Wonder Woman 1984 Review

Nostalgia is a powerful thing, particularly in the realm of entertainment and especially in Hollywood; why else would we see so many reboots/sequels/revamps/remakes? Nostalgia also plays a big part in "Wonder Woman 1984," in at least two ways: one, it's a sequel to a film based on the long-running comic book character, but more importantly, it's based in the eighties (hence the title). This allows the screenwriters to again tell a "fish out of water" story, as her love interest Steve Trevor (Chris Pine), is "wished" for, and shows up after dying in the first film. (See, there is this magic relic that grants wishes...) "Oooh," "ahhhh," he says, as he gazes at doohickeys like exercise bikes and break dancers, but they used this joke in the last movie, swapping only the decade.

This narrative cliché is attractive here because it saves the movie makers the trouble of having to create their own world to have a character be out of place in. Why bother producing "Wonder Woman 2084," where you'd need to come up with all sorts of new fancy gadgets and advances in tech, when you can just dig out some roller skates and shoulder pads from the attic and call it a day?

It's not the only copout here. There's a scene where the titular heroine (Gal Gadot) and her boyfriend are flying a plane (stolen from the Smithsonian, lucky they keep all their aircrafts topped off with fuel), and she practices her invisibility power. She's only successfully performed the trick once, on a mug (which she promptly lost. It's a good gag.), before making the entire ship invisible. That's nice for the special effects people- just show some shots of a clear sky, toss in some sound effects and bam, an invisible jet.

No, that's not the biggest problem here: again, it's the picture's half-hearted attempt at making Wonder Woman herself a symbol of women's rights" It doesn't work, again. If she is so powerful, like literally a superhero, why does she need to be saved (at least twice) by a man? Can she not make it without a man in her life? That's the story they're selling, and it's just so frustrating.

Why does Trevor-boy need to come to the rescue? When she wished for him back, she inadvertently traded her most prized possession- her powers. Only they fade over time, so the weaker she grows the more "world saving" he does. She finally revokes her wish (i.e. sending him back to his grave) and bam, she's Wonder Woman again. Can a woman not have a family and a career? What the hell kind of message is that??!!

It's equally annoying that the main villain, Barbara, played by Kristen Wiig, is blinded only by her own vanity. Trading her innocence and kindness to become "just like" the whip-lassoing protagonist, she only wants to be "liked" by her coworkers; why are both female stars here bound by stereotypes?

Anyway, there is another baddie, an oil-hungry tycoon called Max Lord, played by Pedro Pascal, who's appetite has room for wishes as well. Only instead of just using that antique stone to make a wish, he becomes the antique stone, granting other people's wishes for whatever he wants in return. Towards the end of runtime, he's broadcasted on every screen in the world, granting wishes like a corrupt televangelist. His transmission is only in English, yet everyone in the world understands him. That's a logical error, one of several, but hey, this is mass-audience entertainment, why bother scrutinizing it?

Because it's infuriating, that's why! Take Wonder Woman's attire; she wears bullet-reflecting wristbands, yet exposes much of her body in a low-cut top and a mini-skirt? Why not just cover her entire body with the stuff? Only she does do that, in a curt climatic confrontation between her and Cheetah (that's Barbara's alter-ego, or so the internet tells me. I don't recall it ever being spoken here). Draped in gold, complete with wings (though she doesn't need them to actually fly) this final battle finds her appropriately "bullet proof." Another problem: this fight is shot at night, no doubt to hide just how clumsy the CGI fur is on Kristen Wiig. Wasn't "Cats" 2019's problem?

I dunno. "Wonder Woman 1984" is serviceable entertainment. Fans will no doubt be streaming it again and again (or, gasp, seeing it in theaters once or twice). But with so many places in the world on lockdown, the superhero movie genre has some new faces, notably competitor Netflix's "Project Power" and "The Old Guard." Not that either of those films are necessarily any better than this latest DC release, but they offer something it can't: the absence of burden to a franchise. They can be a little darker. A little grittier. A little bit different. A little smaller scale. Here, well, we have mega-budget blockbuster playing on someone else's turf.

I'm giving this two stars because that's what I gave the first one. "Is it just as good?" "Is it disappointing?" Those are irrelevant questions when the studio is already planning on making not only a sequel but a spinoff.

Breach Review

"Breach" is a cheapo science-fiction movie, it's as simple as that. It's something that wouldn't look out of place debuting on the SyFy channel, and for most of it's short hour and thirty something minute runtime, I was on board. Not there was anything original to be seen, heard, or even suggested, but as a lazy midday rental, you get what you paid for, and more.

