Tick, Tick...Boom!

Director: Lin-Manuel Miranda
Starring: Andrew Garfield, Alexandra Shipp, Robin de Jesús, Joshua Henry, Vanessa Hudgens, Judith Light, Jonathan Marc Sherman, Mj Rodriguez, Ben Levi Ross, Bradley Whitford, Laura Benanti, Richard Kind
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: PG-13 

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

When Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda was 17 he saw Rent on Broadway and he's credited it for showing him it was entirely possible to write a show that can be both contemporary and important, connecting with audiences on an entirely different level. It was the perfect story that came along at just the right moment, performed by a once-in-a-lifetime cast that seemed to truly grasp how important it was. This was all heightened by the fact that its creator Jonathan Larson never lived to see the impact his work would leave, shockingly passing away before the curtain came up. Chris Columbus' 2005 big screen adaptation of his musical may have reassembled the original cast, but it somehow failed to do anything else, falling considerably short in recapturing any of the elements that made the musical special. It also came too late, hinting that maybe Rent is a story that resides in a very specific time and place in our culture, for which we should probably be grateful.

If Miranda says there would be no In the Heights without Jonathan Larson, it seems only fitting that his feature directorial debut would be an adaptation of Larson's Tick, Tick...Boom, his semi-autobiographical rock musical that preceded Rent and detailed his struggles as a starving artist in early 90's New York City trying to get his Superbia musical off the ground. Screenwriter Steven Levinson (of the infamous Dear Evan Hansen) incorporates real details from Larson's life while alternating between stage monologues, rehearsals of the show, and a more traditional narrative detailing him and his friends trying to make it. If that sounds like a mess, it is. But it's also pretty ambitious and Garfield's frenetic, endlessly energetic performance proves to be an almost fighteningly accurate recreation of what we've seen of the real Larson. 

Those who love this film will really, really love it since it's all very inside and feels made exclusively for those within the New York theater community. But that doesn't mean others won't lose patience with some of the musical numbers or find themselves lost as a number of cameos and references fly over their heads. Miranda's clearly going against the grain by making an artsy, abstract take on biopics in the spirit of Larson's work, looking to appeal to the hardest of hardcore theaterheads. Unfortunately, Tick, Tick...Boom! isn't Rent and there's a reason the latter is so revered while the former was a stepping stone. To Miranda's credit, he doesn't shy away from that, but it does result in some hit-or-miss musical numbers that may have you antsy for Larson to start writing what's next already. This is the journey to get there, and while it's a slog at times, it's meant to be a parable on perserverance and failure, with Miranda depicting Larson's brilliance and obsessive self-destruction with a painful, unflinching honesty.

It's 1992 and Jonathan Larson is performing his Tick,Tick...Boom! monologue at New York Theatre Workshop with friends and Superbia cast members Roger (Joshua Henry) and Karessa (Vanessa Hudgens). Hearing a ticking clock in his head as he approaches his 30th birthday, Jonathan frets that time may be running out in his quest to become a successful musical theater composer like his idol Stephen Sondheim (Bradley Whitford). Preparing to workshop Superbia while working at the Moondance Diner in SoHo, he dismisses former roomate and actor Michael's (Robin de Jesús) suggestions that he follow him into a more secure career in corporate advertising. With rent overdue and the electricity about to be shut off, Jonathan also faces the possibility his dancer-turned-teacher girlfriend, Susan (Alexandra Shipp) could be moving if she accepts a new job opportunity. And now, after 8 years toiling over Superbia, his creative obsession reaches its boiling point, damaging all of his personal relationships in the process.   

What's most surprising about the depiction of Larson is how both emotionally draining and inspiring he can be. Garfield nearly leaps through the screen with his infectious enthusiasm, establishing him early as an artist with a one-track mind that won't let anything or anyone get in the way of his vision. At times it crosses far over the line into selfishness (especially in regard to Susan), but there's rarely a moment where he doesn't seem entirely relatable. The film's at its best when residing completely in Larson's head, fixating on the idea that time's running out. It sadly proves to be true, as in the end he had just barely enough, but not nearly what he should have gotten. The same could be said for many of his friends, with the AIDS epidemic bubbling under the surface for much of the film's narrative before playing a bigger role in the last act.

The time and setting of the early 90's NYC theater scene, like the protagonist himself, has so infrequently been given attention on the big or small screen that Miranda has the advantage of immersing us in a mostly unexplored world. How many who aren't already familar with it will even be interested is the bigger question, especially since the first hour is so shaky. The cutting between the Larson monologue, Superbia musical numbers and dramatic scenes are almost dizzying and an argument could be made that only two of those numbers really work. The first, "Sunday" features a parade of Broadway legends such as André De Shields, Bebe Neuwirth, Joel Grey, Chita Rivera, Phylicia Rashad, Bernadette Peters and Brian Stokes Mitchell filling the Moondance Diner. A later number, "Therapy" sees Garfield and Vanessa Hudgens brilliantly singing and pantomiming the crazy trajectory of Jonathan and Susan's relationship. 

Interestingly enough, Hudgins' character is mostly a background player up until that number, one of the film's very best, where she just lets loose and does more in explaining the Jonathan-Susan relationship than most of the scenes Alexandra Shipp shares with Garfield, as those moments never really rise above the trope of ignored girlfriend of genius artist. The bond between Jonathan and best friend Michael carries more resonance, as does Bradley Whitford's small but memorable turn as Stephen Sondheim, providing the perfect swan song, with the legend's mentorship playing a key role in pushing Jonathan forward. Judith Light is also very good as his agent, Rosa Stevens, who honestly but compassionately gives him the exact advice he needs, regardless of how difficult it may be to hear.     

