Wolfs, on Apple TV+

Think of them like Winston Wolf in Pulp Fiction. Of course, these two fixer-cleaners are not as cool as he was, even though they both think they are. Naturally, that means they prefer to work alone, but, like it or not, they must team-up in director-screenwriter Jon Watts’ Wolfs, which starts streaming tomorrow on Apple TV+.

Margaret is a very un-New York-like tough-on-crime DA, who picked a kid in the hotel bar she frequents—so, maybe she is not completely unlike some New York politicians. Rather awkwardly, the “Kid” got high and back-flipped into a plate glass table killing himself. In a panic, she dials the number of a fixer she was given for extreme emergencies. Soon, “Margaret’s Guy” arrives to take charge of the situation.

He inspires confidence, until “Pam’s Guy” crashes the party. The unseen Pam is the owner of the swanky hotel, who is keen to avoid scandal. Apparently, she saw it all on the secret cameras illegally installed in Margaret’s room. Obviously, Margaret worries that Pam’s Guy does not necessarily have her best interests at heart. Pam might even want leverage over the prosecutor, so the women cut a deal, agreeing their guys must work together to make the problem go away.

Predictably, they have their differences, but the job seems relatively straight, until Pam’s Guy discovers several blocks of extremely pure narcotics in the Kid’s bag—enough for a drug ring to come looking for if they simply destroyed it. Then things really get complicated when the Kid miraculously revives.

Wolfs is an amusingly cynical throwback to the dark gangster capers that Harvey Keitel specialized in during the 1990s, both in terms of theme and title. It is dialogue-driven, but there is still plenty of violence. After making bank with Spiderman, Watts returns to the scale of Cop Car, doubling down on the noir ambiance. Frankly, this is what the unsuccessful Brad Pitt fixer-heist movie Killing Them Softly should have been like.

Obviously, Watts also had the advantage of Pitt and George Clooney honing their bantering rhythm over the course of what feel like several hundred Ocean’s movies. They both have fatalistic sarcasm down cold—and it still works. Watts’ dialogue is sharp to begin with and they punch it up with their snarky deliveries.

Contenders ‘20/’21: The Midnight Sky

“Please Don't Come Back from the Moon” was a typically complex composition Charles Mingus recorded during his notorious 1962 Town Hall Concert. It also basically sums up the message Dr. Augustine Lofthouse has for the crew of the Æther. Technically, they are returning from one of Jupiter’s moons, but the upshot is the same. A mysterious cataclysm has destroyed the Earth, so they are better off where they were. Getting that message out will take some doing in George Clooney’s The Midnight Sky, which screens for MoMA members as part of the current edition of Contenders, or the “Big Netflix Catch-Up,” as it could be called in January.

Nobody really describes what happened, but it was clearly bad. Lofthouse’s arctic research station is evacuating, but he decides to stay, because he has nobody to get back to. He once had someone, as we see in flashbacks, but he pushed her away with his single-minded dedication to his work. He never even bothered to meet the daughter his ex-lover raised on her own. However, he suddenly finds himself exercising his unused parental muscles, when he finds a mute little girl named Iris has been left behind. Perhaps that was a blessing for her, because the arctic region will be the last to be consumed by the Wrath of God, or whatever it is (seriously, why would scientists be interested in such details?).

Lofthouse quickly determines the only space exploration mission still operational is the Æther, which was scouting the moons of Jupiter for habitable environments. He hopes to warn it away from Earth, once it enters the range of communications, but he will need an antenna with more range.

In many ways, Midnight Sky is a decent example of the earnest, character-driven side of science fiction, but Clooney way over-cooks the emotional symbolism of his scenes portraying Lofthouse, the anti-social greybeard (literally). Iris’s function in the narrative is so blatantly manipulative, we are instantly suspicious of her secret. Not to be spoilery, but she is just so obvious.

Frankly, the film is much better when it focuses on the crew of the Æther. Of course, it makes no sense that Dr. “Sully” Sullivan would proceed with the mission while she was pregnant, but Clooney wanted his first casting choice, Felicity Jones, so he had pregnancy written into to the story. It doesn’t make real-world sense, but it heightens “Noah’s Ark” significance of the Æther crew.

As Sullivan and Commander Adewole, Jones and David Oyelowo have good Kirk-and-Spock or Picard-and-Riker rapport. Demian Bichir and Kyle Chandler also add tremendous human dimension to the crew as Sanchez, the temperamental engineering officer, and Mitchell, the family-oriented American astronaut.

Stanislaw Lem on Film: Solaris (2002)

Don’t call it a remake. Supposedly, Steven Soderbergh was reinterpreting Stanisław Lem’s source novel rather than fiddling with Tarkovsky’s classic. Okay, so where’s Dr. Sartorius and the study of Solaristics? Arguably, this is the least faithful of the three film adaptations, but it still shares thematic kinships with its predecessors. No matter what you call it, following in Tarkovsky’s footsteps is a perilous proposition, so you have to give Soderbergh credit for creating a distinctive Solaris (trailer here) of his own, which also screens during the Stanisław Lem on Film series at Anthology Film Archives.

