Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

Director: J.J. Abrams
Starring: Carrie Fisher, Mark Hamill, Daisy Ridley, Adam Driver, John Boyega, Oscar Isaac, Anthony Daniels, Naomi Ackie, Domhnall Gleeson, Richard E. Grant, Lupita Nyong'o, Keri Russell, Joonas Suotamo, Kelly Marie Tran, Ian McDiarmid, Billy Dee Williams
Running Time:142 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

**Warning: The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers For 'Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker' **

In case you haven't heard, Star Wars fans are unhappy. About everything. Constantly. What exactly they're displeased with is anyone's guess, and we know that J.J. Abrams and Kathleen Kennedy have paid attention to that online noise. While some would argue the problem is precisely that they haven't listened to the fans, I'd counter that their real jobs are to craft the best possible story while serving the plot and characters. If that isn't done, then we'll talk. Otherwise, hysterical claims that Rian Johnson's polarizing middle chapter of the new saga, The Last Jedi, is the "worst movie ever made" almost feel like a compliment, awarding it a level of importance that probably isn't warranted. It was a mixed bag that attempted a little too much while marginalizing certain key characters. And if you really want to go there, it was also overlong, at points desperately in need of a cut and trim. But loathe it or not, it was the distinct vision of someone who clearly wasn't servicing a giant corporation, the franchise, or its fans. Johnson wasn't looking to make things easy for whoever took the reigns for this final installment, which, to no one's surprise, wouldn't be him.

Now that the series has returned to the safe, comforting arms of Lucas' successor and The Force Awakens director, Abrams, we can now officially confirm that no matter what anyone does with any incarnation of this property, the diehards will whine and complain until the cows come home. For them, Awakens was a tired retread of A New Hope, The Last Jedi veered too far from it, and somehow, they've even found an excuse to pile on the Disney Plus series, The Mandalorian, which feels like the purest, most faithful incarnation of Star Wars we've gotten since the original trilogy.

Luckily, the jury's still out on how many of these fans represent the general moviegoing population, who are probably wondering what all the fuss is about. So no, The Rise of Skywalker doesn't "undo" anything that happened in The Last Jedi to placate unhappy audiences, nor is it full of controversial creative decisions intended to enrage the masses. Like the preceding two, it's a Star Wars movie, firmly falling into the same category of in terms of quality. And it's a really good one that effectively closes this latest saga under some rather challenging circumstances. It's best not to look at it as any more than what it is because doing so has a way of both simultaneously giving it more and less credit than it deserves.

Heading into this finale without Harrison Ford's Han Solo, Mark Hamill's Luke Skywalker and to a strangely lesser extent, the late Carrie Fisher's General Leia Organa, puts even greater pressure on its newer characters carry the load, an inevitable moment that was always going to be the series' biggest hurdle, albeit one many thought wouldn't arrive until the next trilogy. Well, it's here, and the two characters (and actors playing them) who seemed most prepared, prove themselves worthy of carrying the mantle. And just as their storyline was the very best aspect of the last film, that's true again here, continuing and concluding in an equally thrilling fashion. What surrounds them is a little smoother and less messy too, even if we're kidding ourselves by pretending this is anything but a two-person show. Still, this is an immensely satisfying finish by any measure, its strengths and few weaknesses laid bare for its angry fanbase to pick apart like vultures circling Palpatine's corpse.

During an opening crawl that just might be the clearest and most concise of any recent entry, we learn that the First Order leader Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) is following a mysterious, galaxy-wide broadcast from the planet Exegol by presumably deceased Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid). Upon arriving, he finds the evil Emperor alive, and despite his ailing physical appearance, claiming responsibility for the rise of the First Order, operating in the shadows this whole time. Determined to end the Resistance for good, he enlists Kylo to find and kill Rey (Daisy Ridley), who's in the midst of continuing her Jedi training with General Leia (Fisher). But Kylo has other plans and is still determined to turn Rey to the Dark Side so they can rule the galaxy together, continuing to suppress whatever guilt, if any, he may harbor for killing his father, Han Solo.

Meanwhile, Finn (John Boyega), Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac), Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo), BB-8 and C-3PO (Anthony Daniels) are traveling to the planet Pasaana to seek a hidden Sith Wayfinder that will tell them Palpatine's location. With the help of Leia's good friend Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams), they're close, but Kylo and his Knights of Wren are on their tails. As the connection between Rey and Kylo continues to grow stronger and more complicated, each are tempted by the other side as the former prepares to come face-to-face with her worst fears from within, and eventually confront a more powerful than ever Emperor.

If there's any creative controversy or heated discussion points in Abrams' and Chris Terrio's screenplay, it's the decision made regarding Rey's bloodline and lineage, criticized by many as dismissingly walking back The Last Jedi revelation that she's a "nobody." But at that point, Rey was, at least as far as she knew. It's just simply information given to us now that she or us didn't have then, rather than the desperate revisionist history it's been accused of.  And while that and the resurrection of presumed dead Palpatine as the chief heavy may seem like grasping at straws, Abrams wasn't exactly left with a wide variety of options following Rian Johnson's creative indulgences.

That Luke Skywalker's death in the previous film doesn't leave the gaping hole we thought it would is proof enough of Abram's ingenuity in this installment, but with Snoke killed off and Kylo straddling the line between good and evil in his relationship with Rey, bringing Palpatine back as the main antagonist seems about as reasonable as anything else. Let's face it: This guy was already a walking cadaver when we first saw him in the flesh in Return of the Jedi and he's in even worse shape now, completely immobile with tubes coming out of his back. You could argue he was always dead, but also a character whose "survival" can briefly but satisfyingly be explained with only a line or two of dialogue, which they do. And it works.

Palpatine's presence further facilitates Kylo's quest to overthrow him and turn Rey, while the latter's potential turn to the Dark Side now has greater stakes with the revelation that she's Palpatine's grandaughter, and must fight harder to deny the capacity for evil that already resides inside her, inherited through blood. If before it was nearly impossible to be onboard with the slightest possibility Rey could be tempted, there's now genuine suspense as to whether she will given the new circumstances. And if she can overcome it, while helping Kylo do the same, it'll resonate so much more than it otherwise would have. Even if the creative circumstances were less than ideal going in, it's great writing from Abrams, who really digs himself and the series out of a hole.

With this much on the line, Rey now becomes the character they've been building toward since The Force Awakens, and like Mark Hamill before her, Daisy Ridley saves her best, most confident  performance for the final film of the trilogy. It feels as if they've finally committed to her as the centerpiece, with an internal battle compelling enough to carry the load, while some of the other supporting characters find their footing again after being sidelined in the preceding film.

While there will still undoubtedly be complaints about the use of Finn and Poe, they're at least given a less meandering direction here, with Poe receiving a relatively strong sub-plot involving a masked mercenary from his past named Zorii Bliss (Keri Russell), who helps the gang retrieve that mysterious Sith message. The script also makes the best use of 3PO out of any of the latest trilogy films, highlighting him as not only an important cog in the plot, but emphasizing his character in an emotionally substantial way not seen since the original trilogy.

As strong as that all is, and how little credit Abrams has gotten for it, there's still no denying that the Resistance portion of the plot still can't hold a candle to anything involving Rey and Kylo, mainly due to Ridley and Driver's chemistry together on screen and the richness of their characters' history. In fact, you could go a step further and claim that regardless of the improvements made with the Poe and Finn, it's still a far cry from the limitless potential first shown for them in The Force Awakens. That's especially true for Poe, who, as difficult as it is to believe now, was once labeled the "next Han Solo." Even if Oscar Isaac's an actor capable of pulling that off, he was never really given the chance after his character's early promise fizzled out.

As for Boyega's Finn, there was just no coming back after the Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran) debacle in The Last Jedi. Abrams even seems so embarrassed by it that he basically benches the actress, only to turn around and cast Naomi Ackie in a similarly functioning role opposite Boyega. That decision would probably be fans' strongest evidence of Abrams rebuking the previous film's machinations, if anyone cared enough about them to even notice.

The better news is that both Lando and Leia are incorporated exceptionally well, as we continue discovering the amount of footage that must have been shot with Carrie Fisher (with some CGI help) for her to still maintain this big a presence. The actress' death, a discomforting elephant in the room last time out, still casts a palor over the proceedings, but with an exception. Abrams seems to have full awareness and control of that knowledge this time, using it to deliver a touching send-off that nicely fits the larger story arc. This combined with brief, but impactful appearances from Ford and Hamill at key moments only add to the power of the Rey/Kylo feud, helping to make what's likely the last time we see these original characters count for something special. 

Due to the heightened suspense involving Rey and Kylo and the Wayfinder search, for about three quarters through, this is probably the best paced outing of the trilogy until the action lags a bit in the third act with a seemingly endless Resistance battle on Exegol that can only end one way. In fairness, the same could be said for just about any other final battle that's taken place in every film since and including A New Hope. That a revolving door of filmmakers seem to share a constant refusal to shave even just a minute or two off of these has to be the most overlooked creative issue through all three trilogies, rarely mentioned as a defining franchise fault. Or more likely, an industry wide one.

