Tag Archives: movies

“Whalefall” is more of a whale fail

18 Oct

New movie is a strange tale that lacks execution and energy.

Austin Abrams as Jay Gardiner in 20th Century Studios’ “Whalefall.” Credit: Jennifer Clasen © 2026 20th Century Studios

⭐⭐Rating: 2 out of 4

A strange “Jonah and the Whale” concept that’s even stranger in execution. It’s got incredible talent too, but none of that can save this cinematic miscue from submerging in banal blubbering. It’s essentially a one trick pony — make that “a one bubble guppy”—that lacks character development or even a plot. The film’s lone benefit is that it will likely inspire a brief online biology session for viewers using their smart phones to search on “whale digestion.”

The hook to this whale’s tale is flounder flat. Family patriarch Mitt (Josh Brolin) runs a sight-seeing boat tour company near Monterey Bay, but has terminal mesothelioma. He straps on his diving weights and jumps into the cold waters sans diving tank. The death (though the body’s not been retrieved) and pending funeral proceedings beckons home Mitt’s estranged son Jay (Austin Abrams, recently on screen in the raucous “Resident Evil” reboot) from college in Iowa. Driven by a sense of guilt, Jay gets up in the early hours of the morning one day and decides to look for dear old dad’s body. Combing through a kelp garden, Jay gets caught up in a fracas between a giant squid and a sperm whale. Both he and the squid wind up in the belly of the whale, and the cuttlefish proves to be one angry co-survivor.

The rest of the film is pretty much Jay trying to reason his way out of the whale’s colon before his oxygen runs out (the air cavity inside the whale is toxic). What that amounts to is Jay mumbling to himself through his respirator about what he needs to do and why as the whale burps, belches and farts. This awkward connection seems to be a method to keep the audience clued in.

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“You Can See Everything” is worth the view

17 Oct

The documentary about Theranos’s fallen founder Elizabeth Holmes is riveting.

⭐⭐⭐1/2 Rating: 3.5 out of 4.

Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim’s documentary about fallen tech star Elizabeth Holmes is a riveting head trip and wild genre-bender that intoxicatingly combines classic journalism with inventive narrative departures. This eely shape-shifter burrows into you and won’t let go.

The making of the film is as much the story as its subject, who — at the time Fielder and Oppenheim catch up with her — is 34 days from beginning an 11-year prison sentence for defrauding investors of hundreds of millions of dollars. Theranos, her blood-testing start-up that promised to revolutionize health care and help detect cancer early, could only perform a small number of the 240-plus analytical tests it claimed. Holmes founded the company at 19. She and her Theranos partner and lover, Sunny Balwani, were exposed in a 2015 Wall Street Journal investigative piece and later tried on felony charges for fraud and fiscal deceit, sentenced in 2022 (Balwani got 12 years), and ordered to pay more than $450 million in restitution.

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Outrage and scandal: “The Devils” is back in theaters

16 Oct

It shocked audiences and the Vatican in 1971. Now, it’s back in a director’s cut by Ken Russell. The film may just have been 50 years ahead of its time.

A still from “The Devils.” Credit: Courtesy of Warner Bros.

⭐⭐⭐1/2 Rating: 3.5 out of 4

Ken Russell’s cult-classic “The Devils,” which comes to the Somerville Theater this week for a limited re-release, remains a glorious cinematic affront: one part historical drama, one part political horror flick where the monsters wear vestments and call their cruelty salvation. Its graphic sex and scenes of torture earned it an X rating when it was released (it’s now NC-17, which didn’t exist in 1971) as well as the condemnation of the Vatican.

At the time of its initial release, critic Roger Ebert bashed the film for its graphic excess. Fellow critic Judith Crist judged it a “grand fiesta for sadists and perverts.” Through the lens of the now, I’d call it a riveting, lurid spectacle that contains hard truths. It’s a must-see for cinephiles, with its masterful cinematic composition and status as probably Russell’s magnum opus — in a career that spawned the sensual wrestling match “Women in Love” (1969), the psychedelic rock opera “Tommy” (1975) and the bodily transformations of “Altered States” (1980, shot in Beacon Hill). “The Devils” brings his gifts into their fiercest alignment: theatrical excess, sexual frankness and a deeply felt anger at the abuse of power.

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Rachel Morrison on grief, loss and her new movie

11 Oct

The prominent cinematographer, a Cambridge native, has directed her second film, “Love of Your Life.” She talks about filming in her hometown, how Ryan Coogler feels like family, and why she didn’t go to CRLS.

