Director: Steve Buscemi
Writer: Alessandro Camon
Stars: Tessa Thompson, Logan Marshall-Green, Margaret Cho

Synopsis: Follows a helpline volunteer who is part of the small army that gets on the phone every night, fielding calls from all kinds of people feeling lonely, broken, etc.

“Call back anytime, ask for Beth”

Legendary actor Steve Buscemi steps behind the camera to direct The Listener written by Alessandro Camon. The “listener” is Beth (Tessa Thompson — the only person to appear on camera in the film). She is doing late night shifts on a peer supported crisis hotline. Calls aren’t traced, both the caller and the listener are anonymous. The film documents a single night in “Beth’s” life and gradually reveals who she is; while immediately grappling with division, loneliness, anxiety, fear, and disconnection in American society.

Beth is awake staring at the ceiling before her alarm goes off. She greets her dog, brushes her teeth, puts on a strong pot of coffee. Her fingers click against her coffee cup. She is readying herself for her “day.” Buscemi gives the audience a sense that for a long time, especially since the pandemic, this has been her life. Perhaps it has been her life longer than that. 

She sits down and prepares for her first call. It is from Michael (Logan Marshall-Green) who has not been long out of prison. He can’t sleep. So used to institutional time, he is lost in his freedom. For Michael the pandemic was “Prison Time,” — the days drag on forever but as night comes you can’t recall anything you did. He speaks of how he didn’t understand that he would need a mask when coronavirus hit. He used a bandana. He wondered if he would be shot by the police or assumed to be holding up a store because he has “criminal” written all over him. Beth is gentle with him. She allows him to tell her his story. How he ended up in prison. How generations of poverty and crime led him as a six-year-old to start running with gangs. “I’m not a bad person,” he tells Beth. “I know,” she replies. They laugh a little and Beth tells him to get some sleep and thanks him for giving her the “full picture.” He doesn’t want material assistance from Beth — no organizations. Just someone to hear him.

Over the course of the evening Beth will take many calls. One from Ellis (Ricky Velez), a hateful incel who is mouthing all the online rhetoric. He’s aggressive with Beth. He speaks of the terrible things he has done, including deepfake porn to get revenge on a girl who didn’t acknowledge his existence. As much as Beth tries to connect with Ellis, that isn’t what he wants. He wants to brag, talk about his status as a victim of “the system” which excludes him from being able to fulfil his “biological needs.” He is quite legitimately dangerous. He works in IT and has already hacked school servers to show extreme pornography and violence. He then begins to masturbate when Beth tries to convince him he can turn his knowledge and skills into something positive and productive.

There are a number of calls which are supposed to be the big impact moment. The long discussion Beth has with a PTSD riddled soldier Ray (Jamie Hector) and his dream about a boot which connects his physical and psychological injuries. A discussion with Chris (Bobby Soto), a cop who talks about deliberate police violence and cover-ups on the force. How he has to balance his own safety and his gnawing conscience after he witnessed an unprovoked attack by a fellow officer which left a man permanently disabled. Unfortunately, Camon’s reiteration of systemic law enforcement corruption and American wartime interventions and the cost involved bloats rather than adds to the film. Ray’s section is too long. Beth’s responses are more interesting than the well-trod narratives Camon is proffering as commentary on America. 

Where Camon could have spent more time is with Corinne (Margaret Cho). A mother describing how she is at the end of her tether is one of the quiet gut-punches which is also one of the loudest indictments of how America has let vulnerable people down. She tells Beth she’s always a “day late and a dollar short.” When Beth responds that sometimes everyone feels like that, Corinne scoffs that she doubts that Oprah or Mrs. Zuckerberg do. When Beth tries to explain they probably have bad days because they’re human, Corinne lays out her lived reality. She’s the full-time carer for a special needs child. Her husband has lost more hours at work. He does nothing but aimlessly drink and sit around. Corinne is terrified what will happen to her child if something were to happen to her. Who will be there? 

A call from Jinx (Blu del Barrio), an unhoused teen who is “celebrating” her eighteenth birthday is a street level horror story. Jinx ran away from home at sixteen for the grand adventure with some friends. They flaked, disappeared, and now she’s a step away from being pimped out by her drug addicted and violent “boyfriend”. She doesn’t know where to place her rage and fear. She’s convinced she will be dead soon, but she’s clawing to survive. When she hangs up Beth just stares hopelessly into the distance.

Two calls, both from women, are the key to who the listener is. The first comes from Sharon (Alia Shawkat) who starts the conversation with “I am mentally ill, I am mental, I like that word, it’s like metal.” No health insurance means Sharon is unmedicated, without a doctor or psychiatrist. She’s avoiding official crisis lines because she doesn’t want to be committed. She’s aggressive, funny, expressive, and scared. “I’m having one of my episodes, my bones are snakes… my bones are snakes.” She claims she is synesthetic. She can see Beth’s voice. She can smell her over the phone. Her “lunatic ramblings” are infused with a rhythmic genius. Beth deals with Sharon’s rapid cycling mood swings which go from the grandiose, to paranoid, catastrophizing, aggressive, whimsical, and defeated. Sharon is the poster child for “danger to self and others” but Beth handles her with velvet gloves. What if she can give Sharon another avenue to help calm the noise? What if Sharon’s fast meter brain (she calls it Brian because it’s out of order) can be put to a beat which gives the intrusive thoughts a specific measure of time? 

The final call is the “truth telling.” An educated voice (Rebecca Hall) on the other end of the line launches in by asking Beth how she is. Beth is somewhat shocked because no one has asked her that question for a long time and demanded an answer. Beth demurs and tries to keep the conversation focused on her caller. Laura, as we find out later, has planned her suicide. She’s not particularly interested in being talked out of it. As a now fired professor of sociology, and broke from a divorce, she has rationally crunched the numbers and has tallied the pros and cons of the emotional and financial cost of living. 

