The Batman

Director: Matt Reeves
Starring: Robert Pattinson, Zoë Kravitz, Paul Dano, Jeffrey Wright, John Turturro, Peter Sarsgaard, Andy Serkis, Colin Farrell, Jayme Lawson, Peter McDonald, Alex Ferns, Con O'Neill, Rupert Penry-Jones
Running Time: 176 min.
Rating: PG-13   

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

It seems with each new incarnation of Batman comes the promise it will be darker, grittier and more realistic than whatever came before. Tim Burton's Batman kicked this off, until Christopher Nolan came along in the 2000's and fans realized what was dark and gritty in 1989 suddenly seemed much less so. But more than any other superhero franchise, Batman has always been ripe for constant reinvention, its story and characters evolving through the decades, enabling it to be explored from many angles over various mediums. So in working with a property that's withstood creative ups and downs better than most, Matt Reeves probably didn't really need to give us something spectacular with The Batman, just as long as it was different from what we've seen before. And yet somehow, he's done both. 

There's a lot going on here but the most impressive aspect of Reeves and co-writer Peter Craig's script is that it doesn't lose focus over what should be considered a gargantuan 3-hour running length.That it only feels about half that time is a rare feat that can also be attributed to some terrific editing, with everything in the picture building toward one specific goal, with all the periphery characters perfectly fulfilling their purpose and function within the narrative. 

Giving us a grungier, angrier take, more psychologically traumatized on Batman is a risk, but the bigger one is its complete overhaul of our perceptions of what's surrounding him, most specifically a villain who's never been given this prominent a spotlight, or presented in such a terrifyingly realistic way. Everything a Batman entry should be, it more deeply explores the ongoing mythology of the title character drawing from a wealth of pop culture resources to explore themes related to criminal justice, corruption and wealth inequality.  The result is a thoroughly rewatchable superhero movie that hardly feels like one, proving to be as thought-provoking as it is exciting. 

Reclusive billionaire Bruce Wayne (Robert Pattinson) is hauled up in Wayne Tower with butler and caretaker Alfred Pennyworth (Andy Serkis). Wayne's spent two years as the masked vigilante known as The Batman when Gotham City mayor Don Mitchell Jr. (Rupert Penry-Jones) is murdered by a serial killer calling himself the Riddler (Paul Dano). Working with lieutenant James Gordon (Jeffrey Wright) to decipher this murderer's clues and messages, Batman remains at odds with a Gotham Police Department that views him as a public menace, But when the Riddler's notes lead he and Gordon to mobster Carmine Falcone's (John Turturro) Iceberg Lounge nightclub operated by the Penguin (Colin Farrell), a waitress named Selina Kyle (Zoë Kravitz) seems to know more than she's letting on.  

A mysterious part-time drug dealer and cat burglar, Selina reluctantly agrees to help, even as her exact motivations remain unclear. But as Riddler continues to target Gotham's privileged elite in hopes of exposing the corruption within the city and a rat informant within the police department's ranks, Batman realizes that he and his deceased parents may be more intertwined with this madman than anticipated. Who the Riddler is and what he wants is a puzzle he'll need to solve before the cerebral killer's dangerous plan for Gotham comes to fruition.

From the moment he appears on screen, Pattinson just feels right and completely at home as this version of Batman, or "Vengeance" as he calls himself. Supposedly, Reeves patterned this maladjusted, reclusive, EMO take on the character off of Kurt Cobain and you can really see it, well beyond the highly effective use of Nirvana's "Something in the Way" bookending the film. Michael Giacchino's moody score and Batman's frantic journaling and voice over narration only enhances that entire vibe, working as an ideal entry point into a tragic story that's already well under way by the time we're let in. Feared and respected, but entirely misunderstood, the idea that this vigilante can show up anywhere at any time is established immediately as the Bat signal hovers over the heads of Gotham's low-level street thugs and gangs. 

While it's basically become a prerequisite for any filmmaker tackling this material to somehow acknowledge their fandom of the '60's TV series, there's considerable evidence that Reeves actually means it. From the Adam West-inspired stitching on Pattinson's mask to the blinking phone and Shakespeare bust, these function as the clever of Easter eggs while still believably landing within this dark, grungy, broken down universe. But that's about where those similarities end, with Reeves' approach more likely to strike a chord with Nolan fans or those who appreciated what Todd Phillips did with Joker in terms of exploring the socio-economic strife and corruption within Gotham. Pattinson has very few scenes as Bruce Wayne but they're memorable ones since he's playing him as such a departure from the billionaire playboy we're accustomed to that the line separating Bruce Wayne and Batman becomes nearly invisible. 

