Emancipation Review

There is a lot of buzz about "Emancipation," most negative and almost all about lead Will Smith. Sure yeah, he's gotten himself into a bit of a controversy, but so has probably every other actor. What I'm getting at is, yeah, I know what he did, and no review of his subsequent project after the drama can escape it.

But as for the actual movie, it shows many powerful scenes in bloody detail about the horrors of slavery and racism during the Civil War, but it spoon-feeds these emotions timidly. Director Antione Fuqua and writer Bill Collage feel the need to show us again and again how the oppression won't break the enslaved, robbing us the audience of the rawness that this story should have. Smith's character, Peter, preaches about god to anyone who will listen, and his belief is shown to keep him alive and willing. I disagree- his belief that he is being done wrong and his will to survive should have been the reason, but alas, I am no filmmaker. An alleged god has nothing to do with racism even if the South would like to think otherwise. They were wrong, it is as simple as that.

Early on Peter is sold off, ripped from his wife (Charmaine Bingwa) and children, and forced to build railroads to transport cannons for the Confederate army. The camera lingers images of death and badness, and in these scenes we get are about as honest a look into the dark side of America as possible considering this is a commercial movie. There is a huge amount of gloss splashed atop a dirty camp, with incredible cinematography by Robert Richardson, but at the end of the day, this is still a dirty camp, one where there is probably more blood than water in that muddy Louisiana swamp.

In general this is a splendid looking film, with a desaturated, near black and white color scheme that I suppose represents how slavery wants quote black and white. Shame the film doesn't ever explore that.

Soon he escapes, and every other slave follows, scattered in all different directions. A few follow him but they soon separate so that they're more difficult to track. Their goal? Baton Rouge to join Lincoln's army, where they'd be freed men. But Fassel, a tracker played by Ben Foster, heads out into the deadly marshland to bring Peter back, or at least his disembodied head.

Foster plays the role with a casual disinterest, like a man who'd probably prefer a pipe of tobacco and nice glass of sweet tea to a life of policing racism. There's minimal development to his character but he plays a racist well, which is probably not something he really wants to hear.

But Peter's escape is hardly the end of "Emancipation," something the trailers give away: he does make it to the Union Army and joins them. The last thirty or so minutes are spent showing another form of brutality: the actual Civil War. I'm no historian and cannot claim any moment of the battle scene is accurate, or really anything else during its runtime, but they're about as riveting as any war movie I've seen.

And despite the two-star score, I recommend "Emancipation" on the importance of its subject and not by its execution. We shouldn't forget the stupid things we do as a country but we shouldn't glamorize them either, but I can't shake the feeling that all the money involved here couldn't be better spent on something other than a simplified action movie.

A Christmas Story Christmas Review

The original 1983 "A Christmas Story" is a "classic" because of ubiquitousness and not quality- not to knock the film, but as someone who's never seen it in full, I still know "what" happens, all the famous scenes, that I don't feel the need to actually, you know, watch it. It has played consecutively on cable since I was a kid during the holiday, whether that dates me or the film, I'm not sure.

Look at me, getting off topic, or am I? See, "A Christmas Story Christmas," the belated sequel, has what the original had and what Seinfeld perfected: it's about nothing. Oh sure it has a plot, but the driving force is the season; there's no dramatic heft to any of the scenes, or at least the ones I've seen. It's just "about" Christmas, and with phony crap like "Falling for Christmas," or the overstuffed "The Christmas Chronicles 2," the easy-to-digest familiarity that "A Christmas Story Christmas" continues is a real treat.

Peter Billingsley returns as Ralphie, now a husband and father, who returns to his childhood home after his father passes. A would-be writer, there's a running story about him trying to get his book published before the year is over, or else he goes "back to work." This puts financial pressure on Ralphie and his wife Sandy (Erinn Hayes) to deliver the perfect Christmas on a budget, a far cry from the elaborate mansions, ranches and resorts the folks of Hallmark and Lifetime (and Netflix) feel define the spirit of the season.

He also has to write his dad's obituary, adding a touch of drama but really serving for a plot twist even an elf could spot coming a mile away. It's the closest thing this film has to a narrative, with short vignettes about shopping, snow, bullies, and a heaping serving of nostalgia from returning actors like Scott Schwartz, R.D. Robb, and Zack Ward. 