With the battle intercut with Rey's and Kylo's showdown with the Emperor, we seem to be approaching a finale that looks as if it could be a close replication of ROTJ's ending. It isn't, but there's no denying we've seen enough cracks in Kylo Ren's helmet to suggest he may still have some Ben Solo in him yet, even as Rey struggles to fight a much darker side emerging within her. Besides Driver giving this trilogy its most nuanced performance and Ridley stepping up to match him this time, their feud and pseudo-relationship has easily been the franchise's biggest draw post-Lucas. And it comes to its proper and inevitable conclusion here, culminating in not only the ultimate sacrifice, but a callback that stirringly unifies all nine films in the Skywalker saga. There's no doubt this is the end, as it should be. These characters have been taken as far as they can go. And we all need a long break.

This isn't the final nail in Star Wars' coffin, as has been endlessly reported. And the franchise's "fans" should eventually recover in enough time to be disappointed by whatever comes next. It shouldn't be a hot take to claim Disney's done a commendable job handling this massive property, but they have, especially in light of the prequels. If they're guily of anything, it's overexposing what's starting to feel more than ever like a product. But then again, hasn't it always? The mundane truth that The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi and now this all fall within the exact same range of high quality, without any of the three being either the best or worst thing in existence, may be difficult for some to face. That this was the last stop in an assembly line of solid filmmaking that easily topped the awful preceding trilogy but had too many interchangeable parts to truly be as distinctive as Lucas' originals, seems like the truest assessment, at least for now.

Just about the only point everyone can agree on is that after following what has largely been an extension of the same core story on and off for over three decades, fatigue has officially set in. It's hardly a coincidence that there were so many postive notices for Rogue One and now The Mandalorian series. Newer stories with fresh characters. It's time to move on, but not right away. And while you'd never know from the reaction, The Rise of Skywalker actually lands on the higher end of recent efforts in the franchise. The real problem is that we may have already gotten too much Star Wars to even care.

Marriage Story

Director: Noah Baumbach
Starring: Adam Driver, Scarlett Johansson, Laura Dern, Alan Alda, Ray Liotta, Azhy Robertson, Julie Haggerty, Merritt Wever, Mark O' Brien, Mickey Sumner, Wallace Shawn
Running Time: 136 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Noah Baumbach's Marriage Story opens with a husband and wife each running down a list of the qualities they most admire in their spouse. It goes on for what seems to be about 10 minutes, as we basically learn everything there is to know about each of them as the other supplies a voice-over narration. You're hanging on their every word while watching what amounts to a brief distillation of their everyday lives and basking in the small, everyday details that tell you everything you need to know about these people. And they're both really likable. Smart, funny, ambitious and best of all, they seem like good parents. For a while, you even forget that the other shoe's about to drop, before realizing they're in a therapist's office on the cusp of a divorce, speaking the last nice words we'll hear from them for the rest of the film. Either to or about one another.

From a legal standpoint, this film is probably the most thorough look at the bitter dissolution of a marriage since Kramer vs. Kramer, to which it's already been endlessly and favorably compared. That it comes from Noah Baumbach is of little surprise since every film he writes and directs feels like the kind of project Woody Allen's been failing to make for the past twenty years. If that's the case, then this is Baumbach's Annie Hall, or easily his richest since The Squid and the Whale, which also looked at the nasty fallout from divorce. Few are better chroniclers of human behavior, with an innate ability to zero in on characters' flaws and quirks in ways both dramatically profound and comical.

This is one of his finer examples yet, as he doesn't once step wrong in his depiction of perfectly nice people destroying each other because the system is set up in such a way that they must. Growing apart. Irreconcilable differences. Whatever you want to call it, both go into this process with the noblest, sincerest of intentions before realizing some things must be left up to lawyers and the courts because the whole reason they separated is that they can't agree on gigantic life decisions. Soon, everything's up to the courts and it's a grudge match. Mom vs. Dad.  Los Angles vs. New York. Even Television vs. Broadway.

Successful New York theater director Charlie Barber (Adam Driver) and his wife, former teen movie actress Nicole (Scarlett Johansson) are at a crossroads. Charlie wants them to stay in the New York to raise their 8-year old son, Henry (Azhy Robertson) as he finalizes plans to take his latest production to Broadway, but Nicole wants to head back home to L.A. after being offered a big role in a television pilot. After starring in his plays and raising the profile of his theater company, she's ready to do something for herself and translate this newfound credibility as a stage actress into a Hollywood comeback. It's credibility Charlie feels she wouldn't have if not for the opportunity he gave her, feeling she owes him and the company to stay, frequently putting off any talk of a potential west coast move.

When it becomes clear Nicole's going to L.A., and maybe even staying, with or without him, they separate, determined to amicably divorce without the involvement of lawyers. But when Nicole stays in California with Henry and hires flashy attorney Nora Fanshaw (Laura Dern) to represent her, Charlie's forced to lawyer up himself, having to choose between sleazy, money-hungry Jay Marotta (Ray Liotta) and kind, retired family attorney, Bert Spitz (Alan Alda) in his effort to take his son back to New York. The war is on, with Charlie and Nicole doing saying things that would have seemed unimaginable only a few months earlier. And now they must decide how much they're willing to hurt each other to get what they want, rarely stopping to consider the permanent damage it could be inflicting on their family.

Baumbach does such an exceptional job establishing how far these two have drifted in what seems like a relatively short time, but has been building far longer. While spouses working together may seem like the perfect recipe for marital disaster, it's oddly Nicole's desire to take her career in another direction and Charlie's unwillingness to make certain sacrifices for it that lead to trouble. What's scary is how both initially tackle their separation from a superficially understanding place until they realize the stakes and get attorneys involved. Nicole's mother, Sandra (a delightfully flighty Julie Haggerty) and sister Cassie (Merritt Wever) are so against her divorcing Charlie you'll wonder whose side they're on, leading to a hilarious scene where the latter is roped into clumsily serving him the actual papers. And it makes sense they'd be on his side. He's a good father, seemingly well-liked by everyone and admired by his peers in an industry where people depend on him for his intelligence and creativity.

Charlie's someone who's used to getting what he wants but what makes Driver's performance so inventive is how he hides that while simultaneously being all about it when Charlie's called out. The actor has two or three huge scenes that are so perfectly calibrated in that they make all the other scenes and performances around it better, while occupying residency in your mind long after the credits roll. The most memorable is essentially an inverse of the film's opening, as Charlie and Nicole, now suddenly in the throes of an ugly visitation battle, scream insults at each another until he eventually crosses the line, collapsing in tears on the floor realizing what he's just said. Her reaction is equally shocking, highlighting just how complicated this whole thing is, as well as how few relationship dramas dare even going to these uncomfortably realistic places.

In another scene that's both hilarious and pathetically relatable, a visit from a court-appointed social worker (played by Martha Kelly) to observe Charlie with Henry turns into a complete fiasco, as his insistence in proving everything's fine just further compounds the problem, resulting in an embarrassing medical emergency that Baumbach and the Driver couldn't have juggled any better. There's also an emotionally gut-wrenching musical number late in the film that comes seemingly out of nowhere and everywhere at once, delivering all the more magnificently because of it, with Driver stripping down Charlie's pain and bewilderment in the most public of venues, his hurt exposed for all to witness.

While everone's justifiably raving about Driver's work, Johansson might have the tougher job in a considerably less showy role, with Nicole in constant danger of being classified as the bitchy antagonist in Charlie's story. Of course, doing that simplifies the film's many complexities and the real problem at hand, or at least part of it. That she feels written out of her own life, taking action for the first time and doing what she wants instead of depending on him for support or approval that may never come. Right or wrong, it's this distrust that causes her to lawyer up in a big way. There's no way to determine how much of Johansson's success here stems from playing an actress and channeling some of the creative difficulties in that industry, but rarely has she fit a role as well as  Nicole.

Johansson's provided strong support by Laura Dern, whose feisty attorney Nora Fanshaw represents what she wants: complete autonomy in her life and career. Dern really takes care of business, bolstering what would otherwise be a forgettable role by taking charge of every scene and moment in which she appears. Liotta, and especially Alda, deliver in smaller doses, even if their characters seem to represent certain "types" of lawyers working within the system. Ironically enough, the performance that's gone most underpraised comes from Azhy Robertson as Henry, the young boy caught in the middle of this mess, and seeming fully aware that something's happening with his parents, even if he's not quite old enough to qualify exactly what. He shows his frustration in oddly specific ways that register both big and small, looking upon their situation with an honest, plain-spoken curiosity his parents could probably learn a lot from if they listened. But that's the point. No one can listen.

