Samaritan Review

Sylvester Stallone remains a peculiar figure in Hollywood, with a face like it was carved in scoria and a portfolio consisting of rippled chests and dead bodies. But he is a surprisingly effective actor as seen in the likes of his Rocky pictures (or even the first Rambo), but in his latest, a brooding superhero film "Samaritan," he brings his dramatic chops as well as his penchant for violence.

It's more "Death Wish" than "Spiderman." In other words, it's a superhero movie for old white guys.

He plays Joe, a trashman who, after saving his neighbor Sam (Javon 'Wanna' Walton) from a group of thugs, spends his time trying to convince the boy he's not Samaritan, a superhero who disappeared twenty five years ago. He might just be his number one fan. There is little mystery as to whether or not he's not just human, crushing a knife with his bare hands and tossing baddies like they were pieces of rogue popcorn fallen on your shirt.

The backstory tells us that Samaritan's nemesis, Nemesis, was also his brother, both of which were outcast by their city growing up. After their house was set on fire, the siblings escaped but their folks did not, and the two took different paths, one who saved people and the other who, well, hurt them. Nemesis, ticked off at his brother's forgiveness, forged a hammer out of his hatred, said to be the only thing that could kill Samaritan. Of course, the legend says either both died or that Samaritan killed Nemesis, when the latter tried to blow up a powerplant, but which tale is true, if either? 

Much of this is told in the opening minutes, with a heavy filter to make the live-action look like a moving comic book, and though it is a gimmick that's over too soon, it sets tone for the rest of the narrative; this is not the candy-colored Marvel movies that blow up the box office every few months. It has a more pessimistic view on those with special powers, with a gloomy look like DC, if only they were this consistent.

By seemingly not trying to set up a massive franchise, "Samaritan" operates as a smaller, self-contained story in a place called Granite City, you don't feel like you're playing catchup with Easter eggs and cameos to set up the next installment. We get to know the characters, and even when their motives are as basic as "bad guy go do bad things," we look forward to seeing totally-not-Rocky-or-Rambo smash his face in.

A lot has to do with some effective casting, not just by Stallone, who is terrific as always, but also Pilou Asbæk, who plays local gang leader Cyrus. His plan is to finish what Nemesis started by wearing his mask and wielding his weapon, but he chews the scenery with a hunger like he didn't know there was catering on set. Little Walton is pretty good too, portraying a child who's fixation on his one true obsession can make him be petty, annoying, or just ignorant. Sometimes all of them at once.

Cyrus turns the town upside down, with vague promises of "taking back what's yours," to the denizens who's frustrations with the city's problems are at their breaking point. But between the real-world inflation and gun violence, there is little left to the imagination with the random chaos in the streets, everyone looting and vandalising indiscriminately. The PG-13 rating keeps any of the more unsavory rioting possibilities hidden, like rape or murder, but there is more timely mayhem onscreen than one may expect from a Stallone project.

I'm giving "Samaritan" three stars because it does something different for the genre, even when it's ambition gets the better of it; several scenes are set in a burning building when its budget clearly couldn't afford the special effects. I also appreciated Sylvester taking the time to help craft someone other than his most famous characters. It doesn't always work, but in its own low-key way, it's a blast.

Me Time Review

Netflix's latest, "Me Time," commits the greatest comedy movie sin: it isn't very funny. And although it would be easy to pick on a terrible movie, that's not the case here. Instead, it's just sad, with a cast as talented as Kevin Hart, Mark Wahlberg and Regina Hall stuck in a film where writer/director John Hamburg throws every setup he's got without ever coming up with the punchline.

Instead, any smile I ever cracked felt like a rare bit of improv, and though I don't have the shooting script to prove my thesis, thinking about "how" this crap ended up being made in the first place is more interesting than actually sitting through it. Don't believe me, then how did Ilia Isorelýs Paulino outshine the entire main cast with a role only slightly bigger than a cameo?