The fear that everything Jonathan's worked toward for the past eight years may have amounted to nothing, reaches this crescendo in the last act, only to kind of fizzle out, culminating in a musical number that just seems to go on and on and on. By this point, we're ready for the breakthrough. We want him write Rent, but the script's so hyper-focused on failure after failure that when his creative epiphany does come, it's mentioned almost in passing, as a backdrop to his tragic death. 

It never feels like we get a chance to celebrate anything in this picture, which may exactly be the point. Still, it seems so much was put into conveying his struggles and squeezing in as many musical numbers as possible, that things got a little muddled along the way. Despite being a wildly mixed bag of questionable choices, Tick,Tick...Boom! is still entirely watchable and one of the few near-misses I'd actually be willing to give another look at down the road. That's mainly because Garfield is such a revelation as Larson, remaining intensely focused and engaged even while the film drags its feet, frequently feeling far longer and more exhausting than its running time suggests.

Dune (2021)

Director: Denis Villeneuve
Starring: Timothée Chalamet, Rebecca Ferguson, Oscar Isaac, Josh Brolin, Stellan Skarsgård, Dave Bautista, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Zendaya, David Dastmalchian, Chang Chen, Sharon Duncan-Brewster, Charlotte Rampling, Jason Momoa, Javier Bardem
Running Time: 156 min.
Rating: PG-13 

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Better the longer it sits with you, Denis Villeneuve's Dune has the unenviable task of once again bringing to life the world in Frank Herbert's groundbreaking 1965 novel, while also picking up the pieces from one already perceived failure of an adaptation. There are few major, commercially viable cinematic properties left carrying as much baggage, due mostly to its inaccessibility and heady themes. Despite a story predating Star Wars by over a decade, on paper the plot contains elements justifiably earning those comparisons, albeit with more abstract material at its core, previously resulting in a rough big screen transition. Even if appreciation for his vision has grown slightly since, David Lynch learned found out the hard way in 1984, ensuring it wouldn't be revisted on a similar scale or scope until now. 

Arrival and Blade Runner 2049's Villeneuve seemed as good a choice as any to tackle this, possibly bringing the visual grandeur necessary to distract from, or maybe even enhance, some of the colder, navel-gazing excursions long thought to make it a better read than watch. And he does, giving us the best possible adaptation under the circumstances, even if a feeling of dread may overcome viewers when they see a title card reading "Dune: Part One" at the start of this 265-minute epic. Given the density of its source, that was inevitable, but you have to wonder whether this has the creative momentum necessary to become the franchise it's being positioned as. But it's a success, carefully guided by a director who, to his credit, doesn't try to fit a square peg into a round hole or dumb down a story that takes its time to marinate.

It's 1091 and the ruler of the ocean planet Caladan, Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac) of House Atreides has just been assigned to replace Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard) of House Harkonnen as the fief ruler of desert planet Arrakis. It's a rough, harsh terrain, but provides the only source of "spice," an invaluable resource critical to human viality and interstellar travel. Unbeknownst to Leto and House Atreides' weapons master Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin), the Emperor is having Harkonnen stage a coup wit his troops to retake the planet, eradicating them before they can control the spice or form an advantageous alliance with the Freman, Arrakis' native inhabitants, represented by tribe leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem).

Leto's concubine, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), an acolyte of the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, possesses advanced physical and mental capabilities that have been passed on to son Paul (Timothée Chamalet), who is trained by her, Halleck and  swordsmaster, Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa). While they all sense greatness in young Paul, he has impulse control issues and problems harnessing his powers, distracted by visions of a turbulent future and dreams of a mysterious young Freman woman (Zendaya). A war looms as Harkonnen's fleet of troops and hulking nephew Glossu Rabban (Dave Bautista) prepare to attack. With the fate of House Atreides, as well as the planet of Arrakis hanging in the balance, their futures may depend on Paul answering the call to fulfill his true destiny.      

As involved as this all seems, it's even more convoluted than that, so Villeneuve deserves credit for distilling the script he co-wrote with Joe Spaihts and Eric Roth into a palpable cinematic experience that reaches a certain level of comprehensibility. They didn't exactly hit the jackpot in terms of the breeziest sci-fi tomes to adapt so it's actually amazing how well this holds together, especially in its strongest middle section. For anyone not already familar with Herbert's novel or Lynch's '84 take, what will initially be most noticeable are how many basic mythological tenets it shares in common with the Star Wars trilogy, including a young hero struggling with his lineage who's now suddenly thrust into a leadership role in the wake of family tragedy. 

The use of a Bene Gissert Force-like technique known as the "Voice" that's ultilized to control others actions are where the closest similarities between Paul and young Skywalker end. If the latter was an eager go-getter almost too energetic for his own good, Paul's the most reluctant and introverted of heroes, with Chamalet subtly conveying a quiet confidence, while still registering his character's inner anguish and growing dread in nearly every scene. He's asked to do a lot while at times sustaining an almost absent stillness, putting a lot of pressure on the audience to embrace an entirely different kind of protagonist who must adhere to a philosophy built almost entirely on restraint and passivity, at least until it isn't. 

Since the character of Paul is such a departure, for some it may not be the most compelling thing to watch, but Chamalet completely makes it work, especially in his many scenes opposite a tremendous Rebecca Ferguson as his mother, Lady Jessica, who's simultaneously disappointed in and encouraging of her son. This, and his futuristic visions of Zendaya's Chani might be the film's most successful element, with even cinematographer Greig Fraser's impressive vistas and Hans Zimmmer's score managing to take a backseat (though not too much of one) when those actors are on screen. And while his time is more limited, Jason Momoa finds a way to make maybe the biggest impression as the spectacularly named Duncan Idaho, perfectly filling the cocky, anti-hero warrior role that's been so frequently miscast of late in these big blockbusters. 

