedy. Reggie and Sam are Valley Girl types thrust into a zombie-infested world, and the movie plays it smart by playing it straight. This is a real apocalypse these girls are experiencing, but even if you can take the girl out of the Valley, you can’t take the Valley out of the girl. Despite their circumstances, Reggie and Sam keep their priorities straight. Their focus is on dating and shopping. Reggie and a boy named Hector end up connecting as they thwart the evil scientists, but who is there for Sam to date if everyone else is dead? And though they go shopping for guns to defend themselves with, they also make sure to give their wardrobe some attention. After all, this is prime time for a new fashion trend.

The movie is action-packed with interesting set pieces and a surprisingly satisfying visual style. Some of the set design is outdated (the radio station the girls meet Hector looks like the 1980s got food poisoning and vomited neon), but that adds to the fun, right? Perhaps, that’s why the movie has seemingly gained a cult following. That nostalgia for the 80s that’s crept into modern Horror properties needs to have a point of reference, after all. The film also follows a rising 80s trend of strong female protagonists, but Reggie seems to never get lumped in with Ripley and Sarah Connor on the lists nerds make to justify their hatred of the latest Star Wars heroine and Sam never truly gets the credit she deserves as the inspiration for Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Some films just can’t escape their B-movie standing, I guess.

The film is far from perfect, however. The editing lacks a rhythm to it and some scenes last longer than they need to, the actors outside of Reggie (Catherine Mary Stewart, who also starred that same year in The Last Starfighter and was on Days of Our Lives the year before that) are wooden and directionless throughout most of the movie, and some decisions are outright head-scratching (the whole DMK resolution feels tacked on because the writer thought it was way more important than it was). While it has its flaws, there’s enough about Night of the Comet to enjoy a movie night and makes you wish stores like Blockbuster were still a thing. It’s a perfect October rental.

It Came from Outer Space

/ Chase Clark / 1 Comment

When I think of the slew of 1950’s Sci-Fi movies that were released on shoe-string budgets, a few things come to mind. Terrible acting, ridiculous special effects, and the most basic plots known to man. It Came from Outer Space is no exception to these things, but with one interesting twist. What if the aliens aren’t here to destroy or enslave us?

John Putman and his fiancee, Ellen Fields are out stargazing one night when John notices something shooting across the skyline from his telescope, watching it crash off in the distance. The two go investigate and, just before it sinks beneath the dirt of a landfill, John sees a spaceship. John tries to convince the town of what he saw, but no one believes him until the sheriff starts to notice some people going missing and returning with a strange air about them. The sheriff decides they have to kill the aliens before they themselves are killed, but John believes a peaceful solution can be reached. He discovers that the aliens aren’t killing anyone, they’re merely shapeshifting into humans they see in order to get ahold of supplies they need to repair their busted ship. Once they have all the parts they need, they will get out of Earth’s hair. It’s up to John to keep the sheriff and his posse from getting to the aliens before they can leave.

Most of the time, these Sci-Fi movies from the 50s are reactions to the Red Scare. The aliens are malicious and vindictive and out to conquer our planet, just like the Soviets. However, this movie, based on a treatment from one of the greatest Sci-Fi authors, Ray Bradbury, depicts the aliens as sympathetic. Not necessarily human, but deserving of a chance for peace. Just that tiny change elevates the movie above many of its peers. It still has the cheesy special effects, but they’re more subdued and used sparingly. It’s not like there’s a giant lobster off in the distance, ready to attack.

Credit can be given to the film’s director, Jack Arnold, for the intelligence behind the camera. Arnold’s other credits include Tarantula, Creature from the Black Lagoon, The Mouse That Roared, and a personal favorite, The Incredible Shrinking Man – all much smarter than their contemporaries. It will still make you laugh when you aren’t supposed to, but It Came from Outer Space is an enjoyable Sci-Fi romp, worth a look during the month of Halloween.

Bubba Ho-Tep

/ Chase Clark / 1 Comment

It’s October – spooky month – and that means I plan to focus my reviews on the Horror genre. I’m not really a fan of Horror movies, so I’m probably rather unqualified to do this, but what can I do? I gots to review. There are some great Horror films out there, don’t get me wrong, but the majority of them are too indulgent on what gets audiences – jump scares, gore – to the point where their stories are diluted.