It's no secret that Baumbach's script is at least semi-autobiographical, making it easier to argue he stacks the deck in Charlie's favor, even if an equally compelling case can be made that Nicole gets exactly what she wants. But the very idea of "winning" and "losing" does very much cut to the crux of what this does end up being about, whether or not the characters ever wanted it that way. Evidence suggested they didn't, but like so many couples breaking up, got caught up in the tide. Because of this, Marriage Story feels bigger than both of them, zeroing in on the fact that most relationships end long before any legal proceedings are underway. And if these two couldn't make it, who can? The end suggests compromise might be possible, but not without a whole lot of pain. The real accomplishment is that we somehow walk away still liking and relating to both of them, while laughing at the absurdity of it all the entire time. It's a nearly impossible balancing act, but one made to look easy by the caliber of talent involved.

American Son

Director: Kenny Leon
Starring: Kerry Washington, Steven Pasquale, Jeremy Jordan, Eugene Lee
Running Time: 90 min.
Rating: NR

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

If something's done well, it works. If not, it doesn't. Despite contrary opinion, there's really no reason to believe that adapting a single location, four-person Broadway play to the screen can't work because one's a play and the other's a movie. It depends. So depending upon who you ask, Kenny Leon's controversial, polarizing adaptation of Christopher Demos-Brown's American Son is either one of best or worst Netflix releases in the past year. Reaction seems to indicate there's no middle ground with it, which is fitting given its head-on tackling of the topics of race relations and police brutality. And yet strangely, that's exactly where this seems to land. 

Billed as a "Netflix Television Event," the script loudly announces what it will be about from the opening title card, and the volume and temperature only rises from there, giving us a 90 minutes that's equal parts infuriating and thrilling. A lot can happen when you lock a couple of people in a room and self-contained dramas can carry a lot of power if everyone on board can deliver on it. Here, it's the same cast of the Broadway play transporting their roles to the screen, with similarly satisfying results. And I'm not talking about whether you liked it or not, detested the characters, or were angered watching it. It's challenging rather than enjoyable, but based strictly on execution, it's difficult to argue that more could have been done with the situation or players involved. If anything, the completely stripped down approach only heightens the tension, creating a claustrophobic powder keg on the verge of explosion for an hour and a half.

Is it all "about" race? Depends which character you ask since two out of the four would probably say it isn't. While no one will agree on the moralities surrounding the central incident or its fallout, everyone would likely concur that the prickly personalities of those involved don't help, regardless of how much of that stems from race or other socioeconomic factors. It's the dramatic equivalent of continuously watching characters pour gasoline on a fire, and with maybe one exception, it isn't their finest hour as people. But it's impossible not to care about who they are and their beliefs and actions, making for an insightful, compelling experiment from start to finish.

Kendra Ellis-Connor (Kerry Washington) is spending a stormy night in a Miami police station awaiting news on the whereabouts of her recently missing 18-year-old son, Jamal. The officer on duty, rookie Paul Larkin (Jeremy Jordan) is waiting for a report, but claims his hands are tied in obtaining more information until supervising Lieutenant John Stokes (Eugene Lee) arrives at the station. As time passes and it becomes clear to Kendra that Larkin may know potentially troublesome information about Jamal he's not sharing, she presses him, and their already shaky interactions rapidly deteriorate, with all of his attempts to calm her down and diffuse the situation leading to more yelling and arguing. The arrival of Jamal's father and Kendra's estranged husband, FBI agent Scott Connor (Steven Pasquale) only causes more turmoil, as the parents furiously litigate who's to blame for the collapse of their marriage and their biracial son's recent rebellious behavior. But they'll have to put differences aside for at least one night because Lt. Stokes is on the way, and with him should come news about Jamal.

This will be a tough watch for many, mostly because we're given front-row seats to an extremely uncomfortable situation that highlights a hot-button social issue that most would probably rather not talk about at all. Or even watch others speak about it since such a discussion could invariably lead to the massive communication breakdown depicted here. And it's hard to begrudge any viewer for wanting to sit that out, or write it off as preachy because of where it's coming from, even if the dangers of such a routine dismissal are addressed and well-handled by the screenplay, especially in regard to the husband character.

The most passionate reactions to the material will undoubtedly be centered around Washington's Kendra, who we join in full hysterics over her missing son in the opening scene, before she's angered and insulted by Larkin's admitttedly dopey questions, most of which can be interpreted as revolving  directly and indirectly around the fact that Jamal's a young Afican American male. He's sort of a jerk and massively inexperienced at the same time, while she's completely ditched any filter in dealing with him, assuming it'll get her nowhere. She also thinks he's prejudice at best and racist at worst, with the performers doing a good job showing how even the most innocuous of exchanges can be tinged with institutional racism, regardless of the intentions. When Kendra goes off on him, viewers may be left wondering whether the stress of the situation and this officer's non-reaction have brought previously concealed feelings and tensions to the surface or this is just par the course for her. Or maybe even somewhere in between. Her estranged husband Scott's arrival does eventually some light on that, as we wonder how these two ended up together at all.

Washington's performance is completely free of vanity and self-censoring, never hesitating to take Kendra to uncomfortably cringy places that make us feel just how unsettling this entire ordeal really is. Jordan delivers opposite her as the rookie in over his head, either unwilling or unable to cut through the red tape necesssary to get some answers. It's surprising how much the husband's presence changes the dynamic for both, with Larkin almost immediately taking a much more measured approach and his demeanor instantly changing.

Scott Connor will be a familar character to many and what Pasquale best captures in him is this entitled, and arrogantly dismissive stance to have Jamal see and tackle the world as he does, which is interpreted by Kendra as an attempt to suppress their son's blackness. Over the rest of runnning length they argue about everything from his grades, to his friends and even his birth name. It's a lot, but everything seems to circle back to Scott seeing the world as a white man and her as a black woman. While that's a fact that multiple years of marriage won't change, we soon realize the problems in their marriage may go well beyond that. While I wouldn't dare spoil it, the impact of Lietenant Stokes' on the scene takes the wind out of everyone's sails and isn't what you'd expect, nor is Eugene Lee's wise, level-headed performance and eventual explanation of what's happened, culminating in a gut punch of an ending that isn't easy to shake.

Director Kenny Leon does really confine the proceedings to this police station, resisting the  temptation to add flashbacks, with only one unsuccessful exception that seems out of step with the rest of the film and doesn't play all that well. For the most part though, everything else does, and even as the difficult material doesn't make it the most pleasant watch in the world, there's rarely a scene that doesn't have something important to say, whether or not you agree with any of it. And without us laying eyes on him, Leon does a great job painting a clear, vivid picture of who Jamal is through dialogue alone, even if we'll never completely know.

Netflix is frequently criticized as a dumping ground of original, unadvertised releases so adapting stage plays into 90 minute features may not be such a bad idea. For them, American Son must have seemed like a no-brainer, not mention a whole lot easier and cheaper to produce than their usual fare. It would be so easy to write this off as liberal Hollywood nonsense, and while we can't be sure of the original plan, the material zigs and zags in enough directions to shut those potential complaints down, leaving a lot up to the viewer. Or at least those willing to take the ride.

Limetown

Creators: Zak Akers and Skip Bronkie
Starring: Jessica Biel, Stanley Tucci, Sherri Saum, Omar Elba, Alessandro Juliani, Louis Ferreira, Marlee Matlin, Sheryl Lee, Janet Kidder, Kandyse McClure, John Beasley, Hiro Kanagawa, Kelly Jenrette, Vera Frederickson
Release Date: 2019

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

There's a scene that comes late in Facebook Watch's thriller series Limetown where an actress is called upon to play a character who's acting. You know those scenes. A performance within a performance, in this case with her character withholding information someone else doesn't have, but the audience does. And it's a guilty, self conscious performance. Not from the actress, but the character, which is how it should be since characters are rarely capable of believable acting.

The performer doing it is Jessica Biel, who we're learning is very much an excellent actress, more so since finding her lane in dark, psychological TV dramas like 2018's The Sinner, which earned her an Emmy nomination. Since the talent was always there, even if the quality of projects weren't, she started developing her own and hasn't looked back, with viewers reaping the benefits. That series centered around a giant mystery many doubted could be satisfactorily paid off, until it was, in a revelatory gut punch of an episode that ranks alongside the most exciting hours of dramatic television in years.

Limetown is similarly built around a mystery, albeit one larger in scope, with far-reaching consequences familiar to anyone who listened to creators Zack Akers and Skip Bronkie's 2015 podcast on which it's based. A podcast that many, in a neat War of the Worlds callback, actually believed to be based on actual events. It isn't, but given the premise, it's not hard to understand why, as podcaster Lia Haddock attempts to unravel the story behind the mysterious disappearance of 326 people at a neuroscience research facility in Tennessee in 2003. The scenario feels like something that could have happened and fell through the cracks, and benefits by having a "host" that's the protagonist of her own story, nicely setting up a screen adaptation where the lead will have to do much more than sit behind a microphone talking about dates, details and evidence.

