Our Little Secret Review

Look, I've watched a lot of dreck, holiday dreck to be precise, especially around Christmas thanks to the likes of Hallmark and Lifetime, but Netflix's latest Lindsay Lohan romantic Christmas comedy "Our Little Secret" is leagues ahead of anything you'd find on either of those two cable channels. Hell, it's better than the streamer's own previous collaborations with the star ("Falling for Christmas" and "Irish Wish"), and infinitely more watchable and charming than the company's competitor Paramount+ and their recent "Dear Santa." 

Really, "Our Little Secret" is just one or two script polishes away from being something that could do moderate business theatrically. If only, if only.

Lohan stars as Avery, a business person who hasn't quite gotten over the loss of her mother, her father's (Henry Czerny) retirement and attempts at selling her childhood home and, more importantly to a romantic comedy, her ex-boyfriend Logan's botched proposal from years prior. He's played nicely by Ian Harding, able to straddle the line somewhere between being aloof and intelligent.

Avery is worried to meet her new boyfriend Cam's (Jon Rudnitsky) family for Christmas, especially his mom Erica. She's portrayed by the always-wonderful Kristin Chenoweth, who plays her as a something of a villain. She won't accept her dating her son, for whatever reason, criticizing everything from the wine she brings to the jeans she wears. Erica isn't supposed to be a nice person, and Kristin slips into the role of snarky matriarch like hands in a warm glove on a snowy December day.

Logan's moved on too, dating Cassie (Katie Baker), who spends most of the film making "swooshing" noises on her phone. She's taking him to meet her folks as well and, wouldn't you know it, Cassie and Cam are siblings! Oh the shenanigans that follow.

Should Avery and Logan just tell the family that they used to date like ten years ago? Or, just hear me out, maybe, they should lie and pretend they never met. Lying never causes any problems in the movies!

So yeah, the plot is ripped straight from every other TV rom-com and honestly, a lot of the situations that happen, like a botched secret Santa gift-exchange to blaming the dog on eating all the cookies, play out like sitcom storylines, but that's not what's important. There's a comedic sense of energy here, thanks in no small part to a good cast of principal actors, and even bit parts from the likes of Tim Meadows to Chris Parnell; everyone here seems to be having, I dunno, fun

Veteran director Stephen Herek handles the obvious chaos with a sure touch, and the script by Hailey DeDominicis, who IMBD shows is her first and only writing job, keeps the story moving along at a good pace, giving us an actual plot! And jokes! With setups beforehand! It might not be all that funny, but it's charming and a huge step in the right direction for Lindsay Lohan and her very welcome comeback.

Dear Santa Review

Most Christmas movies are disposable, thanks to Hallmark and Lifetime; they leave the collective pop-culture as fast as they arrive. But at least once a year, Hollywood steps under the mistletoe, and the results are usually harmless but just as forgettable. They often (somehow) attract one or two big names and a competent director, but almost always are sanitized from anything memorable by a hokey script. 

But then, eeeeeeeeeeevery once and a while, Tinseltown lets out a real turkey, a cinematic travesty that is remembered only as "that" film, that awful, terrible, and I mean truly terrible film people watched, once, that one chilly winter day that one year. 2004 had "Christmas with the Kranks" (and "Surviving Christmas-" what a bad year for jolly ol' Saint Nick), 2006 had "Deck the Halls," and 2024 has "Dear Santa." And it's not even December yet.

Starring Jack Black and directed by Bobby Farrelly (and co-written by his brother Peter, alongside Ricky Blitt), "Dear Santa" stuns for over an hour and a half as mean-spirited and, more importantly, unfunny jokes limp out of its desperate cast's mouths. Lying about cancer? What about a kid with bad teeth? Or how about the death of a child? All game and all played for laughs, only there isn't ever, and I mean ever, a laugh that anyone could give up. Must all be saving them for a rerun of "Christmas Vacation."

Robert Timothy Smith stars as Liam, an eleven year old new kid at school who's parents Molly and Bill (Brianne Howey and Hayes MacArthur, respectively) are introduced arguing, and continue to do so almost the entire time. His dad thinks he's a bit old to be writing to Santa and that his mom coddles him. She, of course, is worried Liam is struggling to adjust to a new town and all that jazz, especially since he's dyslexic. How very festive.

