Dope Thief, on Apple TV+

In 2021, a couple of Philly ex-con lunkheads like Ray Driscoll and Manny Carvalho do not have many opportunities for gainful employment while the world slowly rouses from the COVID shutdown. Conveniently, there was one business that did not observe closure mandates: drug trafficking. Posing as DEA agents, the duo shakedown marginal drug houses not affiliated with the major cartels. However, Covid still wreaked havoc on the illicit supply chains nearly as much as it did for legal trade. Consequently, when Driscoll and Carvalho unknowingly knock over a big-time meth lab, it ignites a whole lot of trouble for the product-hungry gang and even more so for themselves in creator Peter Craig’s eight-episode Dope Thief, which premieres today on Apple TV+.

Driscoll is in denial, but Carvalho recognizes this is what they do. They are not Robin Hoods. Shadowy Son Pham put them in business with fake DEA badges and bullet proof vests. They keep the cash and he flips the drugs they “confiscate.” It usually works out well, until Carvlho’s recently released friend Ricky suggests a score way outside their usual territory.

It soon becomes evident Ricky set them up when their fake bust turns into a blood bath. Driscoll and Carvalho shoot several meth heads in self-defense, including, rather awkwardly, an undercover Fed. They thought they’d also killed Mina, another undercover agent, but somehow, she slipped away, with a bullet lodged in her throat. Unfortunately, they cannot interrogate Ricky, who also took a fatal bullet. Even worse, the sinister mastermind who keeps calling Driscoll clearly knows who they are—and who they care about.

For Driscoll, that only means Theresa Bowers, his jailbird father Bart’s tough-talking girlfriend, who has raised Ray like a son. He pretends to hate his incarcerated dad, but his feelings are clearly more conflicted than he lets on. He even agrees to work with Michelle Taylor, a pro bono lawyer trying to secure Bart’s compassionate release, at Bower’s request. He will probably need her services, as the cartels, biker gangs, and the real DEA all start circling him.

Dope Thief starts off with a bang. Perhaps not so coincidentally, the first episode also happens to be directed by executive producer Ridley Scott. Frankly, he probably should have adapted Dennis Tafoya’s source novel as a feature film. Episodes one and two are gritty and tense, but the middle installments are bloated and sometimes even a little aimless. The entire subplot focusing on Mina’s recovery and quest for not exactly revenge but something sort of like that clearly feel like padding—even though Marin Ireland is quite good in the role. These detours just take the audience too far away from Driscoll and the ominous voice (who sometimes falls silent for full episodes).

On the other hand, Dustin Nguyen is a shockingly quiet scene-stealer, who often upstages his flashier co-stars as Pham, the suburban family-man gangster, whose complicated relationship with Driscoll incorporates both loyalty and exploitation.  As Driscoll, Brian Tyree Henry develops terrific chemistry with multiple cast members, definitely including Nguyen. Yet, his work alongside the wonderful Kate Mulgrew, as Bowers, really gives the series a lot of heart. This is really some of Mulgrew’s best work yet.

Blade of the 47 Ronin

It is pretty clear from this film, Samurai are far more skilled than ninjas. However, ninjas attack with superior numbers, like in the dozens or hundreds. Those ninjas hordes obey the commands of a witch who has targeted the descendants of the loyal samurai-turned-ronin, who avenged their lord back in the Edo era. It is about as loose as sequels get, but the hack-and-slash martial arts certainly entertains throughout Ron Yuan’s Blade of the 47 Ronin, which releases today on DVD and Netflix.

Supposedly, this is a sequel to the disastrous Keanu Reeves version of The 47 Ronin, but feel free to pretend it is a sequel to the Kon Ichikawa or Kenji Mizoguchi adaptations, because the connection between films is tenuous, at best. In the present day, samurai clans operate in secret, based in Budapest, supposedly because it is a key juncture between East and West, but it also happens to be affordable to shoot there. The descendants of the 47 Ronin guard the magically divided half of a mythic sword that holds a fateful prophecy. The witches hold the other half, but Yurei, the most powerful warlock has gone rogue.