And I'm sure fans found them cute, but as a non-fan, they're just a distraction, probably the weakest part of the experience. They show up, wink at the camera, reference the original, and collect a paycheck. I mean they look like they're having fun, sure, but it feels like watching a band reunion who you never really liked in the first place.

So I'm giving this three stars because what? Did I like it? It's charming, I'll give you that, with a cozy atmosphere and look; freeze-frames could pass as Christmas cards from decades ago. But that doesn't explain my rating, especially when you consider its HBO Max debut and how similar "8-Bit Christmas" from last year it is. No, what "A Christmas Story Christmas" lacks in purpose it makes up for with having its big heart in the right place. It's the kind of movie you could see yourself falling asleep to after a few too many eggnogs, a compliment as backhanded as it is earnest. 

Falling for Christmas Review

I have never been skiing, I know what a way to open a review. But I don't get it- you "woosh" down a hill, in the freezing elements and for what? Is it a race or just for fun? How is it any different from just running in a straight line any other day, it makes just as much sense to me. So when it comes to ski lodges, there's no appeal, aside from getting a cozy warm feeling stereotypical of a picture print by Currier and Ives, but now I'm breaking into song and if I keep going I'll never forgive myself.

If I'm getting off-topic it is because I don't what to be here, writing about Netflix's "Falling for Christmas" starring Lindsay Lohan. It's about a ski lodge, one on the brink of bankruptcy, and I mean, it's not like it's a children's hospital or anything. They don't look to have many employees, so if they go under, how many people really are impacted? I'm sorry if I sound like Scrooge, I didn't want to watch it in the first place, but hey, too late now, and I must pay the price lest I get put on Santa's naughty list.

There's a certain novelty to seeing Lohan back in a lead role, but man, what a pathetic comeback vehicle. A low-budget romantic Christmas comedy? Who does she think she is, Candace Cameron Bure? She's probably the "better" actress in any real respect, though what the hell has happened to film criticism if this is what discussions have fallen to?

The plot is exactly what the trailer promised, as if its law of the motion picture association of hasbeen holiday yarns: Sierra (Lindsay Lohan), a spoiled heiress of a fancy ski resort gets amnesia after, ahem, falling down a mountain as her influencer boyfriend Tad (George Young) proposes. And wouldn't you know it, down-on-his-luck Jake (Chord Overstreet), owner of a significantly less fancy ski saloon, happens upon her while he takes some guests on a sleighride. Oh, and his horses name is Balthazar, and is probably the second best actor here next to, oh whatever.

Jake has a backstory to boot, involving a wife who died, leaving him to raise their daughter and run the business all by himself, or well, her mother Alejandra, played by Alejandra Carlisle; it is never a good sign when a character and performer share the same name.

If all this sounds familiar, that's because it is, and it is a shame to see the once-promising Lohan reduced to such a petty production. She's as effervescent and appealing as ever, but that alone cannot save "Falling for Christmas." Really, the most impressive thing here is Balthazar. It doesn't have much to do, but it was well behaved and looked clean.

Weird: The Al Yankovic Story Review

Be it movies, TV or music, if you don't like something that's on, you can always change the channel. But movies are an investment unlike music, where as three minutes of your time is far easier to afford to something new. Perhaps that's why Weird Al works so well parodying music, and not movies.

Well I suppose he did have his own show decades ago, but that is not what he's famous for.

"Weird: The Al Yankovic Story," coming to us free by The Roku Channel, is not the legit biopic its title or marketing suggests, instead being a parody of the genre. It's a good idea, proven to work from the the popular "Funny or Die" skit it's based on, but just because it works in a short lasting a few minutes doesn't mean it'll sustain a feature-length production.

The story chronicles the almost entirely fictional story of the rise and fall of Mr. Yankovic, with torrid sex, drugs, alcohol, and murder all played for laughs. But I never laughed, hell I barely cracked a smile most of the time; in fact the best moments here were when Daniel Radcliffe, playing Weird Al, performs his most famous songs. But I'm not going to laugh at a song that I've heard dozens of times that's decades old. It's like a "greatest hits" record spliced into an unrelated movie.

Parody movies are a tricky business because they're comedies, and comedy is hard. For every terrific "The Naked Gun" and "Austin Powers" we have duds like "Spy Hard" and, yes, even Al's own "UHF" from the 80's. There's a special magic that only the best parody films possess, but I would have been happy with an "OK" one. We have here a parody that isn't funny, and in the world of cinema, few things are more uncomfortable to sit through than an unfunny comedy.

