King’s The Life of Chuck

At least Chuck Krantz won’t have to worry about fees for 401K withdrawals. Apparently, he is retiring right in the midst of doomsday. The world is ending, but his grateful colleagues are celebrating with billboards all over town. People are definitely confused and, initially, viewers will be too. However, director-screenwriter Mike Flanagan eventually brings everything together in The Life of Chuck, based on the Stephen King novella, which opens this Friday in New Yok theaters.

It is the end of the world—and the end of an era wherever Krantz works. California is sinking into the sea, the internet and infrastructure are failing, and suicides are skyrocketing. The apocalyptic crisis compels school teacher Marty Anderson to reconnect with his ex-wife Felicia Gordon, an exhausted RN, who feels a similar desire for his familiar and comforting presence. Yet, amid all the chaos, they both find all the Chuck Krantz signage rather bizarre.

What is going on here? Act II illuminates little, especially since Flanagan’s adapted narrative flows in reverse order, ending with Act I. It also happens to be a dance number, featuring Krantz and Taylor Franck, a drummer played by “The Pocket Queen,” according to the credits. You might guess she knows how to socket in the pocket, which indeed turns out to be the case.

All will eventually be explained in Act I, which is presented as the third act. Finally, we witness Krantz’s childhood, which is sometimes sad and sometimes mysterious, but the under-sized teen also has his small triumphs.

Frankly, some viewers might be tempted to watch the walk-outs, which could very well be plentiful. However, that would be a mistake, because you really need to see the entire film for all the pieces to fall into place. The good news is the a-ha moment really happens and gives pretty darned significant meaning to everything that came before.

This is definitely Stephen King more in his Shawshank or Stand By Me bag, even though there are considerable fantastical elements—that would be spoilery to describe. It is hard to categorize and it will confuse some viewers, but this is probably the best King adaptation since The Outsider.

Venom: The Last Dance

He is an alien body-snatcher who decided to become a good guy—sort of. Sure, he still bites off heads, but only those of bad people. Granted, in most films, Venom would be the monster, as indeed he was during most of his first film. Nevertheless, Eddie Brock learned to share his life and his headspace with his parasitic companion. Currently, they are fugitives from justice, but no arrangement is ever perfect. Unfortunately, something from the symbiote’s world starts hunting Venom and Brock, with no regard for human collateral damage, in director-screenwriter Kelly Marcel’s Venom: The Last Dance, which opens tomorrow only in theaters.

Currently, Brock and Venom are laying low (but not low enough) in Mexico, where Venom’s margarita mixing techniques draw unwanted notice. Brock wants to return to America, where he can work to clear his name, so he figures New York City will be the one place where they will not stand out. Getting there will be the trick.

They also need to put some distance between themselves and the large assassin kaiju that tracked Venom from his original space-time-dimension-continuum. As Venom explains to the alarmed Brock, they carry an alien artifact that would free the creature’s master, a malevolent titan intent on destroying all organic life, in all the various universes. That would be a bad thing. Fortunately, the codex-thingy is only visible to the hunter-creature when Venom takes his full black spiderman-looking form—but it is hard to keep the symbiote bottled up.

Eventually, Brock and Venom encounter more symbiotes in a secret government facility cleverly located below Area 51. Unfortunately, that location prompts discussion of the worst aspect of Last Dance: its pronounced and persistent hostility to the American military. There is not one single military character presented in a positive light. That definitely includes the judgmental, shoot-first-ask-questions-later Gen. Rex Strickland, despite his third act heroics. Most are just faceless grist for the mill, so viewers are expected to feel nothing when Venom kills several of them.

Let’s be honest, there is no way any film would portray multiple school teachers or public defenders as soulless villains. Why does Marvel consider it acceptable to uniformly demonize American military personnel, especially when they sacrifice so much more than teachers to serve our nation? In the case of Marcel’s screenplay, this bias is distractingly noticeable.