That such strong acting assets as Oscar Isaac, Javier Bardem and a slimy, Jabba-like Stellan Skarsgård (buried in prosthetics) are far from an afterthought in an already stuffed A-list cast is a testament to how well Villeneuve utlilizes what he has. Whatever the story's perceived problems or occasional lapses in focus are made up for by them and the sheer spectacle of the fight sequences and effects, especially those ferocious sandstorms. Striking just the right balance of keeping your eyes glued to the screen without going overboard, the ratio of meditative scenes to slam bang action is well proportioned, with visuals that make one of the better recent cases for theatergoing.

A seemingly uncompromised Dune that's free from the pandering you'd expect from a movie this size might the best thing about it, staying true to its vision while avoiding the temptation to self-indulge. Culminating in more of a stoppage than an end, it feels so much like a first part, they may as well just slap a "to be continued" on the screen. How many will want to follow this story into the next chapter is the bigger question, even as it stands as one of the year's bigger technical achievements, awash in imagery and scenes that stay with you long after the final credits. No one expected this new Dune film to achieve perfection, but it's impressive nonetheless, reigniting a spirited debate as to why that lofty goal seems unattainable, both for better and worse.

Cruella

Director: Craig Gillespie
Starring: Emma Stone, Emma Thompson, Joel Fry, Paul Walter Houser, Tipper Seifert-Cleveland, Emily Beecham, Kirby Howell-Baptiste, Mark Strong, John McCrea, Kayvan Novak, Jamie Demetriou
Running Time: 134 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

It's understandable that a certain amount of cynicism would accompany the release of Disney's Cruella, their latest attempt to repackage another one of their classic animated properties as a live-action adaptation. While they've traveled this road before with 101 Dalmations in 1996 and its sequel four years later, those predated the company's recent realization they could mine their entire catalog for a new generation unbothered by frequent complaints they're shamelessly cashing in on the past at the expense of creativity. Whether it's Cinderella (twice), Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, or more recently, Mulan, results have been decidely mixed, most succeeding only in promoting a greater appreciation for the originals, which is probably still fine with Disney. 

Part fairy tale, Part supervillain origin story, part The Devil Wears Prada, director Craig Gillespie's take on Disney's most nororious dog hater doesn't deserve mention alongside those aforementioned reboot experiments mainly because there actually seems to be a definitive reason for its existence. It's worthwhile not only for adding something new to the mythos, but having more vision, style and purpose than most of what they've released in recent years. Taking place in kind of this heightened, hyper reality, it looks and feels tonally different from their usual fare, displaying far more ambition than anyone could have reasonably expected when the project was announced.

Comparisons could be made to 2019's Joker, until stopping to realize it still manages to be an entirely satisfying family movie that doesn't look out of place next to Disney's biggest hits. And that's a major accomplishment considering dalmations literally murder a woman in the opening minutes. It's crazy and audacious, but the key is in recalibrating this eventual villain as an anti-hero rising up against a system holding her down. Dana Fox and Tony McNamara's inventively tight script pushes back on the idea that Cruella de Vil is someone to root against or delusional in her beliefs. She's basically right about everything, and watching Emma Stone navigate that while battling an inescapable nastiness bubbling up inside is really something to behold. This, along with an inspired premise and frenetic pacing make its 134 minutes feel more like 30, demonstrating the potential benefits of repurposing classic characters to more strongly resonate with contemporary audiences. 

As a young child, Estella (Tipper Seifert-Cleveland) is a talented artist with an eye for fashion and a mean streak matched only by the white streak covering half her hair. After school fighting prompts mom Catherine (Emily Beecham) to remove her and relocate to London, she stops at a posh upper-class party to ask a mysterious woman for financial help. But when Estella's antics accidentally attract the attention of three ferocious dalmations, her mother is pushed off a balcony to her death. Orphaned and guilt-ridden, we flash forward to the height of the 70's fashion craze in London as a now young adult Estella (Stone) and pick-pocket friends Jasper (Joel Fry) and Horace (Paul Walter Houser) get by with thievery before she lands a janitorial job at the Liberty department store. 

With Estella's dreams of a career in fashion design quickly fading with each toilet she cleans, a chance encounter with legendary, but ice cold haute couture design chief, the Baroness (Emma Thompson) leads to an apprenticeship at her prestigious firm. But as the talented nwecomer rises up the ranks as the Baroness' go-to underling, she makes a shocking discovery about her abusive boss' relationship to her birth mother, leading Estella to plot revenge and introduce the fashion world to her outrageously diabolical alter-ego, Cruella.    

None of this would be worth doing if not for the surprisingly fresh, modern take on Cruella, who's placed against a backdrop and colorful punk aesthetic perfectly suited to the material. But before the narrative even gets there, the prologue focusing on a young, troublemaking Estella provides an effective entry point, at times resembling a rock biopic more than your typical Disney outing. Of course, some cartoonish bells and whistles are still present, but Gillespie incorporates those in better than anyone else in his position has, keeping the focus where it belongs as we follow this little hellraiser on her journey. 

Seifort-Cleveland plays the misbehaving Estella with moxie and heart, immediately getting us on her side despite the character's bratty behavior, then eventually because of it when we realize what she's truly going through. It might be the most overlooked, underappreciated performance in how it sets the stage for what Stone will do later, with both working as mirrors for the other in ways you rarely see when two actors play the same character at different ages. 

It's a seamless transition when Stone's bespeckled, but determined Estella begins ingratiating herself into London's fashion scene and falls under the wing of Emma Thompson's Baroness. Given its context, Thompson's turn is just as effective as Meryl Streep's, whose Miranda Priestly had to at least partially serve as some kind of inspiration for this. She walks all over Estella until the power dynamic of their initially imbalanced relationship is considerably altered by a major development.

The ensuing feud that escalates when the two Emmas face off is where the movie really finds its voice. And it's a loud one, complete with numerous musical montages and music video-style cutting that goes way over-the-top, but intentionally so. Everyone from The Stones to The Doors to Blondie to Queen are all over the soundtrack, but the movie gets away with it since everything fits the action and setting of the story like a glove. That's only bolstered by Nicolas Karakatsanis' cinematography and some wild costume designs by Oscar winner Jenny Beaven that doesn't just compliment the proceedings, but plays as integral a part in the story as any single character, if not more so.

