Author: Don Malvasi

As personality traits go, Anthony Weiner is presumably in a high-90s percentile in both weakness of will and strength of ambition. Unfortunately, the former character flaw ends up winning. As the documentary Weiner proves, it was a highly competitive and compellingly entertaining battle to the very end.

The film continually provides scenes where the clashing dynamics are at war. After a preamble covering his feisty seven-term Congressional career, the film essentially begins with the scandal that led to Weiner’s resignation in 2011. Embarrassing online compromising photos proved too much to overcome. Yet Weiner resurfaces just two years later in a head-first foray into running for mayor of New York City. Weiner leads the primary field, only to have more photos surface from dates after his resignation.

What emerges is often raw footage that gets to the very core of Weiner’s relationship with his forgiving wife, Huma Abedin. A very public figure herself as a leading aide to Hillary Clinton, Abedin not only stays in the marriage, but actually takes an active role in the campaign. Until the second set of revelations hit.

Abedin learns about the new bombshells from the press rather than Weiner and her tone changes drastically. Since she is no longer willing to appear with him, Weiner must resort to bringing his very young son along as a surrogate prop to the voting booth on Election Day. Despite a turn in the polling, Weiner has pressed on for the rest of the campaign despite long odds.

“What is wrong with you,” MSNBC host Lawrence O’Donnell repeats like a mantra as Weiner tries various methods to fight him off on a one-on-one TV interview creepily done not face-to-face but from different cities. Plenty is the obvious answer. Yet there is plenty right about the legacy of Anthony Weiner as well.

Weiner’s popularity in the mayoral campaign prior to the revelations is stunning and remarkable yet we understand it given the charisma displayed. Also superb is his ability to gauge necessary strategy options, lead his advisors, and generally march on with unbridled enthusiasm and drive, even after it becomes essentially hopeless.

When co-director Josh Kriegman asks Weiner onscreen why he actually permitted him to film what amounted to some very stark personal moments between Weiner and Abedin, and Weiner and various staffers, the question isn’t answered directly. Yet viewing this excellent documentary, it is very evident that the winners here are the very citizens who alternately loved, then failed to come to grips with Weiner. After learning from the Bill Clinton scandal that great public deeds can supersede deplorable private ones, we can now update that thinking with the notion that there are limits to the permissible private hells of public officials.

The Mayor of Compromising Photoland….Regular Filmgoers: 4 Stars (out of 5)…Political Junkies: 5 stars (out of 5)

Light, irreverent, occasionally hilarious, yet toothless and oddly worshipful of pop music’s fakeness, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping amuses until it doesn’t anymore. Numbing inanities inch out clever spoofs. Andy Samberg and Sarah Silverman’s talents attempt to outweigh flabby one-joke riffs that go on too long. The whole thing is a tossup between clever and silly. Clever tries real hard but doesn’t stand much of a chance. If this mockumentary is another This Is Spinal Tap, Money Monsters is Dog Day Afternoon.

The film’s highlights and, simultaneously, its lowlights, include a rap sendup on the assassination of Bin Laden, a unique wedding proposal between Samberg and Imogen Poots involving the singer Seal and a pack of wolves, and celebrity artists Qwestlove, Usher and others offering onscreen testimonials on the influence of The Style Boyz, Samberg’s Beastie Boys-gone-Seventeen Magazine formulative rap group.

Everyone from Justin Timberlake to Michael Bolton to Mariah Carey is on board. At the core of the merry mess is Samberg and Lonely Island partners in crime Jorma Taccone and Akiva Schaffer, both of who co-directed. The three lads co-wrote the screenplay and also portray the aforementioned Style Boyz, popular forerunners to the more calculated solo career of Conner4Real (Samberg). Their hit is “The Donkey Roll,” which somehow manages to be as lame as it sounds, dumdum choreography notwithstanding.

Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping pays lip service to spoofing its subject but can’t resist kissing its ass. I had a little fun but felt afterward an immediate need to either listen to a real band or watch a real satire.

This Is Banal Tap….2.5 (out of 5) stars

If it weren’t for Rachel Weisz, The Lobster would be in the running for the most overrated film of this young year. An intriguing concept does not a film make.