Scarred by his parents' deaths and only capable of seeing the world in black and white, Bruce long ago abandoned whatever his philanthropic duties as a Wayne were intended to entail. And despite the promise of renewed hope for the city in the form of  idealistic mayoral candidate Bella Reál (Jayme Lawson), he sees only darkness. As a result, his bond with Andy Serkis' Alfred is probably as fractured and complicated as we've seen in any iteration of the character, with the family butler/caretaker's loyalty hardly acknowledged or reciprocated. It makes sense considering much of the picture focuses on Bruce's rejection of his past and humanity, of which Alfred is the only living reminder. If they are to have the surrogate father-son dynamic we're so accustomed to seeing, it's going to take Bruce a while to emotionally arrive there, even as developing circumstances are about to force that change quicker than anticipated. 

Batman's working relationship with Gordon might be an even bigger deviation from what's expected, as a scene-stealing Jeffrey Wright gives one of the film's best performances as the straight edge, incorruptible lieutenant standing alone against the GCPD in his support of Batman. It's kind of odd seeing the two already with this shorthand way of communicating and cooperating well before much of the action even gets underway, with Batman frequently standing side-by-side with police at crime scenes, much to the officers' loud objections. Wright's enormous role is second only to Batman in prominence, at times even equaling it, as the wry, world weary lieutenant finds himself frequently stuck between a rock and a hard place in regard to his loyalties.

More Selina Kyle than Catwoman, Zoë Kravitz proves to be a quietly strong but powerful force, occupying a moral grey area Batman wants little to do with since he deals only in absolutes. Similarly, the Waynes represent everything about the city's cesspool of privilege that's ruined her life, as it's Batman's willingness to play ball with the police that disgusts her most. Despite their differing philosophies, both are looking to expose the same thing, but fighting to find a middle ground before realizing they're far more alike than different. If she and Pattinson have electric chemistry, Reeves is smart enough to pick his spots and not let that connection overwhelm the picture or overshadow the main crime plot, which is substantial and multi-faceted. 

Whatever criticisms could be made about the script being convoluted or overstuffed is offset by a meticulous construction that demands your fullest attention at every moment. If forced to choose, Colin Farrell's Penguin probably has to least to do since at this point he's a grubby, low-level mobster having not yet ascended to the crime lord he's better known as. But even that's fine since Turturro picks up the slack while an unrecognizable Farrell's prosthetic transformation and slimy performance as Oswald "Ozzy" Cobblepot definitely leaves a lasting impression sure to have viewers scratching their heads in disbelief that it's really him. He's also at the center of a fiery, high-speed Batmobile chase that marks the vehicle's only appearance, albeit a really memorable one. An actual muscle car customization this time around, it's a well needed and welcome departure from the series of modified tanks used in the more recent entries and accurately fits something you'd expect to see Pattinson's version of Batman drive.

Inspired by California's notorious Zodiac killer from 1960', Reeves' ingenious take on the Riddler may as well be considered a full-on cinematic reincarnation, not just physically in terms of costume, but in the character's use of ciphers and hidden messages. Frighteningly played by a masked Paul Dano as this disturbing symbol of madness incarnate, he's about as dark as any Batman villain has gotten, with his arc justifiably earning comparisons to Se7en and Zodiac. Adding a realistic heft that hasn't been fully present for Batman since he tangled with Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight, his viral videos provide the film with its timeliest evocation of true crime, while the design and conceit behind the murderous traps should remind many of Jigsaw on his best day. Reeves also wisely restrains himself from having the character overstay his welcome, maximizing those carefully chosen appearances for all they're worth.

Dano's demeanor and voice fluctuates over the story's progression, his silence evolving into a deep, menacing tone until the end where he really lets loose, giggling with high-pitched, shrieking delight at the chaos he and his followers unleash. When Edward Nashton does eventually get cornered (in a cafe scene masterfully captured by cinematographer Greig Fraser as a nod to Edward Hopper's famous Nighthawks painting) and his true intentions are revealed, Dano somehow escalates the character's creepiness, expressing his own twisted gratitude to Batman for helping create him. And it's during their face-to-face confrontation that we realize Riddler may have equally inspired Bruce's Batman to finally turn his attention to fighting for hope rather than vengeance.

Much has been made about the Joker cameo, but the film doesn't even really need it and is actually far better off rolling with the idea that he's the "Unseen Arkham Prisoner" stated in the credits. Either way, Barry Keoghan's appearance does little to detract from the fact this is Riddler's movie through and through. Considering we've had more than our fair share of Joker already, it would be far more interesting for Reeves to move forward with a different, underexposed villain more ripe for reimagining in a new context, much like Riddler was.

