One Night in Miami

Director: Regina King
Starring: Kingley Ben-Adir, Eli Goree, Aldis Hodge, Leslie Odom Jr., Lance Reddick, Christian Magby, Joaquina Kalukango, Nicolette Robinson, Michael Imperioli, Lawrence Gilliard Jr, Beau Bridges, Jeremy Pope, Christopher Gorham
Running Time: 114 min.
Rating: R 

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

When an actor commits to playing any well known cultural figure you have to think they're wondering what they've gotten themselves into. There has to be a great deal of nervous excitment that accompanies doing a real person justice while still managing not to engage in mimicry, making them at least somewhat a creation of your own. But if there's one thing we absolutely know for sure it's that no matter how well this is done, it will never make everyone happy. Now imagine four such performances within a single film, all intersecting with each other in a fictionalized scenario you could easily believe took place.

With One Night in Miami, actress and first-time feature director Regina King is not only tasked with overcoming all these challenges in bringing Kemp Powers' stage play of the same name to the screen, but also injecting an exciting cinematic flavor into a plot that revolves around four men talking and arguing in a hotel room. And while that might be the laziest, most superficially inaccurate description of what actually occurs, King will still have to answer to skeptics who feel she's merely transposing a wordy stage play, regardless of the few techniques available to open things up and break free from those constraints. 

There are limitations to be sure, but most of those are invisible since we're just too involved in these characters and what they distinctively stand for to care. The ground it covers feels and is important, with the four exceptional performances carrying it likely to offset any allegations that the material feels too "stagey." Each bring something completely different to the table in what ends up being the most facinating of speculative excercises, with Powers' script capturing how such a historic encounter could have possibly unfolded given what's publicly and privately known about the famous personalities involved. But more importantly, it gives us what sometimes even the best biopics don't by going beyond a character study to give us a snapshot in time.

It's February 25, 1964 when boxer Cassius Clay (Eli Goree), soul singer Sam Cooke (Leslie Odom Jr.), NFL player Jim Brown (Aldis Hodge) and human rights activist Malcolm X (Kingsley Ben-Adir) are  in Miami celebrating what ends up being Clay's upset title win over Sonny Liston. Each of them are at a crossroads, with newly crowned heavyweight champion Clay in the process of converting to Islam, unaware friend and spiritual mentor Malcolm is on the cusp of leaving the Nation of Islam after falling out with leader Elijah Muhammad. Cooke's starting to quietly question his choices on the heels of a disastrous performance in front of an all-white audience at New York's Copacabana, while Brown may be leaving football to pursue an acting career after wrapping a major movie production.  

Thinking that Malcolm gathered them all for a fun night of drinking and debauchery to celebrate Clay's win, the guys are disappointed to discover there's not a woman in sight and it'll be just the three of them. But what initially starts as some joshing and self-congratulatory back-slapping amongst friends turns uglier when Malcolm accuses Cooke of selling out by pandering to white audiences. Soon, a full-on debate breaks out, the fallout of which will leave a lasting impact on all four men when they go back into a world they're still not accepted in, regardless of their succcesses. And now, they're wondering whether they can ever agree what to do about it, or whether they even need to be on the exact same page to help initiate the sweeping societal change they're seeking. 

One of the most chilling scenes occurs early when Jim Brown visits a family friend (played by Beau Bridges) back home in Georgia in what initially appears to be a positive encounter, with this man showering the football star with praise. That is until Brown's harshly reminded that nothing is what it seems and however highly white people may think of what he accomplishes on the field, he'll still always be viewed as less than. It's a particularly stinging moment, earning all its intended shocks from the fact that it shouldn't be all that surprising given what we know. And yet the tossed aside nonchalance of this man's racial slur is a far more damaging blow than any landed in the Clay vs. Liston match. It's also impossible to forget when considering Brown's viewpoints and demeanor during the hotel room conversations to come.