All these elements converge to make the character of Cruella seem more like a counter-culture badass and social disruptor than just a formidable challenger to the Baroness' fashion throne. Stone plays Cruella as Estella's lastest design, carefully cultivated to hurt and humiliate Baroness, but matched by her quieter Estella scenes as a mousy busybody trying to protect her cover. This leads to a Clark Kent-Superman dynamic hinging on whether the two can continue co-existing, a hook the film's able to retain right up until its final minutes. Keeping the childhood trauma in the front of our minds, Stone gives an already unfairly overlooked, award-caliber performance made all the more remarkable by the fact that she's pulling double duty the whole time. In playing a character playing a character, the actress is consistently add layers of complexity and nuance to what could have been a live-action caricature, all within the tight confines of a big budget family vehicle.

Speculation as what this would look like if it wasn't a Disney film, or maybe had an 'R' rating instead of its already unexpected 'PG-13,' seems inevitable. Could it have gone further if commercial concerns weren't such an issue and there wasn't a product or franchise to push? Maybe, but to some degree Gillespie deserves even more credit for not only creatively delivering with those guardrails in place, but using them to his advantage in crafting an original story freed from any noticeable concessions. In doing that, Cruella pulls off a tricky balancing act, boldly reconciling art and commerce in a style its title character would unquestionably appreciate. 

You (Season 3)

 

Creators: Greg Berlanti and Sera Gamble
Starring: Penn Badgley, Victoria Pedretti, Tati Gabrielle, Saffron Burrows, Shalita Grant, Travis Van Winkle, Dylan Arnold, Scott Speedman, Michaela McManus, Ben Mehl, Mackenzie Astin, Terryn Westbrook, Marcia Cross, Scott Michael Foster 
Original Airdate: 2021

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Few cable series have benefitted more from a jump to streaming than Netflix's You, which premiered its superior second season in late 2019 after languishing on Lifetime. Since then, the creative improvements have been so noticeable that you'd be hard-pressed to recognize it's the same show. Last season represented the apex of that achievement when creators Greg Berlanti and Sera Gamble transplanted stalking, serial killing former bookstore manager Joe Goldberg (Penn Badgley) from New York to L.A. with thrilling results. Hoping to put to bed the memory of his last obsession and victim, Guinevere Beck (Elizabeth Lail), he finds a new unhealthy relationship with chef Love Quinn (Victoria Pedretti). Of course, with the big twist being that she might be his perfect match, as psychotic and prone to violence as he is.

While last season ended with Joe and Love settling into the suburbs to begin their happy, ordinary life together, if we know anything about him and the series it's that he won't stay content for long. Best laid plans for a "happily ever after" are bound to be in constant jeopardy when these two toxic, damaged personalities attempt to co-exist as a normal married couple living under the same roof. The writers really milk this, forcing the viewer to pick sides this season as the pair constantly try to scheme and outmaneuver each other, extracting revenge for slights both real and imagined, all while attempting to suppress their worst impulses.

What distinguishes this from the superficially similar Dexter is Joe's bitingly sarcastic and self-aware recognition of his circumstances, and an equally dangerous partner in Love. But the biggest recent shift has been Joe's legitimate attempts to try to recognize what's right and do it, despite rarely accomplishing this feat and falling back into his old ways. That's a stark departure from its first season, which presented a nearly remorseless killer whose social media manipulation became his most defining characteristic. Badgley's performance always teeters on the edge of normalcy, giving audiences just enough hope that Joe could possibly turn things around. A wife and child give him an added incentive to try harder, while also providing just as many excuses not to.

Putting down roots in the San Francisco suburb of Madre Linda, the now-married Joe and Love are just starting to settle into a quaint existence with their newborn baby boy, Henry, when Joe starts having eyes for next door neighbor and realtor Natalie Engler (Michaela McManus). But just as his interest becomes more, Love takes matters into her own hands and kills Natalie, leaving both a physical and figurative mess for them to clean up just as she's planning to open her new bakery, "A Fresh Tart." 

With all of Madre Linda focused on finding Natalie, Joe and Love continue to project a facade of normalcy to the community, with the latter befriending local mom influencer Sherry Conrad (Shalita Grant) and her flaky supplement company owner husband, Cary (Travis Van Winkle). Meanwhile, Joe's working at the library, where he develops a burgeoning interest in his no-nonsense boss, Marienne Bellamy (Tati Gabrielle), a single mother struggling through some serious issues of her own.

As the Goldbergs' plan to cover-up Natalie's murder proves more complicated than expected, her distraught, pill popping CEO husband Matthew (Scott Speedman) grows suspicious, while his troubled college student son Theo (Dylan Arnold) develops a crush on a flattered Love, simultaneously consuming her with guilt and excitement. In keeping their horrific secret in the face of public suspicion, Joe and Quinn must somehow cooperate as a team even as their marriage crumbles under the weight of jealousy, mistrust and betrayal. With all their dreams of having a perfect family deteriorating into a nightmare, their relationship soon becomes a dangerous cat-and-mouse game.                

Minutes in, Joe's already sick of married suburban life as his attentions immediately turn to this married neighbor, which makes sense knowing his impulsive history. And that's merely the jumping off point for what the show continues to do so well, taking Joe's established pattern with Beck, only to continue it with Love, and now possibly again. But this season's more interested in deconstructing that entire idea, introducing Natalie as proof that Joe's inability to settle down or control his demons have little to do with his partner. There's no soulmate for someone we learn through flashbacks (this time involving his an abused school nurse from childhood) already had that soul damaged by his troubled upbringing. 