The "more" comes from the involvement of Bruce Willis, who really isn't the main character, playing a drunk janitor named Clay, but he's in most shots, and his trademark smirk and lethargy to the situation puts the film's tongue firmly in cheek. He never goes as far as "winking" to the camera, the way a lot of these disposable monster movies go for (I'm looking at you, the six-something "Sharknado" flicks), but this secondary tone gives the picture something most discount creature features can't seem to achieve: a sense of fun.

He expectedly yells in quips, in between swigs from his flask, and although they are far (and I mean far) from that pithy quality he's famous for, they're not bad. In his character's final shot, he goes full John McClane, complete with frantic head bobbing while talking to himself about the unwinnable position he's in. It's great stuff, if only to remind you of his better works.

Not to say the one-time action star puts his heart into the role, but he seems to be enjoying himself, the same way other expired heavy-hitters like Gary Busey or Nicolas Cage do. Willis is far more restrained (or less interested) than either of those two bonkers actors are famous for, but standing on murky sets, filled with fog, dull colored lights, and a mutilated body covered in blood, his grin brightens the mood.

It's something, at least, it's something! Because "Breach," previously known as "Anti Life" (a name that remains at end of the credits), is otherwise completely average (and frequently below average). It's something the dork at Blockbuster would recommend as an alternative when they've run out of copies of "Alien." Scene for scene, you know what to expect, save for the ending, where either the script ran out of creative juice, or the producers ran out of money, because it's incoherent and vague. 

To describe the plot would be to plagiarize the synopsis of other movies, but my job as film critic demands it. Whoever said reviewing movies isn't hard work has never tried writing.

*cue announcer voice 

"In the future, Earth has become inhabitable. Fleets of spaceships head out to "New Earth," with lucky passengers hopeful to rebuild society. But when a parasite is let loose on the ship, it begins to take control of its human hosts, and it's up to the surviving crew to save the world."

Phew. What an uninspired mouthful! But I promise things are better than that suggests. It's thanks largely to the aforementioned veteran cast member, as well as a cameo by Thomas Jane as the Admiral and an adequate supporting cast (and actual lead actor, Cody Kearsley as Noah) But director John Suits and his team deserve some recognition for their ability to create a faint sense of claustrophobia and atmosphere on the obviously minimal financial allowances. The monster, which only appears in-full towards the end, is laughably cheesy, but Suits works smartly around this by having those "infected" by the creature represented as zombies. Zombies are an economical cinema villain, because anyone with a gift-card to the local costume shop can make one (or many, if you have enough on that gift-card).

This is where things get tricky. "Breach" is clearly bankrupt of its own ideas and on actual budget, and teeters on the edge of being "bad." Why is that, just because it's derivative? Because of its bargain-bin production values? Those are qualities that are equal part important and unimportant to the art of filmmaking. More important questions: was I ever bored? Not really. Did I have a good time? Well I didn't have a "bad" time.

What am I supposed to do? Two stars is the default rating, so let's go with that. 

Disclaimer: this rating depends on how much you appreciate junk, and how much you appreciate seeing a decent performance from Bruce Willis emerging from said junk.

Greenland Review

The presence of Gerard Butler adds nothing but his fanbase to frequently delayed flick "Greenland." He's good in the role of the reluctant hero, as good as he is in any of his roles, but there is little of his trademark "everyman" superhero archetype on display, and his usual audience may feel tricked into a slightly smarter production absent of expected blood squibs and fisticuffs.

I'm actually not sure when he became an action star, with a career stretching back into the 90's, but he is. An economic actor who headlines films with plots lifted straight out of other movies (like last year's "The Fugitive" clone, "Angel Has Fallen"). Today he digs his meaty hands into the pile of disaster pictures, but the results onscreen are far more timely and intimate than he, the film or the audience deserves. At least for a good chunk of its runtime.

OK you know the drill: a man races to save his loved ones from the end of the world, this time a comet named "Clarke" that is about to hit Earth. Only this one is smarter than that basic plot synopsis suggests, forgoing spectacle in favor of family drama. The best parts involve the family when society goes to hell, an all-too familiar world where armed forces fire at civilians, panicked people pillage stores, and hysteria drives people to stealing, kidnapping and killing. It's simultaneously the right movie for 2020 and the wrong one, and it's these scenes that elevate "Greenland" out from the shackles set by its excessive peers.

There are some moments of sappy sentimentalism, as Gerard's character John Garrity's marriage is on the rocks, but this reconciliation does little to destroy the film's intelligent narrative or contemporary momentum.

