It Chapter Two

Director: Andy Muschietti
Starring: Jessica Chastain, James McAvoy, Bill Hader, Isaiah Mustafa, Jay Ryan, James Ransone, Andy Bean, Sophia Lillis, Jaeden Martell, Finn Wolfhard, Chosen Jacobs, Jeremy Ray Taylor, Jack Dylan Grazer, Wyatt Oleff, Bill Skarsgård
Running Time: 170 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

Endings have never been Stephen King's strong suit. This is worth mentioning since It Chapter Two seems to allude to that numerous times with a wink and a nod, as if audiences were already going into Andy Muschietti's sequel to his really great 2017 film adaptation of King's epic novel prepared for disappointment. After all, they've experienced it before, with 1990's underwhelming It TV miniseries having a particularly problematic second half marred by a wretched conclusion. But to lay the blame entirely at King's feet rather than the filmmakers tasked with translating his work through the years, isn't exactly fair.

You need only see The Mist or The Shawshank Redemption to realize how taking creative license with King's material can yield extremely satisfying results that enhance the themes of his storytelling. Muschietti's It was one of the good ones, delivering a Stand By Me meets Stranger Things vibe bolstered by the 80's era setting, perfectly calibrated child performances, and Bill Skarsgård's demonic turn as Pennywise The Clown. Part-horror, part coming-of-age nostalgia, you could call it the quintessential King adaptation in how it streamlines the author's over-indulgences while accenting his strengths.

Chapter Two was always going to be challenging in that it couldn't be a period piece with the same young actors, unless there's a big deviation from the novel preventing the inevitable time jump that sees all the roles recast with adult counterparts. Plus, there's just something about kids at that age being confronted with supernatural horror, just as their imaginations and emotions are already running rampant. Not only does everything seem more important during adolescence, but the stakes just feel higher when pre-teens experience a loss of innocence, forcing them to grow into who they'll eventually become, whether they're ready or not.

Now, we find out exactly who these kids become in a solid, if a little messy, sequel that does a lot right in avoiding many expected pitfalls. It helps that the same director returns with a nearly identical vision, and while it may take viewers a bit to get acclimated to the cast, Muschietti employs a very similar structure that works heavily in its favor, making for an effective, but undeniably overlong experience. But it's a testament to him that the nearly three-hour running time doesn't feel like the drag it so easily could have.

It's 2016 in Derry, Maine when a man is brutally attacked by a gang of homophobic youths at the town's carnival and thrown off a bridge, into the waiting arms of the murderous Pennywise (Skarsgård). After investigating the crime, Mike Hanlon (Isaiah Mustafa) realizes the clown has returned 27 years later and takes it upon himself to contact childhood friends Bill Denbrough (James McAvoy), Beverly Marsh (Jessica Chastain), Ben Hanscom (Jay Ryan), Richie Tozier (Bill Hader), Eddie Kaspbrak (James Ransone) and Stanley Uris (Andy Bean), summoning them back home to honor the promise they all made in 1989 as members of the Losers' Club to kill the clown if he ever returned.

All but Stan arrive back in Derry, but soon discover they only have partial memories of what occurred over two decades ago. But with Mike's help, everything comes flooding back and they're soon tormented by Pennywise with hallucinations from their own past and visions of the future, even as their tormentor seeks out new victims. Making matters worse is that teen sociopath Henry Bowers (Teach Grant) survived his fall into the well and is out for revenge, having recently escaped the mental hospital where he's been confined for his father's murder. Formulating a plan to stop Pennywise for good, the gang will have to make sacrifices of their own, retracing their steps as kids, and coming face-to-face with the painful memories they'd rather have remain buried. Only then, can they be prepared for what could be their final confrontation with Pennywise.

The film's opening is almost shockingly violent, and a reminder that this was a story that never played it safe or compromised in its first installment, and certainly not now, with the characters having long aged out of childhood. Homophobic attacks and sexual abuse aren't usually the first things that come to mind when considering King's catalogue, and while this entry does seem to be unusually hung up on the former, Muschietti deserves credit again for revolving Pennywise's supernatural reign of terror around the true-to-life challenges his victims face. Like its prequel, it doesn't hold back, again earning an 'R' which admittedly carried more of an impact the first time around with a cast comprised entirely of kids. While the genuine sense of danger, the ear for how the gang talked and felt, and Pennywise's attacks heightened the scare factor of the 2017 film, this seems more like a reunion, or greatest hits compilation of all the scariest story beats and scenes from that outing with a new cast.

