10 Reasons "Crazy Rich Asians" Is Winning Right Now

I haven't seen Crazy Rich Asians yet. I really want to. I just have to make time.*

I'm happy for its box office success. And without having seen it, I can make assumptions about why Crazy Rich Asians is winning right now (though, yeah, I know what they say about making assumptions). Most of its success undoubtedly has to do with how well the film develops its seemingly novel characters, incorporates accurate cultural details, and still adheres to the time-honored beats of long-established film genres.

Here are ten reasons I can think of:

1. Asian and other marginalized people in the U.S. want to see stories with Asian protagonists.
It took too long, Hollywood, to acknowledge the power of the Asian-American audience. This significant and broadly diverse population is too often overlooked, despite people of Asian descent having played a significant part in the economic development and history of this country. We've seen plenty of foreign films get acclaim here, but there are still precious few big-screen stories about the lives of modern-day Asian-Americans.

2. Asian people want to see an all-Asian cast. And because of the notoriety, we do too.
There are so many talented performers who have been overlooked, underutilized, and pushed into stereotypical roles. I love that Malaysian-born Michele Yeoh -- who kicked butt alongside Jackie Chan in Super Cop, alongside Pierce Brosnan in Tomorrow Never Dies, and beside Chow Yun-Fat in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon -- plays the rich matriarch. It is also great that so many other actors we haven't seen much of before get a showcase playing fully fleshed out characters. (And have you see this Henry Golding guy who plays the rich fiance? Yum!)

3. For the most part, we are intrigued by Asian culture.
Starting with Chinese, Japanese, and Thai cuisines, which are very popular judging by the number of restaurants, cooking shows, and frozen food options in this country, Americans also have a fondness for Asian art, artifacts, technology, and traditional and contemporary fashion design. (To the point where cultural appropriation has become problematic, but still.)

4. The family versus family culture-clash is a popular story.
We saw something similar when Brooklyn-bred Laz Alonzo and well-to-do Paula Patton tried to meld their class-differing families on Martha's Vineyard in 2011's Jumping The Broom. Warring or philosophically opposed families who must reconcile for intermarriage is a universal, relatable narrative going back to Romeo and Juliet.

5. The Prince Charming fairytale narrative is popular with women.
Everyone is fascinated by a Cinderella story, where a girl is swept up and not only emotionally but financially and sartorially transformed by the love of a rich prince. Let the makeovers begin!

6. The fish-out-of-water story is also a tried-and-true narrative.
She may be an Asian-American girl, but lead character Rachel (Constance Wu) is essentially American. Now she has to assimilate herself into two distinct cultures: That of the mother country and that of extreme wealth. Culture shock ensues.

7. We can't resist "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous."
Everyone likes to see how the other half lives. Getting to see the details of how these crazy rich Asians are putting it down day to day is a big draw. (RIP, Robin Leach, who passed this past week.)

8. Who doesn't enjoy a travelogue?
Yay! This movie will take us on a tour of modern-day Singapore! See the sights, learn the customs, taste the cuisine with our eyes, hear the music. Because when will we ever get to actually go?

9. It's a comedy!
Who doesn't like to laugh? And it looks like co-stars Awkwafina and Ken Jeong deliver.

10. It's a love story.
And doesn't love conquer all?

From where I sit, watching the previews and trailers, Crazy Rich Asians looks like an old-fashioned rom-com with a slick glaze of contemporary sensibility. It looks like lot of fun, even if it appears as though some stereotypes may not have been completely abandoned. That's OK ... for now. I'm not mad at it.

*Amended 8/25/18. Saw it. It definitely checks all these boxes. I enjoyed it!

Shining A Light In The Corners: "Blindspotting"

Blindspotting
directed by Carlos Lopez-Estrada
starring Daveed Diggs, Rafael Casals, Janina Gavankar, Jasmine Cephas Jones


Blindspotting is a cinema love letter to How Things Used To Be.

Not just a love letter to how things used to be in Oakland, the setting for this film, but to every inner-city hood that is a mix of strife, heart, tragedy, beauty and humanity, where many came of age and many more are living still. Where friendships are forged and tried and tested and feel like family.

For black and brown people, Oakland has a long and storied cultural history in politics and the arts. It has long been ravaged by crime and overpoliced. Today, like many urban centers around the nation, it is being claimed by hipsters and gentrifiers. From the opening credits, where director Carlos Lopez-Estrada uses a split screen to juxtapose the past and the present, we see the good and the bad.

Blindspotting is also an examination of How We Used To Be. An examination of the time we had to grow the eff up, not give up our dreams necessarily but refine them. Everybody has to make that transformation. Remember your younger or more naive self, when you weren't exactly innocent, but were just old enough to think you knew everything? When you had decided who you were and who truly had your back? Often we are forced by circumstances to open our eyes to a much bigger picture. Often, those circumstances are sad, sudden, ironic, tragic; sometimes they are of our own making. Regardless, they mark us forever after.

Here's the thing: As uncomfortable as it is, change is unavoidable. Whether in ourselves, the people around us, or in our environment, nothing stays the same.

As you can tell, this movie got me all in my feelings.