This is my first foray into reviewing Horror, and I thought I should start with one of the oddest films I’ve seen in the genre. Bubba Ho-Tep.

The one-line pitch for this movie is as follows: A geriatric Elvis (still alive and hiding as an impersonator of himself) and a black man who is convinced he’s John F. Kennedy have to save their nursing home from a southern Mummy. Think about that for a second, reread it if you have to. Come on, you know you want to see it.

Maybe it’s because of that crazy hook that the movie felt more disappointing while watching it. It had so much going for it, in theory. I love the totally bonkers premise. I love Bruce Campbell and Ossie Davis (Elvis and JFK respectively). I honestly love the soundtrack. But when it comes down to it, Bubba Ho-Tep is not a good movie. Not even in the campy-sorta way. I’m sure this comes as a shock to all of you.

The biggest issue with the movie is a subplot explaining how Elvis came to impersonate himself and why he has another name, Sebastian Haff. It takes up way too much time and derails the pacing of the movie, all for a joke that needed maybe two sentences to set up. While watching these scenes, I contemplated what could have made them seem necessary to the filmmakers. Really, what I suspect it is, is there isn’t enough story involving the mummy to warrant a full-length movie, so they had to pad the runtime with this backstory. We don’t even get a backstory for JFK’s transformation to a Black man, which would have been much more interesting.

I also don’t care for the director, Don Coscarelli. Other films to his credit are the Phantasm movies and The Beastmaster. If you’ve seen those movies, surely you understand what I’m getting at. Coscarelli is good with minimal budgets, but he’s less consistent with pacing and editing. It makes his films hard to watch and Bubba Ho-Tep is no exception to those tendencies.

A scene where a lady is confronted by a scarab and the last 15-20 minutes (the confrontation with Bubba Ho-Tep) are quite well-done and enjoyable, especially seeing Campbell’s Elvis coming to JFK’s rescue in a motorized wheelchair, but it’s not enough to rescue the film. If you’re a fan of schlock or enjoy watching bad movies for the irony, maybe give Bubba Ho-Tep a try. I’m sure some of you will find something in the movie to latch onto. Otherwise, you’re better off watching something – anything – else. In fact, you’re probably better off not watching anything at all.

Bringing Out the Dead

/ Chase Clark / Leave a comment

If someone were to pitch me a Scorsese movie starring Nicolas Cage as a paramedic in the process of going insane, I’d be hooked immediately. And then I’d watch Bringing Out the Dead and be surprisingly disappointed. This is the only collaboration between one of my favorite directors and one of my favorite actors, so it’s a real shame that it doesn’t play out better. Nicolas Cage doesn’t even do any of his somewhat-annoying Cage-isms. But there is something off about the movie, and maybe by the end of this review I will have pinpointed what it is.

Nicolas Cage is Frank Pierce, a paramedic who hasn’t successfully saved anyone in months and is therefore incredibly depressed. He sees the faces of his “victims” everywhere he goes, and suffers from insomnia because of it. Frank just needs a vacation. But there’s no rest for the saints of New York. We follow Frank on three shifts, paired with three different fellow paramedics. There’s John Goodman as Larry; a simple man who sees their job as a reason to be happy because they help people, Ving Rhames as the religious zealot (who is still somehow okay with picking up prostitutes), Marcus, and Tom Sizemore as…Tom, a volatile, ticking timebomb of a man who seems to prefer nearly killing people instead of saving their lives.

Frank responds to a call on the first shift we see him on regarding a man who is in cardiac arrest. At the scene, Frank sees the man’s adult, former-junkie daughter, Mary Burke, and he becomes obsessed with her. It doesn’t appear to be a romantic thing between them, Frank just sees the light of hope when he looks at her. She’s something for him to latch on to and find comfort in when the world around him becomes ever darker.