The more the action gets going, the better it gets, as after all pleasantries are exchanged and we get a deeper read on the characters, you start to appreciate the tiny details and continuity that link the adult losers club protagonists to their childhood counterparts. Whether it's Bill's guilt over little brother Georgie's death at the hands of Pennnywise, Beverly's abusive upbringing, Ben's impossible crush on her, Richie's inability to fit in, or the long-term consequences of Eddie's terminally overprotective mother.

To its benefit, the narrative is flashback-heavy, cutting back and forth between the past and present, filling in details we weren't previously privy to, which takes some pressure off the new faces to top their predecessors. The biggest surprise is just how much the younger originals are in this, even if some of their scenes carry a visual awkwardness resulting from them having noticeably aged a couple of years. But mostly, it's done well, with each character's 2016 story mirroring the 1989 version, bolstering the unifying the two installments while further linking the chains that connect their traumatic childhood and adult experiences.

If there's one thing everyone knew we needed in this sequel, it was Jessica Chastain stepping in to continue Sophia Lillis' extraordinary work as Beverly. Rarely does a fan casting choice feel so obviously right on every level, and when the possibility of her playing the part suddenly became real, that hook was reason enough to continue. She doesn't disappoint, transforming young Bev's quirks into a darker, more psychologically wounded woman, while still retaining the character's tomboy spirit. In other words, she delivers exactly as predicted, with the added bonus of that uncanny physical resemblance to Lillis. Her and James McAvoy predictably shine, with the latter most registering when he needs to confront guilt-ridden Bill's mental anguish over his responsibility in Georgie's death.

Bill's career as a writer also becomes a clever meta device to reference Stephen King's aforementioned battles with endings, with the author himself even getting in on the joke with one of his more memorable screen cameos. The rest of the cast have varying degrees of success, with Bill Hader channeling the goofy eccentricities younger counterpart Finn Wolfhard brought to Richie and infusing it with an angrier adult sensibility. The bond between Ben and Beverly is revisited, this time with Jay Ryan attempting to project the formally awkward, bullied overweight new kid's insecurities as a handsome, successful architect. This sub-plot, which works better in flashbacks then present-day, should have been deeply affecting, but Ryan's kind of bland opposite Chastain, thus undercutting its impact as the story's big redemptive arc. There's also a distracting exposition dump involving Mike's theories on Pennywise's origins that make little sense and should have been excised entirely.

The cast does gel, just not to the level the kids did in the previous film, causing viewers to possibly readjust their expectations for a sequel already saddled with the burden of having to follow one of the best recent King adaptations. But Muscietti manages to tie things together at the film's most important point, and an extremely long third act where the narrative should be losing steam ends up being its highlight, aided in part by Skarsgård's less present, but still scary, performance as Pennywise and a strangely compelling final showdown wherein the script simultaneously juggles numerous narratives in the past and present. If nothing else, it's actually a well-edited three hours that doesn't leave you with that sinking feeling of disappointment prevalent in so many of the author's multi-part adaptations. Still a far cry from its first chapter, It's second half functions well enough as a companion piece to prove it was a story worth finishing.     

13 Reasons Why (Season 3)

Creator: Brian Yorkey
Starring: Dylan Minnette, Christian Navarro, Alisha Boe, Brandon Flynn, Justin Prentice, Miles Heizer, Ross Butler, Devin Druid, Grace Saif, Amy Hargreaves, Derek Luke, Kate Walsh, Brenda Strong, Timothy Granaderos
Original Airdate: 2019

