MOBILE SUIT GUNDAM GQUUUUUUX -BEGINNING- takes the franchise storyline in a very different direction, but it still delivers quality mecha action. However, it was clearly produced with fans rather than newcomers in mind. CINEMA DAILY US review up here.
The
Tomoe Academy was not exactly A.S. Neill’s Summerhill, but it was quite progressive
for its era. That would be the Tojo Era. Tetsuko Kuroyanagi’s parents were relatively
modern and somewhat Westernized, putting them a little out of step. Little
Kuroyanagi (a.k.a. Totto-Chan) also happens to be a free-thinker, which causes
her trouble at most schools. However, Tomoe’s Principal Kobayashi can handle
her just fine in Shinnosuke Yakuwa’s Totto-Chan: The Little Girl in the
Window, adapted from the real-life Kuroyanagi’s autobiographical YA novel, which
screens as part of the 2025 New York International Children’s Film Festival.
Totto-Chan
is a classic example of what contemporary audiences might see a gifted student
who becomes inadvertently disruptive due to lack of challenge. In Japan on the
cusp of WWII, most teachers just consider her a pain. Kobayashi gets her and
she thrives under his non-traditional approach. Tomoe also perfectly suits her
empathy and tolerance, because it is there that she meets her (arguably best)
friend, Yasuaki Yamamoto, a little boy whose leg and arm were shriveled by
polio.
She
helps build his courage and learns how to be more sensitive towards others from
him. Unfortunately, very few of her countrymen try to learn greater sensitivity
after the Pearl Harbor Attack. Clearly, her parents have grave reservations
regarding the war, but Totto-Chan instinctively understands the need to keep private
family business private. She quickly recognizes the dangers represented by a
uniform. Totto-Chan is also surprisingly mature when it comes to facing hunger
caused by wartime shortages.
Such
excesses of Japan’s militarism periodically intrude into Totto-Chan’s life, but
the film mostly focuses on her relationships, especially with Yamamoto. When
you really boil it down, this is an absolutely beautifully, almost painfully bittersweet
portrait of young friendship.
Frida
Kahlo had an affair with Leon Trotsky three years before Stalin’s agent
assassinated him. Yet, ironically, her portrait adorns the 500 Peso note. Her
adult politics were messy and deeply regrettable in light of the Communist
horrors of the 20th Century. Wisely, this film sticks to her
childhood. She was unusually smart and sensitive, but she nearly succumbed to
sickness and injuries. Yet, the inner strength the spurred her to survive leads
her to become a great artist in Andre Kadi & Karine Vezina’s animated
feature, Hola Frida, which screens tonight as the opening selection of
the 2025 New York International Children’s Film Festival.
Frida’s
parents are affluent but progressive, especially her doting photographer
father. Her mother gives more deference to social norms, but she still
encourages young Kahlo’s original ambitions to become a doctor. Unfortunately, her
promising life is almost cut short when she contracts polio.
In
fact, Santa Muerte nearly takes the ailing Kahlo. However, her protective
subconscious manages to fight off the angel of death-like figure during her
fitful fevers. Kahlo will survive, but her new leg-brace attracts an unwelcome
new experience: bullying. Yet, little Frida is indomitable. She also counts on
the support of her good friends and the roguish stray dog Chiquita, who
resembles the coyote statues in the town-square fountain that so fascinate her.
To its
credit, Hola Frida is a sweet little movie that largely (if not quite
entirely) skirts the ideological baggage of Kahlo’s later life. It is bright
and colorful, in a way that evokes the colors and textures of Old Mexico. In
fact, the geometric character design vaguely evokes the vibe of pre-Columbian
art. Yet, the film never slavishly tries to approximate Kahlo’s own style.
Featuring a youthful cast displaying talent beyond their years, JAZZY is a groundedand authentic coming-of-age movie st amid the rural communities and resrvations of the Dakota Black Hills. EPOCH TIMES review up here.
Zhu
Zhilang is like a Chinese Willy Loman. He is desperate to be liked and he
always believes his next big score is right around the corner. It is easy to
understand why his son (and documentary profiler) has run out of patience with
his spendthrift ways. However, it is harder to blame him for thinking China’s
state-owned industries and public-private partnerships would be good for their
debts. Unfortunately, when the Chinese real estate bubble burst, it derailed
the massive development that subcontracted his design company and cratered his
finances as a result. Zhu Yudi follows his semi-estranged father as he drifts from
collecting bad debts to new ill-conceived schemes in So Close, So Far,
which screens as part of MoMA’s 2025 Documentary Fortnight.
It had
been a few years Zhu had been in contact with his father, but he agreed to join
him on his annual debt-collecting trip. Zhu pere’s company contracted to supply
and install marble and decorative elements of the ostentatious lobbies of the huge
complex’s uncompleted buildings. However, he had yet to be paid a Yuan as the
film opens.
Like a
true Gen-Z’er, the filmmaker audibly cringes as his father sucks up to the
various bosses and decision-makers, hoping someone will authorize a payment.
Eventually, the elder Zhu secures a paltry partial-payment, which he gambles
away online that very night.
This represents
a continuing pattern for Zhu, whose multi-million Yuan debt has also engulfed
his very angry wife. Despite it all, the senior Zhu is always receptive when a
dubious crony pitches him another sure-fire scheme. Honestly, it is often
painful to watch.
Still,
from a Western perspective, you would assume the government and its various
partnerships ought to be good for their debts. Okay, stop laughing all you
Libertarians out there. Regardless, governmental-partners should not be acting
like dine-and-dashers running out on their restaurant tabs. Clearly, the public-partnerships
involved are byzantine in their complexity, presumably allowing local
authorities considerable insulation. Yet, the bottom line is small contractors
like Zhu’s dad get stiffed.
A lot
of defrauded crypto investors would like to get their hands on Sam Bankman-Fried
or Gerald Cotten (founder of the defunct QuadrigaCX), whom many suspect of
faking his own death. Transparently inspired by Cotten, Charles Hegel (like the
philosopher and not to be confused with Chuck Hagel, Obama’s Defense Secretary)
comes face-to-face with a trio of disgruntled home-invading crypto investors
who want their money back. However, getting access to Hegel’s ill-gotten funds
will be a tricky business in Cutter Hodierne’s Cold Wallet, which
releases Friday in theaters and on digital.