A few more political wrinkles appear when John is separated from his wife Allison (Morena Baccarin) and diabetic son (Roger Dale Floyd) at a Georgian navel base. Selected families are being flown to a bunker in the namesake island, but why were they chosen, they wonder. So do their neighbors, and the people clamoring at the gates. Allowed entry after given an identification wristband, the parents find themselves the target of the general population; these wristbands are their one chance at survival, people think, and people act without thinking.

The best thing here is how the action is centered around the characters, instead of just on the action. I read the budget is a modest $35 million, a far cry from the usual blockbuster, and I'm sure that was the reason. I don't know about you, but my eyes were thankful for the optical relief, and my brain was just happy to be invited, instead of being told to stay at the door.

It's a shame, though, that we all watched this from our homes. Yes I know there is a pandemic, but the bombastic score and infrequent effects extravaganza demand something other than your crappy TV. Most of us are lucky enough to have something in 1080p, but fewer are set up with a humongous 4K screen or the appropriate sound system. This leaves several long stretches taking place night to appear dim and incomprehensible. Who's at fault? Is it mine for having a poor cinema setup? Or the filmmakers for a cheap home-viewing conversion? This is why we go to the movies, and it's another reminder of how much this year has sucked.

I do wish it leaned further into this human subtext, as the climax begins to ignore general logic and instead hit all the obligatory "disaster movie" beats. Yet I'm not surprised this happens. After all, the internet tells me filming ended last year, so all the similarities are merely coincidental. Let's just hope that 2020 ends the way "Greenland" does, with a light at the end of a tunnel.

The Christmas Setup Review

"The Christmas Setup" features humans in front of a camera reading lines, which by definition, makes it a movie. But only just barely.

Debuting on the television station Lifetime, it is notable only for being their first Christmas movie where the romantic leads are gay. TV has come a long way, but not the films released there. With a pandering narrative, clumsy performances, and low-stakes plot, this is everything we have come to expect from the medium, so grab a bag of popcorn and a blanket, and prepare to fall asleep.

It's the kind of picture where extras in the background pretend to sip from their coffee, only their lips are clearly not touching the cup. The type where you notice that a character is wearing the same pants the next "day." The sort where characters use a twenty dollar bill for a single mug of hot chocolate. Obviously, the budget went to acquiring all those Christmas decorations and fake snow.

Ben Lewis plays Hugo, a big-shot lawyer in NY who heads to his home town for the holidays, only to- gasp, bump into his high school crush. The flannel hunk of man-meat Patrick, played by Lewis' real life husband Blake Lee, and their existing relationship goes a long way in helping elevate the greeting-card material into something that is almost charming. The entire production fails their chemistry, but there's chemistry nonetheless.

Hugo's mother Kate is played by the always wonderful Fran Drescher, who's voice is just as nasally and debatably annoying as everyone remembers, but her professionalism is the rock to the shaky movie-making foundation. She dominates every scene she's in, and she's fortunately got quite a lot of screen time, adding a certain level of goofy class that this is so otherwise lacking in. Problem is, her dopey radiance even distracts from the fact that her fictional son is dating another man in a network first.

So aside from falling head-over-heals in television-PG love, Hugo and friends need to save the town's old train station. On top of that, his brother Aiden, played by Chad Connell, suddenly comes home as well, and begins propositioning Hugo's city friend Madelyn, played by Ellen Wong. And on top of that, he just got a promotion at work requiring him to move to London. Will Hugo and Patrick stay together? Will the historic landmark survive? And how will Madelyn and Aiden, and Hugo and Patrick, make it work long-distance?

There's so much going on! And yet, there isn't a moment that makes you care about any of it. The script defines each character as a caricature and provides zero chance for growth. The actors show up, read they lines, and pretend to look like they're having fun. Once or twice, they look like the honestly are. Other times, you can just picture the director waving their paychecks just off-camera.

Fran Drescher's presence gives this half of its one-star rating. The other half is the channel finally giving the LGBT community the feature-length recognition they deserve. The missing three stars are for being a piece of manufactured rubbish.

The Christmas Chronicles 2 Review

"The Christmas Chronicles 2" is a lot of movie. There are violent elves, time travel, broken families, and still it finds time for a musical number (no doubt the best part of the entire picture).

Again we follow Kurt Russell's suave, silver-foxed portrayal of Santa, as his path crosses with a young girl Kate, played by Darby Camp, for some sappy Hallmark holiday magic, only for ex-elf Belsnickel (Julian Dennison) to crash the party to steal Christmas. The confused narrative doesn't stay in one place long enough for any of the dramatic moments to have any heft, but hey, its yuletide spirit remains consistent, and wears you down until you're won over by its kitschy charm.