The much discussed closing scene with Catwoman undeniably leaves a door open, hinting that as close as Batman's come to accepting his role, Gotham's been left in decay, with no guarantee the worst isn't still ahead. With each developing twist and turn in The Batman, we become more involved, leading to a final act that delivers on all the promise and suspense preceding it. And by Reeves returning the character to its earliest dark noir detective roots, it earns a place in the upper echelon, telling a story much more intricate and layered than we've settled for from comic book tentpoles this size and scope.

Deep Water

Director: Adrian Lyne
Starring: Ben Affleck, Ana de Armas, Tracy Letts, Grace Jenkins, Rachel Blanchard, Kristen Connolly, Jacob Elordi, Lil Rel Howery, Brendan C. Miller, Finn Wittrock 
Running Time: 115 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

A man watches his wife flaunt her extra-marital affairs about town, outwardly accepting that she can do whatever she wants in their open relationship, even while he's viewed as an emasculated joke by their friends. Slowly, he grows tired of this humiliating arrangement and a rage builds inside. No longer able  to contain himself, it's only a matter of time before he snaps. But enough already about Will Smith's marriage. Adrian Lyne's latest erotic thriller, Deep Water, finds the 81 year-old director back in territory reminiscent of some of his most notable and controversial efforts, such as 9½ Weeks, Fatal Attraction, Indecent Proposal and Unfaithful. 

The tone here isn't nearly as sure-footed, but as far as B-movie sleaze goes, it's actually a lot of fun. Of course, this is more of a good time if you're receptive to the idea of watching a darkly comedic parody of those aforementioned films, which some would accuse of already being spoofs of sorts. That it looks great, is well made and carried by two stars as talented as they are famous helps a lot, with both actors totally game and aware of the type of project they're in, committing themselves accordingly.

Vic Van Allen (Ben Affleck) is a wealthy, retired robotics engineer living with his wife, Melinda (Ana de Armas) and their young daughter Trixie (Grace Jenkins) in the small town of Little Wesley, Louisiana. Their combative, almost entirely loveless union is built upon a mostly unspoken arrangement that seems to benefit her far more than he. It's basically understood, even by friends who know them, that they're in an open marriage where she can comfortably take on as many lovers as she wishes just so long as she doesn't abandon her family. 

The flirty, extroverted Melinda relishes attention from men, publicly throwing herself at each new one she encounters as a sullen, morose Vic stands in the corner at parties, seething with jealousy. With his role how relegated to making dinner for her various boyfriends, he's finally had a enough. After Vic makes a not so thinly veiled threat against Melinda's current flame, younger musician, Joel Dash (Brendan C. Miller), about having previously killed one of her ex-lovers, their marriage is now on shakier ground than ever. And when her latest boyfriend ends up dead in a swimming pool, suspicion turns toward Vic, who may or may not be harboring a dark secret that threatens to unravel their already toxic relationship.      

Most of the opening hour sees sulking, dejected Affleck as Vic almost sleepwalking through his wife's very public displays of infidelity. If an open marriage arrangement was made, he was either the last on Earth to find out or entirely uncomfortable with the ground rules. It turns out to be the latter, and whatever sympathy anyone could muster for him having to watch his wife throw herself at every man in town evaporates a lot faster than you'd expect. She's a handful for sure, fiery and and wildly unpredictable, but if he really cared that much he'd just leave, so a good portion of the film is spent waiting for him to explode. 

Her indifference to his anger is evident when she first brings home her "piano teacher," Charlie (Jacob Elordi) and then college ex Tony (Finn Wittrock), both of whom send Vic over the deep end. Leaving Melinda is too simple a solution and against his supposed principles, so if he can't have her all to himself, we can figure out the rest. When the film's major centerpiece incident occurs and nosy neighbor Don Wilson (Tracy Letts) becomes obsessed with proving Vic's a murderer, much to his wife Kelly's (Kristen Connolly) justifiable embarrassment.

While many have given Affleck a tough time for taking on troubled, middle-aged sad sack roles like this, he's really exceptional at it, especially here when given very little dialogue in the picture's first half, instead revealing most of Vic's inner plight through depressive body language and facial expressions. And after breaking through in Knives Out and outright stealing No Time to Die, this further extends Ana de Armas' streak as one of the most exciting actresses around. Bringing a wildly devious, frenetic energy to Melinda's every scene, de Armas is completely convincing as this woman entirely uninterested in being controlled by her husband or anyone else. You almost get the impression that Vic could kill not only half the men in this small town, but most of Louisiana, and Melinda still wouldn't run out of candidates to sleep with just because she can.