The movie seems to have a tonal problem. At different points, the film is depressing, goofy, frustrating, helpless, hopeful, and romantic. It never really lands anywhere. It was very strange watching a scene where Frank and Marcus are driving and they flip their ambulance over and I’m laughing intentionally. I do believe screenwriter Paul Schrader intended the scene to feel comedic, but it’s bizarre to be laughing at such a scene in such a movie. Bringing Out the Dead reminds me of another Scorsese film. It’s a dark and depressing, hellish nightmare version of After Hours with a dash of Taxi Driver.

Visually, the movie is uncanny. It looks like it was filmed digitally, even though it was made with filmstock. It’s oversaturated and incredibly grainy, which I think serve a purpose for displaying the inner anguish of Nicolas Cage’s character, who also acts as the narrator, but it can be an assault on the eyes in some scenes. The final shot, riffing on Catholic paintings of Mother Mary holding the Christ child, is a nice touch, however. It also has opening credits that are designed very similarly to those old piracy warnings that played at the beginning of DVDs.

In the end, this Scorsese film gets swept under the rug, and perhaps that is as it should be. I hate to say it, as I have never watched a Scorsese movie that I didn’t like, but this one comes close. Maybe after a repeat viewing I will change my tune, but for now, I will have to settle on the fact that it was one Nicolas Cage’s best performances…and that’s about all it has going for it.

Dumb Money

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Dumb Money is a simple movie. The good guys are good because they’re poor, and the bad guys are bad because they’re rich. There’s no room for any depth of character, in fact, any personality at all is a deterrent. Paul Dano, the main reason I was willing to see this movie, plays Keith Gill, a struggling financial analyst who spends most of his time streaming to YouTube and posting on Reddit. He and his wife have a young baby and little money to their names. He spends what little they have on GameStop stock.

Gill’s not necessarily unlikeable, but the only reasons we’re given to care about him are the baby and his financial situation, presented at face value. His brother, Kevin (Pete Davidson in his most Pete Davidson role yet), is completely unlikeable. He’s a jerk to his brother and eats the food that he delivers via DoorDash. He’s a stoner that lives with his parents. I think we’re supposed to like him because of these qualities, but he’s about as tolerable as scraping your bum with a cheese grater.

Keith Gill has something on his side, though: internet culture. He’s a frequent YouTuber, posting livestreams of his financial data, making arguments for why GameStop is a slept-on stock, and he’s also a frequent poster on the subreddit r/WallStreetBets. Because of his wise business sense and his dank memes, he cultivates a massive following, successfully convincing others to buy up GameStop stock simply because he “likes the stock”.

GameStop stock skyrockets as a result, and everyone holding on to their stocks instead of selling it produces a short squeeze on the hedge funds that were short selling the stock, causing some ridiculously rich men to lose a lot of money. When they notice the holes in their pockets, they do everything they can to cut off the tap. The poor nurses and college kids, as well as Keith Gill, watch in horror as the evil rich men switch the rules of the game, causing riotous behavior, such as an increase in TikTok videos. In the end, Congress gets involved and those evil rich men embarrass themselves with having to answer for their actions in a hearing. I think this is supposed to be a victory for the good guys, but I’m not sure. Also, Keith Gill is now a multimillionaire, so I think I’m supposed to hate him too now?

Dumb Money has a very specific audience. It’s a film for the younger generations who believe memes are the pinnacle of comedy, and assume anyone who is wealthier than a broke college student is a bad person. And this is my biggest problem with the movie: it makes me defend the rich guys. People who commit shady business practices (legal or otherwise) where they step on those less fortunate to deepen their pockets are bad people, but they’re not cartoon villains. There’s always a chance for redemption or at least nuance to their character. For instance, did you know that Gabe Plotkin (played by Seth Rogan trying his hardest not to Seth Rogan all over the place), despite bleeding money from the short squeeze, took money from his own compensation to provide his staff with their annual bonuses and continued to donate to Jewish veterans? If your entire knowledge of these events is this movie or Reddit, then you certainly wouldn’t.

On top of its cardboard characterization, the movie is also almost completely tensionless and forgettable. Like most anything you find in the theater, Dumb Money can be an entertaining way to waste a couple of hours, but if you’re looking for something good or fulfilling, or even something more akin to The Social Network, my advice is to look elsewhere.

