Fatal Affair Review

There is nothing wrong with genre movies; low on budget but high on tropes. The kind where much of the budget went towards renting the clothes actors wear or the rental cars they drive, sometimes that's all you want in an afternoon on your couch. Netflix's "Fatal Affair" simultaneously fails and succeeds as one, an effective eighty nine minute trip down the familiar lanes of love, sex, and violence that plays out so quickly you're left either laughing at the gaps in logic or believing them.

Nia Long plays Ellie who's, you guessed it, living the perfect life. Attentive husband, beautiful daughter, and of course, a successful career as a lawyer. Yet she's unhappy, for reasons unexplained outside of generic babble like "... the person sleeping next to you feels like a complete stranger."

Soon we find her on her last assignment at her current firm, before leaving to start her own, and she runs across David, played by Omar Epps, a newly hired new cyber security(?) expert. They (of course!) have a past, having gone to college together, and after a girls night gone wrong, they end up almost having intercourse in a nightclub bathroom (how romantic). This is where the movie falls apart, as it never establishes Ellie's motivation to consider the affair. Up until now (and throughout the film), her husband Marcus (Stephen Bishop) has been nothing but affectionate and understanding.

Is she bored in bed? Is he having an affair also? Where exactly is the trouble in paradise?! The filmmakers where either too lazy to consider such basic backstories, or too innocent to consider such scandalous inclinations; it's trash without being trashy, which is often the only reason to watch garbage.

It's neither smart nor exploitative, in fact, it's so devoid of vice that you find yourself wondering why this didn't debut on some basic-cable channel instead of the streaming giant, complete with a "some material may be inappropriate for children" disclaimer. Aside from some very brief shots of clothed sex, all your perverted appetite has to munch on is the suggestion that sex did happen.

There is mild salvation for Ellie once she leaves David premature, shirt untucked and all, and for the remainder of the runtime she's shown broken as she hides the liaison from her family and friends. David, on the other hand, goes from being mildly frisky to complete stalker, escalating from simply spying to dating her best friend so he can get in her house, within a matter of scenes. Omar is pretty decent here, able to show pounds of rage just beneath his calm demeanor, and he plays what little development is provided for his creeping with an understated intensity. Nia is also acceptable, keeping some level of authority in her character despite the material giving her nothing to work with except to look worried and talk on her phone.

How do you rate this film then, how many stars is fair? That's impossible since it doesn't play fair- this was obviously a "paycheck" movie for everyone, going through the motions so they can pay next month's rent in Hollywood as they wait for a better script to come. It's bad and doesn't deliver the goods, but it never insults you into hating it.

For all its wrongs, "Fatal Affair" does remain watchable. The plot, as derivative as it is, does feature several twists just to make sure you're still paying attention, and the production is relatively slick. It has the look of a more expensive film, one where more interesting things happening to better actors. But I was duped into its silliness, an hour and a half of my life gone that I'll never get back, and I slumped off of my couch not terribly upset with that.

The Old Guard Review

If "The Old Guard" has one thing going in its favor, it's that it's a superhero film without any baggage. There is no "cinematic universe" tomfoolery to hold it back, and by debuting on Netflix, there is no worry about its R-rating impacting its box office potential. It comes to our living rooms on a clean slate, the only expectations are formed by us after decades from the Marvel and DC juggernauts. No, the heroes here don't wear capes or spandex, and they can swear like sailors, but their superpowers get the job done.

This alone is a major breath of air in the crowded superhero genre, but it ends up as nothing but a fresh coat of paint on the creaky old concept. There is nothing new to watch here, because there is nothing new attempted here; it's the same old story with blood squirts and modern clothing.

You've heard this before: a small group of people, led by Andy (Charlize Theron) with unexplained powers are hunted for their unexplained powers. The powers this time is regeneration, which is shown early and often; this motley crew can't die! Get shot? The wound heals itself, shown in full with nice touches like the bullets getting forced out from the flesh. They also never get old, locked forever at the age when these vague abilities are gained. This instantly flatlines the stakes, since they're pretty much immortal, but the film attempts to fill this gap in logic by adding that they can die, but only when it's their time (i.e. whenever their injuries stop healing). When this time comes is unknown, but this doesn't cure this central problem with the action scenes.