Blindspotting centers on Collin (Tony and Grammy-winning Hamilton star Daveed Diggs), a 20something parolee living out the final days of his court-ordered probation period in a halfway house. Collin is trying to get back on his feet and stay out of trouble, since any infraction can put him back behind bars. He's rattled by the fact that his mother hasn't kept his bedroom available for him, hurt by his broken relationship with Val (Janina Gavankar), and profoundly haunted by witnessing a white police officer gunning down an unarmed black youth only days before his probation ends. He takes refuge in his relationship with his trigger-happy childhood friend, Miles (Rafael Casals), an Oakland-bred white boy who has settled down in the neighborhood with his black wife (Jasmine Cephas Jones, another Hamilton alum and daughter of This Is Us TV favorite Ron Cephas Jones) and their child. Miles, who also works at the moving company, lives life out loud, with a carefree heedlessness that Collin is discovering he can no longer afford.

We don't discover the details of what landed him in prison until mid-film, when it's related by a random stranger in a brilliant reenactment sequence that is simultaneously hilarious and horrific. "Tell me something, when you look at me now, do you see [that incident]?" Collin asks Val, his former girlfriend and the dispatcher at the moving company where he works. What's interesting is that, at this point in the film the audience sees the entire scope of what Collin is grappling with.

As written by stars Diggs and Casals, real-life long-time friends and erstwhile spoken word artists from Oakland, Blindspotting shows us the ways that Collin is being forced to truly examine his circumstances and make some choices in order to not just to move on with his life but move up. The movie is less than subtle in making points about the impact of police brutality, the criminalization of black men, staying true to one's roots, the parameters of friendship, gentrification of traditionally black neighborhoods, and how equality and tolerance can combust when non-blacks brought up within black culture face the confounding problems of white privilege within themselves. It also uses rap as a tool of expression for both characters, who like to trade rhymes and improve their flow when things on the job get slow.

Though it's a snapshot of current-day Oakland, Blindspotting shares more narrative DNA with films like John Singleton's 1991 drama Boyz N Tha Hood or 1995's Ice Cube comic opus Friday than it does with Sorry To Bother You, the ribald Oakland-set social satire that hit theaters earlier in July. Like Tre in Boyz and Craig in Friday, Collin is the voice of reason in a West Coast enclave of established relationships, cultural traditions, and social hierarchies, but he has to evaluate his place within that world and take responsibility for his own actions to become a better man. He has to identify and shine a light on those blind spots.

It's the compelling and emotional performance of Diggs as Collin as well as his natural chemistry with the exuberant and hotheaded Casals that make Blindspotting really click. Its visual imagery and narrative themes stayed with me long after I left the theater.


All photos are screen shots.
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Crazy, Brilliant, Awkward, Strange: "Sorry To Bother You" Is ... A Lot

Sorry To Bother You
directed by Boots Riley
starring LaKeith Stanfield, Tessa Thompson, Omari Hardwick, Danny Glover, Terry Crews, Armie Hammer, Jermaine Fowler

People of color are having something of a moment in the filmmaking arena. Further, Oakland-based actors, filmmakers and locations are experiencing a comeup. So I was chomping at the bit to see Sorry To Bother You. (That metaphor will be more apt once you see the film for yourself.) I was left feeling that this movie, for all of its groundbreaking story, visual virtuosity, unique characters, and cultural commentary, may have bitten off more than it can chew. This could have made a really interesting cable series, much like "Atlanta," in which star LaKeith Stanfield also appears. Sorry To Bother You is overstuffed with potent observances, visual jokes, surrealist setups, witty dialog, awkward humor, and jaw-dropping reveals. Honestly, I wasn't really ready. It's ... a lot. A LOT.

This first feature from Oakland writer, musician, and director Boots Riley is an absurdist, surreal meditation on capitalism, racism, classism, corporate greed, art as political commentary, media, technology, civil disobedience, black culture, and moral integrity. At least, these are the myriad ideas this mind blower of a film touches on at breakneck speed. Riley takes the time-honored plot about an everyman who makes something of a Faustian bargain and twists expectations, especially with the main character of Cassius Green, played by nerd savant LaKeith Stanfield. (Apparently some of Stanfield's eccentricities are not just on screen, according to a profile in the New York Times).

Here's a basic synopsis, but I'll let other reviewers attempt to explain the final third of the flick:

Mild-mannered Cassius lives in his uncle's garage, drives an ancient, patched-together economy car, and needs a job to catch up on rent. His free-form, woke girlfriend Detroit (Tessa Thompson) twirls signs and creates performance art on street corners for a living. Desperate for a job, Cassius bullshits his way into a miserable telemarketing sales gig. When his uncle Sergio (Terry Crews with hair) is threatened with losing their home, Cassius decides to take the advice of a fellow phone-room veteran, played by a gleefully loose Danny Glover, and soon becomes a sales star who is promoted to the lofty penthouse area where "power callers" make megabucks deals. And in a surreal visual delight, with every call, we see Cassius, his desk and headset land from the ceiling with a bang into the habitat of his customers -- in their kitchens, while they're on the toilet, while making love, into their office, while smoking a joint.

His secret, as anyone who has seen the trailers knows, is to use his "white voice" on the calls. This is really no secret to people of color working within the confines of corporate America, who often find themselves code-switching in different situations. But Sorry To Bother You takes the concept to its absurdist extreme -- so much so that the "white voices" used by Stanfield and his Power Caller idol, played by Omari Hardwick in an inexplicable bowler, eyepatch and muttonchop sideburns combo, are actually dubbed by white actors.