He thought he had killed all the Ronin’s descendants, but there was a secret progeny out there somewhere. Unfortunately, the punky, resentful Luna does not inspire much confidence. She has come to Budapest to sell her late, estranged father’s sword, which is obviously priceless. Luna is a pain, but virtuous Lord Shinshiro protects her anyway. That duty primarily falls to his Bugeisha (samurai warrior woman) Onami, who enlists help from her old confidant, Reo, a ronin, who was forced out of Shinshiro’s service due to a past disgrace.

Scholars of Japanese history and literature will probably be scandalized by the way Blade trades on the names of the 47 Ronin, which is fair enough. However, if you accept the film as its own stand-alone entity, it is pretty fun, admittedly in a meathead kind of way. Ron Yuan (the actor, not appearing in-front of the camera this time around) clearly understands how to frame a fight scene and he is not intimidated by a little blood splatter. The swordplay is often brutal, but it looks great.

Yuan also has the benefit of two major action stars, who still clearly have their stuff. Mark Dacascos is cool and commanding as Lord Shinshiro, while Dustin Nguyen is all kinds of steely playing Lord Nikko. Stylistically, his clan is very different from Shinshiro’s but they are allied in honor. They both have plenty of highly cinematic fight scenes, but Teresa Ting and Michael Moh (Bruce Lee in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood) have even more. Their athleticism is impressive and they some appealing comrade-in-arms rapport going on.

New Vietnamese Cinema ’15: Jackpot

State lotteries are often called a tax on stupidity. Evidently they are quite a hard sell in Vietnam, but peddling them is the only work a naïve single mother can find. However, it seems like Thom’s tickets have an unusually high chance of winning. Naturally, that only leads to trouble in Dustin Nguyen’s Jackpot (trailer here), which screens during the 2015 edition of New Vietnamese Cinema at the Honolulu Museum of Art.

Thom is sweet as she can be, but she has a hard time providing for her young daughter. Her ex-husband is not totally out of the picture, but his new wife is definitely the jealous type. Fortunately, Tu Nghia will always buy a set of tickets when she most needs help (even though his sensible wife usually protests), while Ba Muoi provides day care on credit. The older woman’s conman husband Tu Phi has just been released from prison, but she is hardly thrilled to see him. Yet, Thom will broker a rapprochement between them. Soon, they settle in rather peacefully together. In fact, when she discovers she has purchased a big winner from Thom, she allows the old fast-talker to claim it as his own.

In retrospect, this will be a mistake. True to form, as soon as Tu Phi feels some money in his pockets, he starts making bad decisions and falling in with the wrong crowd. Frankly, a sudden windfall might make matters worse rather than better for all involved (not so subtle take-away warning). Yet, just as things look desperate for Thom and her extended family, providence might just provide again.

Vietnamese-American expat Nguyen will be recognizable to some for his TV work as a cast-member on 21 Jump Street and V.I.P., but he has since reinvented his career as Vietnam’s top box-office draw. Rather logically, in addition to directing, he also appears in Jackpot, as the rugged, salt-of-the-earth farmer, Tu Nghia. However, there is no question Ninh Duong Lan Ngoc outshines everyone and everything as the earnest Thom. There is something refreshing about her guilelessness and indomitably sunny disposition. However, as Tu Phi, the old reprobate, a little of Chi Tai’s shtick goes a long way. Similarly, the less said about Thom’s man-stealing rival, the better.

Jackpot definitely extolls the value of provincial village life and discourages capital accumulation, which surely pleased the current regime. Still, there is nothing inherently wrong with celebrating community and compassion. Despite his more action-oriented resume, Nguyen displays a light, skillful touch for comedic fare. As a result, American audiences will probably relate to it more easily than the broad, slapsticky Lost in Thailand franchise. Rather enjoyable in an old fashioned way, thanks in large measure to the radiant Ninh Duong, Jackpot is recommended for fans of light comedy when it screens this coming Sunday (7/5) and Tuesday (7/7), as part of New Vietnamese Cinema at the Honolulu Museum of Art, one of the country’s leading venues for Asian cinema.