I can't fault the cast, with Radcliff giving a dedicated performance, but I can fault director Eric Appel and Al himself, the two of which wrote the script. Moments linger along with nothing happening, scenes that make sense in serious films where we're invested in the characters and whatever they're thinking. Here, we're left thinking "where's the punchline?"

But there's one reason why "Weird: The Al Yankovic Story" fails as hard as it does: the dialogue just isn't sharp. Clever wordplay and puns Al injects into his songs are nowhere to be found. I say "found" and not "heard," because the musician often puts so many sight gags in his music videos that they become almost as fun to watch as they are to listen to. This is better not watched or listened to.

We get ridiculous situations like Madonna (Evan Rachel Wood) getting kidnapped by Pablo Escobar (Arturo Castro) so that Al will come to his birthday party. Sure, sounds silly enough, as does the sudden gunplay where henchmen are disposed ala John Wick. But so what? A ludicrous circumstance isn't inherently humorous, you need to play it straight, you need to push it over the edge of just being a scene in a movie with actors playing characters. A glib comment, unexpected slapstick, anything!

I've been a fan of Weird Al since I first heard his music, so I take no pleasure in reporting I experienced no pleasure watching this. 108 minutes is far too long for what is essentially a single joke, so once you hear the joke, all that's left are variations on the same thing. "Weird: The Al Yankovic Story" is a hard film to review because it's a hard film to enjoy or even understand. The best way to describe it is "weird," which if that's what they were going for, good for them. Its heart is in the right place, but that doesn't mean it wasn't an enormous waste of talent and resources.

Blade of the 47 Ronin Review

"Blade of the 47 Ronin" is a relic of a simpler cinema era, where cheapo sequels were destined to video rental or perhaps a TV premier. I mean sure, you can buy this on DVD if you are one of few without a Netflix account, but by debuting day-and-date on the streamer, the process is the same. This is a cheapo sequel destined to be viewed outside the big screen. So what? Does that mean I can't recommend this? Why not? Just because it's a low-budget distraction at best? Sometimes all I need is to be distracted.

Please don't read too far into that- this is most certainly not a "great" film in the sense of the performances, scale or plot, but the action and pacing are pretty spot-on, at least for the minimal dollars at the filmmakers disposal.

For those who completely forgot about the giant box office bomb that was 2013's "47 Ronin," staring Keanu Reeves, this is a sequel to that one, and unsurprisingly, Mr. Reeves is not in this one. But that didn't stop costar of the actor's third John Wick flick, Mark Dacascos, from nabbing a supporting role here, playing Shinshiro, but look at me getting ahead of myself.

Shinshiro is one of several Samurai lords who fear that the evil witch Yurei (Dan Southworth) has killed off all remaining heirs to the original 47 Ronin, and is looking for the two halves of a sword that, if acquired before the next blood moon, would make him unstoppable. The samurai immediately dissolve into fighting each other verbally for the best way forward. My favorite suggestion is guns, brought up by Nikko (Chikako Fukayama), not because I'm a fan of the weapon in real-life but because when he's later in a brawl, he breaks out a firearm and blasts the opposing baddie who wields just a sword. I dunno, he's convinced me.

Anyway, it turns out that there is actually a remaining bloodline to the 47 Ronin, and the good guys, lead by Shinshiro, his niece Onami (Teresa Ting) and Reo (Mike Moh), believe they've found her. Luna, played by Anna Akana, a New Yorker who just happens to be in Budapest selling a family heirloom. (One of the two halves of the infamous sword perhaps?) She understandably has a hard time believing that she is the person they're looking for, but enough convincing, they have just five days before the next blood moon, and she needs to be trained by the way of the samurai. Honestly, I don't think you could teach someone to ride a bike in five days.

So Luna trains under Onami, while her uncle tries to locate his fellow samurai who have gone missing because plot. During these exercises, Luna asks why Onami isn't considered a samurai, which she explains is because she's a woman. Woman, you see, can be onna-musha, but not samurai. I bring this up not because it's ever followed up on, but because she has a good point. Breaking the gender-barriers of the ancient fighters would make for an interesting narrative, so why bother with any of this hokum nonsense!?

Anyway, silly as it may be, nothing I've described so far has been bad, but oh yes, something here stinks. In fact, it stinks so bad it actually sucks, and that is the acting. It's beyond awful. It does not do any favors to the stereotype and stigma martial arts films have in America. English is a hard language, I get that, so why bother with English at all? Aren't they in Budapest? My internet research tells me their official language is Hungarian, so everyone speaking English doesn't make logical sense!

