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.