With Hodge proving to be a subtly commanding presence as Brown, it's just as surreal seeing Hamilton's Leslie Odom Jr. capture Sam Cooke's trademark mannerisms and smooth disposition, even in that startling early moment when he's bombing on stage. Ali, of course is the most predictable of the four, if not the most entertaining, with Eli Goree enthusiastically conveying his bombastic, larger than life, catchphrase-spewing personality. But he adds an intriguing extra layer, as the boxer's uncontrollable ego masks genuine apprehension, if not fear, at his possible decision to convert and fully put his trust in Malcolm.

British actor Kingsley Ben-Adir's take on the civil rights leader fully distinguishes itself as seemingly having nothing in common with any that came before, including Denzel Washington's nominated turn in 1992's Malcolm X. If Ben-Adir at first glance appears almost low-key for the role, that might be the point, breaking free from the "angry" stigma that's always followed Malcolm in most other media interpretations. Of course, this isn't to say he isn't mad, but it's still kind of surprising to see just how quiet and contemplative King has Ben-Adir play it, spending much of the picture paralyzed by the thought that the clock's ticking on his life. Unfortunately, he's correct, but it's compelling to see that version of him, constantly looking over his shoulder, realizing the need to insure a future he won't live to see. You can sense it in every scene and his blow-up with Cooke seems as motivated by that as anything else. It's here where he brings the fury, forced to let it all out on his friend, someone whom he genuinly respects, despite their differences in approach.

Cooke and Malcolm's verbal battle leads to two of the more transformative moments, one involving the latter using Bob Dylan to somewhat cruelly, if truthfully, make the boldest of points, and a flashback that shows the breadth of Cooke's gifts as a performer and improvisational abilities. Given his greatest success resulted from a protest song, we're led to believe Malcolm's intentions were sound, pulling something out of the singer that may not have otherwise surfaced. Cooke used monetary success as a measuring stick for equality, but it wasn't until he turned his attention to a cause that the pieces fell into place for him. But by then, it was already too late. 

All of this is because of a hotel meeting you'd be forgiven for forgetting never happened. That it feels like it did is exactly why the film works, bringing authenticity to an event that, despite its intimate scale, feels much bigger, further underlining the tumultuous decade during which it took place. In many ways it's the ideal rebuttal to the many criticized Oscar-nominated films of years past that faced backlash for its whitewashing of history. One Night in Miami represents the complete inverse, using a fictionalized account to tell a truthful story about four men whose success should seem like a complete anomaly given the roadblocks put in their way.   

The Invisible Man

Director: Leigh Whannell
Starring: Elisabeth Moss, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Aldis Hodge, Storm Reid, Harriet Dyer, Michael Dorman
Running Time: 124 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

Blumhouse's 2020 reimagining of The Invisible Man is built upon a single hook that completely flips the script on H.G. Wells' original 1897 novel. By shifting the focus from the title character to the person most affected, in horrifying ways, by his scientific experiment, writer/director Leigh Whannell makes a film that feels jarringly of our time. You could even argue the events depicted are less an "experiment" than a sadistic trap.

While the origins of the character were far from noble in any incarnation of the material, it's taken to a new level here, with the invisibility wielded not only as weapon for violence, destruction, stalking and psychological warfare, but as a "Me Too" metaphor for the plight of battered and abused women. These implications of this aren't subtle, but compared to whatever probable disaster we would have otherwise gotten from a Universal monster movie reboot, this feels like restrained elegance. And it often is, a lot more interested in exploring victim trauma than science fiction or horror.

Whannell knows he has something and just keeps tightening the screws, cornering a woman no one has any reason to believe because her story seems so irrational, if not downright insane. It becomes more than just a battle against her unseen tormenter, but also the doubters who look down at her with pity when she attempts to explain her ordeal. Sound familiar? It should, but it also marks the first time Wells' story has been adapted to the screen to reflect something more than what it's directly about.