Rachel Morrison, an Oscar-nominated cinematographer, will still get behind the camera now that she’s directing. Here she’s filming Margaret Qualley, the star of Morrison’s new movie “Love of Your Life.” Credit: Chiabella James / Prime

One of the most powerful women in filmmaking is Cambridge-bred Rachel Morrison, the Oscar-nominated cinematographer whose movies include “The Black Panther” and “Mudbound.” Morrison has moved to the director’s chair, making her debut in 2024 with the female boxing biopic “The Fire Inside.” Cambridge Day caught up with her as her new movie, “Love of Your Life,” opened at AMC Boston Common this week; it streams on Prime Video starting October 14.

In a universe of funky coincidence, it turns out Morrison played Cambridge youth soccer with Sian Heder, who directed the Oscar-winning, North Shore set, “CODA” (2022). Heder, whose mother Mags Harries created the “Glove Cycle” sculpture in the Porter Square MBTA station, went to Cambridge Rindge and Latin.

Morrison did not go to CRLS, which was my first question to her. She grew up on Hawthorne Street not far from the Charles Hotel, where we met, and attended Concord Academy because she wanted to play ice hockey (CRLS didn’t field a team then). Morrison was a shutterbug from a young age and at Concord Academy started to get interested in the moving picture. She studied both as an undergraduate at New York University, but in the real world knew she had to choose one over the other. “It took me a minute to realize that they’re completely different careers.” Morrison said. “You really can’t take a photo portfolio around by day and film reels around by night. There’s just so many hours in the day.”

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“Verity”

3 Oct

Lifeless on page and on screen

⭐1/2 Rating: 1.5 out of 4

The movie version of “Verity,” Colleen Hoover’s hackneyed page lift of Daphne du Maurier’s great 1938 Gothic psycho thriller “Rebecca,” has an all-star cast that may not be enough to give the romance novelist a fourth box office success. 

Some of that is due to the source material. Where du Maurier understood and gave shape to corrupt and conflicted souls, Hoover’s works play like soulless connect-the-dots exercises, and come off that way on screen. The script by Nick Antosca is unfortunately too loyal to Hoover’s novel, and director Michael Showalter (“The Big Sick” and “The Idea of You”) is merely a serviceable filmmaker with a knack for small, cloistered melodrama. (In contrast, du Maurier’s was adapted by Alfred Hitchcock, and won the Oscar for Best Picture.)

The cast, though, is an impressive assemblage, led by Anne Hathaway as the titular Verity Crawford, a wildly successful author who pens dark psychological thrillers by, for and about women (art imitating life?). It’s her fifth movie this year, and this is the one she’d probably hope people forget. Josh Hartnett plays her hunky husband and Dakota Johnson, who unfortunately regresses from her breakout in “The Lost Daughter” (2021) to her cinematic roots in the kinky sex nonsense “Fifty Shades of Grey” (2015).

Johnson’s Lowen Ashleigh is, like Verity, an author, but more literary. She’s also struggling financially; we meet her at a small independent bookstore in Manhattan reading to an audience of three. Later, as she’s packing up the apartment she’s being evicted from, her agent (Ismael Cruz Cordova) tells her of a big opportunity at publisher Hachette. Lowen dresses up and heads to the meeting, only to be spattered by blood when a cyclist is struck by a streaking car just feet away. Before she can even react, a chivalrous stranger (Hartnett) swoops in to literally give her the shirt off his back so she can go to her meeting. And after Lowen signs the NDA so she can learn about the offer, in walks Hartnett’s Jeremy, to tell her his wife, the famous author Verity, just had a car accident, is paralyzed and can’t speak. So Hachette wants to pay Lowen some good buck to ghost write Verity’s series.  

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“Digger”

3 Oct

What could have been redemption remains a disappointment

⭐1/2 Rating: 1.5 out of 4

The latest from revered filmmaker Alejandro G. Iñárritu is a shocking disappointment, a meandering muddle more akin to his last effort, “Bardo” (2022). than his Oscar-caliber dramas like “Birdman” (2014) or “The Revenant” (2016). For the first hour we are subjected to one of the most bombastic, self-indulgent projects by a master helmsman since Francis Ford Coppola’s urban architecture mishegas, “Megalopolis” (2024). 

The backdrop of “Digger” involves a “Cats”-like cultural phenomena called “Fossil Fools” — I’ll say no more to avoid spoilers. Tom Cruise, as the paunchy, cantankerous oil tycoon Digger Rockwell, is tight enough with the POTUS (John Goodman) that he can get the leader of the free world and his military advisors to come meet with him at his ancestral estate (badly in need of roof repairs). 