The series is both at an advantage and disadvantage in having to show rather than tell everything, since what's shown could easily fall short of our imaginations. Then again, so can anything. Those who haven't listened to the podcast won't be lost and have the added benefit of a clean slate, while the many that did will find it remains faithful to and improves upon it in welcome ways. But the big takeaway is that it's riskier, specifically in regards to the actions of its central character, a complex, polarizing female anti-hero sure to split audiences. And much like The Sinner, Biel takes her on a dark journey toward the truth, culminating in a season finale that lays all its cards on the table to reveal an awful lot of answers, even if our protagonist proves emotionally unequipped to handle them.

Lia Haddock (Biel) grew up in a household where she got used to tuning out the noise, escaping to her room with a tape recorder to avoid the sounds of her parents fighting. But she soon found a captive audience in her uncle, Emile (Stanley Tucci), a quite, reserved man who would often stand in as Lia's interview subject, encouraging her to use her imagination in the wildest ways possible. That is until one day Emile left for a mystery trip and never returned, forcing Lia to grow up without her beloved uncle. And whatever scenario her childhood imagination conjured up about his whereabouts couldn't ever come close to matching the real story that would occur in a place called Limetown in 2003.

Now an investigative reporter and APR (American Public Radio) podcast host, new witnesses and evidence have only heightened Lia's determination in finding out what happened to her uncle and the other residents who mysteriously vanished from what was part utopian village, part scientific research lab. Something big was happening and at the center of it all was their controversial cult-like leader, Dr. Oskar Totem (Alessandro Juliani), who was literally burned at the stake in a town of his own creation.

With pressure mounting from her editor, Gina (Sherri Saum) to can the story if she can't find any leads, Lia's given a hapless partner in Mark (Omar Elba), who tries keep her honest and on task as surviving Limetown residents begin emerging from the shadows over a decade after disappearing. Now they want to talk. Sort of. And with conditions. But doing so puts their lives and Lia's in immediate danger, each interview bringing her dangerously close to the truth of what happened. Even if the real question just may be how far she'll willing to go to get it.  

Broken into 10 half-hour episodes all directed by Rebecca Thomas, the format seamlessly synchronizes with a story that needs to gradually unspool information, yet do it at a fairly rapid pace, one witness and clue at a time. When alternating between Lia's present-day interviews with these people and flashbacks of their time in the village, the pieces come together. And many of the town-set scenes and the subjects' explanations of them end up being an acting showcase for supporting players such as Kelly Jenrette, Louis Ferreira, John Beasley, and Marlee Matlin, each of whom are afforded the opportunity to portray two variations on their characters in different timelines.

Those doubting whether the "world" of Limetown so thoroughly and realistically detailed in the podcast could translate to the screen, it does, as the production team succeeds in not only making it look and feel like a habitable (if appropriately cold and sterile) town, but a place where its subjects feel comfortable enough to stay, while still being frightened to leave. A somewhat infamous episode on the podcast, "Napoleon," is memorably adapted in the fourth episode, exploring the full scope of the Black Mirror-like experiment being conducted, with all its moral and social implications. This only grows in complexity as the series marches on, lending the town's adopted catchphrase of "I Have Heard The Future" a far more sinister and complicated undercurrent than its pro-technology optimism seems to preach.

Ultimately, this is Lia's story, or rather it becomes that when the podcaster's obsession starts to reveal more about her own emotional trauma stemming from her uncle's disappearance than the overarching Limetown mystery. They're not exactly one in the same. Who Lia is at her core becomes the biggest and most rewarding deviation from the podcast, as she evolves into someone who may not be worth rooting for anymore, manipulating and blackmailing to get to the truth regardless of how many more die in the process.

Lia's abject denial in the face of this gets scary enough that we eventually understand the true purpose of the goofy Mark character beyond the writers' need to give her someone to bounce theories off and provide comic relief. He's there to keep her sane, providing a rational moral compass as it becomes clearer hers is breaking. We don't fully grasp the extent of Lia's obsession until the final few episodes which find her going off the deep end in ways that are crazily unsettling. Better still is the argument that this proves she truly was the only person capable of making the sacrifices necessary to see this investigation through to its end.

An even stronger case can be made that Biel is the ideal choice to play Lia, completely owning this complex headcase with steely, unwavering determination. It helps that few actresses have a speaking voice as strong or authoritative, lending complete credibility to the podcasting scenes,  never letting us doubt this woman could spend a career behind the mic hooking listeners. But it's Biel's work in the interview scenes that paradoxically convey Lia's tremendous fear of her survivor subjects and whoever may still control them and the reporter's seemingly unshakeable commitment to getting her answers regardless of it.

With her bob haircut frequently buried under a hoodie or knit hat, wearing baggy clothes and looking as if she hasn't slept for days, Lia initially seems at surface level to be an entirely desexualized character. That is until we realize, in jarring ways, this isn't the case at all and her desires provide as much of an outlet as her work. She's a lesbian, even if that labeling seems pointless in the face of everything else Lia's carrying around, which the actress reveals to us in carefully modulated doses throughout. Like her troubled relationship with her estranged mother (played by Laura Palmer herself, Sheryl Lee). It's a high-wire, anxiety-ridden performance that perfectly compliments Stanley Tucci's calming, detached presence in the flashbacks opposite a young, impressionable Lia. The true measure of that impact is felt in the present-day scenes every time her adult counterpart hits a wall in the investigation and a depressing sense of hopelessness washes over Biel's face. She doesn't have to say anything. We get it.

The finale ("Answers") delivers all the unsettling revelations viewers have been waiting on, while supplying literal clock-ticking suspense when Lia comes face-to-face with her most important witness, an ex Limetown administrator played with terrifying matter-of-factness by Janet Kidder. It's basically a clinic on how skilled people can be at completely compartmentalizing whatever they wish, regardless of the consequences. The shock comes not so much in hearing about what caused the mess that is Limetown, but seeing it depicted on screen in painstaking, almost over-analytic detail from the perspective of someone incapable of framing it any other way.

Closing on a cliffhanger in the strictest sense, it's crisp, efficient storytelling that does something unusual in provoking a strong emotional response by bombarding us with cold, hard facts. That happened, then this happened, then that happened. We most commiserate with Lia during this reveal, perhaps lending justification to her mindset, while at the same time giving us pause as to whether she's now employing similarly sociopathic methods in her own quest for truth. You can't help but consider that while Limetown's story is entirely fictional, its timely context strikes a nerve that hits uncomfortably close to home.

Looking For Alaska

Creator: Josh Schwartz
Starring: Charlie Plummer, Kristine Froseth, Denny Love, Jay Lee, Sofia Vassilieva, Landry Bender, Uriah Shelton, Jordan Connor, Timothy Simons, Ron Cephas Jones
Release Date: 2019

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Mention author John Green's name and you're likely to receive varying degrees of responses largely dependent on that viewers' age, gender, familiarity with young adult lit and pop culture in general. And it's just as likely that bringing up the writer of bestselling teen weepies such as "The Fault in our Stars" and "Paper Towns" will also induce some groans and eye-rolling because he's often accused of pedaling fluff without the substance to back it up. As the YA genre's taken off in the past decade with his and other contemporaries seeing their works adapted into big money movies, Green's emerged as even more of a punching bag. And it's difficult to argue, with dialogue and plotting that isn't exactly subtle, leaving little doubt he's writing exclusively for that demographic, and has no plans to stop pouring all the emotion that entails directly onto the page.

"Looking For Alaska" was Green's first novel, dealing with heavy and disturbing enough themes to frequently land it on lists of challenged books by schools and libraries in the years following its 2005 publication. The O.C. and Gossip Girl creator Josh Schwartz has been trying to develop it into a feature film since, and now, almost fifteen years later, it arrives as an limited 8-episode Hulu series. Seemingly too late, and yet strangely right on schedule.

We'll never know the kind of movie the original incarnation could have been if it came out as John Green fandom was taking off, but it's hard to imagine it being very good. It feels like the material desperately needed this time, distance and breathing room so everyone could step back and assess our culture through the rearview mirror. Now, with the proper delivery, the entire series becomes a clever, meta commentary on what that movie was supposed to be and how many of its ideas can be flipped on its head a decade-plus later.

By setting the series in the mid-2000's time period during which the book was published, Schwartz does the unthinkable in invoking nostalgia for a period and its music we haven't yet been tested in harboring nostalgia for. It's his finest hour, or rather eight, as he follows in the footsteps of Veronica Mars creator Rob Thomas by abandoning the traditional network model for Hulu earlier this year, to astonishing creative results. But if FOX trying to squeeze every last bit of juice it could out of The O.C. led to its early demise, the lasting legacy Schwartz's show left was its music. The mid aughts were kind of a last gasp for defining periods in music pre-smart phone, making the indie rock explosion so prominently showcased on that show ripe for reappreciation here.