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

With a current rating of 12 percent on Rotten Tomatoes, it's tough to recall a bigger collective groan accompanying an additional season order and trailer for a show as popular as 13 Reasons Why, and one only in its third season at that. The general consensus is that there's just no need to continue, which is a tough pill to swallow considering how a seemingly innocuous YA adaptation developed by Brian Yorkey and produced by Selena Gomez both captivated and angered audiences of all ages three years ago, as the deceased teen narrator Hannah Baker (Katherine Langford) left 13 cassette tape recordings detailing the reasons she ended her own life. Teen suicide rates spiked, mental health experts argued and advocacy groups raged, making their case that the show's content was "triggering" for at-risk youths.  Despite the media's pronouncement of the show's waning popularity, the controversy continued, with the cast appearing in what amounts to public service announcements before and after each episode. Only recently, and perhaps tired of battling, Netflix threw their hands up in the air and removed the disturbing suicide scene.

The second season wasn't as strong, shoehorning Hannah's ghost into the proceedings while the show's loyal, avenging protagonist, Clay Jensen (Dylan Minnette) sought justice for his friend and Hannah's grieving, irate mother attempted to hold her daughter's classmates legally responsible for her death. At a school as messed up as Liberty High, that should have been easy. But that's precisely why it wasn't. Exposing a jock rape culture at the school carried consequences, but lost in the analysis was how expertly the writers handled two extremely challenging storylines centering around drug abuse and school shootings, the latter of which was brilliantly realized, culminating in last season's cliffhanger.

Hard to watch and painfully realistic, Tyler Down's (Devin Druid) deterioration from bullied oddball outsider to armed gunman made a startling amount of sense, and with a traumatic event finally pushing him over the edge, he walks right up to that line right before Clay stops him from crossing it. The season played like a frightening step-by-step psychological dissection of a shooters' mind and the institutional pressures that create them. And if the series didn't carry the media stigma it did, Druid's scary yet heartbreaking slow-burn performance would have been recognized at Emmy time. But most were still too busy complaining about the previous season's suicide to even notice an active shooter storyline, and an even more brutal rape scene, both of which you'd figure would send the public into a frenzy once more.

As Netflix continues to manage this selective outrage, it's easy to forget that the series, at its best and worst, tackles issues most shows are afraid to touch, and frequently does it with brutally honest performances and writing. As messy as Season 3 initially appears to be, it's still no exception, and even quite straightforward once you get past its odd start. Reinventing itself as a murder mystery, it revolves around the question of who killed the series' main antagonist, serial rapist, Bryce Walker (Justin Prentice). And even that's drawn criticism, with the showrunners facing accusations that they spent an entire season humanizing a rapist to engender our sympathies. But that's not what's going on here, with the writers taking a previously one-note rich jock character and squeezing more out of him than most expected was possible during the first couple of seasons. He was guilty of multiple rapes, somehow got away with it and now must live with that fact, as do his victims.

If anything, Bryce's character arc is one of futility, as he wrestles with the realization that no matter how much he tries to make amends or change as a person, it's useless. He'll always be defined by this. He'll always be rapist. Prentice's work conveying this is one of many reasons to stick around, as is Druid's as Tyler, with the latter coping with the deep psychological ramifications of the school shooting he almost carried out, as well as the brutal assault that helped lead him down the dark path to attempt it. The third season's sub-title may as well be "Recovery," since that seems to be what all the characters are going through in some form or another.

Mostly doing away with cassettes, Polaroids or any other retro tech successfully used as framing devices for the previous seasons, the circumstances surrounding Bryce Walker's murder is told almost entirely via flashbacks. So much so that it's often difficult to tell where those flashbacks end and the present-day investigation begins, with a constant cutting back-and-forth between two time timelines that really aren't all that far apart. And when the writers start incorporating multiple suspects and overlapping stories, it's a confusing introduction. That's not even mentioning that all the events are being narrated within an interrogation room by a character we've never seen before. Her name is Ani Achola (Grace Saif), a British exchange student who during her short time at Liberty has seemed to forge close relationships with everyone, especially Clay. For a while, the jury's still out on the exact nature of their friendship, but if we know anything, he'll be overanalyzing and obsessing over it. 

