“In the Hand of Dante”
An impressive A-list cast and some astonishing visuals get wasted in this fatuous fantasy from one of the more interesting minds behind the camera these days — Julian Schnabel, the painter turned filmmaker who delivered such arty provocations as “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” (2007) and “Basquiat” (1996). The film, based on the 2002 book of the same name by Nick Tosches, is a maniacal mashup of historical icons and modern noir. As a writer. Tosches hovered in the realm of gonzo journalism (best known for his vivid Jerry Lee Lewis biography, “Hellfire”) and made himself the centerpiece of “In the Hand of Dante,” as a writer tasked by the mob to unearth, ascertain and validate the original 14th century copy of Alighieri’s “Divine Comedy.”
The reliable Oscar Isaac plays both Nick and Dante in the two timelines. The former is recruited by a heavy named Joe Black (an underused John Malkovich) and partnered with an oafish hitman (Gerard Butler with a bad dye job) for the paper chase that naturally leads them to Italy (from Jersey to Rome with love). Along the way Butler’s beefy takes out nearly everyone they come into contact with including an elderly woman who does little more than serve them tea, a priest and even a sleeping dog.
Much of the film is stunningly shot in stark black and white by Roman Vasyanov (“Fury”), though there are switches to color when Dante is scouring the Italian coastline seeking enlightenment and inspiration. The film’s driven by a lot of pretentious dialogue about the value and vision of the central document and boasts a body count that requires at least two sets of hands. Most alluring, however, is the casting of Martin Scorsese — hardly recognizable behind a Papa Smurf beard as a religious oracle named Isaiah — and Al Pacino as Nick’s uncle Carmine. The bigger spectacle is Butler pulling double duty as the pope himself and Jason Momoa as yet another hitman in a pristine white suit, who’s saddled with some of the most preposterous and inanely philosophical lines in the film. Gal Gadot adds an angelic presence but is lost in the underwritten role of Nick’s secretary cum love interest. She also takes another one for the team as Dante’s spurned wife, Gemma. At two-and-a-half hours, “In the Hand of Dante” should have been leaner and more tightly honed. It probably could have leaned in more on Tosches’ gonzo sensibilities, as well. For the normally visionary Schnabel, this is his “Megalopolis” (2024).
“Little Brother”
I like John Cena, I really do. His turns as Peacemaker in “ The Suicide Squad ” (2021) and accompanying TV series convinced me of his comic timing, but since then, the big strapping lad from the North Shore seems to have gone overboard on the laugh-fare diet, jumping in on such forgettable pink-filler as “ Ricky Stanicky ” (2023) and “ Jackpot ” (2024). Both were unnecessary, as is this lowbrow ditty from Matt Spicer, who showed promise with “ Ingrid Goes West ” (2017) but serves up a chump-and-dump here.
The concept has Cena as a New York City realtor, Rudd Landry, vying to be top dog on a real estate reality TV show. He’s got serious sibling rivalry issues with big brother Josh (Christopher Meloni) who’s more successful (a hedge fund hero) and more comfortable in his skin. Then there’s little bro Marcus (comedian Eric André) — clearly not Rudd’s biological brother, but a pairing from the do-good Big Brother-Little Brother program (I’m a proud alum) when Rudd was a young man and wanted to amass some Good Samaritan brownie points.
Rudd and Marcus have been absent in each others’ lives for some time. Rudd’s married (Michelle Monahan) with two boys, while Marcus is in a mental health facility. Fate and a few encouraging emails bring Marcus to Rudd’s front door where a raucous ménage à trois becomes the inflection point. For the most, the oft nude Marcus is nonchalantly crass, demurely unapologetic and somehow likable — or so that’s how the TV runners (Ego Nwodim and Caleb Hearon, perfect as the silver-lining tandem of ratings, ratings, ratings!) want to package him. And while André’s Marcus does much outrageousness — using a public golf course sprinkler as a bidet — there’s a calm, amicable demeanor to him even while he’s explaining things too risque for a community publication. On the other side of the house, Cena is dutiful enough as the frustrated curmudgeon who needs to look inward in order to move forward. The film’s shortcomings aren’t in the performances but the punchless material that’s fixated on anything in and around the butt cheeks.
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