That sound, an audio snapshot of the time, is something relived by these characters and us, with Schwartz pulling off the impossible in making Green's material seem cool, at its best giving off Stand By Me coming-of-age vibes. Subverting expectations, it invests nearly every supporting character with as much depth as its co-leads, while introducing us to young talents you can actually bank on becoming huge stars off the strength of their performances. A trip into the past well worth taking, it intelligently balances humor with an emotionally crippling tragedy, making for the rare adaptation that lacks the baggage and one-dimensional stereotypes populating this genre.

It's 2005 and nerdy, introspective teen Miles Halter (Charlie Plummer) is told by his parents that he's leaving his Orlando, Florida public school to attend Culver Creek Academy, a progressive private boarding school in Alabama that more closely resembles a sleepaway camp. While his father attended years ago, Miles isn't nearly as interested in school as he is last words. Famous people's last words, to be exact. It may be a strange, morbid obsession, but it does command the attention of his new roomate, Chip "The Colonel" Martin (Denny Love), who ironically nicknames him "Pudge," and the free-spirited, enigmatic Alaska Young (Kristine Froseth), whom Miles immediately falls for at first glance.

Along with Alaska and The Colonel's friend Takumi (Jay Lee), Miles is soon entrenched in the their long-standing feud with the "Weekday Warriors," a group of wealthy students they frequently pull pranks on. All this occurs while trying to avoid capture by the academy's strict, mustachioed headmaster, Mr. Starnes (Timothy Simons), aka "The Eagle," and taking in the philosophical insight of their ailing religion teacher, Mr. Hyde (Ron Cephas Jones). But it isn't all fun and games, as the days dwindle down and build to an accident that will forever alter who everyone grows to become.

The show lulls you into thinking it will be all about Miles' journey into young adulthood (i.e. William Miller in Almost Famous), as seen through his eyes as the awkward narrator. And it is at least partially that, but not to the extent you may have imagined, as that kind of one-dimensional storytelling approach doesn't really fly anymore, making for one of the many ways the series becomes the unlikeliest adaptation that would have spawned from it a decade ago. We get a lot of time with these characters and the rather originally unusual school setting inspired from an actual boarding academy Green attended in his youth. It works really well, simultaneously recalling high school and summer camp movies and helping to create a hazy nostalgia that runs pretty deep throughout.

The Colonel, named as such by Alaska due to his strategic, militaristic planning of pranks and schemes, serves as Miles' introduction into this world and it's a testament to the writing that there's an even more compelling backstory as to how he arrived at Culver than our narrator, whom he eventually draws out of his shell. The endlessly charismatic and dryly hilarious Denny Love outright steals the show in playing a character who doesn't easily suffer fools and isn't about to let his newest roomate become one, operating under a strict moral code, into which we get more insight with each episode.

There's a deep-seeded reason accounting for The Colonel's need to act as he does, but the writers are smart enough not to shove that explanation down our throats and instead let the talented actor show it, as we're never quite sure what will next set him off on one of his sarcastically truthful rants. And Miles, played with figgiting, befuddled excellence by Plummer, finds himself on the receiving end of many of them. If it seems insulting to only refer to Alaska as the object of Miles' obsession, or feel we should be past that tired trope, you'd be happy to know that Schwartz and the writers agree. Frequently going out of their way to slap him back into reality, they refuse to let him or us view her as any less than a completely messy and complicated character.

It helps that an Kristine Froseth is a revelation in the role, calling upon an entire spectrum of emotions to make Alaska at once disloyal and completely trustworthy, both abrasive and sweet, and a drinking, smoking literary-quoting narcissist on a path toward self-destruction, perhaps unintentionally taking her friends down with her.

To lift a phrase from the time, Alaska isn't a "Manic Pixie Dream Girl," whose entire existence is predicated on the shy, over-eager Miles winning her over, since, well, she's too challenging a personality for something like that, rarely knowing who she is herself. When viewers get Alaska alone (such as in one memorable local college excursion), she's so overcome by insecurity that merely functioning as a normal human being becomes difficult. Frequently, she can't, and yet, through all this, Froseth manages to outwardly maintain this girl's confident, likable facade throughout, frustrating everyone within her radius. Luckily for viewers, embracing this mercurial character isn't a prerequisite since we fully understand what she much she means to those who do.

The adults and other supporting characters are similarly drawn with depth and care, given time to their stories that couldn't have been explored in a 120-minute film version. So good in his Emmy-winning This is Us guest turn, Ron Cephas Jones does equally affecting work here as Culver's wise religious instructor, Mr. Hyde, another potentially contentious role that could have easily been a cliché in the hands of a lesser performer or writers. The performance sneaks up on you, culminating in a Thanksgiving episode that lays his full history on the table, giving Jones an hour to flesh this person out, and making all the surrounding characters that much richer for it.

The other faculty member, Timothy Simons' The Eagle, spends a lot of time playing a colder Rooney to the student Buellers, until the layers slowly start getting peeled back, culminating with his true motivations and fears bubbling to the surface in unexpected ways by series close.

Miles' Russian girlfriend Lara (Sofia Vassilieva), transcends her role as the inevitable third wheel in his Alaska infatuation with an agency and determination that eventually makes her incredibly relatable. The only supporting player arguably given the short end of the stick is Jay Lee's Takumi, who mainly serves as a sounding board for everyone, lacking any real purpose of his own until the big event ocurs. But once it does, his role comes more clearly into focus. Even the Colonel's mom, Dolores (Deneen Tyler), is written and performed intelligently enough that her backstory seems as substantial as just about anything else on screen.

Much of why this story initially draws you in is because the stakes are surprisingly low. It's fun just hanging out with these well drawn characters for six episodes and listening to them Dawson's Creek-speak about literature, philosophy and the meaning of life. And while that very prospect may have other viewers looking for the nearest window to jump out of, there is a clever, self-awareness to all of it that makes it feel more reminiscent of something like Dazed and Confused than the teen shows it's most likely to be compared.

Of course, the real language of the series can be found in its ipod-ready soundtrack, which contains a murderer's row of artists from the mid 2000's such as The Killers, Rilo Kiley, The Postal Service, Modest Mouse, The White Stripes, The Strokes, Spoon, Coldplay, The Hives, Outkast, Jet and Kelly Clarkson. And that's not even including the many stripped-down covers of songs from the era punctuating key moments, with Schwartz and music supervisor Alexandra Patsavas deserving credit for wisely picking their spots in not making any of it feel intrusive or distracting.

Early on, it's given away that we're careening toward a tragic death, and even those unfamiliar with the novel will quickly deduce whose, as we're all but told in the opening minutes. The surprise comes in how it's handled, when all pretense of the fun and comradarie this series is built on prior to episode six is extinguished in a matter of minutes. Taking its place is grief, some mystery, and a closure of sorts for all involved.

Shows in all genres tend to go out of their way to avoid dwelling on the immediate aftermath of a character's death because it's an audience downer, requiring the writers, directors and actors to tonally readjust. The fear of doing that has become so great that showrunners have even pulled out time jumps and flashforwards to exclusively avoid depicting prolonged grief on screen. Looking For Alaska runs toward what other shows avoid by realizing that a major character loss can work as a natural extension to what came before, resulting in a deeper exploration of the remaining ones as they wrestle with its consequences.

Having gotten so much time with these characters as a unit and individually, when the death hits, it really lands, as a full two episodes are spent watching an entire school of students and faculty grieve in wildly different ways. And yet the show still manages to adjust course once more, with a finale that somehow not only provides big laughs, but a genuine sense of finality. There won't be another season because there's literally no more story left to tell, making a limited series template the ideal vehicle in adapting Green's novel. But what couldn't have been anticipated was just how much it would improve upon it.   

Joker

Director: Todd Phillips
Starring: Joaquin Phoenix, Robert De Niro, Zazie Beetz, Frances Conroy, Brett Cullen, Shea Whigham, Bill Camp, Glenn Fleshler, Leigh Gill, Marc Maron, Douglas Hodge, Dante Pereira-Olson
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

There's been a lot of discussion lately as to what constitutes a "realistic" take on a comic book or superhero property, if such a decriptor even exists. While great entertainment, the idea that Tim Burton's 1989 Batman was once praised for its dark grittiness seems downright laughable now. Christopher Nolan may have changed game entirely with his Dark Knight Trilogy, stripping away many elements that defined the genre with something more closely resembling a crime drama, but it was really Heath Ledger's Oscar-winning reinterpretation of the Joker as a nihilistic terrorist that left an imprint. Nolan was onto to something big with that approach until Marvel came along, reminding audiences worldwide that they love "fun" superhero movies, as interchangeable and corporately indistinct as they've since become. Soon, a future where every major property would be Nolanized with a healthy dose of realism and nuance fell by the wayside. 