Billy
was the world’s biggest evangelist for Tulip until the exchange crashed. With
his frozen account in free-fall, his hopes of regaining joint-custody of his
daughter appear dashed. However, his fellow crypto reddit buddy Eva somehow
learns Hegel, the man behind Tulip, faked his death and has holed-up in his
remote country estate.
Together
with Eva and Dom, the gym-owner he convinced to invest in Tulip, decide to
confront Hegel and extract the money he swindled from investors. Of course, it
is not that simple. All Hegel’s funds are safeguarded in cold wallets, access
to which require pass-phrases he keeps off site. Thus begins a battle of wits
between the captive and his aggrieved captors.
Unfortunately,
it is not exactly a battle royale. For the most part, Cold Wallet plays
like a warmed over A Simple Plan, as the three home invaders give
bizarre credence to the words of the man they hate the most. Frankly, it is hard
to fathom why Steven Soderbergh lent the film his “presented by” imprimatur.
All that really distinguishes John Hibey’s screenplay is Hegel’s dialogue that
supposedly lays bare the truth of so-called “predatory capitalism.” Yet, many
of the Sam Bankman-Frieds of the world are actually self-styled social justice
warriors.
It is
not simply a question of crumbling infrastructure. Admittedly, alcohol was a contributing
factor, but someone might have intentionally “helped” Shunsuke Kawamura fall
through a manhole, into a narrow subterranean cavity. However, his strategy of
crowd-sourcing his rescue risks igniting the “madness of crowds” in Kazuyoshi
Kumakiri’s #Manhole, which premieres today on Screambox.
Up
until now, Kawamura led a charmed life. Tomorrow, he will marry his boss’s
daughter, so the firm took him out to celebrate. The next thing he knew, he
fell through this hole. Unfortunately, most of his contacts are not picking up
and his GPS seemingly leads the cops to search the wrong areas. Desperate regarding
his fast-approaching wedding, Kawamura creates a Twitter (here somewhat
unfortunately renamed “Pecker”) handle for #Manholegirl, assuming a trapped
woman will better motivate strangers to collaboratively determine his location.
Of
course, he must give them accurate details, so he pretends “#Manholegirl” is
his sister, a potential victim of those he wronged through his philandering.
Ominously, the net weirdos focus on his jealous colleague, Etsuro Kase, as
their prime suspect.
Michitaka
Okada’s screenplay takes some dark turns, while depicting the lunacy of online
mobs. Awkwardly, the cops do not inspire much confidence either. Consequently, Kawamura
might just be on his own—and the run-off water from a nearby abandoned industrial
building steadily rises.
Initially,
Koch never really thought much of his Jewish grandmother’s Jewish roots in
Bessarabia, until he videotaped a wedding where Paloma’s Argentinean Klezmer
band played. To impress her, he hatches a scheme to make a documentary about
Klezmer in Romania and Ukraine, coinciding with her own research trip with
American ethnomusicologist Bob Cohen. Somehow, his old school acquaintance agrees
to produce, securing funding from Austrian public television.
The
problem is there is no klezmer to be found, which does not surprise Cohen. He
rather expected it. Instead, Cohen shows the Argentineans the lasting influence
of klezmer on the local non-Yiddish musical traditions. They find many
traditional musicians still playing the old klezmer songs—but they are not klezmer
bands.
Cohen
is a fascinating lecturer and story-teller, who likens the music they find to decayed
fossils that are defined by the negative space they leave behind in rock
formations. As it happens, one place where they can still find those traces is Romania’s
Iza Valley, where the people “retreated into tradition” as a “defense mechanism”
against the Communist regime.
As a
parallel narrative, Paloma’s academic friend, Dr. Perla Sneh, narrates the
story of Yankel the incompetent grave-digger, who falls in love with the Rabbi’s
beautiful daughter, Teibele, but his ignorant attempts to feign Talmudic
learning produce disastrous results. Leandro is more than sufficiently
self-aware to recognize his similarities with cringy Yankel. Paloma gets it
too, but somehow, she starts to feel something like affection for him.
This
film will be a challenge to market, but it deserves a chance. The meta-layers
will likely confuse viewers and the dearth of legit klezmer might alienate its
presumed target audience. However, there is a great deal of appealing Eastern
European folk music, from bands that are mostly unheard outside a few miles of
their home territories. Yet, their performances are often stirring and soulful.
It
hardly seems accidental that two of Pete Scriver’s dozen or so dogs are
affectionately named “Cheech” and “Chong.” They appear in an animated
“documentary” that very definitely reflects a stoner aesthetic. Trippy things
happen all the time and pizza will be discussed at great length. However,
family and community hold greater importance for the half-brother filmmakers.
Together they chronicle and animate their Scriver family lore in Seth &
Peter Striver’s Endless Cookie, which screens during MoMA’s 2025 Documentary Fortnight.
Somehow,
Seth Striver convinced Canadian Telefilm to give him a grant for his next
animation project, even though the concept sounds a little vague. Basically, he
plans to fly up to Shamattawa in northern Manitoba (because it is inaccessible
by road), to record his indigenous half-brother Pete’s stories, which he later
intends to animate, or something sort of like that.
However,
other family members and even the fluctuating number of family dogs keep
interrupting, so they soon part of the film too. Obviously, Pete’s daughter
Cookie, whom Uncle Seth somewhat logically depicts as a chocolate chip cookie,
takes a leading role, often serving as the film’s (heavy-handed) social
conscience.
Frankly,
Seth has already heard most of Pete’s stories before, but he laughs just as
hard listening to them again—because they are part of their shared family
fabric. On the surface, they might seem very different. Seth is the nebbish
white guy. Pete is a semi-reformed hard-partier and half-indigenous. They have
a father in common, who might be a bit eccentric (that’s a shocker, right?),
but he remains part of both their lives. Regardless, they clearly share an
affectionate bond, which serves as the foundation for their film.