For Laura it just no longer adds up. She has no friends, she has no job, soon she will have nowhere to live. No one will miss her. She has worked all her life and only added to what she sees as the “delusion” of hope. There are so many crises everyone has lost count. How can she tell young people that learning about the world only leads to knowing how little difference they make?

Laura’s curiosity homes in on Beth and why she keeps listening. Taking on the trauma of others. Laura knows that the program is peer related so in some manner Beth has undergone some form of social rehabilitation herself. What is she punishing herself over? 

Laura and Beth’s conversation is a philosophical tug of war with Laura’s stunning intellectual prowess and Beth’s own measured and empathetic reasoning behind why people should not give up. Laura talks about the attrition of living. The mask people put on to hide their dissatisfaction. “Your unhappiness is ashamed of itself”. Living on a planet which has already committed suicide.

Beth simply responds, “Everything means something.” The reason to be alive is to find that one small thing which means you have to get out of bed each day. Self annihilation happens in a multitude of ways. Beth experienced it. She didn’t actively have a plan to kill herself, but she also didn’t care if she died. She did things that meant she could at any moment and didn’t care. 

What Beth gets out of the program is an escape from herself. A chance to put her focus on someone else one hundred percent for however long she has with the caller. What hurts her the most is when they hang up before the conversation is over. Before she knows if she did help. Laura wants a reason to live. Beth says she has no real wisdom but tells her story. She tells the truth to the woman who is a truth teller.

Beth tells Laura she could be of benefit to the crisis line. Laura laughs. How can her cynicism help anyone? Why would she join the “Lonely Hearts Club”? Humans are more connected than ever though the internet and news, but they have never felt more alone. Beth has reminded Laura she has a heart even if it is broken. “Loneliness is a slut,” Laura laughs. Beth says she is going to steal that line.

A final call comes through. It’s Sharon with her rap. It is brilliant just as Beth suspected it would be, and Sharon’s final lines “no one has very long, so keep on writing this song,” is a summation of what Camon was trying to get across. If he had cut some of the flabbier parts of the narrative the film would be much better for it.

Steve Buscemi proves himself very adept with the camera. He knows what to show and when. Everything rests on Tessa Thompson’s prodigious talent. Her face and eyes. Her soft voice. Her compassion and obvious pain. The sound design is excellent. We know there is a world “on fire” outside Beth’s window. Not just from the calls she receives but from the sounds of sirens, choppers, and people screaming in anger. Beth’s response to everything has been to cocoon. To be “Beth” and stay inside. To keep living her prison time. To eat cheap noodles with one hand while playing with stress balls in the other.

To paraphrase Nan Goldin’s sister Barbara who committed suicide, for “All the beauty and the bloodshed” of twenty-first century living — there is a sliver of hope coming out of Pandora’s box. Curiosity, and empathy can keep one going when everything else is too much. Or simply a dog whose bark caught someone’s attention one day and led to their life being radically changed. Buscemi’s final shot is one of Beth doing the “something” that reclaimed her sense of self. 

Despite the uneven scripting, Tessa Thompson, the excellent voice cast (Hall and Shawkat are standouts), and the formal aspects of Buscemi’s film and make The Listener a meaningful work, if not a masterpiece.

Grade: B-

Director: Gil Kenan
Writers: Gil Kenan, Jason Reitman, Ivan Reitman
Stars: Paul Rudd, Carrie Coon, Finn Wolfhard

Synopsis: When the discovery of an ancient artifact unleashes an evil force, Ghostbusters new and old must join forces to protect their home and save the world from a second ice age.

There’s something so artificial about the new Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, no matter how much heart they try to pump into it. What made the original Ghostbusters so much fun was that the special effects, from the very beginning, worked in tandem with and enhanced the handful of comic icons on the silver screen’s comedy canvas. Of course, studios do what studios do: remaking, retooling, and regurgitating classics because now they think all audiences want big special effects.

I can’t tell you how wrong they are. Audiences are craving, no, demanding more from studios than ever, especially considering how much more entertainment is now at our fingertips than it was 30 years ago. Audiences want a compelling story, strong characters, emotional resonance at the forefront, and special effects to be seen from the background. Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, even answering the call by bringing members of the original cast back, proves that the gesture is window dressing, plain and simple.

Or, I’m just very salty over how little time Bill Murray spends on screen.

At the very least, the sequel to the reboot, Ghostbusters: Afterlife, offers some immediate fun, whereas the original took too much time to establish mythology and characters that never materialized. The Spengler family—Callie (Carrie Coon) and her children, Phoebe (McKenna Grace) and Trevor (Finn Wolfhard)—along with her excessively earnest boyfriend, Gary (Paul Rudd), head over to New York City to answer the call of Hook & Ladder 8, the old New York City Firehouse where it all began.

There, they arrive at a secret ghost-busting lab built by Winston (Ernie Hudson), Peter (Bill Murray), Raymond (Dan Akroyd), and Janine (Annie Potts). The Spenglers, Gary, and the original Ghostbusters begin to fight a wraithlike force from an ancient artifact, potentially heralding a new Ice Age, all to protect their homes, families, and the rest of the world from potential extinction. I mean, yes, this sounds like the plot from The Day After Tomorrow, but you get the gist.

Director Jason Reitman hands the Ghostbusters reins to writing partner Gil Kenan (City of Ember). Admittedly, you may be pleased with the efforts to make modern special effects look like the original franchise’s practical appearance. Unfortunately, the film leans way too heavily on them to move. It’s a story that overindulges heavily in tropes and repackages the original elements. It’s the same old story and these special effects are used to distract you from a lack of originality and laziness. And, as my editor would say, stealing its tone from Netflix’s Stranger Things.