It's admittedly jarring seeing this much screen time and prominence allotted to an entirely new character that fans have mistakenly labeled as the "new Hannah." She's actually nothing of the sort, as the extent of her involvement more closely rivals Clay's in that she knows everything about everyone and isn't afraid to stick her nose where it doesn't belong And while her abrupt introduction is more than a little shaky and confounding, there's something to be said for just throwing Ani in there right away as the lead and committing to it, eventually resulting in a successful cast addition and framing device. But as far as unreliable narrators go, she probably even has Hannah beat.

It helps that Saif is a really talented actress, frequently rising way above the material she's given. It's through her we get everyone's stories and the details surrounding Bryce's murder start to take shape. And she would know. Residing at the Walker estate with her mom, who's taken a job as full-time caregiver for Nora Walker's (Brenda Strong) ailing father, she's one of the few to get a close-up look at Bryce's life after leaving left Liberty in shame following his meager, slap-on-the-wrist sentencing for raping Jessica Davis (Alisha Boe).

Of course, given all the other girls he raped, lives he destroyed and chaos he caused, few would feel sorry for the fact that he's emotionally struggling come to terms with his heinous actions. Newly enrolled at Hillcrest Academy, the bully is now the bullied, as Bryce is ostracized in his new surroundings, spending most of his free time at home drowning his sorrows in a bottle.

Aside from football, Bryce's only lifeline is Ani, the only person holding no preconceived notions about who he is and observes him wanting and trying to be better. Even if just about everyone else in Crestmont, especially those he hurt, would strongly disagree. All that anger eventually comes to a head the night he's killed, following an extremely controversial Homecoming game.

The list of suspects is plentiful, with each of their stories designated an episode. There's Clay, whose jealousy over Bryce's bond with Ani could have pushed him over the edge, much like it did before when he threatened him over Hannah's rape. There's also some damning evidence linking him to the crime, and the fact that Mrs. Walker and the D.A. seem convinced he's their guy. Bryce's former teammate and current captain Zach Dempsey (Ross Butler) always differed with him philosophically, but their feud escalated after he provided support for his ex-girlfriend Chlöe (Anne Winters) during a particularly challenging time.

Perhaps no one has more motive than the strong-willed Jessica, whose sexual assault at the hands of Bryce has led her to become a women's rights champion as student council president, and more determined than ever to put a permanent end to the toxic jock culture at Liberty. That she and Bryce were in contact before his death makes her the most likely suspect on motivation alone. Another rape victim, Tyler, whose traumatic bathroom attack by Monty de la Cruz (Timothy Granaderos), and thwarted plans to carry out a mass shooting, can both be traced back to his issues with Bryce. Despite making strides in his recovery, the fact that he still owns a gun worries many in his support system. But as Monty's anger issues escalate, Bryce's knowledge of his attack on Tyler and his threats to expose it, make a cornered Monty as dangerous as ever.

For Alex Standall (Miles Heizer), lingering anger over his physical limitations and rocky relationship with Jessica, have him turning to an unlikely friend in Bryce, even as he heads down a dangrous path of drug addiction and suicidal depression. The mysterious appearance of Tony Padilla's (Christian Navarro) trademark red Mustang in the Walker garage sets off an argument between Ani and Clay, with the latter denying his best friend could have had anything to do with Bryce's death. This even as Tony's shocking personal crisis may indicate the opposite.

Despite finding a home with the Jensens, and a new brother in Clay, Justin Foley's (Brandon Flynn) failure to kick his drug habit and continued inability to forgive himself for letting best friend Bryce rape Jessica has sent him into a freefall. But who he goes to for help is what's so surprising, and ends up making him a key suspect in the murder. The returns of terminated guidance counselor Kevin Porter (Derek Luke) and Hannah's mom, Olivia (Kate Walsh), to Crestmont for different reasons also raise red flags, as both have a contentious histories with Bryce, with the latter still very much wanting to see her daughter's rapist dead and buried.  

This is a lot to take in, and while the almost comical descriptions of these suspects and their motives do little to dispel the belief that these 13 episodes are laying it on a little thick, when this show hits on something, it really hits. And if those criticizing it weren't too busy calling for its producers to apologize for every little thing they do, they'd probably notice that. While plagued with undeniable narrative issues, there are many things it still does well, if not as well or better than the preceding one.