To go into detail of the plot would be a disservice to its manic charisma, but in short, its up to Santa to win back Christmas AND get Kate and her other stowaway Jack, played by Jahzir Bruno, her soon-to-be half-brother, or so she fears at least. It's a shame their roles aren't occupied by more convincing kid actors, as they entertain most of the runtime, and by the end you're kind of sick of their saccharine performances. It doesn't help that their personalities are defined by what adults think children are like (she misses her dad and he's a worry-wart), but it's times like this that you pine for someone like Mara Wilson, star of director Chris Columbus' own "Mrs. Doubtfire," among others, who's natural screen presence could meld any ponderous script into believable gold. 

Talent like hers is missed, as the child acting here feels like they're auditioning for a commercial- smiling after every line delivery. Even the villain is oddly static, a credible threat not onscreen but only because the script demands he be. Hell, even the CGI monstrosities that are elves are more pleasing to the eye (and there are like a million of them).

That represents the other major issue with the picture, the visuals. While they have a sort of studio-backlot glamour to them, something you might find in a mall around December (well, maybe not this year), there's a gloomy dampness to every shot, a sort of artificial darkness that distracts from the whimsy that these scenes should invoke. This overreliance on computer-generated effects is glaring, from the sleigh riding to Santa's Workshop (or was that "Mrs. Santa's Workshop" now?); it's obvious where the real set ends and where the computers take over. Even the snow looks fake- it's 2020 and we still can't get snow to look real in the movies?!

I dunno. There's a lot going on at any one time that it'll surely hold the attention of the millions of Netflix-subscribing tykes. And the parents? Well, they're just be happy with the peace and quiet.

As for the film itself, none of these musing matter, because towering above all the inadequacies is the great Kurt Russell as Saint Nicholas himself, and the irresistible Goldie Hawn, as who else but Mrs. Claus. They were born to play these roles, and fill the screen with a chemistry that only almost forty years of dating can create. Your eyes can't leave their toothy smiles and huge personalities, a wonderful duo clearly having so much fun that it forces you to join in on the joy. Would the inevitable "Christmas Chronicles 3" benefit from tighter dialogue and a more cohesive plot? Of course! But only if these two return. In the meantime, number 2 ain't so bad.

Fatman Review

What if Santa went bankrupt? Here's another one- what if a hitman was going after Santa?! Oh I've got one more- what if Mel Gibson played Santa?

See this is what they call a "high concept" film, and these three disparate narratives are awkwardly sewn together in the new movie "Fatman," only it's never as emotional, thrilling or funny as any of those gimmicks suggest. It's instead a slow, confused and turgid cocktail of too many genres, though the few sparkles of imagination present do go along way.

Mel Gibson of course plays Mr. Claus, who drinks his way through the daily, dull life of being Father Christmas. He's pretty good here, though the script fails to see the satire in having such a controversial figure play such a beloved character. He utters I think one swear, and seems to love all people of all places. That's not the Gibson I read about in the tabloids.

His doting wife, the wonderfully charming but ultimately accessory Marianne Jean-Baptiste, bakes him cookies as he crunches the numbers, fixes up the sled and checks up on the elves. Only these aren't your normal Hollywood elves- these are just relatively short but extremely efficient factory workers.

But the numbers aren't so good- on the verge of going under, the government steps in to have Santa's Workshop work on... something for their military. Suddenly the money's there to save next Christmas, even if it means Uncle Sam is oblivious to the potential of having someone on their payroll who knows "who's been bad or good" and when the bad is sleeping (and no doubt hiding). Honestly, am I the only one who's heard that song?

At the same time, the tyrant of a child Billy (Chance Hurstfield), frustrated by the lump of coal under his tree, exploits his sickly grandma's wealth to put a hit out on the man in red. The man for the job is Miller, played by Walton Goggins, who has unpleasant feelings towards old man Cringle of his own. There's a throwaway line about him not getting his dead parent's back, but I dunno, there isn't much effort put into character development here. What you see is what you get. Are you the kind of person who thinks seeing Goggins as an assassin, out to get Mel Gibson as Satna, is pure comedic gold? Well, this is the movie for you.

Problem it's not terribly funny. There are a few pieces of glib dialogue, but it's primary agenda is to keep the plot moving along, albeit slowly. It has the potential to be clever, a level of sensationalism, whimsy and hilarity that lives just below the surface of its approximate 100 minute runtime, but it's never the film we ever end up watching.

That doesn't make it a family movie either. Between the rare display of potty mouth, every bullet that lands results in a big pool of blood or splatter. But that's another problem- this is far tamer than something like last year's "Rambo: Last Blood," for example, so if they weren't going to go "all in," why bother showing any violence at all?