Frankly, there has been a remarkable increase in ADHD cases in children in the past thirty years. Now, I am starting to wonder if the special effects in movies are the cause.

Yes, there are some simple pleasures in Kenan and Reitman’s Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire. Dan Aykroyd wins the prize for best comedic performance, while Paul Rudd can stand in the corner and every so often amaze us with his pubescent good looks and effortlessly charming dry delivery. In small but effective roles, the casting of Patton Oswalt and Kumail Nanjiani, two comic talents known for the nerd fandom, is worth some acknowledgement. Nor can I blame the wonderful Carrie Coon, who does what she can with the material. Who can blame her for wanting a paycheck after excelling in indie films for a decade? I mean, how else will she pay for the Blu-rays Tracy Letts is logging in to on DVDBeaver?

Is Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire a serviceable entry in the franchise? Sure, but is that worthy of a positive recommendation or even forgiveness? No, because they water down the characters and story for the sake of special effects, which means Ghostbusters has become a cliché of itself.

Grade: C-

Directors: Cameron Cairnes, Colin Cairnes
Writers: Colin Cairnes, Cameron Cairnes
Stars: David Dastmalchian, Laura Gordan, Ian Bliss

Synopsis: A live television broadcast in 1977 goes horribly wrong, unleashing evil into the nation’s living rooms.

Playing out like a weeknight exposé television special, Late Night with the Devil is an homage to many things. Horror is right up there at the top of course, but this film from Colin and Cameron Cairnes is as in love with late night television as it is with genre films. More specifically, it’s clear the Cairnes have a passion for the late 70s styles of both of these mediums. If the sizzle reel that opens the film giving a brief rundown of the 70s wasn’t evidence enough, the majority of the film is also shot in this very style. By practically transporting the viewer to a specific time and place, it allows for the experience to feel less like watching a film, and more like reliving or experiencing a moment in time. This particular moment? A late night television slot that goes horribly wrong, but not in the way some might think.

Yes, this is a straight up horror film. But even though we’re well aware of this going in, how the Cairnes take us there might throw some for a loop. Late Night with the Devil requires the same patience as many 70s horror films that came before it. Not only that, much of this film does play out in the style of found footage. The viewer is forced to operate on the idea that the tapes of this episode of “Night Owls with Jack Delroy” are real. And, as written earlier, the Cairnes were committed to convincing their audience that it is genuine. Through the same cameras, lighting, and flashy television sets of the time, “Night Owls” is fully believable to have been a late night show that time forgot. One of the more frustrating elements of the film, now becoming a point of contention online, is in the sparse instances where this commitment seems to have fallen to the wayside. A handful of interstitials that last mere seconds in the film were generated by artificial intelligence. For a film that’s so steeped in the look and feel of a specific period in time, it’s confounding that such a throwaway piece of art wouldn’t be designed by an actual artist. While it may not be painfully obvious to some when watching, it should nevertheless be called out as a simple question as to why that decision was made for something so trivial, but full of exciting potential. But beyond mere production value, this film simply doesn’t work without the host. It takes a lot to keep viewers coming back daily to watch your show at midnight, but Jack Delroy is able to make it happen. And when you see David Dastmalchian on that stage, reading jokes straight out of a writers room in a well put-together suit, it all makes sense.

At this point, Dastmalchian is an actor that most will recognize. Having worked with both Christopher Nolan and Denis Villeneuve several times will do that. But he’s often been on the fringes of those films. Perhaps the most he’s been given to do was from James Gunn in The Suicide Squad, playing Polka Dot Man. What many thought was a ridiculous inclusion prior to the release of that film proved to be an excellent choice. Performed with layers of unsettling demeanor, bone-dry comedy, and a genuine pathos, Dastmalchian’s character is one of the most memorable elements of the film. And now, he has ascended from character actor (which I adore him as, and hope he continues to devour wonderful roles) into a leading man, with a film that feels perfectly designed for him. Jack Delroy might appear happy-go-lucky on viewers’ television sets, but there’s clearly something haunted about him. Perhaps it’s what kept his viewers tuning in, checking to see if that episode would be the one that caused him to snap. And the episode the film follows, a spooky Halloween episode, turns out to be just that very thing.

It’s only right that such an homage to the 70s era of horror leans into the patience of those films. By no means do I want to imply this is a film that could be considered boring, nor do I mean to imply that the era of filmmaking it pulls from is too slow-paced. It’s my belief that greater patience rewards a wonderful pay off, and the Cairnes certainly deliver in that regard. Over the course of 90 minutes, this “episode of television” plays out in a way that you could imagine its actual audience both mystified and engaged. Or it could just be something they change the channel from immediately. Yes, the events occurring on screen are compelling to us through the context of the film. But in the eyes of a 1970s television viewer, this might be just another typical occult hoax being capitalized on. That the Cairnes are able to balance both past and present values and interests with such ease speaks to the simple, yet effective writing. And then it all culminates, in classic fashion, with a thrilling sequence full of squirm-inducing practical effects and mean-spiritedness. 

One of the more exciting elements of the subtext, or even the apparent text, of Late Night with the Devil, is its examination of the medium of television as a whole. The film opens (with Michael Ironside narration!) by diving into the outlook on televisions in the late 70s. Obviously children everywhere wanted a television set, but there was a hesitancy to have the youth be “brainwashed” by all that would be shown. Yes, television was an escape. But it also served as a near constant reminder of the political and social turmoil going on just outside your doors on a nightly basis. The 24-hour-news cycle was just on the cusp of being introduced to the world, but it would have likely felt similar to turning on the television now and only ever hearing the worst news imaginable. The Cairnes allow the similarities between the past and present to continue on, as well, in the ways in which the pressures of fame distort even the best of us. It becomes increasingly clear that the lust for fame and popularity has always been ingrained in us as people. You may begin to realize that there’s nothing particularly exciting about Jack Delroy as a person. In fact, he’s played by Dastmalchian as just some guy on television. We’re only truly invested because he’s the lead of the film. Whether it’s a likely forgettable late-night television show from 1978, or a streamer on Twitch in 2024, the fact remains the same: people want to be seen. So the question remains: to what lengths will you go to get those eyes on you? Late Night with the Devil lures its viewers in with just that enticing question, before showing the innate, and even occult, dangers in such a situation.