Indeed,
those warm, happy family vibes make Endless Cookie a pleasant
experience, even though Pete’s reminiscences not infrequently detour into surreal
flights of fancy. Frankly, viewers digging Scriver’s grounded family history
must often wait for the film to come back down to Earth. Admittedly, these
sequences can be a lot—perhaps a little too much for more conventional viewers,
who do not have a solid grounding in underground comix and indie animation
auteurs like Bill Plympton. (Frankly, it could be quite a show just watching
the responses of older patrons when Endless Cookie screens at
MoMA.)
Nevertheless,
the relaxed hang vibe and the half-brothers’ easygoing chemistry are pleasantly
entertaining. Most viewers will chuckle listening to the Strivers laughing and
scratching. Sometimes, they even bring to mind Beavis and Butthead, in a way
that is meant as a compliment.
It
turns out China applied the same strategies to the fine arts as they have in manufacturing.
First copy, then ramp up production to enjoy economies of scale, and finally
develop new innovations of their own. Viewers will likely conclude the approach
worked better for electronics than on the canvases churned out in the
officially designated artists’ city of Dafen. Viewers see fourteen such “products”
in Dongnan Chen’s short documentary, 14 Paintings, which screens as part
of MoMA’s 2025 Documentary Fortnight.
Originally,
Dafen was a factory town, where painters churned out copies of Western masters,
on an industrial level. Creativity was necessarily stifled. Then the state
planners shifted gears, mandating artistic originality. However, it seems like
they still sell in volume, given how many Dafen paintings are now displayed in
commercial settings. Each of Chen’s 14 long-shots is essentially a candid tableaux,
wherein almost nobody notices, let alone interacts with the art in the
background.
A quote,
usually from the artist (often quite telling), introduces every scene. For
instance, Feng Jian makes it crystal clear who really calls China’s artistic
shots when he explains how the government “asked” him to replace the PCR
testing in his “Covid-Zero” themed mural Fighting the Pandemic with
vaccine jabbing.
Most of
the artists hardly sound wealthy. For instance, Da Su states: “rent has gone up
again, so I have to paint.” Yet, his painting Imagery (one of the nicest
seen in the film) hangs in the showroom apartment of a luxury skyrise. Indeed,
the CCP’s crony capitalism strikes again according to the unnamed source who
wrote: “The income of Dafen painters can now differ by several times of ten,
and sadly half of them have been eliminated, like the painter of this piece,” referring
to the anonymous painting Peach Blossom Land.
When it
comes to jazz harpists, there are only so many you can take inspiration from.
There is the Dorothy Ashby tradition (exemplified by her protégé Carol Robbins)
and the more explorative Alice Coltrane tradition. Brandee Younger will be the
first to admit both musicians helped shape her sound, but she also processed a lot
of classical, R&B, and hip hop. However, she has the apostolic honor of
playing Coltrane’s concert grand. You will hear her producing some beautiful
sounds from it in Ephraim Asili’s short documentary, Isis & Osiris, which
screens as part of the Music of Sound short program at MoMA’s 2025 Documentary Fortnight.
As
Younger explains, John Coltrane never had the chance to hear his wife play the
instrument she now performs on. They custom-ordered it together, but he
tragically passed away before it was delivered. In some ways, the music both younger
and Alice Coltrane created on it represent part of his lasting legacy. (Younger
also recorded with John and Alice Coltrane’s son, Ravi, so the Coltrane family has
had great significance for her throughout her career.)
It certainly
sounds like her harp’s provenance still inspires her, judging from the in-studio
performance Asili captured. Indeed, the entire short film was conceived as a
tribute to Alice Coltrane, commissioned for the Hammer Museum’s Alice
Coltrane, Monument Eternal exhibition.
They
are entertainment lawyers, rather than agents, but they have the same cutthroat
tendencies. In fact, Ted Black was originally based on a real-life super-agent,
but he suddenly earned JD, so his new series could become part of the Suits “universe.”
Black was once a crusading Federal prosecutor, but after his troubles (to be
disclosed over several episodes of flashbacks), he moved to the West Coast and
started representing Hollywood celebrities. He willingly plays the hardest
hardball to seal their deals, but he refuses on principle to use his powers in
criminal court on behalf of accused felons. Unfortunately, desperate
circumstances force him to bend his own rules in creator-writer Aaron Korsh’s Suits
LA, which premieres this Sunday on NBC.
For
fans of the original show, Gabriel Macht reportedly will reprise his role of
Harvey Specter on a guest-starring basis, but that will evidently come sometime
after the first three episodes provided for review. For now, Black is in the
spotlight, in an uncomfortable way.
The pilot,
“Seven Days a Week and Twice on Sundays” opens on the eve of what Black assumes
will be a lucrative triumph. He and his partner Stuart Lane have negotiated a
merger with the firm led by his former lover, Samantha Railsback, to become the
biggest legal practice in LA. However, he wakes from his celebratory hangover
to find a crisis erupting.
Black
scrambles to save his firm with the help of his senior associates, Erica Rollins
and Rick Dodsen. Awkwardly, he knows they both now expect to be promoted to
head of the entertainment division, so whoever he disappoints will probably jump
ship.
Much to
his chagrin, Black also must argue criminal cases again, but this time for the
defense. He has no choice, when Lester Thompson, one of his biggest remaining
clients, is arrested on a murder charge. Fortunately, Kevin, his old
investigator from his New York days, is willing to work the case, but his
skepticism regarding the squirrely producer’s innocence annoys Black.
However,
Kevin’s level-headed perspective helps Black keep slightly ahead of several
potentially damaging disclosures in the next two episodes, “Old Man Hanrahan,”
and “He Knew.” This subplot plays a bit like the case that unfolded during the
first season of The Lincoln Lawyer, while the chaos enveloping the firm
has throwback L.A. Law vibes, which is a promising combination.