You watch in amazement that these actors would stoop to the lows of puke, poop and fart jokes, but here they are, smiling at a simple days work. This is actually a bit of a disingenuous statement; Hall is given the hapless role of playing Hart's wife, your stereotypical Hollywood "bread-winning wife." She not only has no humorous material to say, but more lamentably, she's given no opportunity to even try. Her role in this production is to provide tension between her husband and Wahlberg, coming up only when the narrative demands a new change in scenery. But with a new environment comes more terrible CGI animals but wow hey, I don't want to give any spoilers now.

In a more successful movie, actually describing the plot before punching holes in it would help, but "Me Time" isn't even on the cusp of being successful. It's not even bad in a fascinating way; instead limping along at an unhurried pace until everything is abruptly wrapped with a pretty bow of convenience.

Kevin plays Sonny, a say-at-home dad who's old pal Huck invites him to his 44th birthday. His wife Maya takes the kids to her parents house, and that's it. That's the clothesline to which over a hundred minutes of boredom plays out on. There are a few false starts, like when loanshark Stan (Jimmy O. Yang) shows up, upset that Huck would spend all this money on a party without paying him back. I thought to myself "oh, they're gonna be on the run" or something, but no. Instead, defecating in someone's bed becomes not only an occurrence, but a running gag.

There's also a side plot about Sonny and Maya's kid's talent show, with the father doing everything he can to make sure it's the "best" talent show ever. You know, the one where kids do outrageous Cirque du Soleil-style stuff. The best my school could ever do was get children even interested in doing one. Standard, sitcom-level garbage.

But for as aborted as the viewing experience is, these are at least attractive stars, and they do have a natural chemistry that even a stillborn script can't sink. That's not enough to recommend "Me Time" however. Sorry Marky Mark, but there are no good vibrations here. I'm giving this one and a half stars, one half for each of the three leads. What happened to the rest of the stars? Please see paragraph one.

Orphan: First Kill Review

2009's "Orphan," which is unseen by me, featured such a famous plot twist that even I knew what it was. That's the mark of an effective piece of cinema, but it only takes turning a profit to make a sequel. Or in this case, a prequel, but now I'm just getting bogged down in particulars. What matters is that "Orphan: First Kill," which I watched from the safety of my comfy couch, I was reminded of one of 2021's most unpredictable films "Malignant," which took advantage of audience's assumptions and pulled the rug out from under them only to vacuum itself. Didn't expect that sentence? I didn't expect to write it either, but same goes for the revelation here.

I'm not saying "Orphan: First Kill" is a slice of masterpiece theater, but it's always such a nice surprise to, well, be surprised. A lot of its effectiveness comes from the unanticipated, so we'll be circumventing spoilers in this review. What if you want to know but don't want to watch it? Then why are you here? Just press that poor "play" button on your remote- what else do you have to do? Trust me, the world is just as gross as this.

Director William Brent Bell doesn't linger on some of the more unsavory elements so common in horror movies; aside from a few gruesome bits, the gore is rather tame by what feels like design. You sit from in front of your TV thinking "oh she's gonna die," only for her not to meet a miserable end, but, oh wow look at me, I can't in good faith say what happens to her. "Who" she is is up to the reader to guess after they've watched it, which is about as good an endorsement as anyone can hope for.

The narrative shouldn't be much of a shock to fans of the original, with Ester, played by Isabelle Fuhrman reprising the role, with another would-be "forever home." Not just any mind you, rich couple Tricia and Allen, Julia Stiles and Rossif Sutherland respectively, who's daughter has apparently gone missing some few years ago. Her name was, you guessed it, Ester, and you can probably see where this is going. Only it doesn't just take the easy road to cheap bloodshed and obvious tension, and the less you know about the plot going in, the better.

I imagine in today's world of film, actors sign on to a project hoping for a franchise, steady work and a meaty paycheck, but that's not exactly what happens with prequels, unless they make a prequel-prequel, but at that point any credibility would certainly be derailed. Yet the acting is solid across the board, with the father-daughter interactions feeling so believable that it's not hard to imagine that with only few script rewrites, this could be the summer's "feel good comedy-drama."

It's worth noting how I do not approve of the exploitation of something like adoption here, which is a sick thing to turn into slick entertainment for the sake of box office dollars and streamer subscriptions. Then again, I also do not condone murder, and well, what else do you expect from the genre?