There’s a lot of white people with money in “Digger,” which hints at having something to say about inherited wealth, white power structures and Christian values (for an example of a movie that addresses these issues well, see “One Battle After Another”). Those are just mirages, an exhausting exercise for the audience, which is forced to endure all-for-naught zaniness such as a 30-year-old cat with diarrhea using Digger’s sprawling bed as a litter box. It’s like Iñárritu morphed into Wes Anderson on a bad acid-trip.

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Reviews of “Heart of the Beast” and “Unabomber”

30 Sep

A survival thriller and a crime drama

“Heart of the Beast”

⭐⭐1/2 Rating: 2.5 out of 4

The vast wilds of Alaska are where James Belmont (Brad Pitt) goes to tamp down the PTSD he suffered as a former special ops sergeant, as well as heal the war scars of his loyal German Shepherd Odin, who served with Belmont during multiple Middle East tours. The two are flying around the wilds of the 49th state to do some birding, fishing and communing with nature.

 Odin’s scars are more visible: titanium fangs (someone smashed him with a brick during combat) and a prosthetic paw. Belmont matter-of-factly says he shot the responsible parties “in the head” during a campfire encounter with a jovial old coot also roaming the wilds, played by none other than the baritone-blessed J.K. Simmons (“Whiplash”). The two enjoy some tasty Belgian beers and go their separate ways in the morning as a storm is closing in. 

From there “Heart of the Beast” becomes one long perilous survival journey after Belmont suffers a heart attack (if the storm don’t get you cardiac arrest will) and the plane goes down. Frigid lake waters revive Belmont. He and Odin go on to endure encounters with bears, wolves and moose (oh my!), not to mention steep ravines and white-water rapids. Through all this, man and best friend seemingly have nine lives, in part because they take turns saving each other’s lives (the dog may get a tad more screen time than Pitt).  

This is the second pooch-and-person flick in two months, after August’s “The Dog Stars,” directed by Ridley Scott. This one, thankfully, spares us the human actor (in “Dog Stars” it’s Jacob Elordi) over-explaining the plot to the canine actor. This one is also set on Earth where the sweeping mountainous terrain of Alaska does a lot of cinematic heavy lifting. 

Unfortunately, “Heart” suffers from woeful computer FX to conjure the tooth and clawed furries of the wild — if he was still alive, Bart the Bear (from 1997’s “The Edge”) would have been a massive upgrade. The movie pretends to be a based on true-events kind of film, but it’s not, which makes the sepia-tinted flashbacks to war time both disruptive and unnecessary. Still, Pitt and Odin (played mostly by a dog named Uber) convincingly sell the deep connection of two beings who have seen the worst of the world and are seeking peace and solace both from within and through each other.

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“Mighty Mary” and the all-woman team that cannonballed America’s Cup

11 Sep

A high seas adventure that broke the glass ceiling

A still from “Mighty Mary”

Most of the action in “Mighty Mary,” the new documentary about the first all-woman yachting team to vie for the America’s Cup in 1995, takes place in San Diego, where the women train and race. But the film also has plenty of Cambridge connections. Director and former Olympic rower Mary Mazzio lived in Cambridge in the early 1990s and trained at the Weld Boathouse on the Charles River. So did two of the Mighty Mary crew, 1992 Olympic teammates of Mazzio: Amy Baltzell and Marci Porter Lucier.

“There used to be a national-team training center run out of Weld Boathouse,” Mazzio said in an interview with Cambridge Day. “All of us came from that — birthed, if you will, by Cambridge. Love that dirty water.”

Mazzio, a filmmaker-in-residence at Babson College, was drawn to the story of the all-women’s crew as they trained for the competition to represent the U.S. in the race. “I remember following the story and thinking, ‘Oh my God, how are they going to achieve this?’” Mazzio said. “It seemed daunting, almost a fool’s errand. Then I thought, ‘I know these women. If anybody can do it, it’s them.’”

The story behind the story was that Bill Koch — who had won the 1992 America’s Cup with a nearly all-male crew — wanted to push boundaries with an all-woman crew. Koch believed that with advanced technology and tactical skills, winning the race was no longer just about sheer strength and endurance.