Stephen
Amell has the right swagger for Black (even though Arrowverse fans will still
see him as Oliver Queen). He and Josh McDermitt (as Lane) contrast and
compliment each other nicely. Frankly, the best scenes of the series so far are
either their friendly flashbacks or their tense present-day encounters.
NIKAH is a sensitive family drama that also captures the tragic moment in history when the CCP turned Xinjiang into a dystopian open-air prison. Every frame rings with authenticity, at no small risk to its cast and crew. EPOCH TIMES review up here.
Apparently,
in this tony Detroit suburb, the high school reunions are funnier than the
garden parties. Many viewers previously only knew the small, well-to-do
community as the setting of Grosse Pointe Blank, but plenty of Fords
have lived there—as in the Fords. They can afford swanky gardens, but someone
has to get their hands dirty. Usually, that just involves soil, but there will also
be bloodstains in co-creator-showrunners Jenna Bans & Bill Krebs’
who-was-it-done-to, Grosse Point Garden Society, which premieres this
Sunday on NBC.
Prepare
yourself for a constant stream of flashbacks and flashforwards. Four members of
the garden club share a guilty secret. For whatever reason, they buried a body
in one of their flowerbeds. They all have their share of enemies who had it in
for them, so it could be any number of people.
Obviously,
Alice is the nice one. That is why Brett carries a torch for her, even though
she is married to Doug. Nevertheless, someone shot her beloved dog at point
blank range. She suspects the wealthy parents of the student whom she gave a “D”
for plagiarism.
Not
surprisingly, Brett and Doug do not get on so well, but he really despises his
ex-wife’s wealthy new husband, who is definitely wants to replace him as his
son’s father. Unfortunately, Brett finds it hard to compete with him on his
salary from the nursery.
Catherine
has fidelity issues. First, she was unfaithful to her husband, but her lover,
also her boss, was unfaithful to her, with an awful lot of women. One of those
secret lovers was Birdie, but it probably meant even less to her than it did to
him.
The new
Grosse Pointe resident has made a name for herself as a scandalous author and
influencer, but her hard-partying ways immediately get her in trouble. That is why
she comes to the garden society—to complete her community service. She would
also like to do right by Ford, the son she never met after giving him up for
adoption. However, he is surprisingly surly and his adoptive father Joel is the
town’s top cop. Weirdly, she and Joel get along far better than his wife would
prefer.
So, who
is the body the four club-members planted? That is the show’s central
who-killed-J.R. question. Based on the first four episodes provided for review,
it looks like Bans and Krebs regularly end each episode in a way that points to
one suspect as the victim, only to walk it back at the start of the next
installment. In this case, the coyness instills a feeling of being played in
viewers.
This
one-step-forward-one-step-back strategy also robs the early episodes of
momentum. The movement is all lateral and the constant time-shifts require more
attention than a lot of viewers are willing to give prime-time dinner-hour
television.
However,
AnnaSophia Robb, Aja Naomi King, and Melissa Fumero all play off each other
quite nicely, as the nice one, the passive one looking to assertive herself,
and the boozy Ab-Fab one, respectively. The way they learn to draw on each
other’ strengths is shaping up to be the best aspect of the show.
By
Stephen King’s standards, Captain Petey Shelburn was not such a bad father. He
just had terrible instincts when buying collectibles. Don’t call this wind-up primate
a toy, because it is no fun to play with. It is the reason why Shelburn was
never around for his twin sons. Unfortunately, Hal and Bill Shelburn get stuck
with their father’s evil legacy in Osgood Perkins’ The Monkey, based on King’s
short story, which opens tonight in theaters.
Bill
was Hal’s senior by a few minutes—and he never let his “younger” brother forget
it. Bill bullied Hal mercilessly, but they were equally fascinated by their
absent father. However, the airline captain did not intentional abandon his
family, as viewers know from the bloody prologue. Inevitably, they find the
drumming monkey tucked away with Capt. Petey’s things and turn the key in his
back. Then, people start dying.
The
Monkey does not physically stab people like Chucky. Instead, it somehow
unleashes Final Destination-style accidents that always result in lethal
gore. Unfortunately, you cannot direct the simian assassin towards a specific
target. It kills who it wants to kill. The twins figure that one out after the
second turn of the key. Tragically for Hal, it kills their mother Lois instead
of Bill.
Of
course, the Monkey cannot be destroyed, so they chain it up in a box and dump
it in a well. Eventually, the twins go their separate ways to live sad,
solitary lives. Hal is especially sad, but he still manages to slip up and
father a son of his own. For young Petey’s safety, Hal tries to keep his
distance. However, during a rare road trip together (which might be his final
contact, if Petey’s mom and step-father have their way), Hal receives word that
his guardian aunt died in a freak Monkey-like accident. By the time Hal and
Petey (the younger) reach unfortunate Aunt Ida’s house, they find the town has
been plagued by a series of unlikely but gruesome accidents.
King’s
original story predated It, but the parallels that emerge in Perkins’
adaptation make it look like an early study for the mammoth novel. Similarly,
children survive an encounter with an uncanny evil force, but must return to
complete their unfinished business in adulthood. Both Pennywise the clown and
the organ-grinder-like Monkey also represent the corruption of symbols of
playfulness. However, the twins’ Cain and Abel dynamic adds a dark element
unique to The Monkey.
THE WITCHER: SIRENS OF THE DEEP is his Netflix second anime feature, but this time it is the Geralt fans know and love, slicing and dicing monsters, just the way fans want to see him (instead of a youthful prequel). The blood flows freely, but the action and fantasy world-building are lot of fun. CINEMA DAILY US review up here.
As
viewers of season one and season two know, Reacher often generates quite a high
body-count, but he lives by a code. Fortunately, one of his initial duties for
Zachary Beck presents no moral qualms for Reacher. He regularly serves as the
bodyguard for Beck’s son Richard, who has no involvement in his father’s
smuggling business. Just what Beck smuggles is not exactly clear. That is one
of the reasons why DEA Agent Susan Duffy convinces Reacher to infiltrate Beck’s
operation. She also hopes to rescue her informant who worked as a domestic in
Beck’s fortress like mansion.