Grade: B

Director: John Ridley
Writer: John Ridley
Stars: Regina King, Terrence Howard, Lance Reddick

Synopsis: A reformed criminal tries to live an honest life, when his past catches up with him and he his forced to do whatever it takes to protect his family.

“What do you want me to tell them? Fight hard but not too hard?” — Shirley Chisholm

John Ridley’s Shirley belongs very much to the Colman Domingo starring Rustin biopic, in the sense that it concentrates mostly on one era of the subject’s life. Fill in the blanks with other characters giving exposition or the protagonist making statements which come directly from their speeches and writing. Find an unassailable and powerful lead and enough decent supporting players and you have a film about a mostly forgotten pioneer in the American political arena. In this case it is Congresswomen Shirley Chisholm (Regina King) who wanted to give politics back to the people. To be a catalyst for change. To give voice to the disenfranchised across America while Vietnam was still raging, there was extensive violence across America, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., had just been shot, and the rise of second wave feminism and campus activism was in full swing. 

The film gives you the statistics. The number of women and Black people working in congress when schoolteacher Shirley St. Hill Chisholm was elected in 1968. The number of representatives before Shirley who were both black and a woman? Zero. Chisholm represented New York’s 12th congressional district centered mostly in Brooklyn’s Bedford–Stuyvesant area. A vibrant but often troubled melting pot of Black Americans, “Chicanos,” and working-class people and immigrants. Shirley, herself a Brooklyn resident and Barbadian American, was a longtime activist in her community before seeking any official office. 

The familiar beats play out. Shirley is photographed on the steps as part of the 91st congress. She is the only woman in the picture. Once she steps inside the hallowed halls belonging almost entirely to men or the occasional White woman, she is reminded of her “place” by a man who can’t believe she makes the same salary as she does. After shutting him down, she meets with her longtime friend and congressman, Ron Dellums (Dorian Missick) who tells her what her portfolio is. She’s not having it and goes straight up to the Speaker of the House and tells him exactly what she wants.

At home she speaks with her husband Conrad (Michael Cherrie), formerly a private investigator and industrial compliance officer. He listens to her frustration and does his best to assuage her. “It’s your first term. Wait and I’m sure you’ll do great things. Just give it time.” Shirley’s retort is, “You want to give Richard Nixon time?” Conrad ensures her, “You’ll find a way to fit in.”

Fitting in is not on Shirley’s agenda. However, she’s aware that to fight the system she must be a part of it. She believes in democracy and the Democratic Party for their ability to enact meaningful change. She’s just aware that without people like her all the promises in the world mean little. She is there to hold people in power to account.

A small jump in time and Shirley has been working in congress for three years. She’s been motivating change and staying true to her word. One such word is that she would put her name on the Presidential ticket if a certain amount of money was raised in Florida. Not only was it raised, but it was also double the amount expected. Shirley Chisholm, along with her advisor Wesley McDonald “Mac” Holder (Lance Reddick), her long-time friend Arthur Hardwick (Terrence Howard), and a former intern now Cornell law student Robert Gottlieb (Lucas Hedges) are going to self-fund a bid which could ruin her financially and anyone who invests in her. It is a massive risk, especially when the campaign will be challenging more popular Democrats and fighting on multiple fronts including sexism and racism. Proudly Caribbean-American Shirley, who still speaks with a Bajan patois is one of the most unlikely candidates in United States political history.

Stanley Townsend (Brian Stokes Mitchell) the man brought on to manage her campaign says Shirley is very “of the moment.” With the Black power movement and civil rights being integrated with youth culture, anti-war sentiment, and feminism, Shirley just might win some hearts and minds with her “Unbossed and Unbothered” campaign.

One of the hearts she does reach is Barbara Lee (Christina Jackson). A single mother and University student who believes voting is a bourgeoise construct unhelpful to true revolution. Barbara is already tired of having to constantly fight just to put food on the table for herself and her child. Shirley laughs and tells her, “Little girl, if you don’t vote you don’t have a say. If you are yelling from the sidelines that is where you’ll stay. Outside.”

Shirley charts Shirley as she makes her own heartfelt decisions. Her quiet nemesis is Civil Rights activist and “favorite son” campaigner Walter Fauntroy (André Holland). Her loud one is Alabama segregationist politician George Wallace (W. Earl Brown). Perhaps her true nemesis is her inability to properly play the game. Yet that inability is also a strength. Chisholm refuses to admit that going against well considered advice is sometimes unhelpful. She refuses to say anything she doesn’t mean, even if it sets her back.

When the issue of school district busing comes up, Chisholm says she doesn’t agree with it because it doesn’t fix educational inequalities for Black and poor children. Building better schools and creating infrastructure does. When she is asked about the Black Panthers, she says she regrets their existence but understands why they are needed. When she is asked about abortion, she endorses Family Planning but attempts to give nuance to the conversation. Nuance is not what the media wants, and it makes her an easy target for her opponents.

Eventually, the cracks in her marriage start to widen. Conrad, who in nineteen years of being with Shirley, finds himself so in her shadow he’s forgotten what it’s like to be visible. She is chastised by her sister Muriel (played by Regina King’s actual sister Reina King) for making her life and the life of her mother difficult as they have to put up with the gossip and dislike of Shirley within the more conservative Baptist sections of the Brooklyn community.