As absurd as the entire plot is at times, Lyne does really get a lot of little details right, like the social dynamic, as Vic and Melinda's friends look at their fractured marriage with both bewilderment and pity, at least when they're not partying. Watching, all we can think of is the adverse affect it's likely having on precocious daughter Trixie, who's stuck in the middle of this mess with two walking disasters for parents. 

Tracy Letts basically steals the show as the very suspicious Don, who's plagued by his unhealthy preoccupation with exposing Vic's potential guilt. It leads the story down a ridiculously compelling path, as he's good enough an actor to actually us that this pompous windbag of a character would take the dumb steps he does in the crazy last act. At the very least, it's no more far-fetched than believing Affleck as a retiree who amassed his great wealth from building guidance chips for drones, a detail that results in a lively political argument.  

That a long gestating project completed years ago was earmarked for a theatrical rollout before heading to Hulu shouldn't be taken as a damning indictment on its quality, especially since such a fate is commonplace now for mid-level adult dramas. If nothing else, it contains one of the more insane vehicular chase scenes in recent memory, featuring some extreme mountain biking and an important public service warning for anyone still on the fence about that whole texting while driving issue.  

That this is actually based on a 1957 Patricia Highsmith novel seems almost impossible to believe given how jarringly modern its story and setting feels. Having not read the book and going strictly by its synopsis, Zach Helm and Sam Levinson's screenplay doesn't seem to veer far from the source plot-wise, aside from a wacky ending. In this sense, Lyne deserve a lot of credit for updating the material to fit the type of 90's erotic thriller Deep Water is clearly being patterned after. While mileage may vary as to how successfully viewers think this was captured, it still harnesses something in that realm with more entertaining flare than expected.  

The Dropout

Creator: Elizabeth Meriwether
Starring: Amanda Seyfried, Naveen Andrews, Utkarsh Ambudkar, Michel Gill, Bill Irwin, William H. Macy, Elizabeth Marvel, Laurie Metcalf, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Kate Burton, Stephen Fry, Michael Ironside, Dylan Minnette, Alan Ruck, James Hiroyuki Liao, Camryn Mi-Young Kim, Sam Waterston, Kurtwood Smith, Anne Archer, LisaGay Hamilton, Michaela Watkins, Ebon Moss-Bachrach, Rich Sommer
Release Date: 2022

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

As a child, Elizabeth Holmes drew up a design for a time machine. This is mentioned in the very first episode of Hulu's The Dropout by her father, who still has it proudly framed as evidence of his daughter's propensity to dream big. It's emblematic of an upbringing that stressed no idea was too crazy or obstacle insurmountable if you just kept your head down and moved forward, without a care what anyone thinks. Whether awkwardly running track in high school, determined to finish no matter how far behind she was, or dancing in her room to Alabama's "I'm in a Hurry," with goofy moves that would make Elaine Benes blush, Holmes was always going places. Stopping only to seek approval from the Steve Jobs poster hanging on her wall, she'd tell herself that someday this would be her.   

Elizabeth Meriwether's gripping miniseries that just might be the most fascinating dissection of a modern public tech figure since Mark Zuckerberg was picked apart in The Social Network, and it's only after watching all 8 episodes that you can fully appreciate the opening ones, knowing what's coming. This is the ultimate supervillain origin story because it starts so innocuously, as the socially awkward, relatable Holmes comes off very likable at first, but with just enough quirks and personality deficiencies to do a double take, as we slowly become aware of the seeds being planted for trouble down the road. 

Holmes would undoubtedly appreciate that there's probably an alternate timeline somewhere in which she's as successful as her hero Jobs, an iconic, groundbreaking innovator who made products that transformed how we live. And therein lies the kicker. Her idea was good enough to have changed the world, if only it worked and she possessed lacked the knowledge, leadership and personality to do this. Meriwether doesn't let the believers and enablers off the hook either, knowing the true victims aren't  executives taken in by her charms and looking to bolster their bottom lines, but sick patients unknowingly endangered by lies and faulty technology. It would be a Shakesperean tragedy if only she had the self-actualization to realize what went wrong. Instead, the fallout destroys everyone and everything else, arriving at the Theranos founder's doorstep last. 