Recher
also has personal reasons for agreeing. He suspects an old enemy from his past
might be in business with Beck. Reportedly, his target has amnesia, so maybe he
won’t remember Reacher if they even come face-to-face—or maybe he will. Obviously,
this is a tough gig, especially since Beck has Paulie, a neanderthal henchman
who is even bigger and stronger than Reacher.
For
backup, Reacher only has Duffy, who is one of the good guys even though she is
a Red Sox fan (try doing the math on that one), her soon-to-retire mentor Guillermo
Villanueva (whose back, knees, and arches are on the verge of collapse), and
Steven Elliott, the rookie who botched the paperwork for a warrant, landing them
in the bureaucratic wilderness. Of course, Reacher’s old comrade Frances
Neagley will always back-up her former commanding officer, but he wants to
protect her from his suspected nemesis.
All
three seasons of Reacher are rock-solid and reasonably faithful to Child’s
books. In this case, Reacher’s complicated relationships with the Becks, father
and son, elevate what might otherwise seem like a relatively simple infiltrate-and-bust
thriller. Aside from the imposing Ritchson (who still convincingly looks the
part of Reacher), Anthony Michael Hall most stands out this season for his
surprisingly complex portrayal of Zachary Beck. He is not exactly what we assume,
which adds considerably to the drama.
Hazel
Scott led a working trio that featured genuine jazz legends as sidemen: Max Roach
on drums and Charles Mingus on bass. They even released a classic LP on the
Debut Records label, which was founded by Mingus and Roach. In the 1930s and
1940s, she was one of the most famous jazz musicians in American, but the
public largely forgot her during her expatriate period in France. Director-producer
Nicole London and Scott’s admirers (as well as her son) take stock of her life
and legacy in The Disappearance of Miss Scott, which airs this Friday on
PBS as part of the current season of American Masters.
Scott
was a true prodigy, whose notoriety grew steadily since she first performed
professionally as a young child. However, her friend Billie Holiday boasted her
to a new level when she arranged for Scott to replace her as the headliner at
Barney Josephson’s Café Society. At the height of her fame, Scott had the clout
to demand integrated audiences, even when she toured the deep south. She also
attracted the eye of Congressman Adam Clayton Powell.
At the
time, they were a way more glamorous political and entertainment power couple
than Cheryl Hines and RFK Jr. ever were. However, they drifted apart,
especially when her tour of France turned into an extended residency.
Rightfully,
London’s cast of commentators make a big deal out of Scott’s weekly television
show, which did indeed predate Nat King Cole’s by several years. She definitely
deserved recognition as TV’s first weekly Black primetime host. However, they
somewhat misleadingly make it sound like it was an act of vindictiveness when
all tapes of her show were trashed. Tragically, that happened to almost every
single episode of original programming that was broadcast on the defunct Dumont
Television Network, also sadly including The Gallery of Madame Liu-Tsong,
starring Anna Mae Wong, which was the first dramatic series starring an Asian
American woman as the lead character.
Fortunately,
the talking heads better understand musical history, particularly Jason Moran,
who has become a PBS go-to. Scott herself would probably enjoy watching him
demonstrate stride and boogie-woogie, both of which she was more proficient in.
By
pouring through Stalinist era archives and combing through the forestland of
Karelia, Dmitriev uncovered the Sandarmokh mass grave site. As part of the
Nobel Peace Prize-awarded international NGO, Memorial, which was forced to
shutter its Russian constituent organization, Dmitriev helped oversee the excavation
of the gravesite and the dedication of a commemoration monument for grieving
family members. That did not sit well with the Putin regime, which has fostered
a media campaign to rehabilitate Stalin’s historical image.
What
happened to Dmitriev is absolutely disgusting. For two years, he was imprisoned
and prosecuted on specious child pornography charges. Tragically, the supposed
victim, his adopted daughter, became collateral damage, when she was returned
to the grandparents who previously abandoned her at the orphanage. Considering
the constant presence of Dmitriev’s grown children and other family members,
the charges so utterly defied credibility, Dmitriev was initially found not
guilty. Yet, the regime simply re-indicted on even more extreme charges.
Gorter
was present to record every perverse twist and turn of the Kafkaesque case. It
might be a cliché, but this documentary conclusively proves the adage that “those
who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” This is precisely why Putin and
his lackeys are so determined to obscure and re-write Russia’s sinister Soviet
history.
Unfortunately,
the film also shows just how acutely vulnerable Dmitriev was to the regime’s
smear tactics and lawfare. He is clearly an “absent-minded professor” type, whose
passionate outrage in the face of injustice often propels him to ill-advisedly
take the state-media’s bait. Arguably, his lack of cynical guile directly
contributes to his downfall.
Curacao
is only 35 miles from the terrorist-supporting, narcotics-running state of
Venezuela, so its security is definitely a concern for the Dutch military. The
ABC islands have their own independent governments, but they are considered “constituent
countries” of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. In this film, it is the rogue South
American nation of Veragua that attacks, but it is transparently based on
Maduro’s regime. It is too bad all that talk about “defending democracy” never
applied to the Venezuelan election Biden traded massive sanction relief for,
only to have Maduro brazenly steal it. We could have saved the Dutch Marines a
lot of trouble. Instead, they will fight and die to save their countrymen in Bobby
Boermans Invasion, which releases this Friday in theaters and on VOD.
It was
a quiet day when Venezuela Veragua started shelling Curacao’s beaches.
Unfortunately, Carl, the proprietor of a beachfront resort is injured while
saving a young guest. His status greatly concerns his sons, Judsel, a sailor on
a Dutch cutter of the shore of Veragua, and Andy, a Marine recruit who just washed
out on his final training mission, due to his fear of heights. When the attack
comes, Andy and his two, more successful trainees, Jack and Noa, are evac’ed to
Judsel’s ship, for safe-keeping.