People walk out on Shirley. They steal from her. They give up on her campaign and the strategies she employs. She’s fighting the good fight but often in a manner which causes friction and frustration amongst her supporters, and outright murderous hatred from her detractors. There was more than one attempt on her life.

Shirley meets Diahann Carroll (played with uncanniness by Amirah Vann) who is quietly active as a supporter of the Black Panthers. Carroll arranges a secret face to face with Huey P. Newton (Brad James). “I’m putting thunder and lightning together,” says Diahann. Shirley is both but she is not a convicted murderer like Newton. When questioned by Newton why a woman who is “just a schoolteacher” thinks she has the right to speak for Black people she reminds him that “Harriet was just a slave, and Rosa was just a domestic,” and asks him what his job is. She gets the endorsement.

Even with the ability for people of the age of eighteen to vote for the first time in a Presidential election, and even with Shirley’s rallying and inspirational cries, almost everyone but Shirley accepts she is running a campaign she can’t win. However, just in the fighting she is changing laws with the FCC, (thanks to a lawsuit she has Robert Gottlieb file because television stations would not let her debate). She’s making progress with the ERA. A hospital visit to George Wallace after he is shot means that in the future the racist politician turned judge gives her support on a major bill. The hospital scene itself is a little too fanciful to be particularly convincing.

One might not understand how voting colleges work, or how getting the support of delegates is essential. American politics can often be opaque even for Americans. What is easy to understand is how formidable Shirley Chisholm is. At one stage she says to Arthur, “I’m not naïve.” He points out, “You aren’t realistic either.” She is the dreamer she is accused of being by people she trusted, but she is not the fool. She is practical, tactical, but driven by her oftentimes conflicting instincts. When she is asked why she keeps going she responds that she doesn’t know how to stop.

“Men are so used to being in control, that equality to them feels like chaos.” Shirley says to Diahann. She also says in different ways to Conrad, Muriel, Arthur, and Mac “I don’t think I’m special. I’m just how I am, and I don’t know any other way to be. I’m sorry.”

Shirley feels she is beyond making Conrad feel inadequate, but she also doesn’t treat him as well as she should. Her husband she says is “200 pounds of patience,” he exists only to watch her. If Shirley were a man in the period, the question wouldn’t arise as to her domestic life and gender politics. Yet, she also won’t bend for Barbara and almost has her leaving politics out of disillusionment. She was treated differently to the other St. Hill sisters. Her Papa recognized her genius and encouraged her while letting the other three languish. It wasn’t her fault that he showed her favoritism, but it also didn’t hurt her the way it did Muriel and her mother.

Putting a groundbreaking figure like Shirley Chisholm back on the map is a worthy endeavor. The direction is sometimes flavorless, although rich in period detail. The script is written specifically to highlight all of Chisholm’s best inspirational speeches: she gives them in diners, she gives them while eating McDonalds, she gives them in almost every interaction she has. Because it is Regina King telling people “Don’t be humble – false humility is a kind of arrogance,” one can almost forgive some of the contrivances.

Regina King is the reason Shirley manages to get across the line and hold power. King expertly portrays a woman who doesn’t know what the word “No” means, who is complex, and not always right. A woman who demands loyalty and respect but is surprised by being truly loved.

Shirley is also sustained by stand out performances from the late Lance Reddick with his stately intelligence and humor. André Holland as Fauntroy – bringing with him both the charisma and necessary manipulation of a seasoned political animal. Christina Jackson is perfect as the young Barbara Lee who later becomes a major political force (the real Barbara Lee appears at the end of the film). 

In Shirley, there is one thing of which the audience can be sure; Regina King is going to elevate a moderately rote and intermittently contrived biopic by delivering emotional and empowering screen magic. 

Grade: B-

Directors: Eshom Nelms, Ian Nelms
Writer: Jonathan Easly
Stars: Orlando Bloom, Andie MacDowell, Garret Dillahunt

Synopsis: A reformed criminal tries to live an honest life, when his past catches up with him and he his forced to do whatever it takes to protect his family.

A tattooed and shirtless Orlando Bloom emerges from his cabin in the woods, he lights up a smoke and grimaces. Immediately, he commences what we presume is his daily routine of push-ups and pull ups before going about his work on the family farm. This opening scene does a solid job of indicating what sort of world we are going to inhabit in Red Right Hand. Zero frills, stripped back, and, above all, gritty. 

Cash (Bloom) is a reformed alcoholic and drug addict with a past as an enforcer for the local crime boss, Big Cat (Andie MacDowell in fine scenery chewing form). Now going straight, Cash lives a clean life helping out on his Brother-in-law’s farm and being the doting uncle to his teenage niece, a capable bookworm with a bright future. 

As is often the case in films like this, the farm runs into financial trouble and Cash’s Brother-in-law struggles to pay back a loan to Big Cat. If Cash wants to help his family out, all he has to do is come back in to the fold for three more jobs. Three jobs and he is out, once and for all. Of course, things don’t quite go to plan and Cash comes to blows with Big Cat and her litter of hillbilly enforcers. 

The plot of Red Right Hand is pretty familiar territory then. In fact, I would go so far as to say there is nothing on screen here that you haven’t seen done elsewhere. For the most part, however, that’s not a problem. Audiences sitting down to watch this are unlikely to be looking for innovation or thought provoking filmmaking. What we are looking for is a likeable protagonist, a compelling villain, and good enough action sequences to keep us entertained through the runtime. For the most part, Red Right Hand delivers on these minimal requirements. 