None of that matters though, because when it comes to delivering the goods, "Blade of the 47 Ronin" does so with goods to spare. The fight sequences are frequent, bloody and brutal, with bodies flown around like dolls in hotels, trains and secret underground hideouts. The violence doesn't have a point, but it's satisfying, B-movie material.

Eventually, Yurei kidnaps Luna, and just when all hope is lost, Reo announces he can find her by tracking her tablet. How convenient! But just when our heroes pinpoint her location, he says "let's split up," and everyone agrees. Why would they split up, you have a tracker on her! But it is inconsistencies like this that add to its charm.

Before I go (and you go), it'd like to bring up how the editor here is Chuck Norris. And according to IMBD, it is not the same man who once stopped a chainsaw with his bare hands. What a shame.

The Curse of Bridge Hollow Review

If Netflix's Halloween family comedy "The Curse of Bridge Hollow" has anything going in its favor, it's that it's a whole lot more watchable than the streaming service's 2020 film with a similar theme, "Hubie Halloween." That doesn't make it comedic gold mind you, but I sat on my couch never hating what I was watching on my unseasonably warm Sunday mid-October.

Marlon Wayans plays Howard, who we meet driving his wife Emily (Kelly Rowland) and daughter Sydney (Priah Ferguson) to their new house. They're moving from Brooklyn to what I assume is Massachusetts, based on the license plates I saw (though a few cars didn't have front plates so I dunno), as he's the local schools new science teacher. And as a man of science, he hates Halloween and all things supernatural. That bothers Sydney, who wants to able to make her own choices, but it also has the possibility of rubbing the local townsfolks the wrong way. See, Halloween is everything to this town, with every house on every block erecting these impressively cheesy seasonal ornaments. Of course, nobody seems bothered at his prejudice towards October 31st since the film glosses over any would-be tension in favor of a script that goes straight for the special effects.

There is a refreshing lack of any prepubescent drama with Sydney, who makes friends with literally the first group of kids she sees. Ones she sees in a crypt at the cemetery, but beggars can't be choosers.

She loves the scary stuff only kids found creeping about catacombs would enjoy, and wouldn't ya know it, she just happens to have moved into the Hawthorne house. A, ahem, haunted house if rumors are to be believed, and thanks to the Ouija board app (I can only imagine the ads that app shows), she finds locked away in the attic a pumpkin head. Unfortunately to any cult horror fans, not the same one Lance Henriksen once battled, but I digress.

The pumpkin, once lit, unleashes a spirit bent on trading his soul to the devil so that he can rule the world! Soon all the decorations come alive and, well, there it is. The plot is more shallow than a grave.

I would be remiss if I said I cared- sure, normally I prefer films to make some sort of effort towards characterizations and narrative sense, but "The Curse of Bridge Hollow" goes-for-broke with an engaging energy of silliness. I never laughed, and I hardly smiled, but all the monsters and frights are decidedly cartoony, maintaining throughout the look that they were bought from the local Spirit Halloween. 

It's in the tradition of better films like 2015's "Goosebumps," and though I imagine very little kids could find this a bit too intense, it sets its sights on being a family film for children that both teenagers and adults probably won't absolutely despise watching alongside. That's a lot more difficult than it sounds, and if you'd like an example please type in "The Munsters" on the search page of your personal Netflix account. You can thank me with candy corn.

Halloween Ends Review

It's amazing to think that David Gordon Green, who directed 2018's "Halloween," not only directed the awful sequel last year with "Halloween Kills" but also this year's "Halloween Ends." Why is that amazing? Because the first one was so good and damn, what a fluke that ended up being.

OK maybe "Halloween Kills" isn't Mr. Green's fault- looking at the franchise's history, the series usually comes back after a few years with a surprisely decent entry ("4: Return of Michael Myers," "H20: 20 Years Later," "2007's Halloween"), only to be immediately followed by absolute dreck ("5: Revenge of Michael Myers," "Resurrection," 2009's Halloween 2"). It's a tradition, and he was simply following suit. 

And gosh I hope I got all those titles right.

I thought that this leaves this newest and supposedly final flick as a bit of an outlier at first, but then I recalled 1995's "Curse of Michael Myers," an awkward follow-up to "Revenge," a film which has two cuts but remains the worst of the bunch regardless.