A mind blowing Amanda Seyfried not only delivers an endlessly layered, Emmy-worthy biographical portrayal, but somehow convinces us this ambitious, determined and somewhat flaky girl would later morph into a total enigma, all while strangely remaining entirely recognizable. The emotional and physical transformation she undergoes is both frightening and empathetic, painting a portrait of this lifelong overachiever with sociopathic tendencies who doesn't know when to say when, barely registering an inkling of the destruction she's caused. Elizabeth's only as aware as she wants to be, stuffing all the pain away to push through at any cost.

Meriwether covers a period from when Holmes was a pre-teen to her 2001 high school graduation and subsequent dropping out of Stanford University, all the way through the 2003 founding and 2018 dissolution of her medical technology company, Theranos. She'd eventually face charges from the Securities and Exchange Commission for defrauding investors and an eventual indictment, but it didn't start that way. Built on the development and distribution a groundbreaking device that could complete an entire battery of medical tests with only a single drop of blood, then 19 year-old Elizabeth Holmes took her revolutionary idea to the street, shoring up financial support from wealthy donors and venture capitalists. The only problem: it never worked.

Despite help from experienced engineers like Ian Gibbons (Stephen Fry), the technology just wasn't there for this to get off the ground. When pharmaceutical companies don't bite, Elizabeth makes the cagey decision to target retail, and when Walgreens shows interest in putting these Edison blood testing machines in their stores, her lies grow exponentially bigger. Upon bringing on her controlling, short-tempered boyfriend, Ramesh "Sunny" Balwani (Naveen Andrews) on as COO to appease an unhappy board, she buries her head further in the sand, working to cover-up the machine's dangerous irregularities while legally threatening anyone capable of exposing it. 

Holmes meets her match in family neighbor Richard Fuisz (William H. Macy), who not only attempts to sue her over a patent but starts feeding information to Wall Street Journal reporter John Carreyrou (Ebon Moss-Bachrach), who stumbles into the story of a lifetime. His whistleblowers come in the form of idealistic Theranos employees Erika Cheung (Camryn Mi-Young Kim) and Tyler Shultz (Dylan Minnette), grandson of stubborn board member and former Secretary of State George Shultz (Sam Waterston). They know something's very wrong, morally and scientifically. But as Holmes' grip tightens and she emerges as a media darling trumpeted by the likes of Bill Clinton, Joe Biden and Rupert Murdoch, Theranos begins drowning in empty promises and lies, all of which will soon be uncovered, along with its fraud of a CEO. 

While the ABC News podcast of the same title this is based upon functioned as a compelling, if slightly repetitive information dump, this adaptation is anything but. Exciting, tragic and even darkly hilarious, Meriwether (with directors Michael Showalter, Francesca Gregorini and Erica Watson) condense all these key events and facts into an easily digestible number of episodes, cutting out the fat to focus on what really matters: The psychological motivations of Holmes, who both does and doesn't fit the typical profile of what the public's perception of a criminal CEO is.

Standing out for its complexity, the script posits that it wasn't just one or two things that created Holmes or led to this giant lie, but rather a multitude of life events that shaped her narcissism and delusion. Some of its timeliest observations concern those who chose to believe her because it felt special to get in on the ground level and appear ahead of the curve. Though the potential dollar signs didn't hurt. Young, smart and pretty, her overall presentation and story was enough for these smitten investors to view the technology as almost an afterthought.

It must work. She told us so. Why would someone pour all this time and effort into nothing? Of course, few would intentionally set out to build a medical device that doesn't function, but Holmes' earliest  declarations that she wanted to become a billionaire was probably the first sign of putting the cart before the horse. Motivations aside, most of the problems started when her idea simply didn't work and she committed to soldiering on anyway with smoke and mirrors, ignoring the potential consequences. 

Whether running tests on a competitor's machines, falsifying data, misleading and defrauding investors or flat-out lying to the board or manipulating Walgreens into putting her Edison devices in their stores, no bridge proved too far for Elizabeth. Rarely asking the most basic of questions or making any concrete demands, the prospect of these executives actually seeing the lab becomes a long-running joke, as Holmes bends over backwards to ensure it never happens. That it doesn't, and for so long, might be the most shocking revelation to come out of all this, with them misdirected to such an extent that they're running in circles to keep up.

Most of the supporting players can almost be categorized into two groups: marks and doubters. For every supporter like Walgreens' Jay Rosan (a great Alan Ruck), who's ready to put the machine in stores right now, there's a Kevin Hunter (Rich Sommer), seeing this for the sham it is. Unfortunately, those sane voices keep getting drowned out by greedier, more powerful ones who have already been taken in. The biggest sucker is board member George Shultz, who'd sooner disown his grandson, Tyler, before acknowledging the blatant evidence of this scam. His excuse later about the lengths a decent person will go  when they believe they're right isn't as applicable to him as he wishes. He's a fundamentally indecent, self-entitled windbag who turns on his own family, but Waterston doesn't play him that way, evoking emotions in the viewer that evoke more pity than frustration. 