She takes him into town to mail in his letter, but, since we gotta work that learning disability into the script, somehow, misspells "Santa" as "Satan," who is all too excited to be getting a letter, shows up one night in Laim's room and, well, there you go. There's the plot. It's a great idea for a plot, at least, especially since they got Jack Black to play him, but so what? It's all concept and no execution, as the film labors from one awkward scene about the devil trying to trick the boy into his "three wishes," like making the popular girl (Emma, played well by Kai Cech) go out with him to the next. Oh, sound too rote for you? Don't worry, Satan will concur up a few backstage passes to a Post Malone concert, so you get a movie and a show! BOGO? What a deal!

For his second wish, Liam chooses to fix his best friend's teeth (Gibby, played by Jaden Carson Baker), which is a nice gesture yeah, but what kind of message is that? Liam is white, Gibby is black; a white boy needs to fix his black friend's problems? Oh too topical? Then how about how instead of someone overcoming their physical limitations, just change your appearance? I mean, he needs those perfect chompers so he can get a girlfriend too. Ho, ho, ho.

I would tell you what his third wish is, but that would be mean, and I'm trying to stay on the "nice list" this year. 

Jack Black, who is usually a fun actor to watch, is buried behind makeup, hair and clothing, and looks bored as he forces out lines about poop and creepy uncles. But the worst actor here is our star, Smith; and I get it, he's a kid and I don't mean to be cruel, but he just don't have the charisma to carry a movie. His delivery is awkward and uncomfortable, and I felt icky watching him; eventually anytime he was onscreen, I just stopped looking at him and focused on the subtitles. Problem was, I then was focusing on the inane dialogue.

I guess my real problem with his character was how he just accepts this whole "Santa/Satan" thing far too easily. If a strange man showed up in my room one night when I was young, then I would have ended up on one of those "missing persons" posters instead of here, writing sassy things about terrible movies. Hmmm...

Gladiator II Review

Leave it to director Ridley Scott make a big-budget sword-and-sandals film in 2024. No other director could have made such an indulgent, grandiose, dumb, nostalgic, loud, operatic, luxurious and expensive sword-and-sandals film. It succeeds purely based on its scale, visual design and a handful of truly fun performances, but that doesn't make it one worth remembering.

Paul Mescal stars as, checks internet, Hanno, who's home of, checks internet again, Numidia, the "last city not under Rome's control." We barely get to know him and his wife Arishat (Yuval Gonen) before Rome and it's humongous army of ships launches an attack, let by General Acacius (Pedro Pascal). Pedro is a fantastic actor, able to be simultaneously stoic and sympathetic, and every time he's onscreen I wish the film was about him.

Arishat is killed in battle, Numidia falls and Hanno is enslaved. But it only takes a few minutes of runtime before he's fighting crazed bamboos alongside other prisoners of war. Of course, our protagonist wins not only the er, the match, but also the eye of Macrinus, the head of the gladiators who promises the head of Acacius to Hanno if he keeps fighting. Keeps winning. To never lose his rage, so Marcinus says. He's played by Denzel Washington, an actor the camera just loves. He moves and speaks with swagger and sexuality, speaking like he's always half-soused, (and frequently does have a drink in hand) encrusted with robes and jewelry. Both him and Pascal completely outshine Mesca, who has all the superficial qualities of an actor except charisma. He looks like a background who's accidentally reading the star's lines.

I can't understate how big an issue this is; he lacks any presence, swallowed up by the surrounding scenery and performers. He is convincing in the many fights but so what? Mesca wouldn't even make it in the WWE, except maybe as referee.

Connie Nielsen also stars, as Lucilla, wife of Acacius, but she's given nothing to do except look scared or concerned; she exists purely to move the narrative along to the next bombastic scene. Given Scott's history of strong female characters, it's a shame to see not only just one main woman character but also for her to function squarely to serve the plot along for the boys to play.

Rome is ruled by twin emperor's, Greta (Joseph Quinn) and Caracalla (Fred Hechinger), brothers who are pale and look sickly as they bark orders for their own amusement. They make great villains, with this erotic energy towards not just women and men but also each other. I don't know how historically accurate they are, or anything in this lavish production is, but man, does it make for a great cinematic time.