Still devastated by brother Forty's (James Scully) death and fighting with her controlling, alcoholic mom Dottie (Saffron Burrows), Love's not exactly a catch either. Trapped in a marriage of toxic co-dependency, what she and Joe most have in common is their ability to kill, even while sometimes vehemently disagreeing about the who and why.  Love's murder of Natalie sets in motion the series of crazy events that define these 10 episodes, bringing both their worst instincts to the surface, even as Joe really tries fighting back against what defines him. It's a slippery slope, as they try to cover their tracks and work together despite the rapidly eroding trust. 

The story of Joe's new obsession is more of a slow burn than in season's past, gradually evolving as Joe sorts out his feelings and wrestles with the accompanying guilt. Briefly, it might be the closest he's come yet to not seeming like a total stalker, as Badgley gives us passing glimpses of who a more adjusted Joe could be. But we know him too well by now, recognizing his interest in Marienne the librarian has much more to do with him feeding his narcissistic tendencies than it does her. It's easy to recognize everything he sees in this woman, and even while fitting the damaged type he typically latches onto, she transcends that narrow categorization thanks to the fortitude and grace rising star Tati Gabrielle brings to the role.

While completely grasping the idea of Marienne as Joe's idealization, Gabrielle still plays her with plenty of agency, as the character battles a recent history of addiction and tries to protect her daughter from slimy newcaster ex-husband Ryan (Scott Michael Foster). But the show's told from Joe's warped point of view and the writers make sure we don't forget it. 

Joe's still the one calculating every move, hoarding creepy keepsakes, breaking and entering and reminding us that as long as she's in his life in any capacity, she isn't safe. All the potentially disastrous scenarios involving Joe or even Love finding them out marinate in viewers' minds throughout the season, with the biggest source of tension coming from what could happen to Marienne, or even her daughter.  

The show's penchant for incorporating controversial, hot-button issues like cyber-stalking and pedophilia into its narrative continues this season with a sub-plot involving an anti-vaxxer parent, Gil, (Mackenzie Astin) who both is and isn't exactly what he appears. This again places the series well within its creative wheelhouse of reflecting reality, but twisting it just enough to provoke discussion and bring a little more out of the material. Love's inability to control herself when it comes to protecting her child might play as the character's most relatable moment thus far, especially when taken outside the context of her other actions. Victoria Pedretti gives this emotional whirlwind of a performance throughout, with Love's insecurity over their marriage pushing she and Joe over the edge. 

Love's bid for societal acceptance starts as strategy before evolving into what resembles a desperately genuine desire to fit in. At first glance, the phony, condescending Sherry Conrad and her himbo husband Cary couldn't seem any more broadly comedic or ridiculous, albeit in the best possible way. 

It's only when circumstances turn that Sherry and Cary are collectively revealed as more authentic than either Joe or Love could dream of being, while worthy of a begrudging amount of respect. And a lot of the success of these two characters can be attributed to Grant and Van Winkle's collective timing and chemistry, which evolves into one of the season's biggest highlights.

At first, it's hard to get a read on the grieving Matthew, with Scott Speedman playing him in a constant state of distracted, drugged-out insomnia, obsessed with obtaining the necessary surveillance footage he believes will uncover his wife's true killer. This comes at the expense of his fractured relationship with son Theo, who's fallen so hard for Love that it's blinded his ability to see that infatuation can't possibly end well. Before long, he'll just be another pawn in the Goldbergs' game to cover their tracks.

It isn't exactly a spoiler to reveal the reconstruction of Joe's infamous "cage," again located in a setting that makes for easy storage. Nor is it particularly suprising that it sees a lot of action this season, with big questions surrounding not only who gets locked in, but whether they'll be exiting with their lives. 

Digging out of holes is what this series does best, surrounding Joe with indispensably memorable and colorful supporting players who could drive a show of their own. It's the best and most frustrating element since we know there's a good chance a few may not survive past these ten episodes. Suprisingly, more loose ends are left than usual, which only increases speculation about what a fourth season will look like.

With Joe and Love working with and against each other in a battle for their own self-preservation, it ends the only way it can, as the writers continue making the tough but necessary decisions that mark each new installment as its own self-contained film with a concrete finale. The writers are always looking at the bigger picture in realizing the only way to ensure the show's successful continuation is to tear it all down again and move forward with another reset. Expertly combining horror thrills with soapy dramatics, You has officially hit its stride, remaining as wickedly smart and addictive as it's ever been.

Halloween Kills

Director: David Gordon Green
Starring: Jamie Lee Curtis, James Jude Courtney, Judy Greer, Andi Matichak, Will Patton, Anthony Michael Hall, Dylan Arnold, Thomas Mann, Charles Cyphers, Kyle Richards, Nancy Stephens, Omar Dorsey, Jim Cummings, Scott MacArthur, Michael McDonald
Running Time: 105 min.
Rating: R 

**The Following 'Halloween Kills' Review Contains Some Plot Spoilers**

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

Even by Halloween franchise standards, David Gordon Green's sequel to his well-received 2018 reboot is insane in ways both thrilling and infuriating. If his initial installment took great pains to move as far away from the series' mythology as possible, retconning everything that came after John Carpenter's 1978 original, Halloween Kills does a complete 180, agressively engaging in call backs and fan service to the point that it nearly feels like a horror convention reunion. It even features one of sorts, as a major plot point revolves around the gathering of legacy survivors and flashbacks that frame past events in a new context. It's also overflowing with about as many characters as a horror film can contain, opening up its world while shifting some focus away from the three main heroines.

With Blumhouse delivering something that feels more akin to a Friday The 13th installment, complete with a Rob Zombie-like zest for brutality and gore, the envelope's pushed in terms of how much enjoyment that can be creatively derived from within the confines of this property, or even the genre itself. We've been kidding ourselves for a while now with Halloween as it's continued to ride the goodwill of a 40-year-old classic, all while fans cling to potentially getting a new film worthy of sharing its title with the groundbreaking original. 