Commander
Stan Bot is understanding up to a point, but frankly, the disruptive Andy is
lucky he isn’t locked in the brig. Regardless, the real Marines, Noa and Jack,
are sent on a rescue mission to extract the worthless, cowardly Dutch
ambassador, Maurits Caan, to prevent the Maduro clone from using him as a
bargaining chip.
Meanwhile,
steely Major Jon Brouwer organizes the resistance on the Dutch military base, overrun
by enemy forces. However, they already have their own bargaining chip in the
base prison, Hector Lagarto, a high-ranking Veraguan official wanted by the
U.S. government for drug trafficking.
It is
laughably ironic that a movie that repeatedly depicts courage under fire is too
chicken to actually call out Venezuela by name. Seriously, screenwriters Philip
Delmaar, Errol Nayci, and Lucas de Waard really ought to try to grow spines. As
a result, the slight fictional veneer robs the film of a sense of urgency. It
is all just make believe, so why should anyone care?
Still,
the bravery and selflessness of the Dutch Marines is inspiring stuff. Grizzled
Raymond Thiry is a particular standout as tough old Maj. Brouwer. Indeed, the
scenes of the Marines fighting their way across their breached base are the
best of the film. Fedja van Huet also makes a strong impression (in ways favorable
to the Dutch military) as the commanding and analytical CDR. Bot. Conversely,
Gijs Scholten van Aschat is aptly slimy as the dishonorable Caan.
ONE NIGHT IN TOKYO might be a predictable ships-passing-in-the-night story, but the intimate vibe is distinctiive and co-lead Tokiko Kitagawa announces herself as a major new talent to look out for. CINEMA DAILY US review up here.
Remember
when the phrase “speaking truth to power” became an overused cliché? It never
caught on in Putin’s Russia. Nina Belyayeva knows that better than anyone. The
former Voronezh legislator spoke out against Putin’s unprovoked assault on
Ukraine during a council meeting. She now lives in exile in the Baltics. That
is what happens to elected officials who speak truth to power in Russia, so
imagine trying it as an average citizen. Filmmakers Paul Mitchell &
Anastasiya Popova interview Balyayeva and other brave dissenting Russians in Inside
Russia: Traitors and Heroes, which premieres Wednesday on OVID.tv.
Every
second of Mitchell & Popova’s film clearly exposes just how deeply Putin
has warped the very souls of the Russian people. If you doubt it, just listen
to the hateful, genocidal sentiments YouTubers Alla and Misha record during
their person-on-the-street interviews for their channel @WhatTo (which
ominously has not posted a new video in at least a year). They used to work for
independent media outlets, but such a thing no longer exists in Russia. Mostly,
the older citizenry they interview argue Ukraine initiated the war, through
their Nazi aggression, so Russia should exterminate the entire nation. The perverse
contradiction of the hate-filled propaganda they regurgitate is clearly lost on
them.
Uliana had
profound misgivings when her brother Vanya enlisted. Yet, ironically, she now
struggles to justify the war in conversation, because her brother’s sacrifice would
otherwise be meaningless. For Lyonya and his friends, graffiti was the only avenue
available to them to criticize the government’s policies. Unfortunately, he was
serving a six-month sentence for one such statement when Mitchell & Popova
added the “where are they now” postscript.
Obviously,
out of all their subjects, Balyayeva had the most political stature and
influence. Consequently, prosecutors had to get the go-ahead from their
superiors before opening a case against her. That gave her a weekend’s head-start
to plan her escape.
Jade is
a one-woman case-study both supporting and undermining gun control policy. She
has a visceral aversion to firearms, but she still piles up plenty of dead
bodies. Guns don’t kill people. Jade kills people—a whole lot of people in
James Bamford’s Jade, which releases this Tuesday on digital platforms.
Okay, the
truth is Jade will eventually overcome her revulsion and start shooting her way
out of trouble, because desperate situations demand desperate measures. Jade
and her brother Brandon were orphans who were sucked into the gangs.
Unfortunately, she cannot avenge his murder, because she accidentally killed him
with a stray bullet. Hence, her no guns policy. Fortunately, that does not
preclude a full range of cutting implements.
Jade
wants to get out and leave town, but she still worries about Brandon’s girlfriend,
Layla, especially when she learns the woman is pregnant with her niece or nephew.
Unfortunately, Jade gets pulled back in when a soon to be dead member of her
gang entrusts her with a MacGuffin that looks like an external hard drive.
Frankly, nobody every fully explains what it is, but rival gang leader Tork
wants it, so he will kill anyone he has to.
Basically,
the film mostly consists of Jade hacking and slashing Tork’s henchmen. It is
simple, but effective. Obviously, Bamford and co-screenwriters Lynn Colliar and
Glenn Ennis conceived the film as an homage to blaxploitation films like Coffey.
Although it is not slavishly imitative, the gritty and garish look definitely
evokes the right vibe. However, the
writing is conspicuously spotty, especially considering the abundance of
apparent non sequitur scenes. Plus, the obvious “twist” ending feels like an
insult.
Nevertheless,
the fighting impresses. Bamford and most of the supporting cast have extensive
stunt performance experience which shows in the martial arts scenes. This is
way rougher than a film like Black Dynamite. There is some brutal stuff
in here could leave a mark on some less jaded viewers.
Lou
Hickman needs better forensic support. Instead, Chief Big Hank hires a second detective,
her brother Henry, whose blunt honesty and weird pedantry consistently
sabotaged his career with the Seattle police. Big Hank hopes to repair his relationship
with little Henry, but it will take time and effort. At least the odd couple
siblings resent their absent mother more than their camera-chasing father.
They also
have a high-profile case to solve during the pilot, “Peace in the Valley.” In
an ironic twist of fate, an armed robber shot another masked bandit who was
already holding up the drug store he intended to rob. Somehow, the Hickman
detectives hold onto the case long enough to clear it, instead of turning it
over to the better funded sheriff’s department. Det. Lou would resent them, but
she enjoys flirting with Deputy Shane Carson too much.
The
next episode, “The King’s Assassin” (written by Quiantance), earns points for
topicality when one of three crypto bros ends up dead during their legally
supervised mushroom bender. This case takes a clever twist, while introducing
the ex-girlfriend Li’l Henry left behind.
