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?

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.