2018 gave us the return of Jamie Lee Curtis to her most famous role and a respectable writing and directing team at the helm promising a return to basics. Bolstered by Carpenter's credit as a producer, that film may have been a minor triumph, but a certain ceiling and stigma have remained from the sequel silliness endured by fans through the years. As messy as it is, Halloween Kills doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is, never dragging despite a number of elements that could have been excised without consequence. But no matter where this lands in the rankings, it still strangely fits in with the rest, while also managing to stand on its own as a major outlier.  

Immediately following the events that occurred on Halloween night, 2018, a seriously injured Laurie Strode (Curtis), her daughter Karen (Judy Greer) and grandaughter Allyson (Andi Matichak) rush to Haddonfield Memorial Hospital as the Strode residence burns to the ground with Michael Myers (James Jude Courtney) still trapped in the basement. When the firefighters arrive, they're systematically picked off one-by-one by the The Shape, who survived the blaze and now has his sights set on terrorizing Haddonfield before going "home" once again. Meanwhile, Allyson's ex-boyfriend Cameron (Dylan Arnold) discovers deputy Frank Hawkins (Will Patton) bleeding and clinging to life after having been stabbed and run over by Dr. Sartain. He'll soon be joining Laurie in the ICU, even as he's still haunted by the results of an encounter he had with Michael on Halloween night 1978 that led to a fellow officer's death. 

At a local bar, another Michael survivor, Tommy Doyle (Anthony Michael Hall) has gathered with friends Marion Chambers (Nancy Stephens), Lindsey Wallace (Kyle Richards) and Cameron's dad, Lonnie Elam (Robert Longstreet) to mark the 40th anniversary of Michael's imprisonment. Unbeknownst to them, he's already returned to Haddonfield and is still on the loose, continuing his murderous rampage. After hearing the news, a determined Tommy begins organizing a mob of other furious Haddonfield townsfolk intent on capturing and killing Michael, whose body count is sure to increase as he lurks in the shadows, stalking his next victims.

Green doesn't exactly pick up where he left off, opting instead for flashbacks to previously unseen events involving a young officer Hawkins (Thomas Mann) the night of Laurie's ordeal in '78, as well as a backstory of a young, bullied Lonnie (Tristian Eggerling) and his close encounter with Michael (Airon Armstrong). This is a hard, sharp turn considering the 2018 reboot was built on the promise of a fresh start, free from the baggage that followed the original. For an opening, it's fine, aesthetically recreating the atmosphere of the late 70's Haddonfield well enough with a believable performance from Mann, but when Green breaks into the already loaded present-day action to revisit this throughout, it does become a bit much.

While those scenes work, they certainly don't simplify things, and there may be a 50/50 split among fans about being visually treated to a new scene at the Myers house that would have only otherwise existed in our imaginations. The Star Wars-like digitized audio sampling of Donald Pleasence's voice as Dr. Loomis (played by Tom Jones Jr. in the flashback), comes off far better than it should, only leaving the question of whether any of this is entirely neccessary. Still, it gives the picture an unusually old school start that segues into the franchise's classic pumpkin title sequence, complete with John Carpenter, Cody Carpenter and Daniel Davies' hypnotizing score, arguably the most valuable element in both Green films.   

The idea of a horror sequel, or even specifically a Halloween, picking up minutes after the previous one concludes is tremendously smart because it keeps the narrative momentum going. That concept is somewhat blunted here, with not only the insertion of an opening flashback, but even a scene from 1981's Halloween II, which shouldn't technically exist if we're holding Green to his word about this trilogy. With Laurie bedridden at Haddonfield Memorial Hospital for much of the first hour, it's natural to assume we're being set up for another round of Laurie vs. Michael in the same vein and setting that closed the original sequel. Luckily, this doesn't happen, maybe partly because the script can only squeeze in so many callbacks, topping out long before that. Most of them involve the group of survivors led by a revenge-consumed Tommy. Their storyline is undoubtedly engrossing, even as it does temporarily push the three generations of Strode women to the sidelines at the hospital, grappling with the realization that they didn't finish off Michael after all.

The Boogeyman is definitely in top form, with James Jude Courtney again an imposing presence in kill scenes that carry more emotional weight than usual due his eventual victims getting more screen time and personality this go around. Green also lingers on the deaths in ways he didn't in his previous outing, both in registering their reaction to impending doom and as the life escapes their eyes in the final moments. It isn't gratuitous as much as disturbing, with the slaying of a bickering elderly couple (played by Diva Tyler and Lenny Clarke) standing out as especially bone-chilling and uncomfortable.

Costumed doctor and nurse couple Vanessa (Carmela McNeal) and Marcus (Michael Smallwood) return in larger supporting roles, providing surprisingly fun comic relief, as do new, noteworthy characters Big John (Scott MacArthur) and Little John (MADtv's great Michael McDonald) a same-sex couple currently occupying the Myers residence. Transitions between this kind of comedy and the slayings aren't as jarring or clumsily handled as they've been in previous outings, rarely resulting in the usual tonal whiplash associated with the series. There's also a great deal of suspense generated from a forest scene involving Kyle Richards' Lindsey, who, aside from Anthony Michael Hall, leaves the most lasting impression of the legacy cast.

Hall presents a jarring Tommy Doyle, who proves to be a far cry from Paul Rudd's version in Halloween 6. It turns out that kid Laurie babysat grew up to be a one-man vigilante machine with a shaved head and brutish obsession with revenge, while still remaining a decent enough guy to root for. Michael's return changes everything for him as he rallies the Haddonfield mob in what ends up being the most controversial aspect of an an already polarizing film. Green doesn't quite connect the dots with whatever socio-political statement he's trying to make about mob mentality, but when the angry residents descend upon the hospital with blood lust in their eyes, what unfolds is comparable to a car crash you can't turn away from, or more accurately, a modern day take on The Twilight Zone episode, "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street." 