Anyway, "Halloween Ends" isn't any good either, though an improvement over many sequels. What it's missing is unobtainable by default: purpose. The very first one, by John Carpenter, came to existence because he was a budding young director; he did it for experience. And money. The problem with every sequel is that it's only ever done for money. But anytime there's a gap in releases, there's curiosity to the works. "What's different this time?" the audience wonders. "Ends" just doesn't have that. It was made out of obligation to the plot, which to me was singlehandedly satisfyingly closed in 2018's reboot. But it was successful, so here we are.

For one thing, there are story issues: this time, we follow Corey (Rohan Campbell), an outcast who accidently caused the death of a young boy he was babysitting. Usually in these stories, the babysitter is a girl, so this piqued by interest immediately. What was Michael Myers going to do with a teenager male who failed to save the child in his care? Take him under his wing, of course.

We flash forward a few years to find Corey found innocent, but only to the law. Throughout the fictional town of Haddonfield, Illinois, folks hate him. It's not until a minor altercation with some highschoolers that he meets Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), who then introduces him to her granddaughter Allyson (Andi Matichak). The two hit it off and have this uncomfortable goth-esque romance which is totally and tonally at odds with the rest of the picture. They have no chemistry together as she grips him tightly on his motorcycle (neither of which are wearing helmets, very irresponsible). Anytime she's not hanging on his arm, she's a nurse helping people, all perky with problems like real people involving her career. She's a real character anytime she isn't making puppy-dog eyes.

Corey, on the other hand, spends his time sulking around like misunderstood youth and killing people who've done him or her wrong, with Michael either showing up or not. Eventually he convinces her to flee town with him, since all that's left there is hate. Why are they acting like idiots, they just met! Aren't they like in their twenties?

So where does that leave Laurie? What about Michael? Is he in control of "the shape?" Is it the other way around? Are they somehow connected? How has nobody found all the bodies left around? What the hell is going on!?

Well Laurie knows what's going on because she "saw it in his eyes," but when she confronts Allyson with her "gut feeling," she decides to act like a teenager and disregard anything the woman who's dealt with death for decades has to say. I don't normally say this about films with four credited screenwriters (Paul Brad Logan, Chris Bernier, Danny McBride and David Gordan Green), but we really could have used another pass by fresh eyes on the ol' typewriter.

But this is a horror movie, so narrative is not exactly the most important thing. It's atmosphere, tension, thrills and bloodshed, and all "Halloween Ends" has is the latter. I can only think of one good scene, where a radio DJ (Keraun Harris) meets his doom, and after his face is smashed into the desk, his tongue is cut out and falls on the turntable. The music skips as the needle hits it. It's a nice touch, but man am I grasping for straws here for positives.

Mr. Harrigan's Phone Review

Stephen King movies are almost more prevalent than the novels or short stories they're based on. Hell Wikipedia has a page dedicated to the adaptations- that's how many there are. And yet almost always being set in Maine, they're rarely actually filmed there; if I were governor of the state, I'd set up some law that all films based on his work be filmed in Vacationland. Think of the business it'd do!

Yet despite his ubiquitousness, I've never actually read any of his work. I am unfamiliar with his writing style and have only the umptieth cinematic versions to form my opinion on. Is he any good? He has to be, name one other writer as famous as him. Go ahead, I'll wait.

What does any of this have to do with "Mr. Harrigan's Phone," which just debuted on Netflix? Obviously it's another project based on something of his, a novella this time, and boy does it stink. Is it Mr. King's fault? I doubt it. Sure he executively produced it, and yeah maybe his story was flimsy to begin with, but for over an hour and a half I sat on my couch waiting for the promised "horror teen thriller drama," and what we get is a lot of wasted celluloid.

Donald Sutherland plays Mr. Harrigan, a wealthy old man who pays Craig (Jaeden Martell) something like five bucks to read to him a few times a week. They hit it off, not because the script gives them anything interesting to say or do but because these are two talented performers. Hell Sutherland is such a heavy he could have chemistry with a potted plant.

Anyway, Harrigan gives Craig a scratch ticket several times throughout the year, and after many years he finally strikes it rich, or well, as rich as a couple grand feels like to a teenager. He buys the old man a cell phone, who argues that it has radiation and can corrupt minds and all that. It's all stereotypical talk about fearing technology that Hollywood thinks every elderly person suffers from, but I digress.

