Outliers

YESTERDAY (B) - Danny Boyle comes through in the clutch with an entertaining and enjoyable interpretation of a script from the cheese factory of screenwriter Richard Curtis ("Mr. Bean," "Love Actually," Bridget Jones' Diary"). The story (by Jack Barth) focuses on struggling singer-songwriter Jack Malik (Himesh Patel), who, after a mysterious global power glitch, remains the only apparent person on the planet who remembers the Beatles, who otherwise have been erased from history.

Seizing the opportunity, Jack starts re-creating Beatles songs from memory and eventually becomes a sensation with all those catchy tunes. The joy of the film is in this conceit and the fun that Boyle and the gang have with it. The downside is that Curtis insists on jamming a stale (borderline misogynistic) rom-com cliche into the proceedings involving Jack and his longtime friend/manager Ellie (Lily James, "Cinderella," "Baby Driver"). That phony will-they love story itself drags this down a grade. There's also the assumption that Beatles songs would still drive the masses crazy if they debuted in the modern era.

But Boyle, Britain's pop-auteur ("Millions," "Sunshine," "Slumdog Millionaire"), is assured with the narrative otherwise. The little touches make this special. For example, Jack struggles to remember all the words and chords (especially the tricky order of the verses of "Eleanor Rigby"). His quickie internet searches for "Beatles" turns up pictures of insects and Volkswagens. And, naturally, Oasis never existed either -- because how could the uber-derivative Gallagher brothers ever have found inspiration without the Fab Four? Boyle works the prolific Ed Sheeran into the mix as himself, a (what else?) collaborator on the songs as well as a rival for songwriting supremacy. Sheeran is wonderfully self-deprecating and an amusing comic foil for Jack. (Not happy with "Hey, Jude," he spitballs an alternative title: "Hey, Dude.")

Meantime, the songs are as catchy as ever. Patel is a charming leading man. Boyle delivers a high-energy juggernaut. And a scene toward the end with one of the Beatles who never became a Beatle is touching and magical. It's worth tuning in for just that visual, but thanks to this team, the movie itself is an overall success.

JOKER (C-minus) - The less said about this nihilistic cinematic cipher the better. Joaquin Phoenix is a marvel to behold, but this dark, dank throwback to the gloom of '70s-'80s New York plays like both an homage to that heyday of Martin Scorsese (a mix of "Taxi Driver" and "King of Comedy") and a childish misinterpretation of that whole era.

Poor failed clown Arthur Fleck has a mental condition that makes him laugh at inopportune times. That gets him beat up. Does he take revenge on just those thugs? No, he somehow turns into a mercenary and a leader of an uprising against the rich. Huh? Because Bruce Wayne's parents are rich? Talk about a retrofitted narrative.

Anyway, this is bleak and unrelenting, and it's impossible to avoid comparing this to the white-supremacist (Joker is in whiteface, after all) and incel movements. (Arthur lusts limply over a neighbor who appears to be mixed race -- Zazie Beetz, a mere pawn in this script.) It justifies violent and impotent rage. You might be interested in how Stephen Miller got the way he is, but I'm not.
 

Intrigue

FAY GRIM (2006) (B+) - Maybe waiting more than a decade to finally get around to Hal Hartley's sequel to '90s favorite "Henry Fool" helped manage expectations for this follow-up featuring Henry's love, Fay Grim, played perfectly awkwardly by Parker Posey. Hartley moves from chatty indie to international intrigue, albeit just as deadpan as the original.

Posey holds it all together with her offbeat line-reading and patented blank stares. As Hartley perverts the idea of noir, Posey comes off as Pee-Wee Herman doing Barbara Stanwyck. Hartley's script starts slow (a lot of exposition to catch up on the nine-year gap between films) but finds a groove after the first reel, as Fay gets roped into an international mission by the CIA to track down Henry via his cryptic notebooks that date back to his apparent decades-long spook activities from Pinochet's Chile to Afghanistan battled against the Russian invasion, right up to the post-9/11 positioning of strange bedfellows among the terrorist networks.