Stop Making Sense

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A24 has just re-released this Talking Heads concert film in 4k in celebration of its 40th anniversary in the coming year, starting this week in IMAX theaters and into regular screenings next week. I’m putting this part at the beginning of the review so you have all the facts and can make the wise decision to get off the internet and to the nearest theater that’s showing what many call “the greatest concert film of all time”. What are you still doing here? Go! It’s not like I’m going anywhere.

For those of you that are just returning from your impromptu viewing experience, or for those of you who didn’t heed my advice because you (1) don’t like good music, (2) don’t like good filmmaking, or (3, and most egregiously) think concert films/music documentaries are a waste of time, here’s my review:

Stop Making Sense is one of the rare instances of blending the two parts of these types of movies. The two parts are the concert being performed and the story the director is telling (usually, it’s a history of the band or the highs and lows of a particular tour), and most of the time, they’re kept separate and the filmmakers go back and forth between the two or simply use the concert footage to fill in gaps of the actual story. In Stop Making Sense, the show, which was repeated over three nights at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood, is the story.

Our first images on screen are of Talking Heads’ frontman, David Byrne’s feet, as he enters the stage with nothing more than an acoustic guitar and a tape player. We see the tape player at his feet before we get the full image of the man, which supposedly is the source of the drum machine beat used to supply rhythm as Byrne goes into a solo performance of their first single, “Psycho Killer”. The director, Jonathan Demme (famous for movies such as Something Wild, the Denzel Washington remake of The Manchurian Candidate, Philadelphia, and this obscure, little film called, The Silence of the Lambs), keeps the focus on Byrne, using heavy amounts of close-up throughout the entire song. At this point, we have yet to see the full stage. Slowly, one song at a time, the rest of the band comes out on the stage, and we get to see a little more of the bigger picture. It’s not until the sixth number, their most recent hit at the time and their highest charting song ever, “Burning Down the House”, do we get a visual of the entire stage.

From then on, the concert is a meditation on theatrics the entire rest of the way through. Minimal use of lighting is used to focus on certain aspects of the bands’ faces and figures. For one of my favorite moments in the film, their performance of “Naive Melody (This Must Be the Place)”, the stage is, at first, lit solely by a decorative lamp that you could find leaning over an armchair in your grandparents’ house. As the song goes on, David Byrne dances with the lamp like Fred Astaire with a coatrack. A little later in the show, Byrne goes backstage and returns in his famous “big suit”, modeled after Japanese Noh and Kabuki costuming and meant to make his head look small.

For all its seeming spontaneity, the concert (and the film) are perfectly choreographed. Byrne dances with his backup singers, runs in place while strumming alongside his rhythm guitarist, and at one point, he even drops his mic stand so he has to sing by hunching over. Because of this meticulousness, it’s impossible to separate the film from what went on behind the scenes. It’s no secret that David Byrne was (maybe still is) a control freak while in the band. He’s even admitted to it and apparently apologized for it. But knowing that detail begs the question: is there an excuse for such behavior when the result is genius?

Despite what’s going on behind the curtain and the emphasis on perfection and detail, the joy shared by the band members in the film is genuine. They’re all smiles and seemingly thrilled to simply be playing music. And the music itself is explosive and exciting. There’s energy emanating from everyone on stage, from the Talking Heads: Byrne, Chris Frantz, Tina Weymouth, and Jerry Harrison, to the backup singers, Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt, to the camera and lighting crew on stage (one of which gets a microphone in their face to sing a line of a song), and to supporting guitarist and percussionist, Alex Weir and Steve Scales, especially.

Stop Making Sense is pure performance at its most electrifying, and worth a watch to anyone who can’t help but tap their toe to the beat. I still don’t know if I can say it’s the greatest concert film of all time, but it’s certainly a “once in a lifetime” experience.

Carlito’s Way

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Very few movies reveal the ending during the opening credits, and even fewer movies can pull it off. Carlito’s Way is one of those movies. The second collaboration between director Brian De Palma and actor Al Pacino is less about what happens and more about how it happens.