The rest of the plot is arbitrary gobbledygook, ripped right from other, similar, films, but aside from the traumatic miscasting of the main character, it can't shake this feeling that there isn't much of a point to "Gladiator II," even to someone like me who's never seen the first one. The only thing onscreen, aside from literally millions of dollars, was Scott's fetish for excess. And I absolutely ate it up. There's not one ship, but dozens. Not one army, but three. Why? Why not!? There's even sharks! Everyone walks around with flowy clothes in fantastical sets, the kind meant to keep your eyes entertained for hours. And at just under two and a half hours, just be happy that it doesn't take that long before the credits roll.

Absolution Review

Director Hans Petter Moland and Liam Neeson, who made the very, very funny black comedy thriller "Cold Pursuit" way back in 2019, reteam for a decidedly more morose crime thriller "Absolution," and one only wishes they continued to find silly reasons for the now seventy two year old actor to go around and kill people.

Oh sure, they're very bad people, in a way that always seems to exist so brazenly in a movie like this, but this is a dour experience, with Liam, playing who IMBD just calls "Thug," struggles with chronic traumatic encephalopathy, which I of course had to look up the spelling of. He sulks around Massachusetts with a most Charles Bronson of mustaches on payroll for his boss Charlie (Ron Perlman), usually of which results in the death of some background character, dependent on a little notebook full of names, addresses and other things we all remember with ease. Him, on the other hand, is given "a few years, maybe less," as soon as he learns of his diagnosis. 

If all this reminds you of another one of Liam's films, "Memory," where he plays an aging assassin with dementia, then just remember this time plays an aging gangster with CTE. See, totally different.

Anyway, in true "crime thriller" tradition, "Thug" has an estranged daughter (Frankie Shaw) who wants nothing to do with his, despite his newfound interest in reconciliation, as well as a new lover played convincingly by Yolonda Ross; neither of which know about his condition until it's well into the runtime.

The plot's all boilerplate. Writer Tony Gayton hasn't the foggiest about what to do with a story like this; is this a serious character-study about a dying man or another late-career thriller for its star? It tries to be both but doesn't know how to do either; that's an awkward place to be and the whole thing just collapses under it's own grungy weight.

It's a rote movie, filled with cliche dialogue, a brothel, very little action, a double-crossing, at least two dream sequences, this persistent, pensive sadness and a lethargic pacing that I'm sure almost put at least one of the elderly couples in the surprisingly populated theater to sleep for a bit. And that's a real shame, since Liam really goes all-in with playing a diseased man; you can see a man lost when he stars off in the distance blankly, or feel his intense anger as he rages in response to not wanting to admit he doesn't know what's going on. He really is good here, committed to material that isn't committed to him.

Terrifier 3 Review

Written and directed by Damien Leone, the "Terrifier" films have a cult following unlike any other of recent memory; you're just as likely to see the series' slasher icon "Art the Clown," played in absolute silence by David Howard Thornton, merchandise next to more mainstream villains like Jason Voorhees or Chucky at those popup Halloween stores that disappear November 1st.

But by virtue of being an entry in a franchise, the other films unseen by me, the plot had a considerable amount of, well, plot. In fact, to someone new to these movies, it was basically incoherent, sometimes being your basic (albeit extremely gory) slasher and other times involving a sacred sword and spirits. Or demons. Or something like that. Guess that's on me for not having done my horror movie homework.

But no, it's not entirely my fault- why does Art sometimes kill innocent bystanders and other times not? Why is one Santa explicitly targeted and not another? Why do some killings happen off screen in a series famous for its bloodshed fetish? Or, perhaps the best question of all, why am I even bothering with a review?

The story mostly follows Sienna (Lauren LaVera) right before Christmas, who leaves the hospital to spend the holiday with her aunt Jess (Margaret Anne Florence), uncle Greg (Bryce Johnson) and their young daughter Gabbie (Antonella Rose). Sienna, who's explained to have killed Art in a previous movie (or did she??), still suffers what is clearly some type of PTSD from the events, who soon becomes convinced the clown is back.