Jeff Goldblum is a natural as the dry-witted CIA agent. James Urbaniak returns as Fay's brother (and Henry's pal) Simon. Elina Lowensohn and Saffron Burrows sink their teeth into femme fatale turns. Meantime, Thomas Jay Ryan towers over everything as the specter that is Henry Fool, and his powerful two-man scene in the final reel (I won't say if it's a flashback or not) is well worth the wait. (This clocks in around two hours.) Hartley balances the silly with the profound and his stellar cast pulls it all off. 

GOOD TIME (2017) (C+) - This is mostly macho bunk, about 24 hours in the life of a bungling would-be thug trying to spring his brother from jail. For some reason, a cheesy '80s-style synthesizer soundtrack plays like a siren throughout this thriller.

Robert Pattinson dirties up to play Connie Nikas, who interferes with his younger brother Nick's mental health counseling and drags Nick (Benny Safdie) to a bank robbery. When the heist blows up in their face, Nick is caught, jailed, beat up, and hospitalized. Connie, navigating the seedy underworld of New York, hustles to find and free Nick.

Both Benny and Josh Safdie directed this gritty, messy street tale. But their style is a color-faded mash-up of Scorsese and Tarantino, with Pattinson perpetually mugging as if in a De Niro/Pacino contest. The women here, including Jennifer Jason Leigh and Taliah Webster, are wasted as props. The brothers have a confident visual style, but their storytelling here barely rises above that of a police procedural. Their upcoming movie "Uncut Gems" shows promise -- and perhaps a leap of maturity -- so we'll keep them on the radar.
  

Unusual couplings

SATAN AND ADAM (B-minus) - An interesting but clunky documentary about the unexpected pairing of a young white academic harmonica player and an older black blues veteran who together went from the streets of Harlem to international venues. Adam Gussow helps narrate the story of his bold move in the 1980s in stepping up to jam with Sterling "Mr. Satan" Magee, a virtuoso guitarist and one-man band.

The duo eventually landed a record deal and a decent amount of fame in the 1990s. But Magee's mental and physical woes precipitated their downfall, and that story weighs heavy on the middle portion of the film before the final reel gives us a tale of redemption and reunion. This debut by V. Scott Balcerek is pretty pedestrian and awkward in its attempts to keep a coherent narrative. The story is worth telling but this one is ragged around the edges.

SEX: THE ANNABEL CHONG STORY (2000) (C) - I was hoping for some psychological insight into the woman who, in the late 1990s, felt compelled to set a pornographic record by sleeping with 251 men in one day. But we don't really get traction on the thought processes of Annabel Chong, aka Grace Quek.

Chong started acting in explicit films while majoring in gender studies at USC, and there is promise in the opening scenes suggesting an academic point to her exploits. But no, she just comes off as psychically skewed and immature, perhaps a product of sexual abuse. The creepy part involves a late reveal of her infamy to her parents in Singapore. Chong's inclinations change as often as her pixie hairstyle. Even porn legend Ron Jeremy regards her with apprehension. In the end, this end product feels cheap and used.
 

Spiel, Spiel, Rock 'n' Roll

We caught two bands this past week:

Shovels & Rope, the dynamic duo from Charleston, S.C., showed up at Meow Wolf on the Night of the Dead for a blistering show of slapdash folk punk in Santa Fe. Cary Ann Hearst and Michael Trent are overstuffed with talent. Their songs are clever and soulful, and they swap instruments effortlessly. They don't harmonize so much as shout lyrics at each other. (They're married.)

They featured a bunch of songs from their new album "Bad Blood" and well-placed classics, including from their breakthrough album "O' Be Joyful" (though not my favorite, "Tickin' Bomb." They are natural entertainers, and the vibe they created was o' so joyful. John Paul White, ex of the Civil Wars, opened (wrapping with a cover of ELO's "Can't Get It Out of My Head").