This time around, the fact that Dr. Chris (no longer with a “K”) Kelvin is a psychologist who has been unable to process the guilt and grief stemming from his wife’s suicide takes on tremendous significance, quite logically enough. He is rather surprised when representatives of the DBA corporation (including a blurry John Cho, in the one sf role he is probably never asked about at cons) recruits him to assess the state of moral at the Solaris space station. It turns out, he was requested by his old friend Gibrarian, who apparently committed suicide shortly before his arrival.

The two surviving crewmembers, Dr. Snow and Dr. Gordon are both acting suspiciously. The latter has become a paranoid recluse who rarely leaves her quarters, whereas the former is twitchier than Meryl Streep playing Dracula’s fly-eating Renfield. He soon learns the crew have been visited by apparently flesh-and-blood constructs generated by the sentient planet from the darkest corners of the subject’s subconscious. In Kelvin’s case, it is his late wife Rheya. At first, his “visitor” freaks him out, but then he desperately grasps at this unlikely second chance.

So yes, this is Solaris, except Soderbergh throws in an incidental plot twist that largely parallels the big reveal in Professor Zazul. In some ways, he appears to deliberately evoke the Tarkovsky classic, starting with the nearly continual rain during the early Earth-bound scenes. This is also the steamiest Solaris yet. Indeed, Soderbergh is much more interested in the relationship between the husband and wife and Kelvin’s subsequent guilt-tripping. His affinity for vintage 1970s cinema stands him in good stead, in this respect. It is a bit of an exaggeration, but a tag-line like: “in space, love means never having to say you’re sorry” would not be wholly inappropriate.

Probably best known for Spy Kids 3 and Return to Horror High, George Clooney actually slow burns quite effectively as Kelvin. He always looks torn up inside (and it literally seems like he walks under a constant rain cloud while on Earth). Natascha McElhone poignantly portrays the various Rheyas, especially the visitor incarnation’s coming to terms with her debatable human status. Unfortunately, the 2002 Solaris really suffers when comparing its Snow to previous Dr. Snauts (translations vary). Jeremy Davies basically hits the same almost shticky note over and over as Snow, whereas both Vladimir Etush and Jüri Järvet added complexity and heft to their respective 1968 and 1972 adaptations. Viola Davis hardly registers as Dr. Gordon, the Sartorius substitute, but that is still an advantage over the ’68 Russian TV production.

Much to Lem’s frustration, all three films downplayed what he considered the most important aspect of the film—the inconceivably alien nature of planet Solaris itself. Yet, there is obviously something deeply compelling about the space visitations, especially Rheya/Hari, since it keeps inspiring challenging and emotionally engaging films. Strictly speaking, the first two Solaris films are probably better, but that is not a knock against the 2002 release. In fact, it is quite rewarding to watch all three in short succession. Recommended as high quality, character-driven science fiction, Soderbergh’s Solaris screens tomorrow (11/4) and next Friday (11/10) as part of the Stanisław Lem on Film series at Anthology Film Archives.

Monuments Men: The Best and the Brightest of the Greatest Generation

They were the elite of America’s elite, but they readily answered the call to serve. Recruited for their knowledge of art and architecture, this special corps was tasked with preserving important cultural landmarks and restituting plundered artwork, despite having no real operational authority. The nearly 345 men and a handful of women who served in the Allied armies’ Monuments, Fine Arts, and Archives (MFAA) program are boiled down to eight cultured but courageous souls in George Clooney’s The Monuments Men (trailer here), which opens today nationwide.

Even today, the scale of the National Socialist war machine’s systematic looting boggles the mind. Old masters were eagerly sought to fill Hitler’s Fuhrermuseum, a grandiose monstrosity planned for his hometown of Linz, while art deemed “degenerate” was destroyed. Alarmed by the threat to Europe’s artistic legacy, Frank Stokes (modeled after George Stout) is given the go-ahead to form the Monuments Men. Like a Harvard-educated Billy Ocean, he proceeds to recruit a clean half-dozen, including James Granger, the Met’s curator of medieval art (based on James Rorimer), sculptor Walter Garfield (strongly suggestive of Walker Hancock), and ballet impresario Preston Savitz (transparently inspired by one of the best known Monuments Man, Lincoln Kirstein).

Initially, Stokes mostly encounters hostility from his fellow officers, who understandably place the safety of their men far above that of a few statues or a pretty fountain. However, with the help Sam Epstein (based on Harry Ettlinger, one of the last surviving Monuments Men), a German-speaking Jewish immigrant enlisted man, Stokes’ men start developing leads on the National Socialists’ vast caches of stolen art. Nevertheless, even though the military tide has turned in the Allies’ favor, the clock is ticking furiously for the Monuments Men. Retreating Nazi forces have been instructed to destroy the secret art stashes, as part of the infamous Nero Decree. Making matters more complicated, the Soviets also deployed so-called Trophy Brigades on a mission to re-plunder art looted by the National Socialists as supposed “war reparations.”