It comes down to concept, and how the three (or more, I wasn't counting) just don't jell into a cohesive picture. It's a neutered, frequently boring execution of some pretty interesting ideas that sucks the inherit fun out of the outrageous stunt-casting.

Maybe next time, get an actor who's actually fat to play the title character in a movie called Fatman. Or, at least have a script smart enough to mention this irony.

Tremors: Shrieker Island Review

There is no reason for "Tremors: Shrieker Island" to not just be called "Tremors 7." There is no reason for "Tremors" to have seven movies. There is no reason for "Tremors" to be a franchise. There is no reason for Michael Gross" to have appeared in all the films. There is no reason for this film to exist in the first place. But all of those are true.

This time in the "Tremors" franchise, we find Gross' Burt Gummer character helping a team of scientists who's outdoor facility is on the neighboring island to Bill (Richard Blake, who chews more scenery than the monsters), who's bred "graboids" on his private resort. See, he finds these bored millionaires and promises them the hunt of their lives, subterranean worms. These creatures make for perfect low-budget monster movie stars, as it allows the limited budget to focus on the suggestion of the beasts, not necessarily their presence. Toss some dirt around and bam- you instantly have a behemoth nearby. No fancy special effects needed!

The times we do see them onscreen, they look pretty good, or at least, better than "Sharknado." Problems with the film begin once its established that we have shriekers, a sort of evolution the worms that walk on land that first debuted in the first sequel. Have we run out of steam? This is the seventh(!) film in the timeline, and we've gone back to pillage material from earlier films in the series?

The power of suggestion doesn't work here, and the budget constraints show- this is most obviously not something intended for theaters; these look like something you'd use a fake gun to blast away in the arcade video game in the theater's lobby.

A film like this defies regular film criticisms, as actors overact, do dumb things, and say even dumber things. But that's part of the charm, take a scene where Bill, after one of his rich friends is eaten, quips "if your gonna piss like a puppy you better stay on the porch." 

... What? It's campy bits like this that keep you paying attention between the monster action, and even the occasional misfire is usually accompanied by an amusing or exaggerated facial expressions. Look, this movie is pretty bad, but it knows it's bad, and never settles for simply being bad. Thanks to the energetic and efficient direction from Don Michael Paul, who also co-wrote the script, the well-shot location and fun performances lift the picture out from the bargain bin fate of most direct-to-video/streaming sequels.

Yes yes I know, it's lazy movie making no doubt, but it's not boring movie making, and there's a lesson to be learned here. I can't recommend something you'll fall asleep during, but "Tremors Shrieker Island" is no lullaby- it is escapist genre fare with thrills as familiar as they are entertaining.

So what else is new? Why are we all here? Did anyone eagerly await this review to see if they should press the "play" button on Netflix? My guess, if you've read this far, you've already watched it. Good for you, you've done your cinematic duty of helping B-movie filmmakers get their paycheck.

Honest Thief Review

Liam Neeson's "Honest Thief" is exactly the kind of thing that direct-to-video/streaming was invented for- a pandemic forcing theaters to close is just icing on the cake. Yet that's not what happened. Opening only in brick and mortar cinemas, this exceedingly familiar "ex-con on the run" tale is not the kind of thing that usually breaks box office records, and if  Christopher Nolan can't make people comfortable going back to the movies, then what is Liam Neeson doing on the silver screen?

But people love this guy- how else could he play essentially the same character so many times? Hell, during my screening, they even played a trailer for his next revenge pic, "The Marksman." He's portrayed the same recycled hero so many times I might as well copy and paste my reviews for "Cold Pursuit" and "The Commuter." If viewers don't mind, then readers shouldn't. 

This time around he plays Tom Carter, the "In and Out Burglar" who's robbed a dozen or so banks, and the world have no idea who he is. After meeting a girl, Annie (because of course he does), played by the wonderful Kate Walsh, he decides to turn himself in with all the money, in exchange for a reduced sentence. Add a few opportunistic corrupt FBI agents and you have "basic action movie plot, chapter 1."

Out of all the mundane comes an unexpected performance by Jai Courtney as Agent Niven's, one of the two double-crossing baddies. He hams it up with his wide-eyed grin and wired intensity, a guy you'd love to hate had he been given anything interesting to say or do. Here the script is so neutered, you just "kinda like to dislike him."

Gunfire's exchanged, cars are chased, and fists are thrown, and although director Mark Williams does stage everything cleanly and professionally, it all just looks tired. Unless of course you find two cars speeding down a straight road, then turning left a few times, rousing. And by the time we get to the final confrontation between Tom and Nivens, they shoot at each other for a moment or two, run out of bullets, and then it just ends. What happened to the climax?