On a Monday night ("a work night, a school night"), Minutemen alum Mike Watt brought his latest power trio (the Secondmen) to the Launchpad in Albuquerque. Tighter and more focused than his outdoor set at the Growlers' Beach Goth fest two years ago in L.A., Watt soldiered on in the high altitude and thrashed through his deep reservoir of freestyle punk songs from both his days with D. Boon and George Hurley and his varied solo career.

Watt was joined by longtime collaborator Tom Watson on jittery guitar and wunderkind Nick Aguilar a whirlwind on drums. Aguilar looks barely old enough to have a learner's permit but not quite a driver's license (he's actually 22), but sitting up front in the thick of things, he was Buddy Rich flying off the handle, mind-melding with the bass-master Watt. (Give the drummer some!) They communicated with Tourette's-like facial gestures and tongue wags. (Bass in your face!)

They surged out with a vigorous take on "The Red and the Black" (the Blue Oyster Cult song made memorable by both the Minutemen and the post-Boon trio Firehose) and then slashed away with the precise fury of jazzmen on speed. It's comforting to know that the old guy still brings the thunder.

BONUS TRACKS
"Tickin' Bomb":



The Minutemen with "The Red and the Black":



Watt also covered one of D. Boon's finest moments, "Bob Dylan Wrote Propaganda Songs," still a punk classic:


 

Hollywood High

Too many R.I.P. headlines this year, but we don't want to miss the October passing of two of the most entertaining figures who connect us back to old Hollywood.

Robert Evans was in his mid-30s when he took over Paramount at the dawn of the American New Wave in the 1960s. The 2002 documentary "The Kid Stays in the Picture," which he narrated in that trademark gravelly voice, is one of the most memorable memoirs ever brought to the screen. Variety had a detailed obituary. Evans helmed or produced such era classics at "Bonnie & Clyde," "Rosemary's Baby," "Harold & Maude," "The Godfather," and "Chinatown." By the mid-'70s his movies and their stars were elbowing each other for awards. He was married seven times, was convicted of drug charges and perfectly encapsulated the transition from Hollywood's golden era to its decadent cocaine-fueled frenzy of the New Wave. He was 89.

A year ago we caught the highly entertaining documentary "Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood." In retrospect, it probably deserves a grade higher than a B. Scotty Bowers, the endlessly charming subject of that film, died at the ripe old age of 96. We found him to be "an engaging subject, full of stories." The Hollywood Reporter sent him off with an obit.

Those two documentaries are worth tracking down.
  

That '90s Uplift: Karate Kid

BUFFALO '66 (1998) (A-minus) - Vincent Gallo's dynamic debut as a writer-director still sizzles two decades after its release. For his cinematic splash, he plays Billy Brown, a sad sack who has just been released from prison (and, in the first 10 minutes of the film, needs to take a wicked piss) and endeavors to put a positive spin on his life as he prepares to visit his crazy parents in Buffalo. So, of course, he essentially kidnaps a young woman, Layla (Christina Ricci), who accompanies him to Buffalo to pretend to be his lovely wife. (Lines were blurrier then, kids.)

Gallo's greaseball is profoundly off, and when you meet his parents, Jimmy and Jan -- Ben Gazzara and Anjelica Houston, as deadpan and disturbing as one could hope for -- you understand why. His mom is obsessed with and haunted by a fictionalized version of the Buffalo Bills' AFL championship loss that year, an event that traumatized Billy the child and which lingers to the present day.

Gallo freestyles as a director, using fantasy sequences and elements of absurdism to acquaint us with Billy's scattered thoughts. He is obviously paying homage to Cassavetes ("Husbands" in particular) and that improvisational macho street style. (Gazzara is the obvious link.) Unfortunately, Gallo's momentum would crash five years later when his pornographic "The Brown Bunny" cast him out of favor; he has directed only one obscure feature since.)

Gallo the actor is a force of nature, and Ricci matches him stride for stride. Their scene inside a photo booth -- "Just look like we're a married couple, spanning time" -- is magical. We hurt for and with Billy. He's frightening and compelling. By the end of this nightmare, we are wrung out.