There are times where it seems as if this will be going through the motions of a mainstream horror thriller that doesn't exactly break new ground, but Elisabeth Moss' tortured performance is so great you'd think that it does, elevating the material to a level it wouldn't have attained with someone else in the role. Having slowly built up this really impressive post-Mad Men career specializing in darkly damaged characters, she transposes the qualities that made her indie work so compelling to a far more mainstream effort, with nothing compromised in the process. The movie's well-made and suspenseful, but she makes it better, so thoroughly inhabiting the fear and terror of this woman that it makes everything surrounding her feel that much more threatening.

Cecilia Kass (Moss) is trapped in a violent relationship with wealthy, controlling optics engineer Adrian Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) when she decides to one night make her escape after drugging him. After barely evading his grasp and leaving with the help of her sister, Emily (Harriet Dyer), she hides out with San Francisco police detective and childhood friend, James' (Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter, Sydney (Storm Reid). Traumatized and afraid to even step out the door, Cecilia soon receives the shocking news that Adrian committed suicide and left a substantial fortune for her in his will, according to his lawyer brother, Tom (Michael Dorman).

Besides the inescapably chilly feeling Adrian's presence still seems to be everywhere for Cecilia, something doesn't add up when some seriously strange, unexplainable goings-on in the house point toward the fact that he's still somehow physically present. But the more convinced she becomes that Adrian faked his own death, using his scientific acumen to invisibly threaten her, the crazier and more emotionally fragile those closest to her believe she's become. Now, sight unseen, Adrian's able to frame her as a criminal and destroy her life, making good on his prophecy that she'll never escape him. Controlling her more now than when "alive," Cecilia desperately attempts to get anyone to believe what's happening, before it's too late.

While very much following a modern horror template of a woman being terrorized by an unseen, destructive force, the added narrative layer of partner abuse and Adrian's motivations make the proceedings feel more real, and with higher stakes. Right up until the invisibility angle is fully absorbed into the story, you'd think this was exclusively a film about domestic violence, mostly because it is. And it remains that throughout, with the physical and psychological battering firmly planted front and center, which stands as a credit to Moss' depiction of Cecilia's ongoing battle and Whannell's script, which takes some clever, surprising turns.

It helps that the film rarely overdoes it, refusing to engage in some of the cornier aspects that have previously plagued loose cinematic adaptations of Wells' tale. Most of that has stemmed from the idea's gimmickry, as you can't help but cringe awaiting the same kind of effects-heavy, action nonsense we got in Hollow Man. But there's none of that here, with the technology being revealed in a completely reasonable way as far as these things go, keeping the focus entirely on Cecilia's plight. Rarely do we pause at the incredulity of something this absurd because we're all in from the film's first tension-filled scene and that trust isn't violated from then on.

Moss is so believable in her mental anguish that the idea Cecilia could be losing her mind because of or in addition to what's happening is never completely off the table, both for her and us. From the moment we meet her she's already in dire straits and it only escalates from there, culminating in a mid-point restaurant scene with her sister that takes everything to an entirely different level. In other words, it's on. From there, the action does slip into a slightly more conventional pattern as the details of Adrian's plot come into view, but it's no less exciting because of it.

As a filmmaker, Whannell always been more deeply entrenched in psychological thrills than "torture porn" horror. It's easy to forget after its many underwhelming sequels that 2004's original Saw, which he wrote and co-starred in, wasn't initially concerned severed limbs and deadly traps. It was a twisty morality play with with more psychological suspense than gore, its successive films entirely missing the point and extracting all the wrong elements from its initially ingenious concept, bastardizing a franchise that was never intended as one. He accomplished similar feat with Insidious and, more recently, Upgrade, marking him as a creative force worth watching.

This could have easily flown off the rails in the last act, but Whannell and Moss steer it steadily to a finish that doesn't feel ridiculously over-the-top or too clever for its own good. It does require her to go into action hero mode a bit, but even that's well-handled without threatening the film's core conceit. Clocking in at a really tight 124 minutes that just flies by, The Invisible Man's peak comes as Cecilia's flailing for survival, attempting to convince everyone around her of the impossible as the walls keep closing in. Moss frighteningly reflects what could register as an eerily familiar situation to many women watching. And that's a lot more than anyone expected from another monster movie reboot we weren't sure we wanted.