That's all fine and dandy, and if you're open to buying that stale tale, you'll find a decently touching love story beneath all the bullets. Walsh and Neeson have remarkable chemistry, in spite of the fifteen year age difference, and by the end of the sub-100 minute runtime, you want to see them together. To expose whether or not that happens would not only be a disservice to the potential movie goer, but also to insinuate that the material offers any sort of surprises.

No, "Honest Thief" is not that caliber a picture. "The Fugitive" this very much is not. It lacks the stoic hilarity or fresh excitement of some of his earlier thrillers, but it remains relatively easy to watch. It's a slick piece of run-of-the-mill entertainment, exactly the kind of aged action hero chaos that he's been pumping out in the last decade, offering absolutely nothing new or particularly exciting. We all know his character's innocent, and that it's just a matter of time before he proves it. Leave your yawns in the theater lobby, along with your brain, just don't forget your face mask.

Hubie Halloween Review

The problem with Adam Sandler is that he makes the same comedy every few years, and the problem with fans of those movies is that they often don't like his new movies- if his new movies suck, then, logically, his old ones suck too. That's the case with his latest laugh-free fest "Hubie Halloween," which plays out like a "The Waterboy" sequel set on October 31st.

Sandler plays Hubie, a goofy talking nice guy who lives with his overprotecting mom in Salem where everyone picks on him. His heart of gold is constantly dumped on by his neighbors, who prank him, insult him, and throw things at him on his bike (one of the only amusing running gags is how the objects hurled at him grow more ridiculous as the runtime continues). His lifelong crush also secretly loves him, and whether or not they get together depends on if you can stomach your way through to the end. But when people start disappearing, it's up to this local loser to save the day. Geez, doesn't this all sound familiar? Yet to make fun of "Hubie Halloween" makes you no better than the mean townsfolk; if you can live with that, then please, hit me up sometime and we'll trade putdowns.

Like always, every main, secondary, and tertiary character is played by someone you all know, and practically everyone has previously appeared in a Sandler picture, as if the only scripts that ever come across their desk is from Happy Maddison Productions. I suppose once it was fun to try to spot the next celebrity cameo, but by now, it's exhausting. Oh look, it's Shaquille O'Neal. Isn't it funny that he has the voice of a woman?

Actually I'll stop right there- it was amusing. I didn't laugh, but my stern lips did curl into a slight grin, and my mind mildly tickled at the juxtaposition. But that's not enough for a recommendation. There should be more entertainment to the millions of dollars on film.

And it's a shame, because the Halloween shown here is something that families won't be able to enjoy in 2020; kids trick or treating, older kids partying with alcohol, and adults screaming their way through haunted houses. All the decorations on display is lost to a script that never finds anything interesting to do with the celebratory sets. But I'm sure that's going to be the biggest draw for Netflix subscribers, desperate not only for familiar faces but also spooky atmosphere where the biggest threat isn't politics or disease but a dope trying to solve a mystery.

I suppose there isn't anything necessarily wrong here- you watch it, forget it, and move onto the next holiday classic. Only this isn't a classic, but neither are a lot of movies at first. I doubt "Hubie Halloween" will ever achieve that status (actually I'm confident it won't), but what does it matter what I say? Adam Sandler movies are consistently among the most watched Netflix Originals, so go and watch it already. I'll be streaming more satisfying cinematic experiences elsewhere.

The Devil All the Time Review

Tom Holland. Riley Keough. Jason Clarke. Bill Skarsgard. Robert Pattinson. Those are just some of the names in Netflix's newest movie "The Devil All the Time." If you don't recognize their names you certainly do their faces- there is a lot of talent onscreen, there's no arguing that. But the film is a disgusting pile of sewage, a messy exploitation of material that works in documentaries and not for entertainment.

The disconnected narrative follows Arvin Russell, played by Holland, who's dad (Skarsgard) killed himself after his mother's cancerous death. Now grownup, raised by his grandma and uncle, his step-sister Lenora (Eliza Scanlen) kills herself after getting pregnant with the creepy local preacher (Pattinson). You don't want to be one of his relatives.

We also follow bent police sheriff Lee Bodecker (Sebastian Stan), who's promiscuous sister (Riley Keough) sleeps with hitchhikers before her husband (Clarke) kills them behind a camera lense. That's a problem for Lee, since he's up for reelection, a timely plot considering November is only two months away, but it never leans far into this political satire, instead settling into being but another way to sensationalize violence for the lusting camera.