Our hero (whose whole name is basically "cash is green") is more than willing to fake it to make it, and once he drinks the Kool-Aid of the Power Caller lifestyle, which comes with a hefty paycheck, he doesn't care that he is actually selling slave labor to global corporations. With a hip new apartment and a luxury car, and having saved his uncle's home with a fat wad of green, Cash shrugs off the Upstairs/Downstairs moral quandary when the phone room staff erupts into a full-scale work stoppage to protest low wages and lack of benefits. His "I'm with you in spirit, but this has nothing to do with me" attitude -- not to mention his increasing use of the "white voice" at all times -- drives a wedge between himself and the strikers, most importantly his best friend Salvador (Jermaine Fowler), and worse, his girlfriend Detroit, who is being pursued by Squeeze (John Yeun), the phone room's strike organizer. With Cash and other Power Callers crossing the picket lines with armed escorts every day, Detroit labels Cash a "morally emaciated" scab and bounces. One of the funnier moments of the film is when newly entitled Cassius arrives to work and engages in a rapidly escalating war of compliments with Salvador. It's absurdist humor at its best, when "I hope you have a great year, brother" and "You smell great, what are you wearing?" are challenges as heated and threatening as any game of The Dozens.

Meanwhile, Cash proves so good at his Power Caller game that his mentor Mr. ___ (Hardwick) informs him that he's been summoned to a party at the home of the company's CEO, a douchebag young gun named Steve Lift (Armie Hammer) whose oft-protested Worry Free company is basically a modern-day slave plantation (and I could write another whole essay on this concept). Cash attends the party, which is a cross between every Hollywood-style excess mansion bash and a scene out of "Eyes Wide Shut." Goaded by Lift into rapping for the party, simply because he's black (this scene is awkward and painful, though some will find it funny) Cash is later summoned to Lift's inner sanctum, where Cash inadvertently stumbles across a horrifying scientific experiment, which I won't divulge. Cash is then forced by Lift -- at gunpoint --to consider a multimillion-dollar paycheck to work with this still-developing faction of Lift's empire.

At this point, Sorry To Bother You makes a sharp turn from social satire straight into sci-fi, and it may be a hard leap for some in the audience to make. It's a film where the amusing eccentricities, quirks, and weirdness of the plot finally pile up so high that by the last 20 minutes, Freak Fatigue may set in. For a movie billed as a comedy, somehow the laughs are far and few between; certainly there are hilarious moments, such as the aforementioned compliment war, the Power Callers' elevator gags, and Cash's brief experience in the private room of a local club. There are also several deeply disturbing scenes, as when non-rapper Cash is forced to rap for a party of white folks and resorts to chanting the n-word; when Detroit holds a gallery opening and invites attendees to pelt her near-naked body with sheep's blood, cell phones and bullet casings as a piece of performance art; and several scenes of extreme violence involving a fictional TV reality show and confrontations between the police and striking workers. And then there is that certain ... scientific program.

The visual design and cinematography of the movie are stellar; the framing, explosion of colors, and set design are remarkable. A shot of Cash driving through the neighborhoods on his way to work and to pick up his girlfriend, as well as the club scenes, give us a true sense of the sights and sounds of Oakland. Detroit's candy-colored hair and message earrings, Cash's increasingly dapper suits, the high-five montage of Cash celebrating sales with his phone room supervisor, the crash landings into client's spaces, and the headshot of Cash in the phone room framed against the copyroom window, behind which two employees are confounded by a paper-spewing copier, are just a few of the dazzling visual setups. And the film earns high marks for its soundtrack, with some of the songs provided by director Riley's band.

Sorry To Bother You has to be seen to be believed. Do I encourage you to see it? Yes. Stanfield, with his stooped uncertain posture and expressive eyes, gives a great performance. There is a lot to unpack here about a number of issues. But I wouldn't take young children. It's more of a dystopian cautionary tale than anything else. As with most protagonists in the I-sold-my-soul-but-I-want-it-back plotline, Cassius regains his moral fiber, takes back his power, and goes all out to make things right. But even as a happy ending is dangled before us, full of love and sunshine, the last scenes take a darker twist.

* * * * *

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Viva Italia! Four of Hollywood's Italian Fantasies of the Fifties and Sixties

Viva Italia!

Three Coins in the Fountain

As a young American girl growing addicted to classic films, I couldn't help viewing Europe as some sort of vast land of eternal magic, romantic possibility, and architectural wonder. The classic fairytales -- like Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Thumbelina, the Little Mermaid, Rumpelstiltskin, and Hansel & Gretel -- were all steeped in the European tradition. The adventures of Robin Hood, the Three Musketeers, The Prince & the Pauper, King Arthur, Pinocchio -- these stories came from England, France and Italy. To me, Europe was a Disneyfied fairyland, full of castles and moats, princesses and princes who rescued and adored them, deep forests full of witches and wizards, elves and knights. As I got older, that impression of Europe (the great and destructive colonizer that is is) has definitely matured, but I still love the magic of these movies.

As escapism, Hollywood's portrayal of The Old World is ideal. It's still the place of royalty and romance, judging by the heightened fantasies and technicolor adventures presented in the studio films of the 1950s. Many of these screen gems were targeted to women, and though I'm of another generation and another race, I was not immune. For instance, I feel like I've already seen most of what Rome has to offer in the way of historic sights, thanks to so many of these European travelogue stories.

Here are a couple of Americans In Italy tales from the Golden Age of Hollywood.

1. Rome Adventure from 1962 features fresh faced Suzanne Pleshette as Prudence Bell, a young American who is forced from her job as a librarian at an exclusive girls school because of her freethinking ways. Seems she has kept a banned novel about young love on the shelves, skirting the parameters of what the school board feels is 1950s decency for young ladies. So Prudence travels to Italy to experience life for herself, and immediately meets another young American graduate student staying at the same pensione, preppy dreamboat Don Porter (Troy Donahue). The two are quickly drawn to each other, and so begins a clandestine courtship conducted against a backdrop of gorgeous Italian vistas: curbside cafes, jazz clubs deep inside caverns (where New Orleans trumpeter Al Hirt holds sway), rustic village farmers markets, and alpine lakeside chalets.