BONUS TRACK
The trailer:


 

Autumn Sonata

There has been one new release in the past few months that we were compelled to go see -- "Give Me Liberty." But week in and week out, we check the listings and take a hard pass. Nothing good coming to theaters this Friday, either.

But we're not alone. The Onion AV Club (no relation), just unleashed a string of 12 reviews in a row (and 18 of the last 19) that scored B-minus or less, including one fat F. The dishonor roll (with key indictments noted):

• "Wounds" - C-minus ("solid, if workmanlike, sound design")
• "Jay and Silent Bob Reboot" - D+ ("crude and lazy")
• "Jojo Rabbit" - C+ ("treacly, middlebrow")
• "Current War" - C+ ("long-delayed")
• "Frankie" - C+ ("Euro gabfest")
• "Synonyms" - B-minus ("obvious ... allegory")
• "Dark Fate" - C+ ("shares a grim status quo with Terminator 3")
• "The Kill Team" - C+ ("insight is AWOL")
• "No Safe Spaces" - An F for the reactionary spewings of Adam Corrolla and Dennis Prager, who seem to deserve each other. ("'Debate me, you coward' takes movie form.")
• "Black and Blue" - C+ ("generic")
• "Countdown" - D+ ("Will leave you counting down the minutes until you're not watching it anymore")
• "Paradise Hills" - B-minus ("exquisite, flimsy")

 So, it's not just us. It's rough out there.
 

New to the Queue

Into the breach ...

We're wary of Bong Joon-ho's movies (like "Snowpiercer," for godsakes), but we have a good feeling about the class-clash psych-out "Parasite."

A mass extinction offers an opportunity for a low-key rumination on humanity and self, "In My Room."

Francois Ozon is back with his take on the sexual abuse by Catholic priests, "By the Grace of God."

A documentary about twins agonizing over the memories from their childhood, "Tell Me Who I Am."
  

Doc Watch: Taking Risks

STUDIO 54 (B) - This serviceable documentary captures the glitz and graft of the famed discotheque where celebrities unofficially christened the cocaine era starting in spring 1977. Ian Schrager, one of the partners at the ground floor, serves as a somewhat contrite guide to what went down four decades ago. (His more well-known partner, Steve Rubell, died during the AIDS era.)

Generous archival clips provide the flavor of the disco inferno, fueled by Page Six celebrities like Liza Minnelli and Bianca Jagger. Brooklyn pals Schrager and Rubell (and financier Jack Dushey) were pushing drugs all over the club and stuffing cash into garbage bags, hiding their actions from law enforcement authorities. By 1979, the IRS was on the case, and the party came crashing down. The men hired Roy Cohn, and the rest is corruption history.

While the headlines were juicy and the sudden downfall delicious to watch, director Matt Tyrnauer ("Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood," "Where's My Roy Cohn?") doesn't forget to capture the sheer fun of the Manhattan playground. There is an appreciation of the venue's democratic ideals, where people of all stripes (though maybe not all income levels) felt welcome in the hedonistic melting pot. The film revels in the fleeting spirit of the times -- the joy and decadence, as well as the rise and fall of a couple of gluttonous entrepreneurs.

MAIDEN (B-minus) -This documentary actually suffers from excessive archival footage. It follows the first all-woman crew as they participate in the Whitbread round-the-world yacht race in 1989-90. It seems every moment of their years-long preparation and the monthslong race were filmed, and director Alex Holmes leans heavily on that footage, interspersing clips with current-day interviews featuring the gray-haired crew members, led by Tracy Edwards.

Even at a modest 97 minutes, this story is just too long. Too much time is spent at the beginning ginning up sympathy for Edwards, whose father died when she was young, replaced by a mean stepfather. That story line is not adequately followed up.

As much as this accomplishment struck a blow for feminism, the documentary itself doesn't do much to advance the cause. The women get teary-eyed multiple times when recalling their endeavor, and the old male journalists from the time get to playfully gloss over their misogynistic coverage. I suppose this could be inspirational to young women, except the overall accomplishment just doesn't come off as overly impressive. It's tough to put this deed in perspective and accept it as much more than a one-off.
 