Now, with Joker, comedy director Todd Phillips does what Nolan and everyone before him was either too tentative or flat-out forbidden in going all the way with, delivering a dark psychological drama that doesn't only subvert the form, but flat-out demolishes it. The credits read "Based on DC characters" and, finally, for the first time, we can say, "very loosely." It actually shares more in common with dark psychological dramas like Taxi Driver, The King of Comedy and Requiem For a Dream, channeling the tone, look and content of those films more than any aforementioned Bat project. And Joaquin Phoenix's chilling, disturbing reimagining of this character is a full-fledged introduction, going where so few actors have in really playing the man behind the facepaint, infusing him with a complexity this long limiting genre has frowned upon. The material's depth affords him that chance, as he creates a painfully real depiction of mental illness that would be too difficult to watch if it wasn't so gripping. 

It's 1981 and party clown and sometimes stand-up comedian Arthur Fleck (Phoenix) is living in a dilapidated apartment with his ailing mother, Penny, (Frances Conroy) in Gotham City. With crime and unemployment at a high, the city is also in the midst of a garbage strike and overrun with rats. Even as wealthy businessman Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen) vows to bring change with a mayoral bid, the rift between the haves and have nots of Gotham grows larger, with no signs of relief coming anytime soon. That's especially true for the mentally ill and socially awkward Arthur, who suffers from a clinical condition that causes inappropriate, uncontrollable laughing fits. Relying on social services for seven different medications, his luck worsens when, in full clown make-up and costume, he's jumped and beaten in an alley by a group of thugs while hawking electronics.

Implored by his co-workers to take measures insuring his safety on the streets, he discovers the most enjoyment watching "The Murray Franklin Show" with his mother. Both are enamored with its Carson-like host, Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro), whom Arthur dreams of someday meeting when his stand-up career takes off and he's asked to appear on the program. Things start looking up when he gets some club gigs and starts dating Sophie (Zazie Beetz), a cynical single mother who lives in the same building. But with his fragile mental state, Arthur's always one dangerous incident away from being pushed over the edge. And it's coming, no matter how often his mom tells him to "put on a happy face."

Despite taking place in "Gotham City," let's just call it what it is: late 70's, early 80's New York City. It not only looks and feels like it with the grafitti, garbage and porn shops, but the prevalence of the same socio-political issues as well. It's essentially a period piece, and more discussion should probably be centering around how that informs and even exacerbates the shocking events. And when talking about a mentally ill character, how it pushes him further over the edge when any or all of the few options available to him start to rapidly disappear. The idea of placing Arthur in this setting during that era was a masterstroke by Phillips, greatly heightening the intensity of nearly everything that occurs over the two hour running time.

Rarely does relief come from the feeling of being trapped in a powder keg ready to explode, and for someone like Arthur, it's a living hell. Phillips' and Scott Silver's script nails the idea that back then no one, aside from medical professionals, would recognize something as rarely talked about or acknowledged as mental illness. As a result, the surrounding characters pretty much write him off as merely a creepy "weirdo" no one would even think of considering a danger or threat on his worst day. It's this all too familar underestimation that helps leads to devastating consequences in a tumultuous city ripe for the picking. The setting also gives the movie an incredible out, allowing Arthur's behavior to rise to alarming heights before law enforcement get involved, albeit way late. And based on the time period and circumstances, it's believable, allowing a crucial suspension of disbelief most other films couldn't get away with. This does, and masterfully.  

A noticeably emaciated Phoenix has to walk a tightrope here, conveying a sincerity and almost childlike innocence and curiosity in Arthur when we first meet him. He takes his job seriously and believes he can go places despite the obstacles facing him, until it becomes too much for his emotional faculties to process. His laughing condition (a real life disorder ingeniously incorporated into the character) only magnifies the awkwardness of every already awkward encounter he has. Very few of his relationships are functional. Whether it's with his mom, co-workers, boss or girlfriend. The latter is especially rife with dysfunction, almost immediately sending out warning signs that something's amiss in this dynamic, possibly on both sides.

It's hardly a spoiler to state that once the Sinatra and Chaplin aficionado obtains a weapon for self-defense and gets his first taste of violence, Phoenix is able to take Arthur on a credible trajectory from someone who initially appears as if they couldn't hurt a fly to an unstable vigilante starting to get noticed and drunk with delusions of grandeur. His problems keep piling up, but because so many of Gotham's lesser off inhabitants can closely relate, he may eventually end up getting his time in the spotlight after all. Just like his idol, Murray Franklin. After all, what Arthur always craved most was attention and adulation. Echoing shades of Taxi Driver, he'll eventually get it, just not in the way that he or anyone else would have envisioned. 

Cleverly riffing on former co-star Jerry Lewis' role opposite his in The King of Comedy, De Niro delivers his most memorable supporting turn in years, proving to be a far more engaging presence as the fictitious talk show host than the notoriously guarded actor's been as a real life guest on them. How the media-obsessed Arthur's path eventually crosses with his should seem absurd, and it is, but it also ingeniously highlights the social divide in Gotham, giving this tragic clown a pulpit from which to preach. Police involvement in Arthur's crime spree may be much delayed, but in the midst of such turmoil, it's still easy for him to continue going undetected and unnoticed as a local celebrity, just as as he has his entire life. What occurs in the third act may be extremely violent and disturbing, but the inevitable path was paved for it the entire time.

The only references made to anything related to the Batman canon are passing ones and strategically placed Easter eggs that fans will notice and appreciate without alienating others completely unfamilar with the character or its history. Really, all of that can be thrown out the window since this is about as far removed from that universe as it gets. Even the inclusion of the Wayne family is mainly to further fuel the wealthy disparity crisis ripping apart Gotham. There's also a deeply personal angle to this involving Arthur that's strangely effective, adding a lot of fuel to an already burning fire.

While this isn't some kind of Joker "origin story" and thankfully exists independently from any scenario in which such a term would exist, some audiences will probably still reserve the option to view it as such. Let them, just as long as there's never a sequel to this, and it stands just where it is. There's a thrill in knowing the only goal was to serve this specifically memorable character and story rather than feed a studio machine just waiting to churn out inferior mainstream follow-ups that would only undermine the exceptional work done by Phillips and Phoenix.

Even in a long line of Phoenix performances, this is one for the ages, and as serious and unsettling an exploration of mental illness as you're likely to see on screen. Those in doubt need only look at the controversy surrounding its release and the real fears that some could view an examination of this protagonist's problems as a call-to-arms, and a provocation to commit violence. That it caused such a an uproar speaks to the massively discomforting chord this story strikes, albeit one we've unfortunately gotten all too familiar with. If anything, let Joker stand as a warning against us ever becoming numb to it.

El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie

Director: Vince Gilligan
Starring: Aaron Paul, Charles Baker, Matt Jones, Jesse Plemons, Scott Shepherd, Scott MacArthur, Tom Bower, Kevin Rankin, Larry Hankin, Tess Harper, Marla Gibbs, Jonathan Banks
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: NR

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

**Warning: The Following Review Contains Major Spoilers For 'El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie' **

When Breaking Bad's last episode, "Felina," aired in 2013, it was one of the few examples of a legendary show sticking its landing, delivering a series finale that many considered a perfect send-off. Running five seasons and not a single episode longer than warranted, creator Vince Gilligan knew the story he wanted to tell, and while pieces on the board may have been moved along the way, you got the impression the eventual destination was always clear. It's also the rare finale that's grown in stature since it aired, with initial rumblings of Walter White's (Bryan Cranston) Mr. Chips to Scarface journey wrapping up a little too tidily beginning to dissipate over time. So the big issue becomes whether any part of this is worth toying with.

With a current prequel series in AMC's Better Call Saul creatively performing better than it has any right to, you'd figure Gilligan would want to get out while he can, further preserving the integrity of both shows. But there's always been that nagging Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul) issue. When Jesse escaped that Nazi compound in the final minutes of the series, screaming in agony and joy as he drove that El Camino right through the gate, we were left to speculate what would become of him, while also wondering if we're better off not knowing. And whether our imaginations could provide a more satisfying conclusion for him than anything Gilligan could cook up, leaving it a thread better left unresolved. So the big question becomes whether any of this is even worth toying with.

With Netflix's feature film, El Camino, Gilligan takes a calculated risk in attempting to continue Jesse's story by adding an epilogue to "Felina," while also creating an entity that holds its own in the Breaking Bad universe he revisits. Is it necessary? Not terribly, as what happens in the 122 minute film to the embattled, traumatized Jesse following his escape is probably very similar to what fans envisioned in their minds. Does it in any way harm the series? Absolutely not, as the quality of writing and directing here is very much on the same level of the show at its peak with key differences being the narrative stakes and the absence of its previous protagonist/antagonist. This is Jesse's story now and probably the most impressive thing about El Camino is how far it leans into that, delivering a claustrophobic character study effectively doubling as a taught, suspenseful crime thriller. And for a series consistently praised for how cinematic it looked, the feature provides additional evidence as to why.