The hospital riot provides Judy Greer with one of her two big showcase sequences, perhaps to make up for playing a somewhat smaller role opposite Curtis last time. If Andi Matichak stepped up to emerge as one of the stronger components of H18 as Allyson, now it's Greer's turn. Matichak impresses again, especially toward the final act, but it'll be Karen's literal face-to-face with a maskless Myers that's talked about. Recognizing the value that still remains in keeping Michael's features a mystery, Green is careful to show just enough, but not too much as to demystify him. Someone had to go, and it wasn't going to be Laurie, with key lynchpin Curtis still due for her final showdown with Michael. Matichak's Allyson is the next generation, so process of elimination leaves us with the only major death possible, done in a way that cleverly calls back to the '78 original, all while ensuring there's still hell to pay in Halloween Ends.    

More than most, this effort represents the idea that we've all reached a point where it's just not important whether some masterpiece Halloween movie ever comes down the pike again. And that might not be such a bad thing. So while it's possible a much better film could have emerged without the extra post-production time afforded to overthink certain decisions, that's not likely knowing the franchise's track record. Instead, we're left to be entertained by an installment that's sure to be argued about and rewatched for some time to come. And the first since Zombie's underrated 2009 Halloween II to take some real risks, both for better and worse. It's not hard to imagine this getting a similar reappraisal down the line, as its flaws possibly iron out with future viewings.  

Green getting a jump on some of these characters and ideas in 2018 probably would have led to a smoother, less busy result, but the craziness is a big part of its charm. That can't always be said for a lot of these. Some of the worst entries manage to be dull and poorly made, two categories under which Halloween Kills definitely wouldn't fall. While frequently overindulging, at least Green isn't phoning it in, clearly laying the groundwork for what's next. Everything points toward a more streamlined finale that's sure to focus almost entirely on Laurie and Michael. But this sure took us on a wild ride to get there.    

Intrusion

Director: Adam Salky
Starring: Freida Pinto, Logan Marshall-Green, Robert John Burke, Sarah Minnich, Yvette Fazio-Delaney, Clint Obenchain, Mark Silvertstein, Megan Elisabeth Kelly   
Running Time: 92 min.
Rating: NR

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Netflix's Intrusion features one of those impossibly cool modern houses that you either see exclusively in movies like this or within the pages of Architectural Digest. Cavernous, sleekly sterile and set alone against a vast desert landscape, it's the real star, but won't be mistaken for a "home" so much as an impeccably designed building where two people happen to sleep. In this instance, the lack of a security system could serve as the equivalent of a blinking neon sign reading, "Intruders Welcome." It should take the average viewer less than 15 minutes to figure out things are off since home invasions are rarely ever about home invasions at all, the actual break-in functioning as an inciting plot device for the script to take us somewhere else. 

Director Adam Salky's film is about secrets between spouses and much of its first half is at least partially successful and competent at conveying that, bolstered by some strong acting, a fairly intriguing set-up and a patient groundswell of suspense. Then it shows its cards too early. Way too early. And we're left wondering what's left while awaiting the protagonist to come to conclusions we already arrived at a while earlier. The film's in a tough spot because there's only one explanation to the mystery when no other alternative makes sense. Still, you hope for one because, from a craft standpoint, it's not terrible as far as thrillers like these go. But once everything's all laid out, it's just kind of done.

Married couple Meera (Frieda Pinto) and Henry (Logan Marshall-Green) have just moved from Boston to their new dream house in Coralles, New Mexico, designed and built by architect Henry. A recent breast cancer survivor, Meera is on edge worrying that the disease may return, but her husband's unqualified support provides great comfort, as they share phone-less date nights to go out and relax. After one, they return to discover the house has been burglarized, and at the urging of the local police Detective Morse (Robert John Burke), Henry installs a security system. A few nights later, the electricity goes out and they're awakened when masked men intrude, tying Meera up as Henry uses his hidden gun, shooting them. 

Henry wants to move past all this while Meera is traumatized, only further rattled that one of the men her husband shot could potentially have important information regarding a missing local girl (Megan Elisabeth Kelly). As strange clues pop up about the intruders, Meera does some digging, discovering that Henry may be holding some info back about what these men were really after. Soon she's torn between her loyalty to him and discovering the ugly truth of what happened, as dangerous as that may be. 

The home invasion is merely warm-up for what follows, as screenwriter Chris Sparling sows the seeds of doubt and mistrust between a couple who up to that point seemed to have an ideal marriage. But their far differing reactions to this event bring certain questions to the surface and the script is none too subtle in announcing this is about never really knowing the person you're with. That's made abundantly clear when the rest of the film's running time consists almost entirely of Meera sleuthing around town and in the house to find answers, all while Henry sensitively tries to convince her there's nothing to worry about.

It's a pleasure seeing Freida Pinto anchoring this since she brings more to the role than most would, rarely playing Meera as any kind of damsel in distress, entirely cerebral in her actions and asserting real agency to get answers viewers have already beaten her to. The wheels are always turning, and even if her character has a handful of intelligent, quietly intense moments opposite Henry, it's just not helpful that we know the entire outcome long before her suspicions truly kick in. 

Logan Marshall-Green continues his formidable streak as an acting chameleon, again unrecognizably disappearing deep enough into a part that you'd have trouble picking him out of a lineup. Clean cut, calm and reassuring, it's tough to believe this is even the same bearded, disheveled guy everyone mistook for Tom Hardy in 2015's far superior residential thriller, The Invitation. And yet he finds ways to make Henry just a little too smooth and impossibly supportive enough that we have to stop and consider something's not quite right. 