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Reviews of “Remake” and “The Runner”

11 Sep

an intimate documentary and a sprinting kidnapping rescue

“Remake”

Adrian McElwee in “Remake.” Credit: Courtesy of Music Box Films

⭐⭐⭐1/2 Rating: 3.5 out of 4

Ross McElwee’s “Remake” opens with a wry proposition: a Hollywood producer wants to turn McElwee’s 1986 documentary, “Sherman’s March” — the filmmaker’s meandering meditation on love, Southern culture, and romantic rejection — into a conventional scripted feature, perhaps even a comedy. Questions abound: Who would play McElwee? How could its accidental encounters and intimate revelations be scripted? McElwee picked up a camera to document the cinematic transformation but, as both efforts inched forward, McElwee’s film takes on a more painful tone. The Cambridge-based filmmaker’s lens turns inward on decades of footage of his son Adrian, who died from a fentanyl overdose in 2016 at age 27, eight years into McElwee’s project. In the rewinds, we watch Adrian grow from an imaginative, playful child into a sullen teenager and then a young man struggling with addiction, mental-health issues, and the burden of finding his own identity — particularly as an aspiring filmmaker living in the shadow of a celebrated documentarian father.

McElwee, an avuncular, reflective man whose deeply personal work has always blurred the line between home movie, essay, and autobiography, does not spare himself. Had the camera brought father and son closer, or placed an obstructive lens between them? Did appearing in his father’s films distort Adrian’s understanding of reality? And did Ross’s attempts to mentor Adrian — from “Sherman’s March,” we know his own father never encouraged his filmmaking — carry expectations the son could not meet?

For anyone who has seen “Sherman’s March,” the notion of turning the captivating documentary into anything else would seem improbable, if not wrong — but the outcome will surprise you. And that’s the gentle initial humor of “Remake,” underscored by McElwee’s patient cynicism. While there are moments of joy and tenderness with Adrian, those images — the two at Cannes with Adrian shooting his own mockumentary about a film honcho, Haskell-Wexler style — take on a secondary weight as the catalyst for “Remake” gets pushed to the corners of the frame. It’s a devastating film about the way grief slowly and surely guts you. “Remake” is as much a loving memorial as it is an agonizing act of self-interrogation. Some things can be remembered, revisited, and even remade — but never repaired.

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Reviews of “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma,” “The Whisper Man,” “Mayday” and “Onslaught”

3 Sep

Art horror, serial killer nonchiller, espionage comedy and a gorefest

“Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma”

A still from “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma.” Credit: Courtesy of MUBI

⭐⭐⭐Rating: 3 out of 4

In this latest art-horror curio from Jane Schoenbrun, the alt-indie hand behind psycho-chillers “We’re All Going to the World’s Fair” (2021) and “I Saw the TV Glow” (2024), the “Friday the 13th” film franchise and gender politics get skewered with bloody orgasmic gusto. There is plenty of sex and death, as the title promises, with the bloodshed bringing the joy more than any muted, intoned, crest of pleasure. A head gets cut off and an arc of crimson red gushes 30 feet into the air, so over-the-top it’s comical. The effects are gorgeously framed by Eric Yue, who worked with Schoenbrun on their previous projects.

Camp Miasma is somewhere in the wooded Pacific Northwest at a lake, which was many years ago the setting of a slasher film starring Billy Presley (Gillian Anderson) as an ingénue. It becomes a long-running series of films and Presley, the “final girl,” now lives as a recluse at the site. 

Enter Kris (Hannah Einbinder, “Hacks”), a young queer indie film director hired to reboot the franchise. Kris hopes to recruit Billy for her project (think Jamie Lee Curtis or Neve Campbell). The set up’s clearly self-referential — and part of the backdrop is that the original films have become criticized for their treatment of gender — namely trans. Kris — a clear stand-in for Schoenbrun—is an adoring fan of Billy’s and given the cold foreboding nights (it’s winter) the two end up smoking weed, watching old “Miasma Camp” videos and working on Kris’s failures at sex — she’s in a polyamorous relationship, but appreciates companionship more for the intellectual than the physical. 

Much is asked of Einbinder in range — goofy, sexy, witty but shy — and she pulls it off, but it’s Anderson, with her bumper-bangs-and-victory-rolls updo (and menacingly aloof cattiness) that drives the film and alluringly so. It’s an intoxicating and immersive performance that holds the film together as it slips into alter realities and other strange and wonderfully murky segues. We see plenty of Little Death (Jack Haven) the being at the bottom of the lake, who when hungry, rises from the depths in a Devo Hazmat suit with a ceiling air vent for a mask, and eviscerates any and all with a double-bladed spear. The cherry on the top is seeing Eva Victor (“Sorry Baby”)’s cameo as a punked-out ’80s DJ — mohawk and all — with sassitude.

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