The bad guys here are lead by Steven Merrick (Harry Melling), owner of super-generic pharmaceutical company incorporated. His goal is to cure all human disease (maybe he isn't such a bad guy), and sees the humanitarian and financial potential of these super humans and sends dozens of generic soldiers to be sliced, diced, and shot as they try to apprehend them. This leads back to the primary issue with the shootouts and fisticuffs; why should I be thrilled when I know the good guys won't lose? Who cares when they get hurt? All because the possibility that it could be their time?! Without a tangible weakness to be used to stop them, the picture fails. An action picture isn't worth its weight in bullets if the action is robbed of any and all suspense.

There are some interesting ideas buried beneath the flimsy material on the surface, but they sink like stones in a sea of familiarity. We are shown brief scenes of the heroes heroic acts in other eras, which allows for some lovely set pieces like the Salem Witch trials. I wish there were more moments like these, but we're only offered a few breaks from otherwise sterile shots of military outposts and office buildings. It's also touched upon the difficulty of "hiding" in a digital world- in one scene, Andy deletes a photo she's accidentally in by asking the group if they'd like a "picture together." Yet later in the film, she has no problem strolling down the aisle of a drug store. Yeah, I'm sure their security cameras aren't working.

Other ideas are not so welcome: there is, spoiler-alert, a double-cross in the narrative, but the "why" and "how" are never explored. Why didn't it happen sooner? (Gotta fill that runtime somehow.)

Netflix has so many subscribers, and so many folks are superhero movie fans, so they no doubt have a massive success on their hands- particularly as we live in a world where fans are starved of new Marvel and DC content. Whether or not the success is well-deserved is irrelevant when so many people are gonna watch it, talk about it online, and then wait for the next pandemic for the sequel to drop.

Force of Nature Review

"Force of Nature," featuring but hardly starring Mel Gibson, is far from a victim of the pandemic forcing movies out of the theaters. In fact, this high-concept thriller sounds, looks, and plays out like a movie destined by nature to be direct-to-streaming. That's not a bad thing necessarily, as a grimy little genre picture like this is best enjoyed in the privacy of your own home so you don't feel ashamed for having a good time.

Or at least a decent time. Look, "Force of Nature" is far from the best thing you could watch on lockdown, nor will it look particularly good on Gibson's resume, but it sets the bar low and then just barely lumbers over it.

"Die Hard in a hurricane" would be the best way to describe the concept here, with Emile Hirsch as Cardillo, filling the shoes of the obligatory sarcastic officer who doesn't want to be in the situation. Only Cardillo is no John McClane. He and his partner end up at an apartment complex as a hurricane roars behind them, trying to get any civilians to evacuate. But wait, there's more! One of the tenants is Ray (Gibson), is a grizzled ex-cop with a bad mouth and temper (hard to tell how much is acting and how much is him just being himself). But wait! There's more!

There is at least one other resident in need of rescuing, Bergkamp (Jorge Luis Ramos), but he isn't just some old guy. He possesses a few priceless pieces of art, which attracts badguy John the Baptist (David Zayas) and friends. All of this exposition happens relatively quickly, a brief appetizer to the meat-and-potatoes main-course; director Michael Polish knows he's just barely captured the interest of his audience and dives directly into the good stuff as soon as he can.

What's the good stuff? The usual shootouts, fisticuffs, and a few moments of cat-and-mouse games just to break the monotony. We watch familiar scene after familiar scene, but the real attraction is the hurricane setting and the building. The constant bang of the wind and the forever rainfall is an unbroken threat, never sure when it could interrupt the plans of the cops and robbers. The structure, on the other hand, offers unique rooms filled with possibilities; will this residence have an escape path? A weapon? Medicine?

But it is the silliness of it all that sells the material. The film touches on some unplanned timely issues but it glazes over every subject it approaches with a big grin and an equally big fist. Only I wish it was sillier. I wish it went "all in" on just how preposterous everything really is; there is a good idea for an action/disaster satire somewhere here, but "Force of Nature" hasn't found the magic combination. Or it did, but went with the more commercial route.

This is a dopey piece of genre escapism, a low-rent relic of a time where cops, natural disasters, and Mel Gibson could simply headline entertainment, not controversies. These topics don't make for a fun time at the movies anymore. (Should they ever have?) But is it fair to criticize for a product made with the innocent intentions of cheap distraction? I don't know, and my attempt at an answer is unimportant. This film is unimportant. But it is a passable way to spend an unimportant afternoon.