Prudence is ripe to go all the way with Don -- something we take for granted today but in the 60s was a somewhat controversial move for a "nice" girl -- then discovers that he hasn't quite shaken his previous girlfriend, a needy, manipulative glamorpuss played by Angie Dickinson. Heartbroken, confused, and not wanting to miss her opportunity to become a "real woman" abroad, Prudence offers herself up to Roberto, the suave older Italian man (Rossano Brazzi) who tried to romance her when she first arrived. But wise Roberto knows true love when he sees it, and quickly reunites her with Don for a happy ending.

Rome Adventure is as much about the beauty, history, architecture and customs of Italy as it is about love, and these attributes are also stressed in a previous fluffy international screen romp.

2. Three Coins in the Fountain, from 1954, also features the eternal suave Italian, Rossano Brazzi. In this story, three American women share a flat in Rome for work and find love along the way. Dorothy McGuire pines after the eminent but reclusive American novelist she works for as a secretary; Jean Peters, who has a fiance waiting for her Stateside, agrees to a jaunt into the countryside with coworker Brazzi and soon finds herself falling for him; and spunky young Maggie McNamaraa, newly arrived, hatches a scheme to nail down a notorious Italian playboy prince (French charmer Louis Jourdan).

The plot is classic boilerplate (Where The Boys Are, How To Marry A Millionaire), but oh, the Trevi Fountain, the public monuments and sculptures, the Spanish Steps, the Colosseum, the pensiones, museums, and outdoor cafes! The colors, flavors, landcapes and vibrancy of post-war Rome are hard to resist, photographed in Technicolor. (Roman Holiday from 1952, starring Audrey Hepburn as an incognito princess and Gregory Peck as an American newspaperman, also showed all of the charms of Rome -- but in black and white.)

Italy is also shown to advantage in a pair of films that are slightly less sunshine and lollipops, and focus more on the romantic hopes and dreams of women in middle age.

3. A Light in the Piazza (1964) is a beautifully photographed bittersweet tale about Meg Johnson (Olivia de Havilland), a woman on holiday in Italy with her 26-year-old daughter Clara, played by blonde bombshell Yvette Mimieux. Clara is beautiful and vivacious, but has the mental capacity of a 10-year-old after being kicked in the head by a horse at that age. Clara's condition has driven a wedge between Meg and her tobacco executive husband Noel, who wants Clara put into a "special place" so that they can get their marriage on track. On their excursions around town, Clara draws the attention of a young Italian, Fabrizio (played by a young George Hamilton); though Meg tries to thwart the courtship, Fabrizio is persistent and soon Clara is obsessed with him. The two seem to truly understand and care for each other, to Meg's surprise. Fabrizio insists that the Johnson women meet his family, who greet them with open arms and see Clara's innocence as refreshing. Meg never tells the Naccarellis, who are clearly hoping for a wedding, about her daughter's condition.

Now Meg is faced with some major decisions. Can her daughter, whom she loves so much, be truly happy and successful as Fabrizio's wife? Should she defy and deceive Noel, who has no idea how serious the romance has become, by marrying her off without his knowledge? And, with Fabrizio's handsome father (Rossano Brazzi, naturally) making casual Continental overtures to her, Meg ponders her own life as a woman, a wife, and a good mother. De Havilland is marvelous, her big brown eyes reflecting every competing emotion and her sense that Italy itself is influencing her; its beautiful and seductive environment create love, desire, and a sense of drifting along (something also noted about Italy by characters in each of these films). As Clara, in bridal white, leaves the Italian church arm in arm with her groom, Meg assures herself: "I did the right thing."


4. The enchantments of Rome can also become a siren song that lead some to dash themselves on the rocks. So it seems in The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1961); an adaptation of a Tennessee Williams story, it can't help but be tragic.

American stage actress Karen Stone (a searing Vivien Leigh) has taken up residence in a gorgeous Roman penthouse. She framed it as an extended holiday with her husband, but she has escaped here from London to avoid middling reviews for her stagecraft and newspaper gossip that she's over the hill. To make things worse, her husband died of a heart attack on the flight, and now she is alone and emotionally adrift. Despite her best efforts to remain apart from the seamier side of Rome, she attracts attention as a wealthy widow of a certain age. Soon Karen is introduced by a moneygrubbing acquaintance, the Contessa (German legend Lotte Lenya), to Paolo, a handsome gigolo some 20 years her junior, played by Warren Beatty (sporting a similar look and similar fake Italian accent as George Hamilton in Piazza).

Karen falls for him, shelling out money at every turn even as she knows what he is; Leigh is expert at displaying her character's confusion, desperation, and self-loathing as she falls deeper into Paolo's insidious trap. She has become a ribald joke without a shred of self-respect or dignity left. Leigh is in nearly every scene; the gorgeousness of her costumes and the Italian settings only serve to highlight the heartrending narrative and frightening denouement.

For a more contemporary take on the transformative, seductive powers of Italy, check out director Bernardo Bertolucci's 1996's Stealing Beauty, as 19-year-old Liv Tyler comes to an artist colony in the Tuscan countryside to pose for a painting, and embarks on secret missions to both lose her virginity and find the identity of the father who seduced her now-deceased mother there. Or check out the far more recent Under the Tuscan Sun from 2003, when the charms of Italy lead newly divorced American Diane Lane to leap out of a tour bus to buy and restore an aging Italian villa.