It is a shame because the symbiotic rapport between Brock and Venom still works. You can say Tom Hardy has good chemistry with himself. His Venom-psycho voice still gets big laughs. It is also cool to see some of the best Venom CGI effects are reserved for comedic bits, like the symbiote’s titular last dance with fan favorite character Mrs. Chen, again played by the returning Peggy Lu, who can hold her own opposite the big serpentine guy.

Sophie Bartes’ The Pod Generation

Don't call them test tube babies. They come from pods, at least they do if their parents have sufficient resources for stress-free pregnancies. There are still people who prefer to do things the old-fashioned way, but Rachel Novy does not think she is one of them. Yet, her pod-pregnancy starts to change her perspective in screenwriter-director Sophie Bartes’ The Pod Generation, which opens tomorrow in New York.

Rachel Novy is an online marketing consultant, while her husband Alvy is a botanist. That definitely means she is the one who makes all their money. Seriously, in this near-ish future, botany is almost a lost science, since most plants are synthetic or computer generated. As you might suspect, he is also the one who is skeptical of the pod process, but she signs up anyway.

At first, he is a bit out of sorts she made this decision without him, but he accepts and steadily warms to the idea. In fact, he is the one who bonds with the incubation pod they carry home. Ironically, she starts experiencing the sort of fevered dreams associated with traditional pregnancy. Much to her surprise, she also develops a new-found appreciation for the genuine and the natural.

Talky films can interesting. Fortunately, Pod Generation is one of them. Admittedly, the arc of Barthes’ narrative is a bit flat, but she raises some heavy issues regarding science, nature, and authenticity. Her ostensive subject is motherhood, which is a big theme in itself, but a lot of the points the film raises could apply to topics.

It is also worth noting getting the right look for Pod Generation was almost as important to its success as it was for the Barbie movie, but it had a tiny fraction of that monstrosity’s budget. Production designer Clement Price-Thomas and art director Stephan Rubens convincingly create an ambiguously near-future world that feels slick and affluent, but also somewhat cold and impersonal.

The Man Who Fell to Earth, Season One (and Only), on DVD

Nobody is ever going to forget David Bowie starred in Nicolas Roeg’s The Man Who Fell to Earth, so, wisely, the creators of this series avoided any need to accuse the “Wild Eyed Boys” of “toxic fandom.” Their series adaptation of Walter Tevis’s novel builds on the 1976 film, instead of trying to tear it down (in a way that is somewhat akin to the 2022 Quantum Leap series). Let’s give thanks to Bowie, for being such an icon. Decades after Thomas Jerome Newton arrived on Earth, another alien from Anthea comes looking for him in Alex Kurtzman & Jenny Lumet’s 10-episode The Man Who Fell to Earth, which releases this Tuesday on DVD.

It turns out Newton was an adept, whereas Faraday is just a drone on Anthea. Yes, this series’ intergalactic sociology is as didactically class-conscious as afternoon tea at the Glasgow Labour Party HQ. Environmental catastrophe is also on the horizon for us, but it is already choking Anthea to death. Newton was supposed to be the planet’s best hope, but he has gone dark, thanks to human fears and his own adoption of earthly vices. Faraday is supposed to get him back on track. Of course, his name really isn’t Faraday. He just picks it up from the intake officer, who processes him after he is arrested for being naked and weird.

Aside from Newton, the only name Faraday has in his mental rolodex is that of Justin Falls (presumably short for “Justina”), who should have invented cold fusion, but came up tragically short. According to his instructions, Faraday is supposed to help her finish the job, but he needs the double-secret patents locked in the vault of Newton’s old tech company. Falls was already taking care of her daughter and her ailing father, but she reluctantly agrees to guide Faraday on his quest.