With each unsurprising turn of the plot, the restraint and nuance Pinto and Green attempt to bring to the material is dampened when the wheels fly off the narrative heading toward the "big reveal." As much as their performances do keep it watchable as it crosses the finish line, the script really pushes the envelope far in terms of predictibility, regardless of whether it even makes logical sense. The acting, some nice photography and admittedly impressive production design become harder to tout as major accomplishments when viewers are yelling at their screens for a the main character to figure it out already. 

While the closing minutes are tension-filled and relatively well directed by Salky, it's hamstrung by the inevitability that Intrusion can only go so far. With a pay off that shares more in common with a random Saw entry than you'd hope, the end result isn't boring, just entirely forgettable, which is a shame considering how the early scenes teased a potential sophistication to the material that could have been built upon. But by patterning itself after other thrillers of the same ilk, it's indistinguishable, wasting an opportunity to present a more deeply disturbing social commentary.         

The Guilty

Director: Antoine Fuqua
Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Riley Keough, Peter Sarsgaard, Eli Goree, Ethan Hawke, Da'Vine Joy Randolph, Christiana Montoya, Paul Dano, Gillian Zinser
Running Time: 90 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

It's understandable that some just won't be onboard for Antoine Fuqua's single location crime thriller The Guilty, citing its superficial similarities to 2013's The Call, starring Halle Berry. There's also a general belief that movies advertised as "thrillers" should take place in various locales, with breakneck action scenes involving multiple actors playing characters engaged in direct conflict with each other. It hasn't helped that recent circumstances have given us less of that than we've ever imagined, causing the novelty of these stripped down efforts to wear off considerably. But despite a title that makes it sound more like a Grisham adaptation, the thrills Fuqua provides are slightly more cerebral in nature and are kind of a departure for a filmmaker known for bombastic efforts like Training Day, Olympus Has Fallen and The Equalizer. Nothing he does feels small, but this arguably comes closest, clocking in at a tight hour and a half that's best described as a claustrophobic morality play centering around a polarizing, even intensely dislikable protagonist. 

Playing a man unexpectedly forced to come to terms with his failings, Jake Gyllenhaal's performance finds the actor again in Nightcrawler mode, nearly dripping in emotional and physical desperation for the film's entire duration. He's somewhat of a monster, easily triggered and prone to fits of explosive rage while giving us glimpses of someone with an urgent need to help that isn't coming from the healthiest place. But that matters less upon realizing a personality this damaged may actually be a better fit for this emergency than most. Never held accountable or called out on anything, it's his day of reckoning, with Gyllenhaal suspensely holding this character's feet to the fire right through to its twist-laden finale. 

Embattled LAPD officer Joe Baylor (Gyllenhaal) is working the night shift as a dispatcher at the 911 call center following an unspecified incident for which he's awaiting a hearing the following day. Already on his last nerve due to that and problems with his ex-wife Jess (Gillian Zinser) over their daughter, Joe receives call from a woman named Emily (Riley Keough), who reveals she's been abducted by a man in a white van. Without a plate number to go on and fires blazing in the L.A. area making visibility difficult, Joe's forced to grasp at any lead he can, including Emily's ex-husband and prime suspect Henry (Peter Sarsgaard) and their scared six-year old daughter, Abby (Christiana Montoya) While able to contact all of them, the situation proves much more complicated than expected, as the asthmatic, exhausted Joe unravels under the weight of his impending hearing and former partner Rick's (Eli Goree) testimony. Calling upon all his experience and the clock rapidly ticking down, Joe must find a way to save Emily's life, while still fixing his own.

Depending upon perspective, Joe is either the worst person to be on duty at a 911 call center this night or the best. Whether it be supervisors, co-workers or even the callers themselves, he lashes out at or berates anyone with whom he encounters. To say he easily loses his patience would seem to imply he has any to start, as the unknown incident for which he could be facing criminal charges has him at the end of his rope, irritable as ever. But the no-nonsense approach he brings as an officer can't be discounted, even as he frequently oversteps his bounds by bullying everyone involved into doing what he wants so this woman can be found. Sometimes it works, with fellow officers and dispatchers caving to his demands, but in many other instances it doesn't, checked and reminded at every turn he isn't exactly in a power position given his own potential legal problems. 

There are many points where Gyllenhaal makes you respect the fact that Joe's highly aggressive tactics and experience are needed to get this done, since without that, it's entirely impossible the call would be in the hands of someone lesser qualified or not nearly as invested in following through. This is the rollercoaster the actor takes us on, as Joe's outbursts of anger are interspersed with quieter moments of consolation he offers Emily that can only come from both being parents. It's through this, and the crime crime Joe's been accussed of, that we can finally view his behavior in full context, grasping his obsessive determination to rescue this woman. 

Fuqua keeps us entrenched enough in the plot to distract from the fact all the action takes place entirely in the call center, even as it's Gyllenhaal taking us through all the painful modulations of this officer's night from hell. There are some familar names providing the disembodied voices at the other end of the phone, but you'd be hard-pressed to recognize any without looking at the credits, which was a smart casting move that keeps focus only on the story. Of them, Riley Keough probably has the heaviest lifting to do as Emily, caught in a perpetual state of fear and distress that only worsens with each call and subsequent development.  The plot's stretched a little thin in the last act as it boils to a point where you really expect things could bleed over into the "real world." But other than brief flashbacks and hazy glimpses of vans and headlights, it doesn't really go there and whether it should have will likely provide debate fodder for afterwards. 

Since the whole movie is essentially an escalating series of phone calls, it's possible a surprise excursion out of this call center could have given the already suspenseful finish an extra jolt. Of course, that could just as easily misfire so it's tough to blame Fuquaua and screenwriter Nic Pizzolatto for so closely adhering to the 2018 Danish film on which it's based. Both for better and worse The Guilty surprises, starting as one story before evolving into something slightly different and more ambitious, the hints of such were being dropped the entire time. But Gylennhaal turns that occasionally frustrating journey into a deeper character study, providing glimpses into this man's damaged psyche, transcending whatever creative limitations may have existed on the page.