And as recently as this year, a TV reality show titled "To Rome For Love" highlighted a group of black women who travel to Italy to find love with mixed results. Yes, Italy has a tight hold on our imaginations.

Ocean's Eight: Lady Rogues, Charms & Chuckles

Ocean's Eight (2018)
Directed by Gary Ross
starring Sandra Bullock, Cate Blanchett, Anne Hathaway, Helena Bonham-Carter,
Rihanna, Sarah Paulson, Mindy Kaling, Awkwafina, James Corden

Any subsequent entry into a film franchise suffers in comparison to the original.

The first Ocean's 11 that goes back to the swinging '60s is more famous for the off-screen antics of stars Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Angie Dickinson, Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop than its plot, which was a bit loose-limbed, awkward, and downright plodding at times. The charm of Ocean's 11 was the interplay between cast members, most of whom were top concert and film draws and were notorious for their drinking and carousing. As the epitome of that decade's idea of "cool," Sinatra easily led his merry band of funny, distinct hooligans to success at the box office.

It was this sense of wise-cracking cool that infused the 2001 reboot with George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, Bernie Mac, Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, Julia Roberts, Don Cheadle and others. So many decades had gone by since the original Sinatra vehicle that the premise seemed fresh. The script allowed each of the eleven to clearly sketch out the parameters of their individual characters, their relationships with each other, and their roles within the heist. Clooney had his winking, criminal-with-a-heart schtick down pat, in a way that seemed to echo the ring-a-ding-ding ease of Sinatra; we believed that he was always looking for the angles in any situation, come hell or high water. As Rusty, Pitt was his unruffled foil, dressed impeccably in every scene and always consuming some sort of edible, a great little actorly detail that defined his character as the one cool head amid chaos. Damon is introduced as a commuting pickpocket drafted by this big league of con artists; his nervousness while playing his part in the big Las Vegas swindle is palpable. And that's another thing the reboot had going for it -- Las Vegas in all its glitzy, ersatz glamour was definitely a character in the story, same as in the original. There are some great moments of verbal and physical comedy in the film: Bernie Mac gripping the hand of the auto dealer and spouting about skin softening agents is priceless (similar to a routine he does as an addled prisoner in the Eddie Murphy flick Life); and the squabbling Laurel & Hardy antics of Affleck & Caan are hilarious. When Danny Ocean pulls together his entire crew, you believe the relationships. There is an easygoing sense of bonhomie about them. They're professional criminals, and for them, pulling off the biggest robbery in Las Vegas is not only dangerous, it's also sheer, edgy fun.

Unfortunately, the new Ocean's Eight has not mastered the same sense of fun. It tries very hard, though.

Maybe I am so much a victim myself of society's harsh judgment of women taking on men's roles that this all-female take on the heist genre feels forced to me. It's a given that women can take on any role, perform any job, and carry a movie. But for this franchise, the question is: Can a woman, even one as attractive and popular as Sandra Bullock, play a charming rogue on the same scale as George Clooney? Should it be on the same scale? Because it purports to be from the same universe, Ocean's Eight sets up that expectation.

Bullock plays Debbie Ocean, who -- as her brother Danny Ocean did at the beginning of Ocean's Eleven -- starts the film being released from prison on parole. And while she is witty and slick, she is not exactly charming. Further, the tone of the film is dampened from the start by the news that Danny Ocean is dead. This fact is not explained, and it casts a pall over all that comes next. Maybe this detail is meant to sever any expectation the audience might have that we'll get to see Danny, and gives Debbie more authority as the spiritual inheritor of everything Danny was while also being a strong player in her own right. However you cut it, his demise is dispiriting. And while the audience comes to understand that the Oceans all have a touch of larceny in their souls, Debbie's interests lie not just in enriching herself and her crew, but revenging herself upon the former lover whose testimony about their art fraud put her in prison. As such, though her anger is justified, her scheme comes across as more crass and contentious than crafty. She wasn't exactly innocent of the crime she was convicted for, and now she seems to have no concerns about being convicted again.

The action of Ocean's Eight is transferred to New York City, which gives it a different feel from the trilogy that centered on Las Vegas and Cannes. And it features a great cast of ladies, no doubt. But as fabulous -- and fabulously dressed -- as Bullock is, she barely holds the center in scenes with smoldering Cate Blanchett as Lou, her restauranteur partner in love and crime. Helena Bonham Carter walks the line between daffy and shrewd as a bottoming out fashion designer who joins the crew, Anne Hathaway is both arch and needy as an A-level young actress who is their dupe, while Sarah Paulson seems a bit out of her element as Debbie's former associate, a con artist, fence, and property master who has retired to the suburbs to play wife and mother. It's nice to see Mindy Kaling on the big screen doing anything at all, but we learn nothing about her other than the fact that she works in a jewelry shop under the thumb of her shrewish mother, and in a scene with Bonham Carter, she mostly just stands there. Also given short shrift, scriptwise, are Rihanna as a dreads-rocking computer hacker named Nineball, and Awkwafina as a street-smart pickpocket. Character development and backstory are both left wanting here. We never find out how any of Debbie's crew first met Debbie or what their history together consists of, and while there was an element of that in the 2001 version, the chemistry between the players never comes together in this outing, and most never get to stretch out.