To their credit, Clooney and co-screenwriter-co-producer Grant Heslov (adapting Robert Edsel’s nonfiction book) make the distinction between the Monuments Men and the Trophy Brigades as clear as day and night. They consistently honor the sacrifices made by the Monuments Men, getting genuinely patriotic down the stretch. In a big picture sense, the film does right by its heroic subjects.  However, it gets rather bogged down in a draggy midsection, wherein the Magnificent Seven plus Epstein split up for a series largely unnecessary misadventures. Still, the third act picks up the tempo quite nicely.

Stokes/Stout is a perfect vehicle for the smooth-on-the-outside, deep-on-the-inside screen persona Clooney has developed over the years. We can easily believe he is both a learned scholar and officer material. John Goodman, Bill Murray, and Bob Balaban just sort of do their shtick as Garfield/Hancock, architect Richard Campbell, and Savitz/Kirstein, but Downton’s Hugh Bonneville gives the film unexpected heft and tragic dignity as Donald Jeffries, an art world cad seeking redemption.

Anyone interested in the Monuments Men and the National Socialist campaign of pillage should watch Berge, Newnham & Cohen’s The Rape of Europa, which is easily one of the best documentaries of the last ten years. Clooney dramatizes their story well enough, but just barely legs out a double rather than knocking it out of the park. Still, for those looking for a stirring war story with a dash of American exceptionalism, it is the only game in town this week. Recommended as a serious but reasonably entertaining WWII film, Monuments Man opens in wide release today (2/7), including the AMC Empire in New York.

No Paradise: The Descendants

People really do work in Hawaii. Attorney Matt King does little else. As a result, when tragedy strikes his wife, King is ill-prepared to carry the sole parenting load in Alexander Payne’s The Descendants (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Like his father before him, King represents the responsible branch of one of Hawaii’s mainline families, distantly related to the House of Kamehameha. Unfortunately, his cousins are wastrels who have largely squandered their legacy. However, Occupy Hawaii-style legislation will confiscate the Kings’ ancestral holdings, unless they liquidate before the mandated deadline. Ironically, this will force them to sell a vast swath of pristine coastline to commercial developers.

With the closely scrutinized sale pending, King is already under pressure when his wife suffers a head injury and falls into a coma. She will not revive. Person by person, King must tell her friends and family the bad news. While carrying out this grim duty, he discovers she was having an affair. It also seems his oldest daughter Alexandra already knew, and now deeply resents both her parents for allowing it to happen.

Descendants is considerably better than the maudlin melodrama one might expect. The dialogue is consistently sharp and the astutely observed relationships develop in intriguing ways. Particularly striking is Matt and Alexandra King’s sort of-kind of role reversal, stemming from his boomerish lack of confidence in his own parental authority. Nevertheless, the film falls into something of a repetitive pattern of tell-and-grieve that is admittedly true to life, but could certainly be streamlined for dramatic purposes.

In a way, Clooney’s performance as King plays both with and against his playboy persona. He is still positioned as the smartest, smoothest guy in the room, but he allows himself to look awkward and old at times. His voice-overs are also initially rather clever (“leave your kids enough to do something, but not enough to do nothing”), but risk becoming too pithy as the film progresses. Yet, at times he summons some power we never knew he had in him, most notably when he “confronts” his comatose wife with her infidelity. Raw and brutally honest, it is the kind of scene you rarely see in film.

How depressing would it be to learn your wife was cheating with Matthew Lillard? To be fair, he is probably okay in the part, if Payne was looking to make Brian Speer a decidedly low rent lothario. In contrast, the classy Judy Greer makes the most of a relatively small role as his wife, Julie Speer. As Alexandra, Shailene Woodley definitely holds her own with Clooney, whom she shares considerable screen time as near equals. Yet, it is the old pro Robert Forrester who really lowers the emotional boom as King’s bitterly distraught father-in-law.

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the film is notion of the King family as the titular descendants, blessed with good fortune and tied by blood to the enormously photogenic Hawaiian landscape. In fact, it almost makes an old world defense of class privilege, suggesting the state’s rich land reserves can only be entrusted to the enlightened upper-class, as personified by King. Tacky middle class cads like Speer will only exploit it for all its worth. That is unusual territory for a film to unintentionally veer into. Yet, Descendants is a film with several small surprises. Unexpectedly smart and frank, it is a pretty good showcase for Clooney and the mostly excellent ensemble cast, rather worth seeing when it opens tomorrow (11/16) in New York at the Lincoln Square and Union Square Theaters.