This doesn't feel like an extended episode of the series, or a forced reunion. There's a very functional structure to the screenplay, sharing commonalities with the show's best episodes that seamlessly alternate between character-centric flashbacks and present-day action scenes. And it does this while somehow feeling entirely different from all the episodes that preceded it. As a standalone movie, it's tremendous, even as its success as a continuation of the show will proabably be debated. But it's ultimately all about Aaron Paul's complex, nuanced performance as one of TV's greatest characters. Experiencing Jesse's desperation, it's easy to forget whether or not we "need" to return to this. It just simply feels great to be back.

Walter White is dead. Gaining revenge on the Nazis while sacraficing himself to save Jesse, the latter fled the compound in captor Todd Alquist's (Jesse Plemons) El Camino. Physically and emotionally scarred from his imprisonment, a bearded, dissheveled Jesse must now decide what's next, remaining a"person of interest" in the Heisenberg case.  Considered a dangerous fugitive with reports of the compound massacre all over the news, he manages to evade authorities long enough to make it to the two people he knows he can trust: good friends Badger (Matt Jones) and Skinny Pete (Charles Baker). Far from criminal masterminds, the two burnouts come through in giving their pal a place to clean up and hide untill they come up with a plan. But with authorities rapidly closing in, Jesse quickly sets out on his journey with a very specific goal in mind. To get there, he'll have to make sacrifices, rely on his resourcfulness and come to face-to face with his past in order to even get a shot at starting over or having any kind of future ahead of him.

The narrative signposts in El Camino are always to clear to Jesse before becoming apparent to us, with Gilligan keeping the character a step ahead the entire time and completely driving the action. This keeps us on pins and needles anticipating his every move, often taking him on detours and destinations we rarely expect he'll go. In hindsight, each step makes sense, but in the moment we become Jesse's captive audience, wondering who or what he'll run into next, or how it'll tie to the ordeal he's been through.

It's to Gilligan and Paul's credit the psychological implications of Jesse's recent imprisonment isn't brushed over, nor is the very real possibility he'll be put into a situation where he'll need to kill again, if his survival depends on it. Considering everything he's been through, it makes logical sense that he's a functioning PTSD sufferer haunted by not only his own morally questionable past actions, but all the manipulation he endured at the hands of Walt. While the deaths of Jane (Krysten Ritter), Andrea (Emily Rios) and Mike (Jonathan Banks) haunt Jesse, they're never explicitly mentioned. We get it. And Gilligan gets that we do, letting Jesse's actions and a few carefully chosen flashbacks do all the work.

Since the finale was in many ways already an epilogue unto itself (with many still considering "Ozymandius" the true climax) rather than a continuation, it's a touchy subject which characters should reappear. If this was merely "fan service," it's safe bet we'd see Hank (Dean Norris), Skylar (Anna Gunn), Walt Jr. (RJ Mitte), Marie (Betsy Brandt), Gus (Giancarlo Esposito), either in flashbacks or the present, depending upon their fates. Of course, it doesn't help that Jesse's business with those aforementioned characters is either extremely limited, non-existent, or finished. With only two encounters with Skylar during the series and not so much as a a scene with Walt Jr., there's little reason for them to intereact now.

Similarly, it would take too much work to be able to logically tie the post-BrBa events of Better Call Saul to Jesse's journey, so an encounter with Saul's (Bob Odenkirk) Cinnabon Gene alter ego was always going to be a long shot. If there are any complaints about Gilligan's creative decisions, it'll likely be regarding who does show up and why, since there's a big question mark surrounding what any potential returnee could add at this point.

Jesse Plemons' Todd wasn't likely topping anyone's prediction list to return considering his death in the finale, but here he is, in an extended flashback sequence that initially comes off as a curious use of time. After all, was anyone really begging for a deeper glimpse into Todd's disturbed psyche, especially considering our knowledge of how things turned out for him. But a funny thing happens as Gilligan keeps returning to this oddly specific flashback and Plemons' role grows larger, evolving into what amounts to a co-lead for what seems like half the picture. When the basis for Todd's inclusion presents itself and we discover how he directly and indirectly impacts Jesse's present quest, it all starts coming together. This makes it easy to further appreciate Plemons' performance opposite Paul, and just how twisted their dynamic became while Jesse was imprisoned, revealing Todd as even more childlike and sociopathic than originally suspected. But Gilligan's blueprint is clear: This will be about what Jesse needs to collect in order to move forward.

From then on, it's a pretty wild ride, with Jesse trying to evade capture and gather enough cash to reach what we should have known all along was his ultimate goal: A rescheduled appointment with Ed "The Disappearer" Galbraith (Robert Forster). Having missed his initial pick-up with the vacuum repairman, he's now looking for another chance at a new identity, just as Walt and Saul received before him. Hopefully, with better results. But it won't be easy since Ed has his principles and doesn't like being stood up, priding himself on doing business the right way.

Jesse's verbal interplay with Ed makes for the film's strongest section, as Forster reprises and significantly expands on the crucial role he so intriguingly played in the series' penultimate episode, "Granite State." All that occurs when Jesse enters this vacuum store is gold, with the extended sequence crackling with nervous tension, sarcasm and humor. Much will made made of this being Forster's final role (with the Oscar-nominated actor passing the day of its release), but regardless of that tragic irony, it's a carefully measured performance worthy of the highest praise, cool and calm as can be in the presence of Paul's manic energy. If the latter owns this movie, then Forster's the next best thing in it.

While it was never a question that Bryan Cranston would show up as Walter White, the "when" and "how" remained a well-guarded secret. It does kind of come out of nowhere, while managing to make perfect sense when considering every flashback and present-day encounter in the film centers around Jesse coming to terms with his past in order to build a future for himself. It's fitting we join the two when their partnership was at its early stage, before Walt's hubris poisoned it. He was still ex-chemistry teacher "Mr. White," and his cancer diagnosis made him as desperate for money as former cooking partner Jesse is now, looking to build a nest egg for his family when he's gone. That's how things started, and while we know how they turned out, it's intriguing that Gilligan picked this previously unseen diner conversation for Walt's cameo, with their trusted, duct taped RV parked in the lot.

Of course, Cranston slides right back into the role like he never left, playing a weak, uncontrollably coughing version of Walt who has yet to become the alpha in their partnership. Instead, he relies on Jesse, while expressing a genuine concern and disappointment at why his former student wasn't thinking about his own future, as a friend or father would, if not for that hint of condescension.  At first, the scene seems almost superfluous within the context of this movie, but try not to marvel again at the surreal sight of them sitting across from each other again. Or deny that much of Jesse's survival now depends on the many lessons imparted and inflicted on him by Walt, the very person that caused his life to unravel. Wrong and arrogant about a lot, Walt's belief that Jesse was wasting his potential was always spot-on, even as the mentor failed to take his own advice, looking for success in all the wrong places. It just took all of this to go down for Jesse to finally realize it.

It's appropriate that the two characters Jesse gleaned the most from and forged his most meaningful human connections bookend his story. Mike and Jane may both be victims of Walt and while it's too late for them, he still has a shot if he can evade authorities and make it out of this alive. Fans complaining Walt had too tidy a resolution will likely have a field day criticizing Jesse's send-off, but it's unquestionably the right ending, and really the only one, even if you feel no further closure was necessary. But for a character whose screen time did become increasingly limited as the series drew to a close, it's no small feat that we know more about Jesse Pinkman now than we did going in.

To say no one needed El Camino more than Aaron Paul isn't a knock on his immeasurable talent, but instead an indictment on an industry that failed to give him the showcase he's deserved since the series concluded. Back in the role he belongs, we're reminded that in the six years since it would be highly unusual for him, or any other working actor, to get material at that level. And while it may be true that the series or its fans didn't need it, we'd be fools to complain about getting more, especially since it's about as accurate a representation of Breaking Bad's best that we'll ever get in feature form.           

Yesterday

Director: Danny Boyle
Starring: Himesh Patel, Lily James, Ed Sheeran, Kate McKinnon, Camille Chen, Maryana Spivak, Lamorne Morrise, James Corden
Running Time: 116 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

If Oscars were handed out for story ideas and concepts, it's likely anyone involved with the one at the center of Danny Boyle's Yesterday would be preparing their speeches. Unfortunately for them, no such category exists, and for good reason. Movies still have to be written and directed, wherein we discover if the execution of those ideas successfully translate to the screen. It would seem the pairing of Academy Award winning Slumdog Millionaire director Boyle and Love, Actually screenwriter Richard Curtis on a film envioning a world where The Beatles never existed would be the closet thing to a sure bet there is. I'd even go as far to say it contains one of the best premises for a movie we've heard in years. Calling it a "can't miss" is likely underselling its potential, which seemed limitless from the moment it was announced.