Day Shift Review

"Day Shift" is such a fascinating piece of filmmaking not because it's necessarily good; it's far too uneven to be winning any Oscars. No what makes Netflix's latest an absolute delight is how flagrantly it modernizes "John Carpenter's Vampires," borrowing a bonkers plot and imbuing it with an unhinged energy that tip-toes between horror and satire so abruptly that when it fails to gel into something cohesive, it only makes it more interesting.

Jamie Foxx plays Bud, a vampire hunter who's given a daughter (Paige, played by Zion Broadnax) and estranged wife (Jocelyn, played by Meagan Good) because it makes for easy tension (doesn't take a vampire to smell a "kidnapping" plot coming). How he got into the business of undead slaying is never established, but his "loose cannon" methods lead him to be kicked out of the union. That's where the good money is, apparently, as their, um, agents(?) get their payday via the fangs they remove.

Why does he need the "good money?" Because of plot, Jocelyn is threatening to move to Florida, leaving Bud without a wife to try to win back or a daughter to be late picking up (because in Hollywood, there is no such thing as a "good dad"). This leads to the next arbitrary narrative punch: she gives him one week to pay for Paige's tuition and braces. (Teeth, vampires, get it?) How much? Ten grand, so a panicked Bud taps his old friend Big John Elliot, in a brief appearance by Snoop Dogg, who's able to get him one final chance in the big-leagues of wooden stakes and garlic.

But there's a catch! To make sure he plays by the rules, desk-job Seth, played by Dave Franco, is to accompany him and make sure he doesn't break protocol. The two have an instant chemistry, and even some uninspired dialogue by writers Shay Hatten and Tyler Tice about peeing one's pants is made charming by the duo. Did I ever laugh out loud? No, but I did smile, and it takes a lot to make a grump like me curl my lip.

There isn't so much mythology in the creature lore, outside some cave set pieces and talk about becoming "day walkers," but all that is window dressing for violent, cohesively filmed stunts. We get a solid chase, which goes in and out of buildings, from the streets to off-road, all the good stuff. But it is the individual fights that stood out, with a sort of brutal grace that wouldn't look out of place in a John Wick pic. Props to director J.J. Perry in his debut, a stuntman who goes to show that fluidity is the way forward in the genre.

The best and probably longest moment of action involved fellow hunters Mike and Darian, Steve Howey and Scott Adkins respectively. With bulging muscles and facial hair, they play a pair of twins who have this odd sibling closeness that I kinda wish they were more involved. That's the sign of good character building (and acting).

The same cannot be said about Snoop Dog, probably my biggest gripe overall. He's only in a few minutes of the runtime, and while he chews the scenes he never steals them. Haha, a rapper killing a vampire with a gun. Har-he-har-har. Oh he has a cowboy hat? Toss in a few more "har-hars" for good measure. He throws the tone too far towards parody, but he's never actually riffing on anything outside his own persona. Was that the intent? I doubt it- if they were really trying to go this route, they should have brought in his pal Martha Stewart; now there's an idea.

Regardless, "Day Shift" is nothing but entertaining, with more ideas introduced than it can properly explore. It leaves me asking my own questions about its cockeyed universe, like how do the residents not know about the vampires? Do they turn to bats? If so why don't we see any of that special-effect goodness? Maybe they'll answer those in the sequel, and even if they don't, I'll just be happy they made one.

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie Review

The "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" franchise was purchased by Nickelodeon-owner Viacom for a pretty penny back in 2009. Viacom of course is now known as Paramount, and obviously, they're the owner of the streaming service Paramount+. Yet the series' latest movie, "Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie" debuts on competitor Netflix, and that's a shame, because anyone who has a toybox filled with their action figures, be it from the 80's or today, will eat this brightly-colored candy animated movie like, well, candy. Or candy-topped pizza, if you're a true fan.

The internet tells me that "Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie" is a follow up to the TV show of the same name, and as far as I could tell, has nothing to do with any previous iteration outside sharing source material. Oh I'm sure there were throwbacks for fans, but the plot is simple and to-the-point, leaving a dummy like me who had somehow escape "turtle mania" for decades to keep up and enjoy the caloric visuals.