Greek Director Yorgos Lanthimos (Dogtooth), in his English language debut, draws up a doozy of a premise. In a dystopian society that prohibits single people, The Lobster sets its sights on a convention-like gathering where singles come to either find their match within a specified number of days, or face a final fate of being transformed into none other than the animal of their choice. Talk about pressure dating.

David, (Colin Farrell/the only character with an actual name) as subdued as most of the proceedings here, looks rather dejected after his girlfriend dumped him. Distracted and shell shocked, he listens to a bunch of rules and regulations as he checks in. It might as well be an Est meeting for all the excited David seems. It’s fun trying to figure out what is going on. At first.

Little jokes like trying to match people up with similar shortcomings (John C. Reilly’s character lisps) point to amusing ironies and familiar psychologies. After awhile everyone starts to seem overly serious. David’s nothing but earnest as he declares wanting to be a lobster should he fail to find a partner.

And thus David becomes ready for Act 2. A counterculture group that strenuously eschews relationships serve as shooting targets for the mainstreamers. In hiding and donning some serious camouflage, they take refuge in a nearby forest. There Weisz dangerously catches David’s eye. A strange yet rather uncompelling relationship develops.

Weisz makes a valiant effort to humanize what increasingly becomes a preposterously arcane film environment. The plot’s tensions build for awhile then snap into a lackluster, cluttered homestretch. Just when something amazing or tragic or ironic needs to be happening, things slow to a crawl.

In Dogtooth, Lanthimos’ 2009 Cannes Certain de Regard winner, the premise was equally bizarre. Children sealed off in the extreme from the outside world by their parents’ obsession with social conditioning come to garner more and more interest as the outlandish state of their isolation increases. Conversely, in The Lobster, things go from droll weird to dull weirder, with barely a whimper of dramatic heft.

A Not Terribly Tasty Lobster Roll…2.5 stars (out of 5)

Tilda Swinton works well with Italian director Luca Guadagnino. After the engaging I Am Love (2010), she teams up with him again in the enigmatic A Bigger Splash. The good news is Swinton displays her usual dynamic acting skills. Playing rock star Marianne Land, who is essentially unable to speak as she recovers from throat surgery, Swinton’s mime talents here rival her that of her vampire ones in the immensely enjoyable Only Lovers Left Alive.

The not so good news is despite excellent acting and editing that produces some sterling scenes, the focus of A Bigger Splash is on a character Harry Hawkes (Ralph Fiennes), who, however crazed and charismatic he may be, essentially leaves our interest level in the other characters wanting. Matthias Schoenaerts does his usual quiet man routine as Marianne’s current lover, Paul. Dakota Johnson turns in a spiffy performance as Penelope, a mysterious young femme fatale who is probably Fiennes’ long-estranged daughter. They all, including Swinton, who is marvelous here, do their best to keep up with the insanely intense energy level of Hawkes, who, incidentally is Marianne’s former music producer and lover.

Gorgeous Sicilian scenery and colorful local characters, including corrupt police officers, a matronly ricotta chef, and an earnest if bewildered housekeeper spice things up, as do the occasional nods to celebrity worship. Yet it’s Fiennes’ show to make or break. The versatile actor has never been better.

Harry’s egoism knows no bounds; his charm, no limits. He’s never less than fully believable. Just when the film begins to teeter off into the swampy abstractions seemingly integral to art films of this sort, Fiennes brings it back home time and again. Until even he can’t save this film from drifting off. Similar to the recent Louder Than Bombs, a terrific cast can’t turn a mere good film into something more special. Its thriller and political aspects seem tacked on, a mere setup for the hilarious, ironical last scene.

Morose Mayhem at a Mediterranean Villa…3.5 stars (out of 5)

If you haven’t seen Jacques Audiard’s A Prophet (2010), do whatever it takes to catch up. Also, don’t miss Auduard’s latest, Dheepan, winner of the Palme d’Or at Cannes. Dheepan is the story of a “fake family” of refuges from war-torn Sri Lanka. Former Tamil Tiger Dheepan (Antonysaythan Jesuthasan, himself a former boy soldier), in order to escape the battle zone, assembles a pretend family while in the refugee camp. A woman, Yalini (Kalieaswara Srinivisan), searches the camp for orphaned children. She eventually finds nine-year-old Illayaal (Claudine Vinasithamby), a perfect fit for the dead family whose identity and passports the threesome will now assume.

