Tick, Tick...Boom!

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

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dune (2021)

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

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cruella

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

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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