Also many of the plot elements seem rushed, coincidental, and too easily tied with a bow. Debbie and Lou gain the confidence of their desperate designer a bit too quickly. Sarah Paulson's character is hired on the spot as the "inside man" at Vogue, conveniently just in time to set the ball rolling. Does Lou really have the impeccable credentials as a vegan chef to get a last minute gig at The Met Gala? And the robbery scheme's complication -- the crew suddenly learns they need a unique magnetic tool to unlock the catch on the multimillion dollar necklace they're after -- is addressed so quickly that I completely missed it. And I was sitting there staring at the screen the whole time! The dialogue went rat-a-tat and was over. (A genius solution is apparently provided by Nineball's smarter than smart younger sister, who shows up on screen for less than two minutes then bounces, as Debbie remarks to Nineball, "What do your parents do?") The limits of time and space are circumvented time and again as the characters make costume changes and suddenly appear just where they need to be to pull off the heist. And while all the details must be carefully adhered to, none of the players seem to emit a single drop of sweat in the process.

OK, so it's a heist film. It's supposed to be cool, and outrageous, and it's supposed to test the limits of credibility. And it does all of that, while showcasing some jaw dropping high fashion in the process. The pace is fast and frenetic. There are a few twists. There are a few brief flickers of comedy. There are a couple of celebrity cameos and brief, surprise character tie-ins to the previous films. We are on the edge of our seats as the heist is put in motion. And when an insurance fraud investigator, played by the amiable James Corden, steps in to hunt down the perpetrators, it seems our heroines may be in trouble. (Personally, who is scared of Corden? I would have been more concerned for the girls if the investigator were played by, say ... ass-kicker Jason Statham or someone equally intimidating.) Ocean's Eight has its own charms and chuckles. In the end, as the Bard would say, all's well that ends well.

Until we are reminded, yet again, that Danny Ocean is dead.

Did we really need that coda? I think not. It only reminds us to compare this flick to the ones that came before. That makes the surviving Ocean sibling a Debbie Downer.



[Check out the previous review of Book Club HERE.}

Feel-Good Fluff or Insidiously Sexist Stuff? "Book Club"

Book Club (2019)
directed by Bill Holderman
starring Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen, Diane Keaton, Mary Steenburgen,
Andy Garcia, Don Johnson, Craig T. Nelson

Book Club is a movie that seems to be about the freedom, liberation, and wisdom of women of a certain age (over 60). With its casting of fabulous-looking senior actresses Jane Fonda (the most senior, at 80), along with blithe spirits Diane Keaton, Candice Bergen, and Mary Steenburgen, we have a powerhouse foursome of actresses who could pull off just about any script, never mind one bent on convincing audiences that age ain't nothin' but a number. These ladies look fit as a fiddle and ready for love (just ignore the fact that Candice seems stuffed to bursting in her stiff suits and that Diane Keaton's love of scarves in any weather belies either a pathological aversion to drafts or some serious wattle-neck).

Set in the sun-dappled upper-class enclave of Santa Monica, California, with a few side trips to upper-class enclave Scottsdale, Arizona (and the gorgeous vistas of Sedona), Book Club takes place in its own lovely and rarefied world of privilege, the plot floating along effortlessly on a tide of the wine the ladies continually guzzle down. During the opening credits, the film quickly short-hands the friendships and careers of these four friends, who are now incredibly successful (Fonda's character owns a major hotel); through the decades they have been gathering religiously for their book club meeting. The film would have us believe that their reading of the steamy S&M-light book series "Fifty Shades of Grey" unleashes some new level of sexual healing in their lives. This premise only serves as a shameless plug for the book series; thankfully, the script doesn't delve too deeply into the plot or characters of those books, but only uses them as a jumping off point. I think it would have been more effective to spoof the "Fifty Shades" and have the women read a series with an ersatz name that viewers would clearly be able to identify as a "Fifty Shades" clone. That would have been funnier and less bald-faced ad. And as it is, the book club meetings look like an excuse for the quartet to spout off about their lives and down copious amounts of wine.

For a 2018 film about successful women, Book Club still spouts some old-fashioned ideals about love and sex. These women are purportedly strong, accomplished, and self-directed, and yet the film seems to think they are nothing without a man. Yes, Sharon (Candice Bergen's character) is a respected federal court judge who has been abandoned by a weaselly husband for a much-younger woman. At 70, she is entitled to feel anger and bitterness; her initial stance eschewing romance seems perfectly reasonable. Deciding not to put oneself out there is a legitimate choice, but she is mocked and goaded by her friends into diving back into the dating pool.

Vivian (Fonda) is a love 'em and leave 'em hotel magnate who fears being emotionally manipulated or disappointed by love, a very real concern especially as an independent older woman with considerable financial assets. Yet, the real-talk speech she gives toward the end of the film about why she let a suitor go his way -- acknowledging the fact that older men can continue to woo and win younger women and often do -- is pooh-poohed in favor of having her risk all to chase True Love (never mind that her reunion with her ex consists of a rose garden fountain splash-off, a couple of drinks, and a nap).

Diane (Keaton, still rocking her signature Annie Hall menswear duds) is a well-off widow who ... I don't remember. She has two grown daughters (one of them Alicia Silverstone) who treat her like she's a doddering Alzheimer's patient in need of constant care, but she is devoted to her family and she worries that a new love will interfere with her responsibilities, overshadow memories of her dutiful husband, and upend her comfortable life.

And Carol (Steenburgen) is a thriving chef and restaurateur with a handsome husband with his own midlife crisis; her initial plan to fix things between them is to slip him a little Viagra mickey to spice up their sex life.