Harrigan dies not long after, but if my calculations are correct, we're halfway through the runtime, and all we've seen are two professional actors doing their job by being professionals. They have no interesting conversations, solve no problems, just talk, talk, talk.

It's explained that Craig does have problems in school with bullies and all that standard stuff, but without Mr. Harrigan's ear to listen, he feels no one will listen. What does he do? He calls his cellphone to grieve about whatever petty thing is going on in his fake movie life, but then the bodies start to pile. Well it's a small pile but it's a pile nonetheless. The people who did him dirty start to die, and Craig believes it's Mr. Harrigan.

How is that possible? Even the film doesn't know, because it's never explained. There's no tension because we know the author, we expect the supernatural. But writer/director John Lee Hancock fails to establish an fascinating atmosphere or pacing, so we get a lot of nothing, and even when something does happen, the audience's lost interest.

The Munsters Review

"The Munsters," the feature-length film based on the 60's sitcom, was co-produced by Universal. Universal has their own streaming service called Peacock. Yet this did not appear on Peacock, instead debuting on Netflix and DVD. That's not a good sign. Neither does my zero-star review, and especially not since I couldn't watch the whole thing.

Yes that's right folks, in the age of streaming, "The Munsters" is the first film reviewed here that I digitally "walked out on." I can do that. Sure yeah this is film criticism, but what better criticism is there then by acknowledging that your life is more valuable than a film? Does this review count? Does it matter? I dunno, but I do know that this is one of the worst, if not the worst professionally made films I've ever seen.

It sucks, a movie that actively works to make you hate it, and yeah, in a silly way it won. I didn't finish it, but enough of that- why did I press "back" on my remote about thirty minutes in? Could it be the characters who are unlikeable? Maybe sets that look like Spirt Halloween threw up or perhaps costumes that appear to still have some puke on them from that same store? Or is it all of the above? Oh god is it all of the above, and more!

The "more" was that there was somehow over an hour left by the time I bounced.

Now I've never actually seen an episode of the show this is based on (I was always more of The Addams Family), but I get the idea. Haha, it's all the Universal monsters in a sitcom. Ohh the innocent 60's. Jeff Daniel Phillips plays Herman (aka Frankenstein's monster), Sheri Moon Zombie plays Lily (a vampiress), and this is partly a "how they met" kinda story. Only it's so overproduced, so overacted, so over-the-top that it just pounds you over the head with its "hey isn't just sooooo funny how much we know how silly this all is?! Har he har har!!" Spoiler, it's not.

Much of the blame is probably on writer-director Rob Zombie, not only for casting his wife because she's his wife, but for failing to know what audiences want. A smart script that celebrates what it is parodying, direction that lusts over the cheesy but appropriate sets, or anything that resembles an actual movie. It's labored instead of labor of love. There's no sense that anyone here wants to be involved, every single thing looking, sounding and acting so disparate that it ultimately feels alien. Like this was made by some nonhuman entity who knows from the synopsis of better movies what a movie is, but has never seen one, let alone directed several!

"The Munsters" so artistically inert and so unattractive to look at that I'll forever be upset with myself for not shutting it off sooner.

My Best Friend's Exorcism Review

"My Best Friend's Exorcism" is an example of how horror comedies are a tough nut to crack. Moments fly by designed to be funny or scary but achieve neither, the inner workings of the would-be laugh or fright exposed for all to see. Either a music cue or punchline, we see all the tricks in the bag being tossed our way, sink deep into the couch depressed that we're smarter than the film we're watching.

Best friends Gretchen (Amiah Miller) and Abby (Elsie Fisher) are close, I mean real close. The film flirts with their non-platonic love as much as the two actually flirt, but it doesn't amount to much. It's one of many misfires here, as they're students at some sort of Christian school, and we all know that god just hates gays. Only I'm not sure it's Christian institute since Abby's Jewish, but then again would the academy be able to so freely discriminate? I have no idea and am spending more time on the subject then the actual flick does.

It also takes place during the 80's, for no discernible reason outside of loud clothing, big hair and a lot of references to Boy George, E.T., and the likes. No, the real reason was probably to remove cellphones from the equation, since like any conflict from media of the era would be solved in a flash. I get the impression it is supposed to be something of a satire here, with secondary characters loving yogurt or hanging out at the mall, but it never actually comments on the situation; it just shows it. So many times it says "wink wink, we just name-dropped Nancy Reagan, isn't that hilarious?" Not that any of this really matters; satire doesn't mean much decades after the fact.