The
Hickman detectives are reminded why he hated high school and she loved it when
they investigate death threats sent to the star varsity quarterback in “Mr.
Popular,” written by Steve Joe. It also sets up the mystery based on the newly
unearthed human bones of a victim murdered many years prior, which critics
cannot spoil even if they wanted to, because it does not advance very far in
the six episodes provided for review. However, it might be the closest to Twin
Peaks that Good Cop/Bad Cops gets thus far, even though the woodsy
Washington State setting immediately brings the David Lynch classic to mind.
“Found
Footage” (written by Julia de Fina) might sound like it should appeal to horror
fans, when the star of a would-be YouTube horror movie disappears during the
shoot, but director Corrie Chen never really goes for scares. However, the episodes
gives journalistic ethics (or the lack thereof) a reasonably good skewering.
Episode
six has the potential to get very dark, figuratively and literally, when a Bonnie-and-Clyde-like
criminal couple successfully blow-up both the local power sub-station and
cell-tower, but there will be no mass destruction in Eden Vale, at least not
until the season finale (not yet available for review). However, it fully
embraces its Washington Stateness when the Hickmans also investigate the theft
of a specially developed apple tree.
Maybe
what some people call fate is really just chronic, centuries-spanning
stupidity. That is basically the whole point of this film. In life after reincarnated
life, Agnes keeps falling in love with Alex and it always ends really, really
badly—or worse. Yet, she repeatedly makes the same awful decisions in screenwriter-director
Alice Lowe’s Timestalker, which releases today in theaters and on-demand.
Frankly,
Alex probably peaked during his first meeting with Agnes, in 1680 Scotland. He
was quite taken with her, but she still dies throughout an unlikely accident.
Still, you can see why she might want a do-over. However, Alex the 1790s
English highwayman is a slimy user. So is Alex the fading 1980s New Wave pop
star. Unfortunately, these are the two time periods Lowe devotes the most time
to.
In each
of her lives, Agnes quickly recognizes Alex as her man of destiny. Yet, she
never seems to mean anything to him. However, the Iago-like Scipio appears to understand
Agnes’ fateful dilemma, at least to a partial extent.
Timestalker
is sort of like
the Orlando spoof we never knew we needed, because we obviously didn’t. Lowe
had much more success translating British “kitchen sink” aesthetics into genre
films like Prevenge and Sightseers, which she co-wrote Ben
Wheatley. This time around, she leans into cringe, with swiftly declining
marginal returns.
At
times, Lowe captures a hint of cosmic mystery, but what the film does best is
simply reminding viewers how Sally Potter’s Orlando is such a better
film. Perhaps, part of the problem is a structural imbalance. The narrative
spends too much time in 1790 and the unspecified early 1980s, while the 1940s
and futuristic segments are sketchy in a tacked-on afterthought kind of way.
It is
the grimmest hardship duty station in world, even worse than Guantanamo or
Siberia. Fortunately, only one single soldier gets stationed there during the year-long
rotation, but obviously that “volunteer” must be carefully selected. The
special recruit must stand guard against the monsters inhabiting a large chasm
in Scott Derrickson’s The Gorge, which premieres tomorrow on Apple TV+.
A bad
psych eval forced former Marine sniper Levi Kane to step back from special
operator assignments, but the shadowy Bartholomew approaches him for an outside
the box gig. Drugged unconscious on the flight over, Kane has no idea where his
outpost is located. It is just him relieving the apparently British sounding
J.D. in the brutalist concrete post-war fortification, unless you count Drasa,
the sentry stationed across from him on the eastern side of the gorge.
Technically,
they are not supposed to have contact, but they inevitably work together when
the monstrous mutant hordes come streaming out of the gorge. Soon, they start communicating
and even flirting via sketchpad and wipe boards. Even if they were not the only
man and woman for miles around, they would probably still be interested in each
other, so Kane sets about surmounting the insurmountable gulf between them.
Then, the monsters attack.
Basically,
the so-called “Hollow Men” creatures look a lot like Groot from Guardians of
the Galaxy, but some of the special ones have Xenomorph-like attributes. They
are super-bad news, but Kane and Drasa soon suspect they did not simply spring
out of the ground. Frankly, the deep state conspiracy elements really do not
make much sense. Of course, it is even more far-fetched to think the Russian
government would dispatch Drasa to eliminate a war-profiteering oligarch who manufactures
landmines, as screenwriter Zach Dean ludicrously suggests early in the film. Such
a death-merchant would be part of Putin’s bedrock support system in real life.
Nevertheless,
the young-snipers-in-love chemistry between co-leads Anya Taylor-Joy and Miles
Teller is surprisingly—maybe even shockingly—appealing. There are real sparks
and also plenty of tracer bullets. At its best, the vibe of The Gorge is
reminiscent of the original Predator and Cameron’s Aliens, with a
neo-Cold War romance mixed in. It doesn’t hurt to have Sigourney Weaver chewing
the scenery and emulating every dodgy company exec she faced in the Alien franchise,
as Bartholomew.
Alex is
about to experience “ghosting” on a whole new, extremely literal level. She had
been sleepwalking through hook-ups until she swiped affirmatively on Kyle.
Their night together awakened her passion, but then he disappeared. When Alex
tries to find him, she learns the man who so fascinates her happens to be dead.
However, he remains weirdly active on dating apps in Elric Kane’s The Dead
Thing, which premieres tomorrow on Shudder.
Kyle
might be dead, but Alex has been living a soulless existence, working in a
Kafkaesque office job scanning documents at night, fitting in meaningless
sexual encounters when she can. Something about Kyle was different, but when she
visits the bar where he supposedly works, she learns he died a while back. Yet,
his profile is still active, so Alex creates a new account and makes a date.
Meeting
at the same place, Kyle repeats the same lines and moves from their last
meeting. He seems not to remember her, until she starts pressing. When memories
start coming back to him, it is rather alarming, both for him and her.