Al Pacino plays Carlito Brigante, a drug dealer, freshly released from prison, out to follow the straight and narrow. It’s a hard thing to accomplish when everyone you know, including the lawyer who convinced a judge to let you go free, is elbow-deep in criminal activity. It’s a world where a simple ride along can become a bloody shootout, and it’s not long before he’s wrapped up in that old way of life. Insert quote from The Godfather Part III here.

That aforementioned lawyer is David Kleinfeld, played by an increasingly-erratic, coke-addicted Sean Penn, who looks more like Dr. Steve Brule than you would expect. And while Carlito works his hardest to escape his life of crime, Kleinfeld is just beginning to get a taste for it. There’s also Carlito’s ex-girlfriend, Gail (Penelope Ann Miller before people knew her as Jeffrey Dahmer’s mother in that Netflix series), whom he still loves and wants nothing more than to escape the crime-infested New York City with her for a slice of paradise in the Caribbean.

And it’s that relationship with Gail that sets Carlito’s Way apart from De Palma’s other films. It gives the film a heart and a romantic side, a warmth maybe, whereas other films in his oeuvre are cold and grisly. Carlito has plans. He has dreams, and we so badly want to see him make those dreams a reality, despite knowing from the beginning how his story will end. There’s something deeper here than post-Hays Code Hitchcockian suspense at play, though there is plenty of that.

As with his other films, De Palma shines with his intense camera angles, three-sixty degree shots and kinetic editing. An early shootout in a backroom bar and the final chase through a subway station will have you white-knuckling your armrest and on the edge of your seat. As events unfold on the screen, you will increasingly find yourself hoping and praying that Carlito’s moral code (his way, I guess you could say) is enough to save him from being swallowed up by the lifestyle and city that made him.

Carlito’s Way didn’t receive much attention when it first came out. I presume people saw it as a rehash of Scarface, and therefore decided it wasn’t worth their time. But it has since received more acclaim in the years that followed, and rightfully so. Carlito’s Way deserves to be in consideration for one of Brian De Palma’s best films (alongside Blow Out) and one of Al Pacino’s best performances. It’s rapturous, like a dance on the beach.

Carlito’s Way is available in a brand new 4k edition from Arrow Video.

A Haunting in Venice

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The third installment of Kenneth Branagh’s Poirot series, based on the lesser-known novel, Hallowe’en Party, seems to truly find its footing in playing with suspense rather than the typical detective mystery. It feels fresh where the previous film, Death on the Nile, felt sluggish and lost. Unfortunately, by shifting to a more horror/thriller rhythm, the actual detective stuff (finding clues and deducing motives) takes a backseat, which is a problem when your movie is about the second-greatest detective ever put to film (sorry, folks, but the top spot is forever secured by the great Jacques Clouseau).

Kenneth Branagh feels more confident as a Hercule Poirot without confidence than one with. Poirot, in this film, has dropped the arrogance and replaced it with PTSD and the fear that he’s now a has-been. I can’t say whether or not this is accurate to the source material – Hallowe’en Party is towards the back end of Agatha Christie’s extensive catalogue, and I am very slowly making my way through all of them – but I can say it makes the usually-abrasive Poirot a more sympathetic figure. The supporting cast of characters are a mixed bag, but there are some true winners here. Tina Fey shines as the author, Ariadne Oliver, as does Kelly Reilly (of Yellowstone fame) as Rowena Drake.

Rowena Drake is a grieving mother. Her daughter supposedly committed suicide the previous year, but the rumor is that it was actually a murder. Of course, such rumors fly in a house that is haunted by the spirits of several children who were locked in the house long ago, left to die. The rest of the people at the house are tied, one way or another, to the deceased or the house itself, and they plan to spend the night locked in the house to experience a seance from the great Joyce Reynolds (the ever-amazing Michelle Yeoh), who claims she can speak with the deceased Alicia Drake. However, things take a turn when the Medium, Reynolds, unexpectedly falls from a balcony. From there on, it’s up to the great Hercule Poirot to solve the two deaths.

The film is meant to spook and keep you on the edge of your seat, but it also meditates on grief and loss. The stakes feel more personal than the previous films because of it. To increase those feelings, the film is full of dim lighting and uncomfortable close-ups. It fits the mood perfectly.