Bloom does a serviceable job as Cash. He certainly looks the part and to my untrained ear, he seems to do pretty well with the Southern accent required. It’s nice to see him playing against type, especially compared to the roles that marked his early career. He plays it very straight, however. It’s unclear what is down to the script and what is performance, but Cash is quite one dimensional. You get the impression that Bloom was reaching for a more naturalistic, down to earth performance, but compared with the more exaggerated Big Cat of his co-star MacDowell, Cash ends up coming off a little bland. 

So how about those action scenes? For the most part they land, and there are one or two genuinely gripping moments where it’s not clear exactly how the scene will play out. By the end of the film there is a pretty extensive body count but it never crosses the line into feeling frivolous. Each death feels sufficiently weighty, and the stakes throughout are high. Of course, the end is never really in doubt, with good triumphing over evil, as it always does in this kind of film, but that triumph does not come cheaply.

The biggest complaint I have for Red Right Hand is that it feels like it was only a scene or two away from being more than a down the line genre movie. For example, much of the plot centers on the reformed Cash having found God as an important part of his sobriety. However, he never seems to really wrestle with the fact that he is committing a mortal sin by taking out Big Cat’s gang. It’s not the sort of detail the plot demands, but it could be something that would elevate this beyond its genre conventions. For the most part, all of the characters end the film the same people as they started it, assuming that is that they made it as far as the end credits. 
Red Right Hand is a solid genre movie. It’s well put together and successfully takes the audience through some gripping sequences. At times it comes close to being more than just solid but just doesn’t quite seem to have enough confidence in itself to stretch beyond its genre trappings, which is a bit of a shame.

Grade: C-

Director: Thea Sharrock
Writer: Jonny Sweet
Stars: Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Timothy Spall

Synopsis: When people in Littlehampton–including conservative local Edith–begin to receive letters full of hilarious profanities, rowdy Irish migrant Rose is charged with the crime. Suspecting that something is amiss, the town’s women investigate.

Shakespeare would be rolling in his grave. The bard who coined the phrase ‘brevity is the soul of wit’ would likely find himself reeling at the many tangential, bric-a-brac ways in which the subjects of Wicked Little Letters manage to insult each other. Yet for all it may seem to be striving for subversiveness, or to evoke a shock factor that can only come from hearing British icon Olivia Colman call someone a  “f**king old steaming bag of wet, leaking sh*t”, Wicked Little Letters – beyond the foul-mouthed tirades which are undoubtedly the USP for the marketing department – is actually a safe, paint-by-numbers affair. None of that is to say it’s not a good movie. Anchored by game performances from both Colman and Jessie Buckley, and featuring a number of supporting acts from the likes of Timothy Spall, Anjana Vasan, and Hugh Skinner, Wicked Little Letters is a fun, light-hearted experience that probably won’t last long in the memory.

Based, incredibly, on true events, Wicked Little Letters tells the story of Edith Swan (Colman) a simple, devout woman living with her parents in the sleepy town of Littlehampton in the 1920s. Edith tries to be a good daughter, a good neighbor, and a good citizen. She helps out in her community, attends church on Sundays, and has a smile for everyone she sees. This is in direct contrast to her new neighbor Rose, a belligerent Irish woman who uses curse words like punctuation, and whose sexual liberation is at odds with Edith’s own pious nature. It’s unsurprising, then, that the two women eventually find themselves at odds with each other.

What’s perhaps more surprising are the poison pen letters which appear through Edith’s door. Each letter, and the movie begins at letter 19, features crude remarks and rants aimed at Edith’s character, and soon a distraught Edith contacts the local constabulary, who immediately suspects Rose. What seems like an open and shut case, however, is challenged by Woman Police Officer (yes, that’s her title) Gladys Moss (Vasan) who suspects that not all is quite as it seems.

Wicked Little Letters makes a solid attempt to satirize the sort of British eccentricity you don’t see in traditional period pieces such as Downton Abbey, but screenwriter Jonny Sweet is perhaps too reliant on this aspect. Although the letters are mildly amusing and creatively written, the novelty wears off quickly. We’re left with an overly quirky set-up that can’t sustain itself throughout its runtime, however much its cast attempts to lift the material. Strangely enough, Wicked Little Letters performs better in its backdrop of social upheaval in the wake of World War I. The small attempts at social commentary – a woman police officer who wants parity of esteem; the suffrage movement – bring a sharper color to the world than anything front and center to the narrative.

Colman is the MVP here: with her rise to stardom it’s easy to forget her background in British comedy staples such as Peep Show, where she made her breakthrough. Her natural comedic talent shines through here and helps lift the material. Buckley, by contrast, has the lesser role as Rose, a liberated woman unafraid to be confrontational, but still brings an easy naturalism to the part. Elsewhere, Timothy Spall is excellent as a hard-hearted father outraged at the ‘modern world’ he sees as having given women too much control; Lolly Adefope and Joanna Scanlon are decent comic folsl, though given limited screen time; and Anjana Vasan gives a good performance as an exhausted female officer trying to be taken seriously in a field dominated by men.

Everything is fairly perfunctory and well acted, and there are amusing moments – mostly from Colman – but due to its repetitive nature and over-reliance on its central conceit mean Wicked Little Letters will likely fade in the memory.

Grade: C

Directors: Sam H. Freeman, Ng Choon Ping
Writers: Sam H. Freeman, Ng Choon Ping
Stars: George MacKay, Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, Aaron Heffernan

Synopsis: Follows Jules, who is targeted in a horrific homophobic attack, destroying his life and career. Some time after that event he encounters Preston, one of his attackers, in a gay sauna. He wants revenge.

When I saw the short film Femme at the 2021 SXSW Film Festival, I remember being shaken both by its striking filmmaking and its story involving a drag queen experiencing discrimination that plays into the struggles drag queens face in real life, whether it’s in the form of attempted anti-drag club legislation or physical altercations. The newest feature-length film of the same name, by directors Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping, adapting their own short, is a more heightened experience in terms of tension. 