These two primary stories are connected to each other not only with characters but with the picture's core concept, which is the corruption of religion. Everyone's motives, in some way or shape, leads back to god, and it's never for the better. Men and women are not only killed, but brutalized, both physically and emotionally. You see as much sex and gore an R rating will allow- even the dog dies!

Thankfully that's off camera, but why? Because people don't like it when an animal dies? Do you think they like it when a woman has a screwdriver shoved in her throat? Because that happens here, shown in its entirety. We see all the blood spill between her fingers as she tries to put pressure on the gash. This is a moral compass as corrupt as the characters it tries to villainize.

Save for Spiderman, every man targets women for their own perverse actions. If you're not comfortable with watching a grown man force fellatio on his wife, after having sex with an underage girl in his car, then please, keep scrolling through the list of recommended films on Netflix. It just leaves a bad taste in your mouth, a rampant exercise in sexism that just doesn't sit well with me. I refuse to accept this as a thriller, not only because the movie fails to thrill but because the material does too. Religion is ripe for mockery, but statutory rape is not.

Don't get me wrong- this is a well-made film. Director and co-writer Antonio Campos is obviously skilled, and there's a heavy layer of polish to the entire production. The cast brings their A-game too, it's just a shame this is what the results are.

IMDB.com tells me that the film's slogan is "Some people are just born to be buried;" some films are too.

The Babysitter: Killer Queen Review

Welcome to this weekend's entry of "So I Logged Onto Netflix." Or, at least that is what cinema has become, save for the occasional drive-in or rental. Here the streaming giant celebrates Halloween early with "The Babysitter: Killer Queen," a strangely awful film that is utterly fascinating to watch. It fumbles at every baby step, from stale references that fail hard to be funny, from awry bursts of gore that shock only in their pure randomness.

Billed as a horror-comedy, this sequel to 2017's minor hit "The Babysitter" has co-writer and director McG returning with pretty much the entire cast. Now I should mention that I've never seen the original, but I don't think it matters. Nothing short of making an entirely different movie could save "The Babysitter: Killer Queen."

The setup this time is simple: Cole (Judah Lewis), haunted by the events of the first movie, tries to clear his mind by going on a boat trip with girl-who's-a-friend-but-not-a-girlfriend Melanie (Emily Alyn Lind). Then a cult gets involved, people aren't who they say they are, sex is had and many people die. Problem is that the wheels have already flown off by the time blood is first spilled.

The humor is the biggest flaw, which extends well beyond just dialogue. Cult members have their own uncomfortable "backstory" segment, wildly inappropriate music plays over pinnacle scenes- there is even a video game-style fight towards the end! Nothing is thrilling, exciting, new, original, fun or even remotely interesting, but it is certainly not intimidated to try something different.

It is all astonishingly deluded, like someone gave a group of really inspired filmmakers, gave them a modest budget and said ... "have it ready by Halloween." Their love shows onscreen, even if it's stupid, nasty, and sometimes mean, and you have to appreciate that. No one moment resembles another, and that's skill, even if it's used for all the wrong reasons.

So you watch with a sort of bemused obsession, in awe at how spectacularly misguided every moment is. For every serious exchange of words there is some lame or vulgar punchline lurking behind everyone's lips, you sit waiting with inexcusable anticipation for the next wrong-headed move. It's a bizarre feeling, a train wreck that just goes on and on but keeps finding new ways to wreck the train, and you just stare at the screen with intrigue. You want to hate it, you should hate it, you might think you hate it, and you probably do truly hate it, but good luck trying to turn it off before the credits roll. 

Like a fat guy at a nude beach, it just lets it all hang out, ugly and all, but it's proud. It might be bad, but it definitely isn't timid.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things Review

To dismiss a film as "weird" is a disservice to the art of filmmaking. To summarize it with a sighing "I don't get it" is ineffective. It offers nothing to you, the hopeful inquiring about the picture, and provides no critique to the people involved in its production.

"I'm Thinking of Ending Things" is one of those movies. Writer-director Charlie Kaufman is sort of known to evoke those sort of harsh generalizations from his works, and no doubt his latest, Netflix-released release, will have its ardent fans and its vocal critics. And for good reason.

If people are looking for some helpful words of advice to the looming question, "should I watch it?" Then let me give you some: it is dumb, tedious, boring, pointless, and all in all, not enjoyable. There is zero reason for people to spend their Labor day weekend, except to make you feel bad, uncomfortable, and sad. You sink with misery into your couch, watching awkward caricatures ramble on with laborious dialogue in nonsense conditions. It's a film open for interpretation, and I had my own, which I found unsatisfying. One could say it's something you should watch twice to fully appreciate it, but then why isn't the runtime twice as long, and the final product better?

