761st Tank Battalion, on History Channel

It is doubly tragic that Gen. George S. Patton succumbed to injuries from an untimely accident in 1945. Had he lived longer, he might have helped the men of the761st Tank Battalion get some of the recognition they deserved, but were long denied because of the color of their skin. Initially, Patton’s opinions on the fitness of black soldiers reflected those of his class and his fellow officers. However, Patton had praise for the 761th and signed-off on Presidential Unit Citation request that was nixed by top brass until 1978. Fittingly, Morgan Freeman, the star of Glory and the voice of God, helps tell their neglected story as host and executive producer of director Phil Bertelsen’s feature-length History Channel special, 761^st Tank Battalion: The Original Black Panthers, which premieres tomorrow.

Initially, the military did not want black soldiers in combat, reserving them for servile support duties instead. When the men of what would become the 761^st started armored training, their officers assumed they would fail, but they exceled instead, so they continued to train and train waiting to be sent into combat. As a result, they really knew their stuff, better than many of their white comrades, when they were finally shipped off to Europe to reinforce Patton’s army. He was skeptical, but he needed bodies desperately.

Bertelsen and his on-camera historians do a nice job explaining the 761th’s engagements under Patton’s command. Unfortunately, as a so-called “bastard brigade,” the 761th was not permanently attached to a brigade. Instead, they were dispatched wherever they were needed, sort of like a combat equivalent of substitute teachers. As a result, they were combat-deployed for a punishing 183 days straight. On the other hand, they had the advantage of being an armored unit, which camouflaged their skin color during battle conditions.

The Ritual Killer

Who better to catch a serial killer than an eighty-something year-old anthropologist? It probably makes more sense than asking another serial killer for help, especially since Dr. Mackles is an expert in Muti, the traditional spiritual medicine practiced in Southern Africa. It appears there is a rogue practitioner committing sacrificial murders to benefit his clients in George Gallo’s The Ritual Killer, which releases today in theaters and on VOD.

The guilt Det. Lucas Boyd carries after his daughter’s death has left him nearly non-functional, except when chasing violent criminals, who then bear the full brunt of his rage. He and his partner start investigating a trail of bodies mutilated with surgical precision that lead to the mysterious Randoku. The large, scarred man definitely stands out, but he is still frustratingly hard to catch.

To interpret the African writing and exotic spices found at a crime scene, Boyd enlists the help of Dr. Mackles, an African Studies professor, who is clearly freaked out by them. Initially, he tries to play cool and beg off the case, but he inevitably starts advising Boyd on the Muti aspects of the ritual sacrifices.

That all sounds like a passable premise, but the screenplay (unpromisingly credited to three scribes: Bob Bowersox, Francesco Cinquemani, and Luca Gilberto) proceeds in such an orderly straight line, it turns into a total snooze. At least the one moment of lunacy at the end gives viewers something to remember, but the rest is the stuff of mediocre 1990s TV-movies.

The legendary Morgan Freeman looks about as bored playing Mackles as he did in the underwhelming Vanquish, which was also helmed by Gallo (maybe Freeman should stop working with him). The saving grace is Cole Hauser, whose hard-boiled brooding as Boyd is better than the film deserves.

Solos, on Amazon Prime

If you were ever upstaged by yourself, than you'd only have yourself to blame. It would be even worse to be overshadowed by a voice-over, because you couldn’t even accuse it of standing in your light. Such are the risks run by the thesps starring in a new series of one-person speculative fiction stories. The finale appears to be the exception, but its aptness will eventually come to light. Being human is a lonely business in creator David Weil’s Solos, which premieres today on Amazon Prime.

Each story is short, most less than 30 minutes, yet the ill-chosen opening episode, “Leah,” feels interminably long. Anne Hathaway tries way too hard playing the title character, who is obsessed with time travel research. Unfortunately, this means we must listen to her riff with other selves on 13 Going on 30, which she inaccurately argues is the only time-travel movie with a female protag. Surely, a nerd like her would know The Girl Who Leapt Through Time movies, anime, and manga. Plus, there’s Peggy Sue Got Married (you know, Kathleen Turner, Nic Cage, Francis Ford Coppola—ringing any bells here?). To make matters worse, Weil’s story totally violates the accepted logic of the time-travel subgenre.

Happily, things greatly improve with “Tom,” which is similar thematically and tonally to Michael Almereyda’s Marjorie Prime. In this case, Anthony Mackie is terrific as the titular Tom, in what turns out to be a dual role, which he differentiates nicely.