Book Club glosses over the real issues and impediments that dating over 60 may well present women today in favor of pat answers and ribald jokes. (Fonda's Netflix hit Grace and Frankie with longtime pal Lily Tomlin though also about rich white women, digs deeper, issues-wise.) Further, every suitor for these women is an AARP dreamboat, healthy, wealthy, and mostly younger. Sexy Don Johnson, 69 (and father of the Fifty Shades films' lead actress Dakota Johnson) shows up to romance Fonda years after their characters first tangoed; 62-year-old Andy Garcia plays an even-tempered pilot attracted to Keaton, a decade his senior; and a distinguished-looking Richard Dreyfuss (70) is a suitable match for Bergen (72). Even when one of Candice's dating-site suitors is the nerdy Wallace Shawn (whom Bergen memorably spurned in an episode of HBO's Sex & the City), he's still a successful doctor. And Steenburgen's spouse is hunky Craig T. Nelson, 74, who for a brief spell is more interested in riding his motorbike than her. Aside from the husband's temporary erectile dysfunction issues, and initial unwillingness to dance in public, these men appear problem and baggage-free.

Of the four actresses, it is Candice who bears the brunt of the film's most humiliating comic scenes: Taking her inert cat to the vet, the diagnosis about the state of her kitty is a withering barb(and gets one of the biggest laughs). Covered in a gloppy face mask, she is unexpectedly photographed by the dating website she finally signs up for; she gets pretzeled by punishing shapewear for all to see during a shopping trip; and she gets to look bedraggled (and a little desperate) in a sedan backseat when dating turns into mating.

This isn't to say that Book Club is without its charms or its laughs. Kudos to the scenery and cinematographer who captured it, the costume and makeup folks who made these ladies look like a million bucks. It is great to see this cast of accomplished older actresses stretch out in a major movie about romance, though I can't help but wonder what adding some diversity to the casting would have done (the addition of Fonda's Monster in Law co-star Wanda Sykes, the rebounding Leslie Uggams of Deadpool, or the regal Phylicia Rashad could have been really interesting). Because of its structure and premise, Book Club could be ripe for any number of prequels (the foursome in their younger years), sequels (another book, another set of "problems" for the ladies), and spinoffs (a completely different foursome reads the "Fifty Shades" books and embark on their own adventures).

And while the film is certainly intended as lighthearted comic fluff with the timeless message of "love conquers all," if you look too hard the message that sneaks through is that, whether women are 16 or 60, the fantasy ideal of finding a perfect love with a perfect man endures.

Remembering The Violence, Brilliance of "One False Move"

ONE FALSE MOVE (1992)
Starring Bill Paxton, Billy Bob Thornton, Michael Beach, Cynda Williams
Directed by Carl Franklin

My good friend Gil Robertson's African American Film Critics Association screened director Carl Franklin's One False Move in Los Angeles on April 29th, followed with a Q & A with the director. I wish I could have been there. I have a lot of affection for this film.

Way back in the early '90s, I was in NYC. I'd seen some advance reviews and ads for One False Move; I had never heard of director Carl Franklin, nor of Billy Bob Thornton, but I had seen some of Bill Paxton's work, and I was curious about a film that had a woman of color as one of the main characters in a Southern crime thriller. As it turned out, One False Move is a taut and complex film about a crew of murderous thieves on the run. At the same time, it's a clear-eyed look at how quaint and idyllic small-town life can seem deceptively simple, and a probing examination of human nature and how everyone has a fatal flaw. What makes the film so compelling is its characterizations and its beats, the way it starts out as a grim crime nail-biter, downshifts into clash-of-culture humor, and then transforms into a heartrending tragedy -- all without resorting to melodrama or pathos.

This is the first time I ever saw Thornton, who co-wrote the screenplay, in a major motion picture. The Arkansas native had already developed his Sling Blade character on the stage, but Sling Blade came to the screen in 1996. This was not the first time we see actor Michael Beach, who'd been in Lean on Me in 1989 and made his debut in End of the Line in 1987. But the character of Pluto, the cold blooded, intense and intellectual preppy killer, represented a new style of black villain. The film also provides a great character role for the late Bill Paxton as the hail-fellow-well-met small town lawman who is smarter than he looks. The acting he does in this role is truly accomplished.

In my estimation, One False Move is noteworthy in depicting black and white characters interacting in a natural way, where the drama does not stem entirely from racial tension. The action turns on the characters' personalities themselves and the friction between big city slickers and country folk. The conflict represented here is not white against black, but between the self-satisfied LA detectives who view the Star City, Arkansas, sheriff as a goofy, uninformed hick. But it is his thorough knowledge of the town's history as well as his own secret that leads to the apprehension of the criminals. Director Franklin -- who also helmed Devil in a Blue Dress -- is masterful at weaving together all the threads.


Synopsis (spoilers)

Trigger-happy thug Ray Malcolm (Thornton), his girlfriend Fantasia (Cynda Williams, Thornton's real-life wife at the time) and Ray's knife-wielding partner Pluto (Beach) decide to rip off drugs and cash from some L.A. drug dealers, then re-sell the drugs to one of Ray's contacts in Houston. The film starts as the three enter a home and the two men methodically menace then murder everyone in the house. Ray tells Fantasia to check the back rooms for stragglers, and when she finds a young boy hiding in a closet, she spares him by not telling the men. The matter-of-fact violence of this opening is so gruesome that it may be difficult for some viewers to get past.