It pretends to tackle important issues like sexism, homosexuality, life, death, etc., but it's a lie- characters instead offer textbook analysis of movies, shows, plays, what-have-you, and passes it off as nuanced understanding. Take, for example, when the song "Baby it's Cold Outside" is under the microscope. The male, Jake (Jesse Plemons), of course takes no offense to lyrics like "... what's the sense of hurting my pride?" The woman, played by Jessie Buckley, of course finds them sexist. Is she right, he right, or are they both right? I don't know, but neither does the film. Just asking a question doesn't make it "insightful." They exchange opinions and then nothing happens, no one learns and no one grows. It is shallow and phony wisdom, and it's just irksome.

Hm, the plot. I should mention it, but what's the point? It's a convenient clothesline of circumstances where stupid things happen to stupid people, who react stupidly in stupid situations. A lot of unbelievable things happen in its excruciating 134 minute runtime, like when a character recites an entire poem she just wrote. Line for line, word for word. You're telling me she memorized it?! I'll tell you this, the second I click that 'publish" button on this review, I won't remember a word I typed. Or this movie.

Maybe I just didn't get it. Maybe this film isn't for me. Maybe I need explosions or fisticuffs to hold my attention. Or, maybe, just perhaps, I see through the pretentious dreck that writer-director Charlie Kaufman is selling and see he has nothing for sale?

Unhinged Review

Russell Crowe is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day in "Unhinged," the first new movie to be released only in theaters here in the states since the pandemic shut the world down. He stalks a divorced mother Rachel, played by Caren Pistorius, who is also having a not so pleasant day, after a bit of road rage during rush hour.

There's a level of subliminal irony at play here, as the only way to see a road rage movie is to go on the road! Whether its to a traditional sit-down theater, if you're brave, or to a drive-in like me, viewers must potentially put themselves into a situation where they can encounter a man like Crowe's character. It's a relatable premise, far more believable than ghosts or possessed dolls, and it's appeal boils down to whether or not you, yourself, have ever contemplated laying on your car's horn at another driver.

I know I have. On my way back from the outdoor cinema, I drove behind an eighteen wheeler who slowed to about 35mph on a 65mph highway. I thought to myself, what's going on here? Should I pass him? Should I honk? The driver eventually sped back up, and I just kindly kept behind the trailer, with the memory of "Unhinged" so fresh in my head. We all encounter times like this on the interstate, but for a film this neanderthal to stick with me after the credits rolled speaks to its inherit terror we all always have behind the wheel, and the unconscious potency of the filmmaking on display.

Crowe plays Tom Cooper, a divorcee himself who hacks his ex-wife and her new lover with an ax, before burning their house down, in the movie's opening moments. He is already unstable, and by the time he encounters Rachel, he is a full-blown slasher villain. The camera lusts over his face, crawling from his twitching eyes to his curled lips as he contemplates each kill, during each kill, and after each kill, and Crowe relishes in the chance to play such a psychotic person. The Oscar-winning actor is too good for material like this, but that's kinda the point- he hams it up with an almost sensual pleasure, chewing not only the scenery but the entire production, right up to the film reel.

He crashes into dozens of cars in pursuit of his victim, runs over people, stabs some and burns others, all in broad daylight- this guy is a maniac! He always knows where Rachel is (thanks to phone tracking), but even once she realizes this and smashes the cell, he's always just behind her. The police of course only show up when its a convenience to the plot, and just about every cliche imaginable is written into the script as if by the law of screenwriting. But none of that has ever mattered in a slasher film, which this very much is, and director Derrick Borte works beyond the limitations set by writer Carl Ellsworth by staging the carnage with professionalism and style. The car chases are clearly shot, and there is genuine suspense we anticipate Cooper's next move and inherit slaughter.

At just over ninety minutes, "Unhinged" is a terse, brutal, stupid, and, for all measures, bad film, but it works. It is your quintessential B picture: telling a familiar story in the rare "road rage" genre, a pulpy production that milks the audience for every emotion you expect to be milked. You yell at the screen every time someone does something dumb, you wince when Rachel's son Kyle (Gabriel Bateman) is in danger by the hands of Crowe (along with some electrical wire to boot), and you just don't feel like driving once it is all over, and there is something to admire about that. Do I recommend "Unhinged?" Did I like it? Is it good? Is it bad? It doesn't matter; it sets its goal low then leaps high over it with finesse. Anyone who's looking for an exploitative tale of violence is in for a satisfyingly deranged time, wait for it, at the movies. When was the last time we could say that?