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?

Project Power Review

Person A: "I saw the new superhero movie on Netflix"
Person B: "The one with Charlize Theron?"
A: "No, the one with Jamie Foxx"
B: "There's one with Jamie Foxx?"
A: "There's one with Charlize Theron?"

End hypothetical conversation.


That is how I imagine most exchanges about Netflix's new superhero movie "Project Power" will play out, coming out only about a mere month after their previous superhero flick "The Old Guard." Without question they are dominating the genre in 2020, as the pandemic continues to shut down theatres across many of the big markets, and you have to wonder how this will change the landscape once the Batmobile can come back out, safely.

Is "Project Power" better than "Wonder Woman" or "Thor: Ragnarok," two movies I disagreed with... everyone about? How many stars should it get? 2 stars? 3? Does it even matter? There is nothing else for people to do with their time, and therefore we view the limited excuses of entertainment from a wildly different angle. If the world wasn't closed down and this was released in the normally crowded theaters, "Project Power" would be just another minor bleep on the moviegoers radar. But it's not, and in a world where the most fun we can get finding a face mask with a cool pattern, it is the closest thing we can get to experiencing a slice of "normal" mass-marketed filmmaking.

It starts with a brilliant premise, pills that give anyone five minutes of superpowers. What are the abilities? Everyone has one, but you don't know until you try it. You could become invisible, become bullet proof, or even explode into a bloody pulp (I imagine that last one won't be made into a kid's Halloween costume). Then it throws millions of dollars in special-effects at the screen and finally, it benefits from the natural charisma of casting Jamie Foxx and Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the leads. Audiences are treated to plenty of scenes of gunplay and fisticuffs, as the plot swerves from drug dealing, corrupt cops, noir, politics, redemption, family, and a whole lot more.

This is where I'd normally criticize the picture, as it never really follows through with any of the numerous ideas it tries, but hey, at least it's trying. It's all too common for movies, particularity in this genre, to hardly try, and here, we have one that goes for everything in the "how to write a screenplay" guidebook. It's messy, unorganized, and uneven, but it is never boring, and sometimes, even surprising.

Take, for example, how it treats all superpowers as evil, since you need to swallow a pill to get them, equating it to taking any illegal substance. There are no "good superheros;" no "Superman" saying that he uses his powers for good and that you should trust him. Again, this isn't something explored fully, but as one of the probably dozens of concepts here, it leaves you thinking about it once the credits roll. For how long after you ask? That depends on how much you want a sequel, for which there will surely be one. And if they can't afford to recruit Foxx or Gordon-Levitt back, no problem, just write new characters that have the same powers.

Sputnik Review

Most movies try too hard, feeling the need to over-complicate even the slightest detail in a well-worn idea. I've watched a lot of dreck (and reviewed some of it), but why is that? Maybe there are no more new ideas in Hollywood, or at least, no new "bankable" ideas. Perhaps that's why we turn to Russia for an eagerly competent science-fiction horror film "Sputnik," which comes to US audiences only through subtitles. This is a no-frills treat packed with government conspiracy, bloodshed, science, fiction, and yes, a nasty little creature that comes from space.

In 1983, after a day without contact, a Russian spacecraft lands back to Earth, with one passenger dead, one alive, and one new, sleeping inside the living. What is it? What does it want? How did it get inside him? Can we remove it? The answers to those questions, the last one in particular, are tasked to Tatyana (Oksana Akinshina), a disgraced doctor who's career is saved by Colonel Semiradov (Fyodor Bondarchuk), after her risky practices threatened a patient's life in an offscreen event. If you're going to ask what the Military wants with an alien, then you have not seen a lot of movies.

This creatures lives inside and outside its host, though only for about an hour a night, and the cosmonaut remains under heavy guard as scientists work to study the parasite. (Or is it symbiote?) Expect the obligatory scenes where someone "wants to take a closer look" and the even more obligatory consequences.