Like many of the Solos, “Peg” often feels somewhat overwritten, but obviously Dame Helen Mirren can handle the long monologues. Technically, she has a bit of support from the AI driving her spacecraft, who really is helpful, but it is up to Mirren to land the life-is-for-living message. And she does.

Initially, as a story of a woman bound to her smart-home due to a global pandemic, “Sasha” seems to hit to close to home. However, it has a timely message people perfectly suited for where we are today. It is not just applicable to the Covid era, but to years of the nanny state-mentality that has demanded ironclad safety above all else, especially in place of freedom and the enterprising spirit.

“Jenny,” starring Constance Wu, might be the hardest to watch, because the title character slowly evolves from fingers-nails-on-the-blackboard annoying to profoundly and heartrendingly tragic. It is a great performance, but this story isn’t much fun. On the other hand, it is the only installment that lays any groundwork for the concluding episode.

Essentially, “Nera” is an okay but not especially memorable riff on Bradbury’s “The Small Assassin” and any number of evil baby horror movies, but it uses the language of science fiction rather than the occult. It also arguably breaks format.

Vanquish: Morgan Freeman Plays a Villain

Police Chief Damon Hickey is sort of like Chief Ironside, except he was on the take when he was shot. In fact, he is the guy who divvies up the take, down to crooked cops on the beat and up to the corrupt governor. The heat is on this fateful night, so he needs his caregiver to revert to her old criminal ways in George Gallo’s Vanquish, which opens today in select theaters and on-demand.

Victoria and her ailing daughter Lily always thought Hickey looked out for them, so the former drug mule is rather taken aback when he insists she make five cash pickups on his behalf. She has gone straight, but he has taken her daughter hostage (while being wheelchair-bound), so she reluctantly relents. Apparently, the Feds have some highly incriminating recordings in their hands, thanks to the deep informant Hickey’s men will soon kill, so he needs to go outside his organization. Unfortunately, each job will bring her into contact with criminal lowlifes she once knew, including the thugs who murdered her brother.

This might be Morgan Freeman’s first villainous role since his breakout in Street Smart, but he shows a complete lack of enthusiasm. Frankly, he looks like he was drugged and forced to play the part against his will. On the other hand, this is Ruby Rose’s third action film in less than 12 months, but Vanquish makes The Doorman and SAS: Red Notice look like Casablanca and Citizen Kane. (Maybe leaving Batwoman was a mistake, you think?)

Gallo is probably best-known for writing Midnight Run and Bad Boys, but you would not know it from the paucity of humor in Vanquish. It is also unpleasantly murky looking, as if the entire production was improperly lit. Admittedly, this is a rather violent film, but there are several dull chase sequences that are a chore to sit through.

Momentum: Olga Kurylenko’s Action Chops

Alex Faraday and her accomplices thought they were simply stealing diamonds from a Cape Town bank vault, but they also inadvertently scooped up an ominous MacGuffin. You might wonder why a corrupt U.S. senator would keep an incriminating flash drive in a South African safety deposit box. Better yet, you might wonder why he kept it at all. Regardless, Faraday has it, so his goons will do whatever it takes to get it back in Stephen S. Campanelli’s Momentum (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Kevin Fuller lured Faraday back into thievery with the promise of a big score, but he never fully revealed the nature of the game he was playing. However, she figures it out pretty quickly when the American senator’s British enforcer, Mr. Washington, kills Fuller while she is hiding under the bed. Obviously, this puts Faraday in a tight spot. She is already wanted for capping a freelancer Moss brought on board when he started menacing the innocent bank customers.

Evidently, Fuller was manipulated by Washington into stealing the chip and the diamonds from the super-secret vault-box, which makes no sense whatsoever, but here we are, so what can you do? If you are Faraday, you keep one step ahead of Mr. Washington, while doing her best to protect Fuller’s ingrate widow and her young son.

Basically, Momentum has one thing going for it, but it is significant: Olga Kurylenko as the action lead. She was the best part about Philipp Stölz’s middling Erased and here she fully realizes that potential. Kurylenko displays terrific action chops and even does some credible whatchamacallit . . . acting. James Purefoy’s Mr. Washington has a decently loathsome presence, but he would arguably work better as a secondary villain rather than the antagonistic lead. Instead of filling that void, Morgan Freeman literally phones it in as the senator, who only exists to give orders on his cell phone. Yet, the biggest problem is Adam Marcus & Debra Sullivan’s screenplay, which has the brains of a punch-drunk kangaroo.