Mr. Wrong

TRANSIT (B+) - Christian Petzold cooks up another slow-burning drama with a sharp ending in this tale of refugees fleeing fascist rule during an undefined era (the story is based on a 1942 novel). Franz Rogowski stars as Georg, the displaced person who inadvertently obtains the papers of a German writer who died in Paris. Georg heads to Marseilles, where he eventually meets up with the writer's estranged wife, Marie (Paula Beer, "Frantz," "Never Look Away").

Petzold takes his time digging into Georg's melancholia as a man without a home and -- after assuming the identity of the dead writer as a means of escape -- without a true identity. Georg's attraction to Marie is complicated by her belief that her husband may yet still return to reconcile and escape with her.

Petzold has beguiled before with the "complicated and a bit corny" "Phoenix," and "Barbara" (both with Nina Hoss), and his languid period pieces never quite come together like they should, but they can be hard to shake. Here, Rogowski is a compelling sad sack, and Beer, as always, cuts a beguiling figure. Petzold also has a patented twist up his sleeve for the ending. This one feels light and heavy at the same time.

LONG SHOT (C) - In which Seth Rogen seduces Charlize Theron. What do you expect?

Rogen stars as Fred Flarsky (first red flag: a dorky character name from the '50s), an out-of-work investigative blogger who happens to run across his old baby-sitter, Charlotte Field (Theron), the U.S. secretary of state about to launch her bid to succeed a clownish TV star occupying the White House (Bob Odenkirk). She improbably invites him to be her speechwriter and, eventually, her lover. Gasp!

He struggles to keep his integrity, and she must fight to stay pure and to resist the big-money influences that include -- of all people! -- the nasty billionaire homunculus who downsized Fred, as well as the compromised president. High-jinks ensue.

Rogen and Theron are really good, as expected, and they actually have some chemistry. The cutesy script (by Dan Sterling and Liz Hannah) peels off a few zing-o one-liners and wacky situations. (But do we really need the obligatory uptight-authority-figure getting-high-at-a-rave scene?) Some of the supporting cast helps here (June Diane Raphael and Ravi Patel are funny as the secretary's key staffers, and Lisa Kudrow is gold in a cameo as the campaign's incredibly candid pollster), but others flop badly, like Paul Scheer and Kurt Braunohler as offensive Fox-type TV hosts who are only offensive, not funny.

The real problem here is that, as hip as Sterling and Hannah and Rogen and Theron might hold themselves out to be, this is a painfully conventional romantic comedy. Rogen even gets his very own Black Best Friend (a bland O'Shea Jackson). As meta as they may think they are getting here, the production is wrapped in cliched rom-com formula, and never manages to rise above it or attain ironic detachment. And that leaves us with an intermittently funny -- and a full two-hour -- throwaway genre exercise.
 

R.I.P., Robert Forster

Farewell to Robert Forster, another actor who owes a debt to Quentin Tarantino, for the lead role in "Jackie Brown" in 1997, but who also had a steady, stellar career as a classic character actor. He was 78, as reported by the Hollywood Reporter (referring to his "chiseled good looks, steely chin and earnest gaze").

Forster had a breakthrough role as a cameraman in Haskell Wexler's influential "Medium Cool" in 1969, and he even managed two short-lived TV shows in the 1970s. But we will always associate Forster with the role of David Madison, the put-upon police officer hunting a rogue reptile in the 1980 cult classic "Alligator." Madison has a reputation for killing off his partners, but his biggest worry, as he stalks a killer alligator, seems to be the male-pattern baldness that is plaguing him as he approaches middle age. Luckily there's a pretty gal (Robin Riker) to soothe his male ego.

Inspired by the urban legend (before we had memes) about the kid whose baby alligator gets flushed down the toilet, "Alligator" was written (tongue planted in cheek) by celebrated filmmaker John Sayles, sprinkling sardonic one-liners all over the place. Veteran hack Jack Carter gets his comeuppance as the motormouth mayor. Bryan Cranston worked on the production crew doing special effects (and would return the favor by casting Forster in "Breaking Bad"). It's cheesy, cheap horror, but Sayles' script and Forster's deadpan delivery are a total hoot.