I wish I could say the narrative is something best kept a secret, so that you, the viewer, could be surprised, but the only way to be shocked would be to have never watched 1979's "Alien," any of its sequels, or any film it inspired (or inspired it). But part of the fun of these pictures is seeing all the neat new twists play out; everyone knows, or at least thinks they know, what's going to happen, who's gonna die, and how it all ends. You sit in suspense, waiting for that part you just know is coming, all the while sorta hoping to be wrong. "Sputnik" offers everything you want in an creature feature, all thrills and trimmed of most unnecessary fat.

Most unique here isn't its characters, plot or even monster- it's its setting. The industrial Russian facilities casts a damp coldness to every shot, one that to American's feels almost as alien as the alien itself; everything looks like Earth, but something's not quite right. A detached emptiness fills you with dread- this is a place where you know bad stuff has happened and is going to happen. And bad stuff does happen, and then happens again, and again.

The lack of an English dub ends up being an unintended brilliant move, a cost-saving measure that gives the production a sort of pseudo-documentary feel; your eyes dart quickly over the subtitles and then scramble back onto the screen, wishing not to miss chance to get lost in the bleak craftsmanship. For all its gloominess, there is somewhat of a happy ending, but with the world in its current state, I'm not sure we need something this gloomy to begin with.

Black Water: Abyss Review

"Black Water: Abyss" is a peculiar name for this movie, which is ultimately just another man-eating crocodile flick. There are plenty of shots of the water, but it's never black- brown would be more accurate, murky would be even better (it even turns red in a few moments, but I digress). What does this have to do with the movie? Nothing, but I couldn't get over it. Why, I'm not sure. Perhaps I felt mislead, but then again, maybe questions like this shouldn't be asked when the narrative follows the exploits of a very hungry crocodile.

The "crocodile movie" subgenre is a finicky one, packed with entries but none with the impact "Jaws" had for shark movies. But "Black Water: Abyss" is no masterpiece like "Jaws." It's not the surprisingly decent "Jaws 2." It's not the "so-bad-it's-good" Jaws 3-D and it certainly is not the "so-bad-it's-great" "Jaws: The Revenge." It occupies somewhere aside that franchise, repackaging its ideas and slapping them onto concepts from other places, namely "The Descent," which itself was a repurposing of themes from other films.

This results in something that isn't very bad but isn't very good either. Then again, there is no standard for crocodile movies, unless you count "Lake Placid," but that's remembered only for its idiosyncratic humor and Betty White. I found myself wishing for humor here, any kind of humor. The dialogue here consists of emotional baggage and the obligatory "get out of the water" kind of screams.

The cast is kept small fortunately, as two couples and a makeshift guide go spelunking in an unknown cave. The closest thing we get to a main character is Jen, played by Jessica McNamee, who in her first scene is snooping on her boyfriend Eric's phone (played by Luke Mitchell). This sets her up to be either jealous or instinctive, which plays into the drama once everyone lands in the cave; an undercurrent of suspect and deception with everyone involved. Problem is, we've seen this all done before, and done with more wit and carnage in Neil Marshall's aforementioned cult hit.

The human turmoil, as familiar as it is, comes close to the cusp of working, but it shortchanges you without any commitment. There is no resolution to the late revelation, people die and other don't. Even the false-ending doesn't offer any satisfying conclusion. But, who are we kidding? No one rents a movie (or goes to the theater, if your country is so lucky) like this and expects to be invested in anyone who's not a semiaquatic monster.

Much of the film is spent in a large cavern, which suddenly floods and caves in (like all movie caves do) and introduces the main star, Mr. Crocodile. We don't get very many clear shots, only brief flashes of his teeth and head poking up from the water. I'm guessing its low budget keeps the special-effect shots down to a minimum, so we're left with the suggestion of the crocodile beneath the still water. This is more of a detriment than a benefit, as the small amount of suspense developed from what you don't see is ruined by the cartoony CGI shots that you do see. What a waste of the computers who generated this imagery. We came here for cheap thrills and bloody kills, but "Black Water: Abyss" is just cheap, without many thrills, blood, or kills.