While its theatrical trailer appeared to have given away too much, it's still fair to say expectations remained very high going in. Especially when they somehow found a way to license the Fab Four's entire catalogue, cleverly incorporating it as a plot device that guarantees we'll listen to the songs in a way we haven't before, watching the reactions of characters discovering it for the first time. It could also work as pop culture commentary, glimpsing how it would be received, marketed, and promoted in today's wildly different music landscape. We do get some of that. Kind of. Mostly in its promising first half, before veering way off course and making me about as frustrated as I can recently remember about a film's squandered potential. Despite being recommendable on just about every level, you can't help but be bothered by what it isn't, delivering what has to be the cruelest kind of tease. It succeeds due to a winning lead performance and a film's worth of Beatles' covers that are excellently performed and presented, but that inescapable feeling it could have been so much more still lingers after the credits roll.

Jack Malick (Himesh Patel) is a struggling singer-songwriter from Lowestoft, England whose manager and childhood friend, Ellie Appleton (Lily James) keeps encouraging him not to give up on his dream, even as he continues to perform in empty dive bars, coffee houses and music festival  tents. About ready to quit and return to teaching, Jack's hit by a bus during a global blackout, landing him in the hospital with multiple injuries. When he gets out and sings "Yesterday" for his friends, the realization sets in that they have no idea who The Beatles are.

When a quick Google search results in insects rather than the band, Jack's suspicions are confirmed, as he's awakened to a world where only he's heard of John, Paul, George and Ringo. Unsure whether they never existed or no one remembers them, Jack begins performing their songs and passing them off as his own, attracting the attention of pop star Ed Sheeran (as "himself"), who asks him to open on the Moscow leg of his tour. You could probably guess which song he picks.

It isn't long before Sheeran's cold, money-hungry agent, Debra Hammer (Kate McKinnon) gets her claws into Jack, signing him to her label and carefully orchestrates her newest superstar's meteoric rise. As his career takes off, it becomes clear something's missing: Ellie, who's opted to stay behind to continue teaching. As they wrestle with their feelings for one another, Jack reluctantly basks in the newfound fame while also wrestling with the guilt of having plagiarized The Beatles' biggest hits. Not to mention his fear of being found out.

If there's one thing this film does exceptionally well, it's incorporate The Beatles' music into the story in a natural, unforced way. It's a welcome change of course after the last major release to earn that legal right, 2007's Across The Universe, which attempted to shoehorn their songs into a single narrative, with wildly mixed and forced results. Having played more like a collection of music videos starring characters we cared little about, it was easy to understand the lukewarm notices. Dramatizing the lyrics and content behind their songs was always going to be an uphill battle so it's a relief that this film doesn't even attempt to try.

It's as a tribute to the band's music and legacy that Boyle and Curtis score the most points, its premise practically demanding a closer look at what they've meant, regardless of how well that idea's seen through until the end. But their biggest accomplishment is in finding a virtually unknown singer and actor who can deliver two hours straight of immensely innofensive Beatles covers that remind us just how fun their music can be. While it seems strange to need a reminder of that, there are times their legacy seems so daunting it would feel like homework for the uninitiated, if such a group exists. There's a lot to like in what's done with the arrangements of these songs and how the story necessitates their inclusion rather than the other way around. They're updated and tinkered with just enough and Himesh Patel has a really pleasant voice and presence for delivering them as intended, in addition to an everyday charm well suited to the monumental predicament Jack finds himself in. Of everything, the music was the one aspect the film absolutely had to nail, and it did.

The question of whether or to what extent the public would embrace the Fab Four's music if released by a modern artist in present times is handled fairly well, wisely observing that no matter how great art is, it still needs to catch on. And more often than not, people actually need to be told how good something is before they feel comfortable fully embracing it and spreading the word. In this sense, Curtis' script is accurate in so far as depicting that just singing these hits won't be enough. One of the best scenes involve Jack singing "Let it Be" for his disinterested family and receiving an even chillier reception when performing more of their classics for local patrons. Or Sheeran's insistance on changing the lyric of "Hey Jude" to "Hey Dude."

If there's anything to extract from this, it may be the realization that our culture actually does need agents, critics and the media to open our eyes to quality if it isn't otherwise receiving exposure. Would The Beatles be as revered if they came along in an era where TV wasn't simultaneously taking off in popularity and didn't have the platform of shows like Ed Sullivan's? If no one told us how great they were, would we ever know? Or is the music strong enough that it didn't matter? Maybe that philosophizing gives Curtis' screenplay more credit than it deserves, but the very idea does make the mind race with implications and possibilities. So there's that.

Casting Ed Sheeran as the unwitting mentor Jack leans on to get The Beatles' work to the masses makes for a strangely good fit. His role's actually larger than expected and the highest compliment that can be paid is that his presence doesn't feel like a celebrity walk-on, as he blends into the movie's hypothetical universe fairly well. And that him being presented as the modern songwriting bridge between The Beatles and Jack Malick doesn't come off as an abomination is likely the biggest victory he could have hoped for before signing on to this project. It doesn't require too much, while allowing the singer to poke fun at himself in a way that also matches the tone of the material. That's more than can be said for Kate McKinnon, whose caricature of a music exec seems to have been transplanted from another movie altogether.

Everything about McKinnon's character and performance as Debra Hammer is hideously misjudged, to the point that if she literally dressed up as a dollar sign it would seem subtle in comparison. If the intent was to broadly depict industry types as shallow, money hungry pariahs, this doesn't help the story in any way, especially when the agent in question doesn't seem like an actual person, much less someone Sheeran would even associate with. She has this terrible line where she tells Jack that he's just there to make her rich and the delivery is so ham-fisted and over-the-top way that you're not even sure what to make of it.

This isn't dark satire of the music industry or a parody of its many woes, so the character's mere presence causes a massive break in what was previously a fantastical, but well-grounded conceit. McKinnon somehow manages to play this at a volume of camp that's turned up about ten times higher than just described, her acting histrionics peaking at the film's finale. As she races backstage screaming something about money in a demonic voice better suited for an Exorcist reboot, you'll be asking whether it's too early to start thinking about Razzie nominations.

McKinnon's character does lead to an interesting boardroom scene where the marketing and promotion of Jack's album ("One Man Only") starts to take shape, with the hook being that he does everything on the album himself in a corporate age where few artists exercise their autonomy. While the irony of that title isn't lost on the guilt-ridden Jack, Curtis' script starts flying off the rails just when it should be delivering its biggest payoff, shifting focus to he and Ellie's somewhat clumsily handled romance. Like the "A" plot, it starts off promisingly, as their strictly platonic relationship develops into more as we anticipate they'll eventually realize their feelings through the circumstances of this extraordinary situation. Instead, the script forces the issue with convoluted confessions and break-ups, letting the actual story we're here for fade into the background.

Lily James is quirky and likable as usual, but it's not much of a role given that Ellie isn't really around for Jack's ascent, making it harder to invest in the relationship when she reemerges full force in the third act. Nothing really tops their enjoyable early scenes together with him as a struggling artist being unconditionally supported by his childhood friend and manager. Set against the Beatles' music, it could have made for a powerful love story, but it seems a more concerted effort was put into making sure James looks as dowdy as possible, as if to justify his delusion in only seeing her as a "friend."

Of course, the true stakes are in whether anyone finds out what Jack is doing, namely those who may somehow know of The Beatles existence, or maybe any of the surviving band members themselves, whomever they may be. The trailer doesn't spoil any of this, but I kind of wish it did since the tease we get there feels like it could have been infinitely more satisfying than what actually ended up on screen. In fact, there's more than a few details present in that trailer (like Ana de Armas' character) that didn't seem to make the final cut, implying that there may have been more production or editing issues than initially suspected.

Curtis does have a trick up his sleeve toward the end that can be considered shocking, and is probably the most satisfying in terms of delivering on the story's premise. But it's difficult to read just how we're supposed to react once you get past the actual shock value of it happening. The scene in question swings for the fences with mixed results, but about halfway through Yesterday, it was already obvious this had settled into the rom-com it was going to be. There would be no explanation for what happened or any real fallout for the main plot, as so much of what happens is in service of a fairly twee romance. The premise didn't have to go full Twilight Zone or anything, but by any standard, the resolution falls a bit short.

That audiences seem to have enjoyed the film considerably more than critics comes as little surprise since the public loves The Beatles and would likely jump at any opportunity to bask in their music, which this provides in spades. But it's almost maddening seeing a set-up with this much potential  compromised to appeal to a larger fan base, even if they found the right writer for that job. While Curtis is known for writing fluffy British rom-coms that do this, boy how I really wish he hadn't used this concept as a vehicle to do it. The bond between the two lead characters tends to function better when used as the backdrop to our relationship with The Beatles. So while it's easy to appreciate Yesterday for exactly what it is, it's still hard not getting carried away by all the possibilities of what could have been.