BONUS TRACK
Here's the "Alligator" trailer:


 

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

DAVID CROSBY: REMEMBER MY NAME (B+) - This bittersweet documentary presents the Laurel Canyon rock legend in an unflattering light -- he admits that everyone he's ever been close to (except his wife) thinks he an asshole and always has been. And a few of those old friends are happy to confirm it.

Crosby -- known as an early member of the Byrds and, of course, Crosby, Stills & Nash (& sometimes Young) -- is a seminal figure in boomer pop culture, but he squandered his talents in rock 'n' roll in favor of the sex & drugs part. He also was wounded around the time he broke big with CSN by the death of his girlfriend in a car crash.

For whatever reason, he went on to scorch his relationships. Newcomer A.J. Eaton (assisted by interviewed conducted by Cameron Crowe) captures a man full of regrets as his time grows short. (Crosby is 78.) Eaton follows the frail singer on a tour Crosby says he needs to do for the money. Crosby pontificates, often from the backseat of an SUV, and you get the sense that he truly has examined himself over the years.

How many rock bottoms has this man seen? The footage of an obese, shorn Crosby emerging from prison (over drug charges) is a reminder of how much of a punchline Crosby was in the '80s. And video of Crosby, Stills and Nash desecrating "Silent Night" at the national Christmas tree-lighting ceremony in 2015, in what would be their final appearance together mired in cacophony, is beyond embarrassing. (Nash long before that had refused to even acknowledge Crosby's presence on stage; Neil Young cut him off years ago.)

After revisiting his biography, you might wonder how Crosby, after all he's been through, still walks the earth. What's also is baffling is how a man who pretty much has never written a good song still scores a recording contract and gets fans to come out to see his shows. Yet, this is a poignant psychological profile of an endangered species.

DIEGO MARADONA (B) - Focusing on the late '80s heyday of the soccer icon, this HBO documentary stays surgically focused on both the field of play and the coked-up night life, melding the personal and professional. His fathering of an illegitimate child and dalliances with the local mafiosi are the stuff of telenovelas. Director Asif Kapadia ("Amy") expertly curates archival footage, dating back to Maradona's small-town barrio in Argentina, whence he emerged as a teen phenom. The game footage, using alternative camera angles, is particularly riveting.

Maradona becomes a hero and a legend during his time with Naples, turning around an also-ran franchise and taking them to the top of the league. Meantime, he led Argentina to consecutive World Cup finals, in 1986 and 1990 (mythologized in the '86 quarterfinals by the "Hand of God" goal and the "Goal of the Century"). At 5-foot-5 he was low to the ground and could run defenders in circles.

This is more of a cut-and-past historical study than a "This Is Your Life" parade of talking heads. Even if you don't know much about Maradona or soccer (I don't), you can appreciate this detailed tribute to one of the worlds most famous sports stars.
  

R.I.P, Kim Shattuck

The Muffs were a gritty garage pop band that came of age during the Heyday of the Planet of Sound, launched by Kim Shattuck and a pal in the early '90s. Kim, who died last week at age 56 of ALS, was a classic shouter, carrying Joan Jett's torch into the next generation as best as anyone. That voice complemented the crunch and jangle of the guitars.

The Muffs revived "Kids in America" for the "Clueless" soundtrack and put Kim Wilde's version to shame. They put out four albums in their first decade (all part of that '90s uplift) and capped it with a best-of, "Hamburger," in 2000, a good place to start.

The Muffs have a new album coming out next week, "No Holiday," which will include some old material.