Tyler and Erika might be the only two characters who are morally beyond reproach, questioning the right things for correct reasons. Young and with seemingly less to lose, they become Elizabeth's biggest threat, and even as Erika has considerably less cover than the well connected Tyler, he still suffers quite a lot for his honesty. Desperately wanting to believe in Holmes' vision and what it means for their generation's future, no one's more disappointed than them, which proves to be the catalyst for their willingness to bring her down. 

In one of the series' best and most disturbing scenes, Tyler uncomfortably serenades the Theranos founder with a self-penned song at her party, complete with lyrics about the innovators she always dreamed of being mentioned with. Dylan Minnette nails it as a terrified Tyler, with his voice trembling and head down, he looks like a deer in headlights, struggling to get through this, only to have her make him sing it again. By this point, she's guzzling her own Kool-Aid, as if a roomful of guests unironically wearing Elizabeth Holmes masks wasn't already creepy enough. 

With full force, Holmes targets detractors and potential whistleblowers within the company, as Sunny Balwani transitions from her secret, much older boyfriend to company COO and designated hatchet man. The trajectory of this relationship is such that their personal and professional lives become inseparable, eventually creating a legal entanglement where one almost has to turn on the other. It's a far, pathetic cry from how we see their friendship begin when she's just 19, even if there is an odd co-dependent, parasitic element that's present from the start. 

Elizabeth and Sunny are both too hard headed and damaged to really make this work, each of their inferiority complexes in constant battle to retain the upper hand. In what's easily Naveen Andrews' best work since Lost, he depicts a man who appears at first as a zen-like mentoring figure, only to eventually succumb to the power and control he thinks he has in Theranos and over Elizabeth. But he doesn't stand a chance, as she always stays a few steps ahead in the blame game. Her sometimes frightening lack of emotion and empathy serves as both a defensive mechanism and weapon to tear down whomever stands in her path, whether it be Sunny or long suffering, well-intentioned engineer Ian Gibbons, who experiences the worst betrayal of all. 

That Elizabeth never learned how to be herself becomes a recurring thread, as we're given a glimpse into a traumatic event she experienced at Stanford that informed her future behavior to an extent we'll never completely understand. The series wisely doesn't dwell on it because neither did she. And that's exactly the point. It wasn't processed so much as put away in a drawer and buried, informing so many of her actions since. Of course, none of this is presented as any kind of excuse, just one of many components that contributed to the crimes she would perpetrate against those who wanted to believe in her, or at least in the idea of her. 

"Do or do not. There is no try." Those are the words Holmes lived by and took to the extreme, and even if we can acknowledge the obvious adorkability in Yoda being her most worthwhile teacher, it's also kind of sad since so few candidates were better qualified for the position. Certainly not her parents or cantankerous neighbor Richard Fuisz, who spends most of his time loudly whining, complaining and suing over not being asked for advice.  

While the end result of Fuisz's actions can be praised in causing Holmes to finally be held legally accountable, his underlying motivations shouldn't be. An angry, bitter man primarily driven by various shades of jealousy and sexism, he sure is hard to root for. Played with entertaining abrasiveness (and a comically gigantic prosthetic forehead) by an unrecognizable William H. Macy, it's hard to ignore how he patronizingly lectures a young, disinterested Elizabeth in front of her family. 

Even in addressing a self-assured teen who thinks she knows everything, Fuisz couldn't come off any worse, to the point that you can't help but wonder if these kinds of interactions aided in creating the monster Elizabeth became. In hindsight, him tipping off of the Wall Street Journal could be looked at through a less altruistic lens, like a make good for being a part of the problem rather than any kind of helpful solution. In other words, he owed us. 

A more practical, though no less direct approach is taken by Stanford professor Phyllis Gardner (a no-nonsense Laurie Metcalf), who forecasts that Holmes just doesn't have the cognitive or scientific know-how to attempt this. While she does underestimate this girl's determination (and kind of views her as an airhead), you almost have to admire just how accurate she is. We get the impression this probably isn't the first student to come to her with their great idea and won't be the last. It's also likely she's never met a student who made it as far on so little as Elizabeth. Gardner sees what everyone else can't, and much earlier.

Elizabeth's fully aware how much harder this will be for her as a young woman, but rather than double down on work and preparation, all of her energy is poured into the deception. Partially stemming from self-doubt but only encouraged by Sunny's warnings of being liked rather than respected, the previously free-spirited, quirky girl-next-door adopts an entirely new facade. A sort of Steve Jobs cosplay, complete with that trademark black turtleneck. 