Nevertheless, they both still feel a connection. Of course, any good horror fan
knows being around anyone who has crossed the dark vale is a dangerous
proposition.
The
Dead Thing is the
sort of film that you really cannot analyze with strict logic or you will miss
out. Kane’s film is a mood piece that is often eerily frightening. The Dead Thing
successfully blends supernatural chills and steamy stuff better than most
supposedly “sexy” horror movies. More than anything, Kane and cinematographer
Ioana Vasile create a truly hypnotic, dreamlike look and atmosphere.
Francis’s
mother Lilian does not say outright that she disapproves of him cohabitating
with his girlfriend Olivia, but she sends them enough rosaries to give away as
party favors if they hold a house-warming soiree. Unfortunately, Francis starts
experiencing terrifying nightmares shortly after they move-in. Odd things start
happening, including a freak accident that the less you know about, the happier
you will be.
Something
is probably haunting them, judging from the bloody writing that appears over
their fireplace. Francis deduces it must be youth ministry counselor who died
under tragic circumstances while he was at Jesus camp. Olivia tries to perform
a purifying ritual, following the advice of her boss, Denny, the owner of the
town’s New Age gift shop. Of course, that does not work, but she blames Francis’s
half-hearted skepticism. He wants someone with more apostolic heft, but she
settles for his tough-talking but undeniably devout mother, Lilian, presumably
to nag and scold the malevolent spirit into submission.
Inhabitants
could have been a
lot more fun if McClung had more emphasized that kind of “stop-or-mom-will exorcise”
kind of humor. The tension between the New Age and Christian approaches to the supernatural
was also potentially intriguing. However, it is clear McClung has a better
understanding of the alleged principles of crystals than whatever brand of Christianity
Lilian adheres to. The particulars of the youth camp sound Evangelical, whereas
her rosaries and crucifixes are as Catholic as the Pope (if not more so, in this
day and age). This distinction matters, not just because it will distract
viewers who know the difference. They are very different traditions that imply
very different ways of relating to the spiritual realm.
Max is
a two-time Olympic tennis gold medalist—one-time came with his co-host and
former doubles partner Anthony. Presumably, neither won any Grand Slams, since everyone
only talks about the Olympics. At least they look like athletes, as they
should, since they are played by former Denver Broncos Superbowl champs Vernon Davis
and Omar Bolden. Davis was way better as the sinister villain in Ritual Killer than that oddball VOD thriller deserved. He also intuitively knows
when to ham it up for the sake of the material in the first two episodes provided
for review.
Indeed,
the writing needs a lot of punching up, because Lyons gives viewers a lot of
shtick, like Ronan the sound guy, who blows a large alphorn (seen in the Ricola
commercial) for reasons that are never quite clear. Frankly, Match Point would
be funnier if it focused more on sports, particularly tennis. All the jokes involving
neurotic celebrities and vapid influencers just feel shopworn.
Cotton’s
first gig dates back to his childhood on the Bonnie Blue plantation, where he
sang and played to entertain workers on their water breaks. Indeed, his life
was the blues. He was mentored by Sonny Boy Williamson II, a.k.a. Rice Miller,
a.k.a. many other names, but he really came to prominence as a member of Muddy
Waters band.
Cotton’s
career really took off during the Blus revival. As his fellow musicians
explain, his hard-charging style made him the harpist who most appealed young
white fans who were initially attracted by classic blues guitarists.
Unfortunately, he had bad management, who often just bundled him into package
deals for much less compensation than their headliners. (Cram and company name
names, in this case Albert Grossman, who also handled Dylan, Joplin, and Peter,
Paul, and Mary.)
Eventually,
Cotton signed with better people and had quite a good run—especially by blues
standards. Nevertheless, time always has the last word. Still, Cotton went out on
a creative high, with the help of his friends and blues songwriter Tom
Hambridge.
In the
late 1990’s, Marsalis was at the peak of his prestige and influence. He already
received the Pulitzer Prize for Blood on the Fields. With the turn of
the Millennium approaching, Columbia released nine ambitious albums from
Marsalis, under the banner of “Swinging into the 21st.” None was
more ambitious than All Rise, commissioned by Kurt Masur, of the New
York Philharmonic, in memory of his schoolboy days under the Nazi and East
German Communist regimes. Yet, it would have its concert debut shortly after
9/11. Nearly a quarter century later, Marsalis staged a concert performance at
Chautauqua, during the reflective season following the brutal attack on Salman
Rushdie. It also happened to be one of those big round number anniversaries.
Chautauqua takes stock of itself while listening to Marsalis in Chautauqua
at 150: Wynton Marsalis’ All Rise, which airs this Tuesday on PBS.
Founded
in 1874, the Chautauqua Institute was a product of the Lyceum movement that
survived to this day, thanks to its pleasant location and the prominent faculty
and presenters it attracts. Several staffers boast the Institute fosters
dialogue that encourages understanding among partisans of each other’s
positions. Everyone says they learn so much, but nobody actually explains how
they changed mind after listening to the other side at Chautauqua. Of course,
there is a multi-faith program that talks about phobias and isms rather than
human rights and freedoms. Then, on August 22, 2022, Rushdie was attacked so brutally,
he spent days on a ventilator and ultimately lost an eye.
To its
credit, Chautauqua at 150 spends considerable time covering the attack
and its aftermath, but it declines to mention the Institution deliberately refused
to implement recommended security measures for Rushdie’s address, because they
thought they would “create a divide between the speakers and the audience,” as
two sources explained to CNN. Frankly, Chautauqua should probably reflect even further
on this incident and what it really means.
Fortunately,
jazz has healing powers, so it is frustrating Chautauqua at 150 often
has interview subjects talking over the music. However, the backstory of the
extended suite and its post-9/11 premiere deserve the time devoted to them. It
also speaks to longevity of the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestras membership since
many musicians, including saxophonist Ted Nash and trumpeter Marcus Printup
were with the band back in 2001 (in fact, there were with J@LC well before
that). As a result, they obviously have seamless cohesion as a band and probably
intuitively understand what their leader Marsalis is looking for.