We the viewers, of course, know he is; we watch him slice through nameless tertiary and background characters as he makes his way to her, using everything from hammers to bombs, filmed with a sensual thirst as every ounce of blood is drained from his screaming casualties. But the police never seem to care that bodies are piling up; the world of the "Terrifier" exists in a most make-believe world where only cruelty exists.

Damien knows that the series' whole appeal is its unflinching mayhem, but even he seems to be operating with some level of restraint; the opening, which depicts a seemingly random slaughter of some random family, lingers over the onscreen murders of two adults, but cuts away from showing the slashing of children. Why?! This is a gross film, unfettered by morals and frequently logic, but if he's willing to show male genitalia being chainsawed, the victim's body jiggling against the blade's vibration, then why are kids off-limits? I'm not in anyway shape or form saying I want to see that, but clearly the fans would eat it up. It seems like a surprisingly chaste decision in light of two-plus hours of otherwise absolute depravity. You're telling me this guy has any ethics? Please!

Seen in a relatively packed theater, the audience laughed at nearly every act of violence, no matter how nasty, which aligns with Art's frequent exaggerated facial expression and gestures. Filled with cameos and callbacks, the interwebs tells me this had the highest budget out of franchise, clocking in at two million, so Damien clearly has found, and knows, his audience, mainstream be damned, but I sat mostly unfazed, not that I'm showing off- the abhorrent rampaging is disgusting and very-much intended, but so what? He fails to have a single piece of clever dialogue in this dense story, scenes between killings are talky and downright boring, and Art's goofy antics as he shoots, slices, and dices come off as a big joke, staged without menace or atmosphere, lacking the surreal punch of giallo films or the visceral dread of George A. Romero's work, just to name a few. He lays it all out there, and it just sorta lies there as a giant lump of rotting flesh.

Not to try and defend myself, but I'm not cinematic prude: "Zombi 2" and "Bone Tomahawk" are just a few of my top gory picks, but they have personality or interesting characters to help give impact to the brutality. Not here; at one point the music's lyrics include "a Terrifier Christmas," as if that makes it a satire.

Maybe that's the point, perhaps this is all an attempt at some sort of exploitative comedy act? That or the others in their own reclining seats of worn leather next to me were all sickos.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Review

"Beetlejuice Beetlejuice" lacks any reason for being outside making money. Sure, it's amusing to see one's favorite characters portrayed by the same actors as in the 1988 original, but so what? If you're fan, just, I dunno, watch the first one again. And if that doesn't do it, well then neither will the sequel.

Or maybe it will- the rather empty theater I saw this in had a small crowd who laughed at every gag as if they were paid to chortle, and when the credits rolled around, I half-expected them to give it a standing ovation. They didn't, but they certainly enjoyed it, but on what grounds?

I thought about this as I drove home from the cinema, but I couldn't place what they loved so much. Maybe there are folks out there who think watching a teen romance between Astrid (Jenna Ortega) and mysterious local boy Jeremy (Arthur Conti) is not cringy and forced? Or maybe they felt her mom Lydia (a returning Winona Ryder) hosting a show about ghosts wasn't totally out-of-character?

The story is way too complicated here, but lemme try to explain it in as simple terms as I can: Lydia's father has died (by a shark attack, no less), so she takes Astrid and her mother Delia (Catherine O'Hara) back to the home of the first film to have a funeral. His body is lowered to the earth with a child choir singing "Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)," which probably played well in commercials, but it is only one of probably over a dozen different nostalgic-fueled moments that serve as winks at the audience. If you read the script, it probably says "hey, remember this" a bunch of times.

Anyway, at the same time Betelgeuse's (Michael Keaton) ex-wife Delores (Monica Bellucci) is resurrected accidentally by an awkward cameo of Danny Devito, who we later learn only married him because she was the leader of some cult. She poisoned him on their wedding night, but before he died, he killed her with an ax, so now that she's back, she wants revenge. Detective Wolf (Willem Dafoe) warns him that she'll suck his soul out of his body, leaving him "dead dead," and advises him to lay low. A life-of-the-party like him lay low? Please!