However, as I previously said, the tone of the film overshadows the actual story. Some of the characters are just there and never really seem invested in what’s going on. There are a few twists along the way as the story unfolds, but the conclusion isn’t a big surprise. And as far as that goes, the film may be at fault for how we get to the end, but it’s not necessarily to blame for that lackluster conclusion in and of itself. That can be blamed on circumstance. Murder on the Orient Express is probably the most famous Poirot mystery because the solving of the case is so unexpected and interesting. And because of this, it makes sense why it was the first story filmed, and also that the case for any mystery to follow would be found wanting. Honestly, there won’t be another shocker until (and if) they do The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, although I’m not sure if that twist ending will translate to film very well.

In the end, there is plenty to love about this movie, especially if you like the previous installments, but if you’re not a fan, you may find yourself not caring or getting bored. As of my writing this, there’s no confirmation on whether or not they will continue to make these, but if they don’t, this is a great conclusion to the series. If they keep at it, they run the risk of petering out. Sometimes, it’s best to quit while you’re ahead. The death knells toll for all.

The Innocent

/ Chase Clark / Leave a comment

What if Brian DePalma tried to make a family dramady…and was French? That’s 2022’s The Innocents. It’s equal parts comedy, romance and heist. It has moments where it’s totally grounded, and others where it’s off-the-walls.

Sylvie, who teaches prison inmates theater, falls in love with one of her students, a convict named Michel. She drags her son, Abel, to the prison for their wedding ceremony. Abel is understandably hesitant, especially considering his mother has a history of being romantically involved with prison inmates. Once Michel is out of prison, much of the early film is him trying to connect with Abel, while Abel resists and instead tails Michel, with the help of his best friend, Clemence, convinced he’s setting up another robbery. Classic setup for one of those “we’ve got to learn to get along”-type movies.

Where the film goes off the rails (in a good way) is when Abel’s suspicions prove correct. Michel, fresh out of prison, called in a favor from one of his former buddies to secure a building so he and Sylvie can open up a flower shop with no rent attached. The problem, now, is Michel can’t get something for nothing, and now has to pay for the shop by robbing a semi carrying crates and crates of caviar in order to flip them for a profit. Michel scopes it out and its seems like a perfect setup – the driver stops at the same roadside bar at the same point in his deliveries and always orders the same meal and dessert. After timing the rest stop multiple times, Michel has it down to a science on when and how to extract the caviar. The only problem is that he needs to stall the driver for about 10-15 minutes to ensure a clean getaway, so he asks Abel’s help for a little father/son bonding. When Clemence calls him a chicken for not doing anything exciting in his life after the tragic death of his wife, Abel agrees.

Clemence gets roped in as well, and she and Abel take a crash course in acting, courtesy of Michel, in order to learn how to play a fighting couple convincingly. Once they add a little bit of true life to their performance, they’re ready to go. The heist nearly goes off without a hitch, but is busted by the double-cross of Michel’s work associate. A mad-cap escape sees Abel rush Michel to the hospital and Clemence makes off with the goods. Once things settle down, Abel, in order to prove himself to Michel, Clemence, and, well, himself, goes to make the deal for the caviar. It’s a setup, and Abel is arrested. Michel and Sylvie are no longer on speaking terms for roping Abel into his schemes, but things are looking up. Abel moves past the feeling of self-loathing over his wife’s death and confesses his love to Clemence. They are married in a scene mirroring his mother’s wedding at the beginning of the film.

The Innocent is a good film. Cute, surprisingly tender, and funnier than it probably should be. But the convoluted plot weighs it down, and it doesn’t have enough room to breathe. Really, I think it just tries to do too much, to the point where the ending feels lacking. I wanted more. I wanted crazier. And the ending, while acceptably silly, is just too mild for my tastes. There’s a nod to the DePalma influence in the use of split-screen for a scene, but it doesn’t add much to the scene, and in fact detracts from its focus a bit, and then it never shows up again, so I’m left wondering what was the point. If you can handle subtitles and have some time on your hands, The Innocent is short and charming, and different enough to hold your attention.