Our leads join up with peers Margaret (Rachel Ogechi Kanu) and Glee (Cathy Ang) at a cabin in the woods, and after a brief stint with a Ouija board leads to some unerotic skinny-dipping, then to a haunted decrepit house, and after a lot of wandering in the dark we finally get to the promised possession of Gretchen. Finally!

But it is another missed opportunity, because after the obligatory puking scene, all we get some cuts on her body and blemishes on her face and then poof, all that happens is a lot of also-ran adolescent antics. We see her work through her circle of pals making sure they all either almost die or hate each other. For every awesome scene involving tapeworms we get a feigned love letter or belittling prank involving a dunk tank. It's cruel without reason, like "Mean Girls" sans the heart or hilarity.

Before anyone knows what really happened to Gretchen, Abby initially believes her friend was raped, because that's what every comedy needs, but no one believes her. Not the parents, not Sister Kathleen (Ashley CeConte Campbell), not nobody. Eventually though she figures out what's going on, and this is where the film's best character comes into play. Christian Lemon (Chris Lowell), one of the Lemon Brothers, a group who preach the bible while working out. There's a great denseness to his performance, where he's smart enough to know he's over his head but dumb enough to get himself there in the first place, he's about the only time I came close to chortling. Him and Abby work together to divorce the demon from Gretchen's body, and that's about as far as I'll go with the plot. If I left you on your toes, just drooling over wanting to know what happens next, then that's just proof that I'm a better writer than half of Hollywood.

"My Best Friend's Exorcism" is watchable, it didn't actively work to make me hate it, but it left be flabbergasted and frustrated. There's good performances here and a classic story of friendship that just can't escape its genre trappings. When the best part of your movie is the candy I ate while watching it, you know you messed up.

Pokemon: The Arceus Chronicles Review

"Pokemon: The Arceus Chronicles" debuts on Netflix as a film, but it doesn't take a Pokemon trainer to realize that it is just a few episodes of the popular anime spliced into a single event. Not that there's anything necessarily wrong with that, but it's impossible not to feel mislead.

The plot is gobbledygook, but here goes nothing: while at a sorta bygone era celebration in Sinnoh, Ash, Dawn and Goh, voiced by Sarah Natochenny, Emily Jenness and Zeno Robinson respectively, acquire a few Pokemon from Cynthia (also voiced by Emily). 

There is an aura of innocence to these brief segments, but in no time does disaster strike when the evil Team Galactic, bent on restoring their missing leader Cyrus, cause Pokemon Heatron on a flaming raging up Mount Coronet. Could it explode and destroy the region? Can our heroes save the day? Will legendary 'mon Arceus help? Did I get all the names right? Gosh I hope so.

Anyway, my cursory knowledge of the franchise helped me piece together what was going on despite there being very little explanation; the meager sixty three minute runtime hardly allows any narrative meat on this slim skeleton of a motion picture; consisting instead of a lot of explosions and action. It's all surprisingly engaging, considering I had very little idea what was happening most of the time and quickly learned to shut my brain off 

Part of what kept me watching here is its animation. Anime is what it is called, and it is fascinating how little actually goes on in any given frame- these rather detailed images sit static onscreen as the camera pans slowly about. It is such a contrast to the usual Disney fare, and they work perfectly in the quieter scenes where its just kids having fun. Those are the parts I liked most.

Why bother with anything serious? This is a candy-coated hour and change where bright colors flash across the screen until they stop and the credits roll. Actually that's a lie- even the credits are bright and colorful.

Ultimately though, "Pokemon: The Arceus Chronicles" feels like an extended Saturday morning cartoon because that's exactly what it is, but fans will no doubt enjoy every silly moment, and at the movies, isn't that all what matters?

Lou Review

"Lou," Netflix's latest would-be afternoon-waster is a five dollar script with a million dollar cast, the alluring offer of turning Allison Janney into an action star ala Liam Neeson too good to pass up. But it leaves nothing to the imagination, every plot-point overexplained so that all you have are gorgeous visuals, solid performances and a hollow core.