The aftermath of Tyler's attempted mass shooting was handled just about as well as anything the show's done thus far, never tiptoeing around the ramifications of how it affected him and those with the direct knowledge of what he almost did. Hardly ever do we see an aborted mass shooting in any series, with no one hurt or the gunman being talked down and safely returned home. One of the season's more powerful scenes involve Tyler being walked back to his room by Clay, finding the suicide note he wrote only hours earlier, and facing the parents he thought he'd never see again. It's heavy, emotional material matched only by how Clay, Jessica, Alex's rotating supervision of Tyler, fearing he still poses a risk to both himself and others. That they do this while also attempting to privately get him the help he so desperately needs makes it land even harder.

As for Bryce, we get answers, with the culmination of the mystery surrounding his murder coming to a satisfying end in the season finale, "Let the Dead Bury the Dead. It's a fitting title, and a proper send-off for the character's complicated legacy, as the writers don't beat around the bush when it comes to revealing the killer, or exploring the possible fall-out for those harboring knowledge about it. These secrets are sure to extend into the following season, set to be its last, and boy does that ever seem to be a good idea. You literally can't imagine the series extending past that, with this one feeling as if they're stretching it out already.

Credit the writers for at least realizing they had to go in a completely different direction following Hannah's suicide, even if it feels as if the show lost its top two protagonists in the process with her, and now Clay, who kind of took a backseat this season with the introduction of a new narrator and further development of the supporting characters It wouldn't be a bad idea to have the action circle back around around to him again for the last run of episodes. You may have more trouble now coming up with 13 reasons to keep watching, but Minnette's performance as Clay would have to be among them, along with a handful of others. But having long already exhausted the blueprint left by Jay Asher's source material, they're going to need more than a few new tricks up their sleeves to go out on the creative high this series premiered at.

The Invisible Man

Director: Leigh Whannell
Starring: Elisabeth Moss, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Aldis Hodge, Storm Reid, Harriet Dyer, Michael Dorman
Running Time: 124 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

Blumhouse's 2020 reimagining of The Invisible Man is built upon a single hook that completely flips the script on H.G. Wells' original 1897 novel. By shifting the focus from the title character to the person most affected, in horrifying ways, by his scientific experiment, writer/director Leigh Whannell makes a film that feels jarringly of our time. You could even argue the events depicted are less an "experiment" than a sadistic trap.

While the origins of the character were far from noble in any incarnation of the material, it's taken to a new level here, with the invisibility wielded not only as weapon for violence, destruction, stalking and psychological warfare, but as a "Me Too" metaphor for the plight of battered and abused women. These implications of this aren't subtle, but compared to whatever probable disaster we would have otherwise gotten from a Universal monster movie reboot, this feels like restrained elegance. And it often is, a lot more interested in exploring victim trauma than science fiction or horror.

Whannell knows he has something and just keeps tightening the screws, cornering a woman no one has any reason to believe because her story seems so irrational, if not downright insane. It becomes more than just a battle against her unseen tormenter, but also the doubters who look down at her with pity when she attempts to explain her ordeal. Sound familiar? It should, but it also marks the first time Wells' story has been adapted to the screen to reflect something more than what it's directly about.

There are times where it seems as if this will be going through the motions of a mainstream horror thriller that doesn't exactly break new ground, but Elisabeth Moss' tortured performance is so great you'd think that it does, elevating the material to a level it wouldn't have attained with someone else in the role. Having slowly built up this really impressive post-Mad Men career specializing in darkly damaged characters, she transposes the qualities that made her indie work so compelling to a far more mainstream effort, with nothing compromised in the process. The movie's well-made and suspenseful, but she makes it better, so thoroughly inhabiting the fear and terror of this woman that it makes everything surrounding her feel that much more threatening.

Cecilia Kass (Moss) is trapped in a violent relationship with wealthy, controlling optics engineer Adrian Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) when she decides to one night make her escape after drugging him. After barely evading his grasp and leaving with the help of her sister, Emily (Harriet Dyer), she hides out with San Francisco police detective and childhood friend, James' (Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter, Sydney (Storm Reid). Traumatized and afraid to even step out the door, Cecilia soon receives the shocking news that Adrian committed suicide and left a substantial fortune for her in his will, according to his lawyer brother, Tom (Michael Dorman).