But back to the mortals: Astrid ends up meeting Jeremy, and the two have an immediate attraction, they even kiss, on Halloween night I might add. But there's a problem, one which I won't spoil, but it does demand Lydia say that frightful word three times, ask for help to illegally get her into the afterlife, sign a contract, and, well, that's about it. And that's ignoring all the side-stories, which involve shady producers, totally-not-dangerous snakes and real estate agents dressing their kids as fruit.

Of course, it's just an excuse for a lot of wild sets, sight gags and lots of visual effects, some looking practical and others distractingly digital, but a lot are just repeats of the first "Beetlejuice," from the desert sandworms to the famous red-roofed bridge. The entire production feels like a "greatest hits" of the franchise, which sucks since it's only the second movie.

Out of the principal cast, only Keaton seems to know how stay afloat amongst all the special effects, carefully balancing actual acting and comedic shtick perfectly. He's so good you wish it was just about his many misadventures, but maybe the studio or writers or director Tim Burton himself felt that couldn't support an entire movie. But then give me a story I should give a damn about! Ortega only mopes around, O'Hara overreacts and Ryder just stands around looking confused, as if she doesn't understand the story either.

Take, for instance, when at one point Wolf points a gun at Betelgeuse, since he's a wanted man, what good is that supposed to do? Isn't he already dead? Or how Wolf plans to try him once he's under custody; just what does the criminal justice system look like in the "afterlife?" (Would he get the "life" penalty?)

The film ultimately is a mixed bag, working only when Burton ignores the story for a moment and embraces the inherent silliness of the entire concept, the best part easily being a wedding where the main cast lip-sings to, of all songs, MacArthur Park. He has a sense of humor to his visuals that immediately falls apart when it's bogged down in plot, because with plot you begin to introduce logic, and he is a filmmaker who defies it.

The Killer Review

John Woo's "The Killer" (2024) is a remake of "The Killer" (1989), also by John Woo, with no relation to David Fincher's "The Killer (2023). And I'm sure a half dozen other films with the same name exist too, but I'm too tired to get into that 

Whether this remake is better than the original (or the same-named but unrelated one) is an irrelevant comparison I'm disinterested in making: "The Killer" (2024) is a decent time waster surprises no one by debuting on the streamer Peacock instead of in theaters. The action is stylized, well-staged and frequent, but since the rise of "John Wick" in 2014, it seems every Hollywood action film wants to also have action that is stylized, well-staged and frequent. Where's the originality?!

I will say this, though Woo uses slow-motion throughout, he understands when and why to use it, unlike, say, Zack Snyder and his "Rebel Moon" movies, who uses it to bludgeon the audience with its arbitrariness. You, Mr. Woo, know how to direct.

But where he fumbles is in the story, which, look, I get it, this is a remake, but the material was musty then too! Tell me if you've heard this one before: an incredibly talented hit(wo)man Zee, played by Nathalie Emmanuel, is sent on a job to take out "everyone in the room." Only she declines to kill a woman (Diana Silvers), a singer named Jenn who ends up blind due to the mayhem. Her boss (Sam Worthington) is pissed she let the girl live, and ends up entangled with an honest cop (Omar Sy), dirty cops, a setup, double-crossing, drug dealers, stolen heroin, missing heroin, kidnapping, hospital shootouts, an abandoned church, and a pet fish.

The plot ends up being simultaneously threadbare and complicated, thanks no doubt to its France setting, necessitating subtitles for certain characters (some real heavy accents don't help the matter), but that's not really what I'm talking about. When you deconstruct the narrative, there's practically nothing here that you won't find on some basic cable cop drama (only the streets of Paris and not Chicago or Brooklyn, etc.,), only, you know, quite bloody.

I knew the seemingly random girl was important because, why else would she be spared (or given a name)? I knew during the fights that Zee wasn't really in danger because there's still half a movie left. At one she has a gun pointed to her head, and the villain just talks and talks instead of just shooting her. Why antagonists keep doing that is the real mystery here. The real mystery is how this is all the three credited screenwriters (Brian Helgeland, Josh Campbell and Matt Stuecken) could come up with.

While I can commend the performances (specifically Omar, who balances world-weariness and authority quite well), there isn't a single piece of clever dialogue or interesting character development, hollow vessels we watch shoot, kick and punch each other in set-pieces that failed to stick with me by the time the credits rolled.