The strangers manage to make it onto a boat to France. Dheepan, as swiftly as he swapped his warrior fatigues for civilian clothes in the camp, takes on the job of caretaker at a dive housing project on the outskirts of Paris, despite speaking virtually no French. Yalini cooks and cleans for Habib, a man with dementia, and Illayaal starts special needs classes. The film is by no means a smooth ride toward the crystallization of a pretend family into a real one. Audiard advances every tension and obstacle with craftsmanship loaded with plausible realism. Not least among the problems to be faced is the presence of a violent drug-dealing gang in the opposite housing block that contains Habib’s apartment.

Dheepan had better watch himself. His occasional bursts of anger suggest PTSD might be working in his psyche. Like the brilliant prisoner Malik in A Prophet, the quiet Dheepsn is a compelling figure. The sacrifices made by strikingly resilient displaced immigrants, couldn’t be better illustrated than it is here. Illayaal, who otherwise adopts to the new situation better than the two adults, sadly yearns for the unconditional
love that her two parental figures are unable to provide.

The film contains some harrowingly real crises, yet as memorable as they are they pale in comparison to the eloquent mark the three members of the family individually and collectively leave on the viewer’s consciousness. Audiard’s avoids sentimentality like he does easy answers. What we’re sure of is the sheer madness of being thrust into an alien environment with the added difficulty of having to playact a faux-familial situation.

Let’s Pretend We’re Married…..4.5 stars (out of 5)

In his last two directorial efforts (Kiss Kiss,Bang Bang; Iron Man 3) veteran screenwriter Shane Black enjoyed having Robert Downey Jr. as his lead. Lucky him! This time it’s Russell Crowe and Ryan Gosling. They don’t merely reinforce the material here–they propel a breathtakingly-paced yet lax script into the smart-and-funny category.

That is not to say this crime noir comedic homage to 1970s-era buddy flicks keeps its head out of cliches and silly plot complications. Black, who penned Lethal Weapon and The Long Kiss Goodnight, also isn’t above referencing himself. As my friend and trash movie aficionado Lou was quick to point out there’s a scene here literally lifted straight out of The Last Boyscout, the 1991 Bruce Willis film which Black also wrote. Yet what keeps Black on fairly stable ground is not just a fine feel for the absurd-tinged, vacuous aspects of 1970s culture but also sharp timing in his set pieces.

When loosey-goosey private eye Holland March (Gosling) juggles a loaded gun, a cigarette, and dangling trousers when confronted while siting at a bathroom stall, pure comedy results. Other scenes take full advantage of crude yet crisp henchman Jackson Healy (Crowe), who refreshingly turns out to be a surly practitioner of deadpan and other classic comic devices.

Now about that plot. Damsel in distress meets porn industry meets political corruption meets family betrayal meets mysterious murders meets our two clutzy heroes. It’s quickly established March and Healy will be reluctant comrades when the first thing Healy does upon meeting March is
break his arm. Then there’s a 13-year-old running around spouting very adult lines. She’s Holly March (Angourie Rice), Holland’s daughter, and her use here at first makes one uncomfortable but before long she’s a candidate for the best thing about this movie.

I can’t help myself in throwing in this spoiler but when Holly tosses what is perceived to be hot coffee on a gun-wielding villain, only to find out the brew is ice-cold, it’s another one of those scenes that keep this film engaging. Just don’t expect–well, Lethal Weapon and you’ll be fine here.

In the end The Nice Guys asks us to swallow a lot of hooey: ludicrous, nonsensical plot contrivances, a lackluster Kim Basinger performance (she subdues a marginally dull character into the realm of the insipid) and villains who don’t feel very villainous. Ride
along with Crowe and Gosling and
you’ll get through this largely unscathed and all the more amused. Black probably forgot more about putting on a good show in this genre than younger directors hope to ever know.

Russell and Ryan’s Raggedy Rip-roaring Schtick…3.5 (out of 5) stars

Step aside, Blanchett. Make room, Winslet. There’s a new Kate in town.

Actually, she’s not new at all. More like rejuvenated. Kate Beckinsale, who’s best work might have been her previous collaboration with director Whit Stillman (Last Days of Disco, 1998) reunites with Stillman in a spot-on, deliciously devilish Jane Austen adaptation. In Love and Friendship, Beckinsale portrays Lady Susan, a complex, cunning raconteur who charms and connives with high social ambitions while remarkably keeping them mostly hidden from view.