To give Campanelli credit where it is due, the initial heist scene is tight, tense, and mysterious. It utterly puts to shame the utterly shameful Checkmate. However, after Faraday’s big entrance, the causes and effects no longer make much sense. Still, the fight scenes, shootouts, and chases are all rather appealing in an old school, down-to-earth way. Campanelli keeps the pace cranked, but Kurylenko’s steely badassery is the film’s trump card.

Although there are some appealingly gritty action scenes, the film ultimately panders to the lowest, most vile conspiracy theory paranoia, so good job ending on a buzz-killing note. Therefore, as a dramatically mixed bag that implodes down the stretch, it is hard to recommend Momentum, despite Kurylenko’s best efforts. For her diehard fans, it opens tomorrow (10/16) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Last Knights: There Should Be About 47 of Them

Unfortunately, the early Eighteenth Century band of heroes known as the 47 Ronin were effectively defeated before they ever began to fight. With their lord disgraced and their clan evicted from its holdings, the masterless samurai achieved a measure of payback, but it only delayed the inevitable end demanded by their bushido code. Western concepts of honor and chivalry are somewhat different, but the wardrobe and weaponry are close enough for government work. It is a story Japanese filmmaker Kazuaki Kiriya must have heard countless times growing up. He now brings their classic tale west, resetting it in a Medieval European looking realm for his first English language production, Last Knights (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Lord Bartok is a wise and just clan leader, who also experiments with atonal composition. His forces are captained by Raiden, a warrior who rose up from the peasantry to be renowned for his badassery. While Bartok lands remain peaceful, trouble brews in the capitol, where the Emperor’s chancellor, Geza Mott has become brazen in his corruption. Bartok arrives at court to rally the noblemen against Mott, but he is outplayed by the tyrannical psychopath. Sadly, it will cost Bartok his head and the anguished Raiden will be the one to sever it.

The Bartok clan is dispossessed and dispersed, with his guardsmen assuming civilian jobs. They mostly get on with their new lives, except Raiden, who retreats inside a cask of ale. However, the paranoid Mott cannot believe the Bartok commander is not biding his time, which of course he is. Nevertheless, his honorable but honor-bound lieutenant Ito is convinced Raiden is the empty shell of a man he appears to be.

Evidently, this is the sort of empire Alexander aspired to rule, spanning all the known continents of the Middle Ages. Its relentlessly multi-ethnic composition makes little historical sense, but at least it allows Kiriya to assemble a truly international ensemble, including Morgan Freeman as Lord Bartok, Iranian Peyman Moaadi (best known for A Separation) as the Emperor, Norwegian Aksel Hennie (Headhunters) as Mott, and veteran Korean actor Ahn Sung-ki as his principled father-in-law, Lord Auguste. Some of that casting makes sense, some of it not so much.

Not surprisingly, Freeman gives an exquisitely dignified defiance-in-the-face-of-death speech that the film never really tops. Still, Ahn gives it all kinds of gravitas it would not otherwise have. To his credit, Hennie exhibits no shame or modesty hamming it up something fierce as Mott. It is also nice to see Shohreh Aghdashloo, no matter how briefly, as Lady Bartok. On the other hand, Moaadi just looks and sounds uncomfortable as the Emperor.

Clive Owen is relatively solid in the lead, since Raiden is definitely the strong, silent type. Frankly, he is one of the few name actors working today who is manly enough to swing a broad sword convincingly. Nevertheless, Tsuyoshi Ihara upstages everyone as Ito, the retainer disgusted by his master but duty-bound to do his bidding. He has first-class action chops, but also expresses his character’s classically tragic nature.

Knights is so obviously the 47 Ronin, it is weird the film does not make winking acknowledgement in some way, but perhaps the producers were a little skittish about the connection, given the egg laid at the box office by the Keanu Reeves remake. There is some decent swordplay in Knights, but also some awkward personal drama. Most of possum-playing Raiden’s scenes with his long suffering wife Naomi (Israeli Ayelet Zurer) are truly cringe-worthy. At least the film productively gets down to business when it is time to storm the castle. It is also strangely fascinating to spot each new nationality the filmmakers manage to inclusively shoehorn in. Recommended as a guilty pleasure for fans of swashbuckling with no pretense of verisimilitude, Last Knights opens this Friday (4/3) in New York, at the Quad Cinema.