Many wondered how Seyfried could possibly replicate Holmes' fabricated deep baritone voice, her most desperately obvious attempt at being taken seriously as a CEO. But knowing better than to attempt any sort of imitation, Seyfried instead captures the tone and incantation, while letting her tense smile and super-sized saucer eyes do the rest. And by avoiding any kind of mimicry at all, she ends up coming closer to what our perceptions of the real person is, regardless of whether or not that's true. 

Seyfried's performance operates on multiple levels, saying one thing while her facial expressions frequently betray that, as the character works hard to convince herself the warped words she speaks are grounded in truth. Living entirely in her own reality, Elizabeth may be complicated, but every facet of what Seyfried brings to this role completely reflects that, as does the soundtrack. 

Leaving little doubt exactly where and when we are, she rocks out to '00 keepers like the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Y control," Len's "Steal My Sunshine" and Wolf Parade's "I'll Believe in Anything." And that's just the first episode. While these selections probably earn Holmes more indie cred than she actually deserves, it's fun to imagine they pulled her playlist while also providing the story with perfect, period-accurate window dressing. 

The Dropout finishes almost exactly how it began, with Elizabeth running. It hints that through all the mental and emotional gymnastics she went through to suppress the enormity of her crimes, she knows. And with a single primal scream comes that acknowledgment, at least until it's time to shut that all down, put on a smile, and start the whole thing over again. Being at the forefront of what was purported to be a revolution for women in technology, Elizabeth Holmes unfortunately guaranteed a far rougher road ahead for every aspiring female entrepreneur who follows, especially the good ones. The biggest question we're left with is whether she ever cared at all.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022)

Director: David Blue Garcia
Starring: Sarah Yarkin, Elsie Fisher, Mark Burnham, Moe Dunford, Nell Hudson, Olwen Fouéré, Jessica Allain, Jacob Latimore, Alice Krige
Running Time: 81 min.
Rating: R

★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

It's gotten to the point where you have to wonder when they'll get one of these right again. Taking a page or two from David Gordon Green's recent Halloween reboot, Netflix's reimagining or quasi-sequel to 1974's The Texas Chain Saw Massacre isn't the worst effort we've seen in the franchise. There are more than a handful of entries deserving of that label, but the decision to essentially ignore those in favor of a fresh sequel to Tobe Hooper's horror classic seems awfully familiar. The theory that what worked for Michael Myers must be good enough for Leatherface is seriously tested by director David Blue Garcia and screenwriter Chris Thomas Devlin in this latest incarnation. Leatherface isn't The Shape, so that this take on him becomes indistinguishable from just about any other slasher villain is probably the film's biggest fault. 

TCM isn't nearly as bound to its own tangled mythology as Halloween and can probably afford to slack off a little more, but that doesn't necessarily mean it should. Taken as just another horror installment, major parts of it work, like some performances, the gore, its overall look and an appropriately unsettling score from Hereditary's Colin Stetson. Clocking in at a manageable 81 minutes, it feels about that, and isn't so much terrible as derivative, likely bolstering the argument Netflix has comfortably settled into its role as a soullessly automated content generator. That's not entirely fair, as Fear Street: 1978 has already proven that the streamer's capable of successfully producing a throwback slasher with vision. But this just doesn't quite meet that standard. 

Over forty years after the events of the original film (with John Larroquette again providing his iconic opening narration), Melody (Sarah Yarkin), her emotionally fragile sister Lila (Eighth Grade's Elsie Fisher) their friend Dante (Jacob Latimore) and his girlfriend Ruth (Nell Hudson) all arrive in Harlow, Texas to renovate the small, abandoned town. With a busload of Gen Z influencers on their way to check out the area, they run into an elderly homeowner (Alice Krige) who refuses to leave her home, which also just so happens to be the residence of a certain chainsaw wielding maniac named Leatherface (Mark Burnham). But when she's carried out by police after a medical emergency, he snaps, wrecking havoc and chopping up victims along the way. Aside from grizzled local mechanic Richter (Moe Dunford), the best candidate to stop him is the sole survivor of Leatherface's '74 massacre, Sally Hardesty (Olwen Fouéré), now a seasoned Texas Ranger who's been waiting decades to extract her revenge. Now she may finally get the chance, if he doesn't kill everyone in town first.     