The film goads the viewer into thinking an intricate mess of a yarn lays ahead when it piles on characters in its first few minutes by the score. Displaying still shots and names and descriptions on the screen, it’s impossible to keep it all straight, especially with characters we haven’t even met yet. Not to worry. Stillman is having some fun with us, as he also does with visual tricks like flashing on the screen in script form the contents of letters as they are read aloud.

The liberties Stillman takes don’t end there. He also augments the Austen epistolary novella “Lady Susan” with expanded characters. In the book, Sir James Martin was merely an marginal figure. Here, he is elevated to co-star status after first being called a “bit of a rattle,” a British slang for fool. Martin (Tom Bennett) represents a suitor of Lady Susan’s withdrawn 16-year old daughter Frederica (Morfydd Clark). What does it matter he doesn’t know poetry and verse aren’t opposite things, or, egad, what “tiny green balls” (peas) are–he has plenty of money. His lack of breeding stands in stark contrast to the landowning relatives Lady Susan suddenly finds herself lodging with after the death of her husband.

As usual in these sorts of dramas, the men are various shades of pliable messes and the women far more wiley. Lady Susan seems to have a plan or two up her sleeve. It involves not only Sir James but the far more worldly and gentlemanly Reginald DeCourcy (Xavier Samuel). Her partner in crime is an American expatriate (Chloe Sevigny) who is married to a much older Brit who holds her in check with threats of carting her back to that loathsome America.

I don’t recall previous Austen adaptations being this much fun, which is a huge credit to Stillman. In Lady Susan he and Beckinsale have pulled off a heroine who, though essentially unlikable, is irresistible.

In her own way she is much the early feminist who was unfortunately stuck in a late 18th century time period where the only way to get ahead was to piss off a few snobby aristocrats, ignore their classism, and forge a financial security by hook or by crook.

Kate On Fire In Brazen, Bright Austen Adaptation…4.5 stars (out of 5)

The villainous hedge fund in Money Monster is an outfit lamely called IBIS Clear Capital (presumably the moniker ISIS was already taken). Unfortunately the rest of the film is seriously marred from equally obvious manipulations. On the occasions when the film’s three screenwriters don’t resort to cheating and short-cutting the material, this Jody Foster-directed effort actually entertains. Just don’t expect Dog Day Afternoon.

By now if you’ve watched any TV whatsoever in the last couple of months, you know this hostage crisis drama stars George Clooney as the Jim-Cramer-on-steroids TV financial guru Lee Gates. The trailer gives away a lot of the film, so you may also have guessed it’s about a disgruntled, gone broke investor who manages to sneak on the set of a live Gates broadcast and stick a gun in Clooney’a face and an explosives-filled vest over his “$1000 suit.”

The Big Short this film is not but Clooney manages by technique to put a little sociopolitical sheen over what is basically a second-rate thriller shot in real time. Jack O’Connell (check out the brilliant Starred Up) puts on a Queens accent and brings genuine menace to the character Kyle Budwell, who put down the entire $60,000 inheritance from his deceased mom on the IBIS stock that Gates said was “safer than a savings account.”

The director of Gates’ Money Monster (it’s also the name of his show) is Patty Fenn, played by a pretty good Julia Roberts. She talks to Gates via his earpiece as Gates negotiates Budwell’s complaints and demands while remaining on the air. If the frequent intercutting to scenes of crowds watching the crisis on television is annoying, it’s made even worse after the realization soon hits that Budwell’s insistence on remaining on the air could easily have been ignored by

Fenn: Budwell had no real means of knowing whether they were on the air or not.

Foster, who has worked with great directors throughout her career should know better than to allow some of the script stunts put forth here. The last film she directed was Beaver, the odd Mel Gibson vehicle where Gibson’s depressed character is strangely liberated by a pet beaver hand puppet. In Money Monster, Foster’s puppets this time around are the numerous cops and IBIS personnel who, as supporting characters around Gates and Fenn, come up monstrously short. While the main players do their best to keep up a good show, the film loses steam in its second half, eliciting as many groans as gasps.

Monster Manipulators … 3 stars (out of 5)