My Spy Review

"My Spy" is the kind of movie where the plot is effectively told within the first few seconds of its trailer, the kind of "fish out of water" tale that Hollywood loves to fit bulging men into. It's everything you're expecting when you select a movie like this to wash away two hours of your quarantined life, only more. The "more" can't be traced to any one element, whether its the writing by Jon and Erich Hoeber, direction by veteran Peter Segal, or our ex-WWE star Dave Bautista, but whatever magic potion they used here shows on screen, and shows on our faces as we smile for nearly its entire runtime.

Dave stars as JJ, a personalityless "tough-guy" CIA agent who's career is on shaky grounds after a mission gone awry. Partnered up with an eager tech-wizard Bobbi (an infectious Kristen Schaal), the two are sent to Chicago for surveillance on single-mother Kate (Parisa Fitz-Henley), so that JJ can open up and fall in love.

Actually, they're there since her late husband was involved in nefarious nuclear hijinks, but let's be honest, the ending is telegraphed the second we learn she's a single parent. Only it's more complicated, as Kate's daughter Sophie (a very spunky Chloe Coleman, who shows promise of a great career), quickly discovers one of the hidden cameras in their apartment. She's fast to film the two agents spying on them, using it as blackmail to get her way. (You know, the usual stuff, getting help from bullies, becoming popular, setting JJ up with her mom, and oh yeah, becoming a spy herself.)

The film gets a lot of comedic mileage from these scenes, a showcase of child empowerment as we see Sophie grow out of her shell, and from Dave as JJ, who's character not only grows out of his in the script, but also as an actor. Here he is more than simply tattoos and biceps, although the two are featured prominently here as well. A familiar comedy where the muscle bound star acts as the straight face to all the mayhem, caricatures, and unfairness viewed through a kid's lens, there are few films in recent memory which nail the tone this effortlessly.

Of course, material like this isn't going to win any awards, but it's heart is very much in the right place (wearing its inspirations not only on its sleeves but also its pants legs), and you walk away with a feeling of warmth the world needs right now.

It would be wrong not to mention its PG-13 rating, a fact condemned by some critics, specifically the violence and swearing. They're right, there is violence and swearing here. Those critics must also have forgotten the point of the works by the likes of John Hughes or Chris Columbus, or any such film from the 80's or 90's; just because we have a happy ending doesn't mean we can't have a few bumps along the way. Think of it this way, we could've ended up with something like "Nine Lives." You may now take a sigh of relief.

*Note to readers: I very much was indifferent towards "Nine Lives," but that does't mean I can't make fun of it.

You Should Have Left Review

I read somewhere that actor Kevin Bacon and director/screenwriter David Koepp really wanted to work together again, having previously released 1999's "Stir of Echoes." Why, then, did the two decide to settle on something like "You Should Have Left?" It's not quite a psychological thriller, not quite a haunted house picture, not quite a romantic drama, and by no means any good. It's a messy, clumsy, confused, confusing, and all-around disinteresting direct-to-streaming release that is an absolute waste of the talents of Kevin Bacon, perhaps the most famous but underutilized actor in Hollywood.

He gives it everything he's got, able to show an entire spectrum of emotions with just his face, able to turn on a dime with the slightest twitch of a muscle, but he ends up being an object onscreen. The camera spends most of its time gawking at the gracefully aged actor, twisting and turning as he tries to fill in the blanks left by the leadened screenplay.

In "You Should Have Left," he plays a wealthy retiree married to his much younger second wife, played with appeal by Amanda Seyfried. The couple and his daughter rent a mysterious house in Wales, before she, an actress, must travel for her next shoot. It's established early that he's got trust issues, uncomfortable when he shows up one day to her set, only to find she's filming a sex scene. Later in the runtime they fight, and he throws accusations of infidelity around. She doesn't admit to anything, and he never really apologizes, and they never real make up- it's pointless romantic tension that's built up for a resolution that doesn't exist.

Who's to blame? The film likes to imply that the vacation house is the cause for the chaos. It constantly adds rooms to itself, changing size as they walk down the halls and enter rooms. It's a fabulous looking place, and Koepp stages a lot of shots with a sense of discomfort, as you, the viewer, also don't know which room, new or known, the characters will enter next.

But here lies a critical problem, as you find yourself not confident the movie in front of you; you never know if the family is crazy and the house never morphs, or if the morphing house is making them crazy. Adding to the mistrust is that once everything is out in the open, there is no explanation as to why, not for the residence or the actors. It's focus on ambiguity does not have you wondering once the credits roll, it leaves you frustrated; perhaps a more cohesive execution could have offered a more satisfying reason behind all this.