The ninth installment in the franchise is an improvement over a recent few of them and starts off promisingly enough, aside from introducing main characters who initially come off as a spoiled, crass and unlikable in their opening scenes. That's basically a horror trope now so it comes as a relief that the script sort of backpedals on it, with one of them displaying something that actually resembles human empathy and a conscience. Using the impending gentrification of this small town as a narrative hook isn't the worst idea, and in terms of setting, there's a novelty in seeing nearly all of the film's action take place on a single studio backlot. That's typically not something worthy of praise, but it works in this instance, recreating the desolate atmosphere associated with an abandoned town forgotten by time. 

There's an odd subplot involving the past trauma of a school shooting that probably seemed like a decent idea on paper until you actually see it uncomfortably play out through flashbacks. To her credit, Elsie Fisher does her best with that as the outwardly fragile little sister to the more assertive, spunky Melody, who's really well played by relative newcomer Sarah Yarkin. A stunningly charismatic presence, she brings a different, welcome energy, and if a slasher's only as good as its Final Girl (which I won't reveal whether she is), than at least this box could be checked in its favor. Both actresses deserve better, but their believable sisterly bond is probably the film's highlight, even as Devlin's script seems to have this odd preoccupation with guns. Suggesting that's due to any political underpinnings would probably be giving this more credit than it deserves, as it's hard to believe the filmmakers were deeply interested in exploring any kind of serious social commentary, which is probably a relief. 

The look of Leatherface is a nothing short of a disaster, more closely resembling a cross between Sloth from The Goonies and Wrinkles The Clown than the imposing maniac that's been depicted in even the franchise's lowliest entries. Worse yet, they strip the character of whatever mystique remained by re-introducing him unmasked, putting further emphasis on the fact that an accurate timeline would have Leatherface pushing nearly 80. for some reason they also seem to go out of their way to present him sympathetically, emphasizing his fragile state to the point where he's depicted with almost a sense of childlike wonder, causing us to question who the movie's really rooting for. 

It's unfair to pin any of this on actor Mark Burnham, who's just following the creative direction laid out for Leatherface, and while we could argue all day whether the film shows too much gore (a debate that's long followed this franchise), his kill scenes are well filmed and Garcia creates a mood reminiscent of 2014's far superior, similarly Texas-set The Town That Dreaded Sundown meta sequel. Technically, that's a smart approach, but the narrative's emptier, especially as it relates to the return of TCM original, Sally Hardesty, in a capacity so clearly patterned off Jamie Lee Curtis' recent turn, she may as well be wearing a name badge that reads,"L. Strode."

Olwen Fouéré is suitable in this underwritten Sally role, even resembling how an older version of her would look, but this hardened interpretation just screams Halloween 2018, but more sloppily executed and shoehorned in. Besides the character of Sally hardly being the equivalent of Laurie in importance or long-standing franchise prominence, nearly every hardcore TCM fan (and probably some casual ones) already know the original actress who played her, Marilyn Burns, sadly passed away eight years ago. Obviously, that's no one's fault, but the recasting does dilute the exact kind of continuity this screenplay was going for, drawing even more attention to its misplaced aspirations to emulate modern slasher requels like Halloween and Scream. 

Had this instead stuck to the more promising elements within the newer storyline and limited its canonical references to the passing, but effective early acknowledgments of the '74 massacre, this could have been a much less messy effort. Sally's presence is almost more of a complication than its worth, again raising questions about ages and inaccurate timelines. While the producers have commented that nothing here negates any of the original's sequels (so we should assume the '03 Jessica Biel-starring remake never happened?), but that just makes this more confusing, muddying the waters of what should be a simple concept. 

There's a big centerpiece sequence involving a van slaughter we all know is coming, but nonetheless remains visually arresting and suspenseful, as the vehicle fills up with victims' blood while Stetson's score and Ricardo Diaz's cinematography become as much a character as anyone involved. If not for being nearly undone by a lame social media gag beforehand, it provides a great template for how the entire picture should have gone. Instead it's more one step forward, two steps back much of the way through, but still a far cry from the completely irredeemable garbage pile you heard it is. The closing scenes aren't great, as it settles into a more rote, predictable slasher formula, disappointing us with what the filmmakers had in mind all along. 

The best news to come out of this might be that the aforementioned social media references are fairly scarce and fall short of our worst expectations. Other than a couple of cringy moments of dialogue, it thankfully takes a backseat much of the way through. Unfortunately, the usual lack of suspense and restraint that's been evident in nearly every installment remains, despite being a slickly made piece of entertainment that actually holds up pretty well against the series' most embarrassing outings. The latest TCM tries to squeeze a lot into a limited time, managing to both frustrate and briefly impress before succumbing to the franchise's more problematic instincts.