After Newton went-off the grid (and we mean way, way off), the Flood family took over the company with the CIA’s backing. Yes, the CIA are the bad guys, yet again. Spencer Clay is the worst of them—and also the most neurotic. Newton has been one of his two driving obsessions, so when he discovers the arrival of a new Anthean, he hopes Faraday can lead him to Newton.

The reclusive weirdo really is out there somewhere. Occasionally, he will even communicate with Faraday, his former drone back in the day, through the Force, or whatever. Who could credibly step into David Bowie’s platform shoes? Actually, the casting of Bill Nighy is pretty shrewd. He has a similar physicality and he projects the right degree of oddity. Each episode is titled after a Bowie song too, so Kurtzman and Lumet definitely show the proper respect.

The first six episodes or so are surprisingly engaging, thanks in large measure to Chiwetel Ejiofor’s distinctive performance as Faraday. Instead of cutely quirky, like Starman or Brother from Another Planet, he is so alien (literally) he is almost non-functional. Naomie Harris portrays Falls with toughness and sensitivity that successfully counterbalances him. She is definitely one of the best things going for the series. Plus, Martha Plimpton has a terrific guest shot in the first episode as Officer Faraday and Zoe Wanamaker is a showstopper as Watt, Faraday’s unlikely advisor.

Sundance ’15: Z for Zachariah

Lets face it, the future surely won’t be utopian, like in Star Trek, and most likely won’t be dystopian as in 1984 (although some days you have to wonder). Chances are, it will just sort of be topian, as it is now. However, Craig Zobel puts his chips on a radioactive post-apocalyptic future in his adaptation of Robert C. O’Brien’s young adult novel Z for Zachariah (clip here), which screens during the 2015 Sundance Film Festival.

One by one, Ann Burden’s family members left the safety of their self-contained valley looking for survivor, eventually leaving her with only the family dog for company. One day, Loomis, a scientist in a heavy radiation suit staggers into the sheltered ecosystem. However, just when he thinks he has found an unspoiled Eden, Loomis contaminates himself in a stream fed from an outside source. With the help of his meds, Burden slowly nurses him back to health. He appears to be the companion she has long prayed for, but his scientific materialism is somewhat at odds with her rugged Christian faith.

Nevertheless, mutual attraction steadily percolates between them, until it is interrupted by the arrival of another stranger. On paper, Caleb the former coalminer would be a better match for Burden because of their shared values, but she is surprisingly frustrated by Loomis’s passive reaction to his potential rival. At least an additional set of hands can help build Loomis’s proposed hydroelectric generator, but then what?

Perversely, screenwriter Nissar Modi removes everything that was distinctive and challenging about the novel written by the Mrs. Frisbee and the Rats of NIMH author Robert Leslie Conley under the O’Brien pseudonym, replacing it with a shopworn post-apocalyptic love triangle. Since Caleb was Modi’s creation, he could have at least made him more interesting. However, the watering down of the pitched struggle between Burden’s traditional values and Loomis’s scientific fanaticism is real loss. Frankly, one would have thought that was what attracted Compliance helmer Zobel to the project in the first place.

Still, Z is notable in one respect. It makes a major career statement for Margot Robbie, in a radical departure from her sexpot roles. It is a sensitive performance that presents Burden’s faith in a respectful manner, while also convincingly portraying the slow awakening of her long dormant sexuality. As usual, Chiwetel Ejiofor exudes wounded dignity as the new and improved Loomis, but evidently Chris Pine has seen as many apocalyptic films as the rest of us have, because he just looks bored out of his mind as Caleb.

If you are not going to preserve its themes, why pretend to adapt a book in the first place? Obviously, Modi’s adaptation is an attempt to cash in on the craze for dark futuristic YA projects, but the final product is guaranteed to disappoint fans of the novel (and the earlier 1984 BBC adaptation). As a point of comparison, J.C. Schroder’s Forever’s End has a similar feel, but is far more compelling. Only recommended for fans of Robbie who want to see her take her craft to the next level, Z for Zachariah screens again tonight (1/25) at the Sundance Mountain Resort, tomorrow (1/26), Thursday (1/29), and Saturday (1/31) in Park City, and Friday (1/30) in Salt Lake, as part of this year’s Sundance.