Besides the inescapably chilly feeling Adrian's presence still seems to be everywhere for Cecilia, something doesn't add up when some seriously strange, unexplainable goings-on in the house point toward the fact that he's still somehow physically present. But the more convinced she becomes that Adrian faked his own death, using his scientific acumen to invisibly threaten her, the crazier and more emotionally fragile those closest to her believe she's become. Now, sight unseen, Adrian's able to frame her as a criminal and destroy her life, making good on his prophecy that she'll never escape him. Controlling her more now than when "alive," Cecilia desperately attempts to get anyone to believe what's happening, before it's too late.

While very much following a modern horror template of a woman being terrorized by an unseen, destructive force, the added narrative layer of partner abuse and Adrian's motivations make the proceedings feel more real, and with higher stakes. Right up until the invisibility angle is fully absorbed into the story, you'd think this was exclusively a film about domestic violence, mostly because it is. And it remains that throughout, with the physical and psychological battering firmly planted front and center, which stands as a credit to Moss' depiction of Cecilia's ongoing battle and Whannell's script, which takes some clever, surprising turns.

It helps that the film rarely overdoes it, refusing to engage in some of the cornier aspects that have previously plagued loose cinematic adaptations of Wells' tale. Most of that has stemmed from the idea's gimmickry, as you can't help but cringe awaiting the same kind of effects-heavy, action nonsense we got in Hollow Man. But there's none of that here, with the technology being revealed in a completely reasonable way as far as these things go, keeping the focus entirely on Cecilia's plight. Rarely do we pause at the incredulity of something this absurd because we're all in from the film's first tension-filled scene and that trust isn't violated from then on.

Moss is so believable in her mental anguish that the idea Cecilia could be losing her mind because of or in addition to what's happening is never completely off the table, both for her and us. From the moment we meet her she's already in dire straits and it only escalates from there, culminating in a mid-point restaurant scene with her sister that takes everything to an entirely different level. In other words, it's on. From there, the action does slip into a slightly more conventional pattern as the details of Adrian's plot come into view, but it's no less exciting because of it.

As a filmmaker, Whannell always been more deeply entrenched in psychological thrills than "torture porn" horror. It's easy to forget after its many underwhelming sequels that 2004's original Saw, which he wrote and co-starred in, wasn't initially concerned severed limbs and deadly traps. It was a twisty morality play with with more psychological suspense than gore, its successive films entirely missing the point and extracting all the wrong elements from its initially ingenious concept, bastardizing a franchise that was never intended as one. He accomplished similar feat with Insidious and, more recently, Upgrade, marking him as a creative force worth watching.

This could have easily flown off the rails in the last act, but Whannell and Moss steer it steadily to a finish that doesn't feel ridiculously over-the-top or too clever for its own good. It does require her to go into action hero mode a bit, but even that's well-handled without threatening the film's core conceit. Clocking in at a really tight 124 minutes that just flies by, The Invisible Man's peak comes as Cecilia's flailing for survival, attempting to convince everyone around her of the impossible as the walls keep closing in. Moss frighteningly reflects what could register as an eerily familiar situation to many women watching. And that's a lot more than anyone expected from another monster movie reboot we weren't sure we wanted.       

Knives Out

Director: Rian Johnson
Starring: Daniel Craig, Chris Evans, Ana de Armas, Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael Shannon, Don Johnson, Toni Collette, Lakeith Stanfield, Katherine Langford, Jaeden Martell, Christopher Plummer, Frank Oz, K Callan, Noah Segan, M. Emmet Walsh
Running Time: 130 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

**Warning: The Following Review Contains Major Plot Spoilers**

Rian Johnson's Knives Out distinguishes itself from just about any other recent mainstream film by filling a massive void. It actually feels necessary, resurrecting a sub-genre many have probably forgotten even existed. And in the process, he not only improves the formula, but reminds us just how thrilling a good old fashioned murder mystery can be, especially when executed with this much precision and ingenuity. It's easy to believe there are fewer big screen mysteries because the level of difficulty is so high, both in delivering a satisfying, unpredictable script and directing so many different actors sharing the same scenes. Johnson greatly excels at this, and while its closest cinematic relatives would seem to be something like Clue or Deathtrap, you'd have to be careful not to similarly categorize this as a "whodunnit?"