Janney stars as the titular Lou, introduced to us holding a rifle in her mouth, clearly a model citizen. But a knock at her door during a storm by her renter Hannah (Jurnee Smollett), panicked as her daughter Vee  (Ridley Bateman) is kidnapped by her supposedly deceased dad Phillip (Logan Marshall-Green). Turns out, he faked his death because plot, and snatches his kin because, also, plot. The narrative gets bogged down in needless government intrigue involving blackmail, the CIA, war, all the stuff that should serve as a mere backdrop for the action. But there is hardly any action here, though the little we do get is exciting and well-staged, so you might be thinking this is a more adventure, suspense sorta deal? Sorry folks, the moments when someone isn't talking, nothing is happening.

It's not like the story is exactly anything special either, a tale so old it has arthritis. Lou and Hannah set out to find little Vee, but outside of a broken bridge and some irregular terrain, the wilderness is hardly wild. There's nary a moment where the cards feel stacked against them, outside of you know, trying to find the girl, so we watch many moments of our small cast just walking and exchanging dialogue that probably sounds good in commercials. There's a missed opportunity here, because mother nature can be a dangerous beast, but according to the film here, only bad people are any threat.

Admittedly, the rain-soaked scenery of the Washington woods are beautiful and create a sense of foreboding unknown, but everything is just too dark to really get a sense of scale. Whether because of budgetary reasons or a cinematic decision, so much of the runtime takes place in the shadows, my poor old flat screen TV struggling to show anything outside of muddled blackness.

The absence of sun ends up as something of a logical issue as well, with night becoming day only to become night again, and since this is a movie, the characters seldom need to sleep with consistency. Thus we never can fully realize what time of day anything is going on in, robbing us from knowing exactly how long the trek is and exactly how tired everyone is, or rather should be. Look I get it, these are extraordinary people in an extraordinary situation, but if you're going to pretend to show the characters as "real" by having them get hurt, then you also need to show them rest outside of when the script feels the need to spoon-feed the audience some arbitrary twist.

End of the Road Review

If you're going to use racism as a backdrop for a low-budget movie, you had better find a point for its inclusion. Otherwise, it comes off as cheap and exploitative, used to give "oomph" to a film otherwise devoid of greater cinematic purpose. Netflix's "End of the Road" is a tidy little thriller to which bigoted white people terrorize Brenda (Queen Latifah), her brother Reggie (Ludacris) and her two kids (Mychala Lee and Shaun Dixon) in a subplot wholly unrelated to the story.

It's a shame, really, because this is otherwise a tightly-woven yet somehow breezy way to spend a lazy afternoon gripping the arm of your couch in light suspense.

After losing her husband and her house, Brenda takes her family from California to Texas to live with her mother. She's understandably low on funds, but after a murder in the motel room next door, her brother spots drug money and takes it. The man was shot by another looking for the dough, either by the notorious "Mr. Cross" or one of his goons, and, that's it, that's the plot. It plays out like a network crime show (such as an episode of Latifa's The Equalizer TV revival perhaps?), but simplicity is not inherently problematic. What soured me were the numerous scenes where Brenda is bullied by local racists, later even kidnapped by some, moments which felt like its from an entirely different movie. 

The cops are never portrayed as such either, which is a missed opportunity given all the controversy with the police.

I won't spoil much else of the plot, but there is never any reason given why her family is the target of the prejudiced outside to paint parts of the US as, well, prejudiced. Segregationists are everywhere here lamentably, and every time our heroes met hidebound locals, it left behind an ugly, slimy stain on the rest of the picture. There's no explanation as to why the heinous denizens are so hostile, or any exploration into how it is hurting the family- bad things just happen, and only because "they" are white and she, her brother and her kids aren't.

But the stunt casting of two famous musicians intrigued me no doubt, and to my great surprise, both Queen Latifah and Ludacris are excellent. Neither ham up their roles, grounding both characters so that they seem like real people in real situations, even though we know it's just a direct-to-streaming flick. She brings a sense of grief and desperation that's told all through her face, be it an intense stare or a crack in her voice, and he balances humor and immaturity with the realization that he has royally screwed up.

And despite clearly working with a limited budget (anytime a chase scene is filmed at night, primarily with close ups of the actors, I can smell the finance department's involvement), director Millicent Shelton handles the minor action with a professional touch, giving everything a heavy layer of polish and slickness. I'm not sure how much "End of the Road" cost to make, but it looks probably a few million more expensive than it actually did.

It's just a shame that the basic narrative core is surrounded just sleaze. "End of the Road" isn't interested in the psychological cause or result of discrimination, but maybe showing how baseless and ubiquitous it is was the point, and I somehow missed it?