You marvel at the mansion and praise the performances, but their reason for coexisting is reduced to a bunch of dream sequences, a few jump scares, and a production design team and casting department that desperately deserve a raise.

Becky Review

If "Home Alone" was rated R, then it would play out like "Becky," a new home-invasion thriller about bad guys after a little kid. Of course, the bad guy here are neo-Nazis and the little kid is a teen girl who brutally murders them. Does it work? Does it matter?

It does work, and no, it doesn't matter. But it just barely works, held together by solid performances and it's gusto. It goes for the jugular and then just rips it straight off; this is a very brutal movie, exploiting the inherit shock-value of having a young kid slice-and-dicing people up. All the bloody detail is shown in full, as the camera lusts over the gore, so you the viewer has time to notice the little details, like how the neck bleeds out as a broken ruler is shoved clean through random henchmen #1.

Another area of effective manipulation is the stunt-casting of Kevin James as Dominick, the leader of this miserable band of misfits. In his career's first dramatic role, he is more than up for the challenge, losing his trademark grin and pratfalling. He underplays the character, at least initially, as if knowing the audience would need time to adjust to this role-reversal; by the end, he is- well, no spoilers there, though you won't be surprised once it happens.

What is Dominick and his goons looking for? They're looking for a special key, which was hidden in the lake house Becky (Lulu Wilson) and her broken family are staying at. How the key got there, why it is there, or what it does are never answered. Neither is how the convicts escape prison, but I suppose "Home Alone," the main inspiration, also had plot holes big enough to fit another movie in. (Let's just hope the sequel isn't "Becky 2: Lost in New York.)

But what's the point of all this? Films sometimes strive to make you feel something, to stimulate some emotion. Other times they try to make a point. Other times, they're just trying to entertain, which is, I imagine, the genesis to "Becky." It does entertain, moving at a fast-pace without a lull in its lean ninety three minute runtime. And my eyes were glued at the violence, me leaning forward not wanting to miss just what new line the picture was willing to cross. But everything left me as soon as the credits rolled, leaving no impact aside from a strong urge to watch "Paul Blart: Mall Cop."

Blood and Money Review

I imagine Tom Berenger's reaction when he received the script to "Blood and Money," the new thriller based in the Maine mountains of Allagash, was something like "you know I've been meaning to go skiing."

Playing a retired Vietnam vet who spends his last days hunting deer and avoiding the booze, Tom is far too good an actor for material like this, but he's a true professional, elevating thankless dialogue and tired motivations with a level of intense detachment, looking mildly frustrated as we watch him go through his bland routine of smoking his way between scenes of him eating and reading the newspaper.

One day he accidentally shoots a woman he mistakes for a buck, he panics and flees the scene, only to realize he left a cigarette butt nearby and must go back. But not before learning she's a criminal wanted for robbing a casino, which is where the creaky plot thickens. He steals the money only to immediately be pursued by the dead corpse's partners in crime. The holes in this raggedy narrative as big enough you could fit the Oscar-nominated lead's head through it, but film's strong points are strong enough to keep it from being forgotten beneath fresh snow.

His character is one that could only exist in the movies, as he's shot, soaked, and sick but always able to get right back up. But we buy it all because of our star, hardly speaking any words but always dominating the shot. He's a presence on film, squinting in almost every frame as his eyes burn through your TV; you can tell he's thinking but you're not sure about what, prepared for the worst and ready to explode, like a windup toy that hasn't gone off yet. This separates him from other aged action stars like Liam Neeson and Sylvester Stallone, as his reactions to both peril and drama is the same stony stare, his face cracked from age with thick creases of experience.

John Barr makes his directorial debut here, and he knows how to stage a shot, with the powdered landscape being equally an impressive actor as Berenger. Frames are filled with the icy isolation, which not only provides the movie with a signature look but also to give another element of danger for our hero. He has to combat the cold as well as crooks, hugging small fires and always on the lookout for a new shelter. Filmed on location in Maine, instead of just being set there, helps cement the picture's impressive verisimilitude; the uneven terrain has actors moving in a way a soundstage could never replicate.

I liked the craft behind "Blood and Money," the level of authority from Tom and the surprising artistry of Barr's freshmen effort. In a world were we're all locked inside as the sun shines along outside, it's nice to see people outside playing in the snow.