An inaccurate "whodunnit?" hook would immediately set audiences up for a big reveal or ending twist that may or may not work depending upon whether we feel the culprit is suitably surprising. The players in Johnson's game don't feel like chess pieces to merely be moved across the board until we're left with a killer, but multi-dimensional characters whose motivations and actions make them interesting and complex enough to carry a morality tale all of their own. It's also doubles as a scathing, satirical commentary about wealth and privilege, rightfully earning every comparison it's gotten to Best Picture winner, Parasite, with which it would make an intriguing double-feature.

By getting the"who" question out the way by its mid-point, Johnson takes the pressure off, freeing the script up to focus instead on the "how" and "why." And it's there when you become completely absorbed by the story, recognizing that unlike previous ensemble mysteries, we actually have someone worth rooting for. The story's focus never leaves her, from the first frame up until the last, granting audiences one of the strongest protagonists you could hope to find at the center of such insanity.

When wealthy crime novelist Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is found dead with his throat slit in the family's Massachusetts mansion on his 85th birthday, an anonymous tip sends famed private detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) to the residence suspecting foul play. He's joined by Detective Elliott (Lakeith Stanfield) and Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan), local police who are more than ready to rule it a suicide as they begin questioning the eccentric Thrombeys, many of whom Blanc catches in lies and suspects would have strong motives to murder the ailing patriarch.

Leading up to his death, Harlan had seriously strained relationships with most of the family, mainly due to them freeloading off his fortune. He had just fired youngest son Walt (Michael Shannon) from his publishing company, threatened to expose that son-in-law Richard (Don Johnson) was cheating on daughter Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis) and cut off daughter-in-law and hippie lifestyle guru Joni's (Toni Colette's) allowance, which helps pay for granddaughter Meg's (Katherine Langford) college tuition. On the night of his death, he also had a heated verbal confrontation with black sheep grandson, Ransom (Chris Evans). His only confidante was Harlan's nurse and caregiver, Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas), who soon becomes Blanc's biggest ally in the investigation when he realizes she often hears and sees everything. But even she has a secret, along with an unfortunate propensity to vomit when lying. But as Blanc gets closer to the truth, the Thrombeys may instead end up tearing each other apart over the contents of Harlan's will.

Supposedly, one of Johnson's biggest inspirations writing this was the classic detective series, Columbo, and you can really see how that would be, as the blueprint does faintly echo the style of mysteries you'd expect to see on that show, one of tv's most underrated crime dramas. In it, a seemingly clueless, schlubby-looking title murder detective (incomparably played by Peter Falk) would brilliantly connect all these dots to eventually come to the conclusion of how exactly the perpetrator committed the crime. That person's identity can often be telegraphed early on, making the details the reveal the main event, heavily favoring character development over a traditional "whodunnit."

That series, and especially its classic Steve Spielberg-helmed episode, "Murder By The Book" couldn't have been far from Johnson's mind when deciding to tackle this. Unlike Columbo, Blanc at least seems superficially competent and smoother, if initially unremarkable, as he observes the local officers question each lying family member. We not only get a glimpse of the detective's low-key shrewdness in these moments, but also the clueless and somewhat hilarious selfishness of this dysfunctional family. It's early into the story when we realize Harlan was justifiably sick of all of them, most of whom just so happen to have convenient alibis of some sort. But while the Thrombeys claim they view his nurse Marta as a member of their family and would do anything to help her, the validity of that promise gets shakier the more information we glean about what they truly value.