But they should. Because as the flick unfolds we understand more about these three and how they interact: Ray's impulsive ignorance and abusive control over Fantasia, Pluto's ice-cold approach to their mission, Fantasia's downtrodden and confused demeanor. The trio leaves for Houston after trading in their stolen car, but the pressure escalates when Fantasia guns down a cop who stops them after being alerted by a nationwide APB on the murderous trio.

They decide that it would be best to split up, and Fantasia convinces Ray to let her go to their Star City hometown in Arkansas to hide out. He agrees, and the three decide to rendezvous in Star City later. Fantasia hops a bus, but unbeknownst to the men, she takes the money. Ray and Pluto go on to the dealer's house in Houston but encounter more problems and engage in another burst of violence. Discovering that Fantasia has taken off with their cash, the two hightail it to the wilds of Arkansas.

Star City is a midwesterner's dream: cornfields, cows, farmhouses, dusty roads, and tons of local country charm. The place is patrolled by a single lawman, Sheriff Dale "Hurricane" Dixon, whose high energy and blustery, good old boy persona cover a burning desire for more challenging police work. His country twang, pubescent enthusiasm, and nonstop chatter are a source of derisive amusement for the two slick Los Angeles-based detectives who arrive in town to track down the perpetrators of the cross-country murder spree. Seems Fantasia and Ray's connection to Star City led the police to check out the place, and Dale confirms that he knows Fantasia and her family. While Dale chomps at the bit to nab the criminals, the detectives laugh at him behind his back, and advise him to stand back and let them do the heavy lifting. "He's waiting on the bad guys like a kid waiting on Christmas," cracks Det. McFeely (Earl Billings) to his partner, Det. Cole (Jim Metzler). This scene at the local diner, where Dale accidentally overhears the City Slickers making fun of him, is still some of Paxton's best work.

Dale isn't going to let a little ridicule stand in the way of his chance to be part of a serious interstate crime investigation. He leads the detectives on a tour of the town, interrogates some locals (Dale's hilarious conversation with an elderly farmer about the whereabouts of his nephew Ray is worthy of the vaudeville circuit), and has Cole and McFeely home to supper with his cynical wife and young child. After Dale grills some steaks and grills the L.A. lawmen about work in the Big City he goes to fetch them more beer. His wife, mindful that her mate's lust for action could get him killed, asks the detectives to lower his expectations. "He don't know any better, he watches television," she tells them, adding pointedly, "I read non-fiction."

What Dale's wife and the L.A. detectives don't know is that Dale has more than just a passing acquaintance with Fantasia, who ran afoul of the law in the town while still a teen named Lila. Armed with intimate knowledge of her family and personality, Dale tracks her down before the detectives can get to her. During their reunion in an abandoned house, we understand the full impact of their past relationship, and how lingering guilt and remorse motivate Dale to protect her from both the long arm of the law and the vengeance of Ray and Pluto, who are due to arrive any moment.

Except Fantasia is beyond saving. It is Dale alone who faces the murderous pair in a gun battle when they arrive; Fantasia is killed in the crossfire. Wounded, Dale lies in the dirt as another local deputy arrives with Fantasia's young son. In the film's final frames, Dale speaks calmly to the boy, whom he finally accepts as his son.

Notes:

This is just the second big screen role for Cynda Williams, and her performance seems simple, but has layers of hurt, disappointment, lost innocence, identity confusion, and abuse victim. She is the most tragic figure in the film; in fact, One False Move could be said to contain elements of the Dizzy Dame or Cherchez La Femme plot, because Fantasia's decisions lead to doom: 1) she leaves a young witness to their murder spree alive, who ultimately identifies them; 2) she shoots a state trooper before Pluto and Ray can talk their way out of a vehicle stop, 3) she makes a beeline to her hometown and despite the danger of discovery, makes arrangements to see her son, 4) She absconds with the money, increasing the pressure for Ray and Pluto, 5) Her ties to Dale, a sheriff, lead to the trio's downfall, and 6) She distracts Dale at a pivotal moment in the final showdown, giving Ray a chance to shiv him. Fantasia is a lost innocent, a fallen woman, and she ends up paying the ultimate price.

The film is also notable for its unblinking view of violence, as shown in the first scene. The opening is a bit hard to take, and could sour viewers on the rest of the film.

Scarred for Life

So yeah, watching One False Move for the first time left me with a scar.

Before heading to the cinema in lower Manhattan, my companion and I downed more than a couple of adult beverages at a nearby restaurant. Naturally, I couldn't get through the flick without a visit the restroom. Every seat was filled in our row, so getting out was rough. I made it to the ladies' then ran back because I didn't want to miss any more of the film than I had to. The row behind ours was comparatively empty, so I decided it would be simpler to head down that aisle then climb over to my seat. In my buzzed state this seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action.

Except as I climbed over the seatback in the dim light, I placed my foot too far back on the upholstery and the seat flipped up. This caused my foot to plunge into the narrow space between the metal seatback and the seat itself, straight to the floor, scraping my ankle bone against the sharp edge of the seatback. It hurt like the blazes, but it was in the middle of the movie so I tried to keep quiet. Silently stinging, I watched the rest of the picture. I didn't even notice how serious the injury was until we'd said goodnight and I'd limped to the subway station, where a woman helpfully pointed to me and said, "Miss, you're bleeding pretty bad." My shoe was filled with blood and rust-red blotches streaked my pants leg. I pulled up the hem and saw that I had a long, jagged, bloody wound running down my ankle to the top of my foot. I went home, cleaned it, and slapped on some Band-Aids. I probably should have gotten stitches; it took decades for that scar to fade.

Thanks, One False Move. ***

All photos are screenshots.
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