The synopsis involving a drag queen forming a connection with a closeted drug dealer remains the same, while the short’s neon-drenched visual panache shines through. However, in place of Emmy nominee Paapa Essiedu and Harris Dickinson, who played the leads in the short film, are Nathan Stewart-Jarrett and George MacKay, respectively, who both won last year’s British Independent Film Award for Best Joint Lead Performance. 

In Femme, Stewart-Jarrett stars as Jules, a drag queen whose stage name is Aphrodite Banks. While on a nighttime stroll after doing a show, Jules becomes the victim of a vicious beating by a group of crooks led by their closeted leader, Preston (MacKay). Months later, after being left traumatized by the assault with his performing passion taken out of him, Jules has a chance encounter with Preston at a gay sauna that leads to a connection built mainly on sex and physicality. For Jules, it also becomes an opportunity for revenge and reclamation. 

To call Femme a doomed romance is an arguable stretch because there’s no exchanging of rapturous gazes or tender body language between both men during the many scenes of them getting physical. While Jules willingly submits himself to Preston’s raw aggression during their sexual encounters, Jules ponders as to whether he should film said encounters and post them online as his form of retaliation. 

The struggle becomes more apparent when witnessing the anxiety that Preston persistently experiences. Along with his intimidating tall stature and heavily tattooed body, Preston uses his short temper to put up a hyper-masculine facade when in the company of his similarly chauvinistic comrades. Yet, underneath the surface is Preston’s deep-seated fear of being found out, shown through his looking over his shoulder everywhere he goes. Preston’s nearly wordless fragile masculinity is expertly brought to life by lead actor George MacKay, who – between this, 1917, and Pride – is making a case as one of his generation’s best talents.

Meanwhile, Nathan Stewart-Jarrett similarly astounds as the protagonist, Jules. Appearing unassuming through his hunched posture and how he always keeps his head down, the way he grins as he scrolls through a gay porn site, contemplating the idea of outing Preston there by filming and uploading a filmed encounter, stresses his deceptive nature. Similarly, during a scene where he ends up mingling with Preston’s friends at his place, his sly smile while fighting each of them on a game of Street Fighter gives him feelings of fulfilled retribution, even if there’s no physical fighting involved, and they don’t know he’s the one they victimized.

Whether it’s Jules being in the same company as his perpetrators or Preston glancing around him as he goes out in public, apprehension is present in nearly every scene. Thanks to the expressive leading performances and the meticulous screenplay by directors Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping, it is in the characters’ faces and actions that we see their anxieties shine through more than the use of exposition. Furthermore, the costume design by Buki Ebiesuwa reflects how the two leads must put on a mask for the world, like how Jules wears casual attire around Preston’s friends to ensure they don’t recognize him out of drag. 

Similarly lush in visual aesthetic as the short of the same name, Femme enriches the source material by offering a deeper exploration of gender identity and putting a queer spin on the heteronormative noir genre as its central lead engages in sensual double-crossing. Sexy, discomforting, and visually sumptuous, Femme makes its case as one of the year’s best movies.

Grade: A

Director: Doug Liman
Writers: Anthony Bogarozzi, Chuck Mondry, R. Lance Hill
Stars: Jake Gyllenhaal, Jessica Williams, Conor McGregor

Synopsis: Ex-UFC fighter Dalton takes a job as a bouncer at a Florida Keys roadhouse, only to discover that this paradise is not all it seems.

The film follows Dalton (Jake Gyllenhaal), a former UFC middleweight fighter, as he runs away from his personal demons. The movie starts with Dalton walking into an underground fight club, ready to rumble with Carter (Post Malone), who quits before the match begins because of Dalton’s reputation alone. Frankie (Shrinking’s Jessica Williams), a businesswoman who owns a bar in the Florida Keys, immediately offers him a job of $5,000 a week for one month’s work, plus room and board, to be her bouncer.

Frankie’s establishment is called The Road House, a dive bar on the beach where live music has to play behind chicken wire because of the numerous fights that continuously break out. (You know, Blues Brothers style.) She has a loyal staff, including an adorable bartender, Laura (Why Women Kill’s B.K. Cannon), and some young muscle in Billy (How to Blow Up a Pipeline’s Lukas Gage), who lacks experience. After initially rejecting the offer, Dalton accepts the position after demolishing his car.

The script by Anthony Bagarozzi (The Nice Guys) and Chuck Mondry (Play Dirty) works well enough initially, mainly because Gyllenhaal revels in the role of Dalton, beating his enemies to a pulp with a switchblade grin and a clipped sense of humor, which is infectious. In particular, when he takes on a group of bikers led by JD Pardo and provides comic relief alongside Arturo Castro, driving them all to the hospital after some bone-crunching antics. This is all mindless fun, where a tough but flawed individual stands up for those who cannot help themselves. Everyone is good-looking, the music is distinct, and the mood is infectious.

Doug Liman directs Road House, an adaptation of the Patrick Swayze 1980s cult classic. Essentially, his version follows the path of a throwback Western, where the virtuous walk into a town defending those who cannot protect themselves, like Shane or The Pale Rider. In this case, you have a handful of over-the-top, cartoonish villains. One is Ben Brandt, played by the go-to yuppy antagonist Billy Magnussen, who tries to match Gyllenhaal’s comic relief but becomes tedious. 

Then you have Conor McGregor’s Knox, whose insanity is so extreme that you forgive any of his antics. Additionally, Joaquim de Almeida, the town sheriff, goes by the nickname “Big Dick” and has a connection to Dalton’s love interest, which is a classic, lazy trope. That is Daniela Melchior’s Ellie, who plays a local physician. She goes from detesting Dalton within seconds to wanting to get him in the middle of the ocean to what I imagine is an area called “Coral reefs of Passion.” I mention all of this because, for a two-hour film, Liman struggles to fit in so many supporting characters, and none of them interact or function in a believable way.