Our four heroes have to stop the evil Krang (voiced by Jim Pirri), who plans on destroying mankind and taking over the planet. Casey Jones (Haley Joel Osment) is sent back in time, Terminator 2-style, to prevent this from happening. But our heroes are still learning (really putting the "teenager" in their name), making mistakes, getting into tiffs with each other, eating pizza, and well, ladies and gentleturtles, there's your plot.

In all honesty, I didn't click "play" expecting anything as thematically complex as Pixar, but the narrative services the action nicely, never getting in the way of animated violence and mayhem. It's an assault to the eyes with nary a moments rest for the foursome to be themselves, slotting neatly into their vague archetypes: Leo (Ben Schwartz) is their would-be leader, arrogant to the point where he directly leads to the arrival of the pink blob of goo; Ralph (Omar Benson Miller), their other would-be leader, is physically bigger and takes his responsibilities seriously; Mikey (Brandon Mychal Smith) just cracks jokes to lighten the mood; and Donnie (Josh Brener), he's their tech-guy. Their character development is about as deep as the puddle of ooze that turned them into turtles in the first place, but whenever I go to criticize their lack of nuance, I remind myself that kids with the purchasing power of their parent's pocketbooks probably don't care about silly things like "depth." 

This'll be a short review because it demands a short attention span, and the only challenge is remembering which colored turtle is who. I slunk on my couch and enjoyed the pretty pictures that flashed by with a certain grace, and was reminded of a time where all that mattered to a little one was what new show was selling which new toy line.

They/Them Review

You either die a horny camp counselor or live long enough to become a camp owner. Kevin Bacon is of course the exception, having famously died in 1980's "Friday the 13th" as the former and now headlines "They/Them," another "in the woods" slasher that is just as dopey and trashy, but only time will tell if it becomes a franchise too.

The veteran actor stars as Owen, owner of a conversion camp who's fresh attendees just rolled up for a week of "fun," or so they're told. What really happens are sessions in gender stereotypes, from the women baking to the men shooting guns. The campers seldom put up much of a fuss, ranging from swearing or rolling their eyes, but for long stretches of the runtime, nothing happens. Their frustration is unexplored, and so we just see archaic customs preached by the grownups, the teenagers complain about what's going on, blah blah blah.

This absence of tension leads to the bloodshed feeling out-of-place, as I never felt that kids had any reason to truly despise the adults so much that they'd resort to murder, or that the adults honestly hated the kids enough that they'd slice them up. This left few suspects as to who could actually be the killer, but hey wow now, that's spoiler territory.

The slashings are all very "been there, scene that before," but the same cannot be said about the sex scenes. We get two, well more like two and a half, but if there's one aspect of filmmaking where "They/Them" skirts conventions, it's here. Even if it doesn't add much except to show naked flesh.

Owen as a character has the absolute bare minimum of development or backstory, except that he has a wife (Carrie Preston), believes in god, and apparently hates those who identify as something other than "man," woman," or "straight," and probably in that order. Why he even owns a camp like this is a mystery, or what his ultimate gain in all this is, except that he's apparently been doing it for a while. Yet Bacon is fabulous, changing the entire tone of whatever conversation he's in by just shifting his eyes, changing his tone- he's such, such a great actor and the entire production is elevated simply by his grace on the screen.

The entire cast is actually pretty great, from the trans Jordan (Theo Germaine) to the former camper turned counselor Zane (Boone Platt), but there are far too many campers, some who don't even get a line of dialogue, they just fit an expectation. Are all the talking roles too "perfect" or "pretty?" Don't worry, there's a larger quinary character in the background- now we're really inclusive.

As for the portrayals of the various sexual orientations, they range from complex to completely conventional, so much so that it's difficult to properly put them in words without sounding dense or bigoted. I'm not sure this was intentional or perhaps a sloppy script by writer/director John Logan, but it probably helps less accepting Peacock-subscribers find some level of familiarity in the sometimes, ahem, traditional depiction of non-traditional lifestyles.

"They/Them" which is pronounced "They Slash Them," at least has its heart in the right place, and isn't out to make fun of anyone, except maybe those who run conversion camps. That's a really good thing, but sadly, the best thing about the film, aside from Mr. Bacon's presence, is its clever name.