Dancing on the Edge: Paying Dues in 1930’s London

Louis Lester’s band swings so hard, many of their fans assume he is an American, but he is really a born and bred British subject.  Several high society types will take an interest in them, but that will not always be a good thing during the course of Stephen Poliakoff’s Dancing on the Edge (trailer here), a six night mini-series beginning this Saturday on Starz.

Stanley Mitchell is a progressive jazz fan, but he is also a bit of an operator.  He sings the praises of the Lester band, hoping his magazine Music Express will rise with their tide.  While not to the manor born himself, Mitchell knows many of the right people, like Arthur Donaldson, a man of leisure who happens to appreciate real deal jazz.  Through Donaldson’s connections and Mitchell’s glad-handing, the Lester band books some high profile gigs, eventually becoming the house band at the formerly staid Imperial Hotel.

For a while, it seems like everyone will enjoy the good life together, especially when the mysterious American tycoon, Walter Masterson, starts inviting the band to his lavish parties, along with the wealthy but somewhat emotionally codependent Luscombe siblings.  The interracial romance brewing between Lester and Sarah, a photographer close to the Luscombes, obviously portends future trouble, but the erratic Julian Luscombe’s reckless pursuit of the band’s lead singer will lead to more immediate problems.

Chiwetel Ejiofor is about to become an Oprah superstar through 12 Years a Slave, but his turn as Lester is arguably his best work since Dirty Pretty Things.  In many ways, it is a treatise on “cool” as a defense strategy and a personal aesthetic.  Rigidly controlled, Ejiofor still shows us all the gears turning in his head.  Arguably, the major historical influences on his Lester are the suave sophistication of Ellington (whose 1930’s small big band could be a model for the Lester outfit) and the not-so-passive aggressive aloofness of Miles Davis to come in later years.

In contrast, Matthew Goode gives Mitchell a slightly manic edge, nicely playing off the tightly wound Ejiofor in their smartly written scenes together.  (If you’re asking whether he rings to someone who has written about and championed jazz, the answer is yes.)  Probably nobody is more over-exposed for Anglophiles than Tom Hughes right now, but while he was conspicuously miscast in About Time, The Hollow Crown, and The Lady Vanishes, he is sort of perfect for the boyishly creepy Julian Luscombe.  Like Hughes, John Goodman brings out the messy human dimensions of grandly indulgent Masterson, a role that could have easily descended into gross caricature.

In fact, one of writer-director Poliakoff’s great strengths is the manner in which he preserves some degree of audience sympathy for all his characters despite their often horrid actions.  Shrewdly, he also maintains considerable ambiguity regarding certain relationships, instead of beating viewers about the head, as a less artful production might.  Dancing does right by the music as well, featuring a soundtrack of original era appropriate swingers and ballads, recorded by real life working jazz and studio musicians, who also appear in character as the Lester band.  If jazz advocates will have any gripe with Dancing it will be the lack of development for the musicians, besides Lester and his two vocalists.

Like the best of television, Dancing quickly hooks in viewers and keeps them emotionally invested throughout.  Poliakoff captures the exhilaration of the after-hours jam, but also incorporates pointed references to the ominous rise of National Socialism, Britain’s lack of military preparedness, and the rather dubious character of the future temporary Edward VIII.

Nicely crafted in all respects, Dancing on the Edge is recommended for fans of swing music and British television when it premieres this Saturday (10/19) on Starz.  As a note, the fifth installment is technically the finale, but an epilogue follows the next week (11/23), which purports to collect Mitchell’s aborted interviews with Lester. Initially, it seems to be a DVD-extra kind of thing, but it might conceivably set up a sequel series in its final moments.