There are complaints that this Road House is ultraviolent, but by action or horror film standards, it’s tame. In fact, the fight scenes are highly digitized, particularly the first fight with Post Malone. However, the film doesn’t suffer from its bare-knuckle action. Still, after an thirty extra minutes, it deals with its mindless plot about the real reason Dalton was hired, which involves trying to take over the roadhouse because of its premium placement.

I hate to be cynical, but have these bad guys never heard of “Eminent Domain”? Or just building around the restaurant and having the property taxes rise so much that they must sell? Or, with all the fights, would the insurance premiums be through the roof? Finally, how can Frankie make enough to afford to pay Dalton all that money? These are all eye-rolling moments like Dalton telling Billy that one guy has a knife, and when he pulls it, just take a step back and punch him. He offers this type of on-the-job training while sitting behind a bar where he can’t jump in to help save the kid if something goes wrong.

You can let that thoughtless storytelling slide, but it’s when the movie goes into secret agent mode, with Dalton taking a boat (and setting off explosives, blowing it up, with no explanation) to become a superhero, that it becomes tedious and overblown. This leads to a final showdown between Dalton and Knox, where you have to ask yourself how one guy knew where the other would be to begin with.

Doug Liman’s Road House worked better as a minimalist barfly film between the small cast of characters that would have significantly benefited from focusing on Dalton’s backstory and developing intimate relationships. Instead, we have an overstuffed action film that struggles with tone and overstays its welcome. Then, it loses a charming Jake Gyllenhaal performance, which is the sole reason to watch, to begin with.

Grade: C-

Director: Dean Israelite
Writers: John Gatins, Susan Orlean
Stars: Brooklynn Prince, Simon Khan, Kelly Reilly

Synopsis: Follows a 13-year-old girl who is dragged into the world of pigeon racing as she deals with her parents’ divorce and the impending loss of her home.

Little Wing is a classic case of a coming-of-age film that doesn’t quite know what it truly wants to be. Sure, you’ll enjoy the punk rock Generation Alpha main character, who is energetic, lively, and spirited. You may appreciate how the story involves an unusual hobby to help an adolescent navigate a turbulent time—even the bond of the mother-daughter relationship. However, the premise surrounding the bond between an unlikely friendship between a child and an older adult male fails the film almost entirely. 

And that’s a shame because the streaming Paramount+ film Little Wing had real feel-good potential. 

The story follows Kaitlyn McKay (Brooklynn Prince), a young woman whose moodiness we have come to find charming. Kaitlyn is going through a tough time. Her parents have just divorced, and her father has moved out. Her older brother, Matt (newcomer Simon Khan), hasn’t spoken since it happened. Their mother, Maddie (Kelly Reilly), is a police detective in the Portland, Oregon area and has trouble making ends meet, specifically with the mortgage payment. 

Maddie’s boss, rather strangely, gives Kaitlyn some racing pigeons as a gift. Yeah, this is a girl who has posters of Major Motoko Kusanagi and Hit-Girl Mindy Macready. Besides offering her a cell phone or sacrificing Regina to the Mean Girls, nothing will win her over. However, her best friend, Adam (Me Time’s Che Tafari), tells her how cool they are, and a famous one called “The Guardian” is in the area and is worth $100,000. What a coincidence! It would cover the entire loan left on her childhood home.

Little Wing was directed by Dean Israelite (Are You Afraid of the Dark?), who works with a script from a surprising pedigree. It was penned by Academy Award-nominated scribe John Gatins (Flight), who adapted the film from a news article by Susan Orlean, the writer of The Orchid Thief, whose book served as the source material for Charlie Kaufman’s Adaptation. Initially, the film functions as a coming-of-age black teen comedy, highlighting Prince’s Kaitlyn and her bold, rebellious attitude. This includes a humorous scene where she volunteers as a human dodgeball sacrifice in gym class.

Another noteworthy scene involves her stealing The Guardian from its owner, Jaan Vari (Brian Cox). While this action may seem outlandish, it’s forgivable given the context of the fact that this is a narrative film. However, Jaan discovers evidence implicating Kaitlyn and Adam in the theft of the prized bird, as these situations tend to go. While I can suspend disbelief for the sake of comedy, it becomes pretty absurd when Kaitlyn sells the bird to the Russian mafia, who have a penchant for pigeon racing. For $25,000, it’s peculiar how Little Wing’s story decides to convey the idea that it takes a village to raise a child.

Then, Jaan approaches the little thief’s home. Instead of explaining to the mother, he finds a bag with the daughter’s name and address. Does he tell Maggie he saw them, including Adam, and now the bird is missing? No, he keeps the ruse, telling the mother that she reached out to the old man and he was returning the garment bag. Does Maggie question this as a woman in blue and as a mother? No, she will never qualify for officer or mother of the year.

Then, Jaan’s wife knows the girl stole the bird but is grateful they can move to Arizona. These people live in an apartment with pigeon coops on the roof. Do they not need $125,000 for retirement or bills? Jaan, who is understandably upset, frequently snaps at Kaitlyn and towers over her, demanding the bird back, but when Maggie walks in the room, Jaan plays it off that he is just arranging a time for him and Kaitlyn to meet up. My God, is there no social worker in the Portland area? There are subplots, such as when attempting to steal The Guardian back, where no one is worried about CCTV or the fact that the Mafia just allows the bandits to leave.

Little Wing is a family film for those who don’t put too much stock into detail, which is fine. However, while hardly offensive, the film really teaches poor values, like it’s fine to steal and befriend strangers you don’t know and then lie to your parents. Yes, there are some heart-tugging moments, but overall, the experience lacks thoughtfulness and replaces it with patronizing manipulation. 

Grade: C-