BONUS TRACKS
Peak screech in "Lucky Guy": 



The Muffs' songs weren't the most original. The grinding hook of "I Need You" is irresistible nonetheless:



And then there's this fuzzbomb, a cover of the Zeros' "Beat Your Heart Out":


 

Fast Forward Theater: The Banality of Banal

JEANNE DIELMAN (1975) (C) - OK. I did it. Check it off the list. Chantal Akerman's foundational alt-cinema touchstone about three days of drudgery in the life of a Belgian widow clocks in at three hours and twenty minutes and dares you to sit through it. I did it, albeit often on fast forward because -- trust me on this -- you don't miss anything by zipping through Mme. Dielman (Delphine Seyrig) peeling potatoes, rolling a meatloaf, or folding laundry.

We admire Akerman, and three years ago we explored her work somewhat, including "Je Tu il Elle" and her farewell, "No Home Movie." (She died in 2015.) Forty-four years ago, it may have been a daring experiment to turn the camera's gaze (stare?) on a bored housewife, whose ennui extends to the perfunctory tricks she turns every afternoon with nerdy customers.

She lives with her young-adult son, Sylvain (Jan Decorte), who doesn't have much to say during painfully silent dinners but then gets all chatty about inappropriate sexual topics just before lights-out at bedtime. Is he signaling to Jeanne that he knows about her daytime activities while he's off at school? No clue.

Otherwise, Jeanne neatens the bed, prepares meal, takes tea breaks, does the shopping, fucks a gentleman caller, and reads letters from her sister, who is off living in America. Akerman and Seyrig gradually (very gradually) peel away a few layers of the character until we sense a restlessness and unhappiness. This builds (gradually) to a shocking event that is treated like another day in the life of Ms. Dielman. This might have been inspired, ironically, by Monty Python's "The Dull Life of a City Stockbroker," or it just might have been a cri de coeur from the depths of the feminist movement.

Life Is Short: Oh, for Two

Life Is Short is an as-needed series documenting the films we just couldn't make it through. We like to refer to these movies as "Damsels in Distress." Previous entries can be found here. 

We love Claire Denis, and we have patience for her brand of storytelling (back to "Beau Travail" in 1999 and "White Material" in 2009). As recently as last year, we were enthralled by her relationship drama with Juliette Binoche, "Let the Sunshine In."  With her newest, "High Life," she re-teams with Binoche, who is subjected to a graphic sex scene with a machine, but unfortunately this one is a threesome, including Robert Pattinson. A foursome if you include the crying baby who dominates the first half hour of this story about criminals sent into space as guinea pigs with no hopes of returning to Earth.

Or something like that. Pattinson mumbles and the baby girl screams a lot as Denis takes forever to press "start." Very little happens. It's hard to care about Pattinson's character or the others who, we see from the opening scene, will be carelessly jettisoned from the space ship. This may eventually stumble into fascinating sci-fi territory and a philosophical exploration of human existence. We'll never know.

Title: HIGH LIFE

Running Time: 113 MIN

Elapsed Time at Plug Pull:  33 MIN

Portion Watched: 29%

My Age at Time of Viewing: 56 YRS, 10 MOS.

Average Male American Lifespan: 78.7 YRS.

Watched/Did Instead: Read the news online.

Odds of Re-viewing This Title: 55-1

And now for something completely different ...

Maybe you like watching professional wrestling. I did when I was 9. I grew out of that phase. "Fighting With My Family" was a pretty quick and easy pull at the 20-minute mark. You might be able to survive this one if you enjoy the "sport" and get the references. An obese Nick Frost heads the family that is gaga about pro wrestling, dreams of WWE glory, and wears its vulgarities on its collective sleeves. 

God bless Stephen Merchant, who wrote and directed (and does a wacky turn as a prudish twit appalled by the family), but this is pretty thin gruel. Maybe things pick up when Vince Vaughn shows up (they usually do), but I immediately realized I was not the target audience here. 

Title: FIGHTING WITH MY FAMILY

Running Time: 108 MIN

Elapsed Time at Plug Pull:  20 MIN

Portion Watched: 18.5%

My Age at Time of Viewing: 56 YRS, 10 MOS.

Average Male American Lifespan: 78.7 YRS.

Watched/Did Instead: Watched another video.

Odds of Re-viewing This Title: 100-1