The more we discover about Marta, the easier it is to see why Harlan holds her in such high regard. Johnson's device of having the character vomit upon lying is crazily brilliant, adding another layer of tension to each scene she shares with Detective Blanc and eventually Chris Evans' obnoxious character, who eventually reveals himself as both more and less than he appears. When Johnson pulls the rug out from under us far earlier than expected and the narrative shifts to Marta's survival, she tries against her better judgment to hide her horrible mistake and survive in a shark tank full of loony Thrombeys. Of course, Blanc is more than a few steps ahead in recognizing she's the key to him piecing together the remains of the puzzle. And this is exactly the kind of quirky, outside-of-the-box role we've been waiting for Daniel Craig to take in his 007 off time, reminding just how much timing and range he demonstrates in supporting character parts, especially something as quirky and dryly comedic as this. 

Ana de Armas is the real discovery here as Marta, managing to remain the film's honest, moral center even when being forced into dishonesty. A shy medical caretaker who just wants to do right, what makes de Armas' performance special is how that quality consistently peaks through in all her actions and mannerisms, no matter how frightened the character seems or how unpredictably insane things get around her. Marta keeps finding these hidden reserves of strength, even as all the other reveal their weaknesses, embarassingly trying to manipulate her. Spoiled, black sheep Ransom tops that list, with Chris Evans relishing in this guy's inadequecies and stealing nearly every scene he's in, uproariously clashing with every member of his family, each of whom hate him a little more than the next. The feeling is more than mutual, leading to his now infamous scene in which he individually singles all of them out with a choice expletive.

Just as you've never seen Craig or Evans like this, Toni Colette similarly surprises as the irresponsible Joni, a flighty Gwyneth Paltrow-like lifestyle guru who owns a GOOP-like company. Her and daughter Meg are clearly set up as the most liberal of the clan, but despite a heated political argument with Don Johnson's ultra-conservative Richard, both reveal themselves as close-minded to Marta's situation as he is. That's most disappointingly true of Meg, whom Katherine Langford plays as her closest confidante, only to quickly turn when Harlan's fortune enters the equation, almost reflexively sucked into the vortex of her self-serving family. It also says a lot that Michael Shannon isn't playing the craziest or most unstable character, but still delivers his fair share of insanity as Harlan's entitled son.

It would almost be too easy if the Thrombeys were all just one-dimensionally terrible people, but they're not, with a few even demonstrating varying degrees of likability. It's that they're priorities are so messed up that make them the story's antagonists and allow us to root for their comeuppance in the end. They're not merely "suspects" and their alleged involvement in the crime, if you could even consider it one, is almost beside the point. This could have been aspect some viewers had problems with, especially those expecting the entire film to revolve around a reveal. We do we get something similar, but better, as Blanc gives a detailed explanation that makes logical sense, while revealing truths about its characters that confirm our investment in them.

The third act helps further establish Marta as the only trustworthy person in Harlan's life, even if no one in the family understands this, as shown by their immediate accusation that she must have been sleeping with him to be left everything in his will. And of course they would think that, given every relationship they've likely had in their lives transactionally revolved around sex or money, rendering them oblivious to how two people could share a connection that doesn't depend on either. Harlan realizes she made a big mistake, but an innocent one that would carry far worse consequences for her illegal immigrant family than a physically incapacitated octogenarian whose relatives treat him like garbage. And the true brilliance in Johnson's screenplay comes to light when we discover it wasn't her mistake at all, and Blanc's unraveling of Ransom's plan comes as a direct result of both her skills as a nurse and genuinely good heart.

When the film's sensational final minutes expose Ransom as the sociopath he is, but the rest are barely any better, as Marta stares down on them from the balcony of her newly bequeathed estate. The Thrombeys are left scrambling in their former driveway, finding themselves for the first time on the outside looking in. Or, exactly where they belong. It's a twist as worthy of Rod Serling as Agatha Christie, and a reminder of the tightrope walk required to successfully pull off socio-political satire. Johnson lets the characters take the reigns, and the rest organically falls into place, as the best genre deconstructions do. The right person is left standing because she's deserving. It's a kick in the gut and a reward for viewers paying attention to all the details. Not so bad for a director still inexplicably being raked over the coals for a certain "controversial" Star Wars entry. But with a razor-sharp script and an eclectic, super-talented cast all being used to their maximum potential, it's impossible to deny this as a far better platform for his talents. Bring on the sequel.