A Complete Unknown

Director: James Mangold
Starring: Timothée Chalamet, Edward Norton, Elle Fanning, Monica Barbaro, Boyd Holbrook, Dan Fogler, Norbert Leo Butz, Eriko Hatsune, Scoot McNairy, P.J. Byrne, Michael Chernus, Charlie Tahan
Running Time: 141 min.
Rating: R

★★★½ (out of ★★★★)

When a quality musical biopic comes around, whatever praise it receives is usually accompanied by some dismissive, backhanded compliment about it not feeling like one. As if the entire genre only exists to chronologically retrace a public figure's life with little insight or nuance. So for skeptics, it's probably best not to label James Mangold's A Complete Unknown a biopic, but a great film Bob Dylan happens to be at the center of. Besides referencing his famous lyric, its clever title doubles as a description of the man himself, which could have only helped in convincing the notoriously picky and cantankerous artist to sign off on Mangold and co-writer James Cocks' script. 

That it's based on Elijah Wald's 2015 book Dylan Goes Electric!, gives us a pretty good idea all roads will lead to his controversial 1965 Newport Folk Festival performance that turned the music world upside down. Filtered through the prism of Timothée Chalamet's disappearing act, we get glimpses of the sensitive, creative genius at his peak who's also defined by a selfish, obsessive perfectionism that pushes away those closest to him. And though fame was an entirely different animal back then, it's fun and fascinating to watch Dylan subvert his while still remaining repulsed by the whole idea of it.

It's 1961 when a 19-year-old Bob Dylan (Chalamet) hitchhikes from Minnesota to find his idol, folk legend Woody Guthrie (Scoot McNairy), who's in a New Jersey hospital slowly succumbing to Huntington's Disease. Upon his arrival, Dylan meets Woody and his good friend Pete Seeger (Edward Norton), who are both blown away by the young man's singing and songwriting talents. Pete invites Dylan to crash at his house, introducing him to New York's Greenwich Village folk scene and rising star Joan Baez (Monica Barbaro), who he immediately takes a liking to. 

After being signed to a record deal by manager Albert Grossman (Dan Fogler), Dylan embarks on a relationship with artist Sylvie Russo (Elle Fanning), who grows frustrated by his standoffish behavior and inability to open up to her. But as Dylan's popularity skyrockets amid the political turmoil of the 60's, he strays from folk's traditional roots to embrace more modern, socially conscious songwriting. While Pete and the folk community disapprove of Dylan's plans to bring a polarizing new sound to the masses, Sylvie is increasingly alarmed by his growing connection with Baez.  

Because this period represents the most vital slice of Dylan's development, Mangold consciously avoids making pit stops through the various stages of the legendary singer's career, instead dropping him into his own story, seemingly out of nowhere. Neither Pete or an ailing Guthrie have a clue who this kid is, but after picking up the guitar and working his magic, none of that matters. 

Fanning's Sylvie isn't just the film's fictionalized version of Dylan's real-life girlfriend Suze Rotolo (best known for appearing alongside him on the album cover for 1963's The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan) but the only person interested in who he actually is. But in prodding the former Robert Zimmerman about his days working at a traveling carnival, she only awakens a more temperamental side to his personality. If she views a person's past as the gateway to their soul, Dylan merely sees it as an inconvenient obstacle in crafting an entirely new persona out of whole cloth. 

The soft spoken warmth in Norton's portrayal of Pete Seeger prompts us to suspect the folk legend would have still taken Dylan in knowing the repercussions his protégé's choices would have on folk and how negatively he'd feel about it. While Dylan's respect for the genre is unquestioned, he only sees a dead end recording cover songs from previous generations while society yearns for something that addresses their current reality.

The Baez partnership is best described as magical onstage but parasitic off it. While Mangold definitely takes some liberties and fudges the timeline a bit, the essence of how they became so inextricably linked does shine through, particularly in the stage performances. Career-wise, she doesn't actually need Dylan, so while they both artistically benefit, it creates an uneven power dynamic because he's a control freak, as some geniuses are. Gifting her "Blowin' in the Wind" is where his generosity stops, at least once he discovers she won't be catering to his every whim. 

Sylvie painfully realizing the palpable bond between Dylan and Baez as they perform is the closest Mangold comes to pedaling in familiar tropes, but Fanning makes the plight of a long suffering girlfriend ring true, effectively conveying the frustration of putting up with an emotionally inaccessible partner who views relationships as disposable. So even while movie's reverence for Dylan's work is persistent, this isn't a saintly, fawning depiction of him in other respects.

If the running joke about Chalamet learning how to sing badly enough to play Dylan holds any truth, he passes the test, nailing that nasally, rambling inflection as he tears through timeless classics like "Girl from the North Country," "Like a Rolling Stone," "Mr. Tambourine Man," "Masters of War" and "The Times They Are a-Changin'." Despite only scratching the surface of music's richest catalogue, the film undeniably hits the key peaks of his early to mid 60's output while Francois Audouy's production design and Arianne Phillips' costuming helps provide the transportive backdrop.  

Any criticisms leveled against Dylan never stuck because he had a perfect voice for the songs he wrote, forever marking him as a storyteller before all else. He was also a prickly, complicated personality that Chalamet effectively blends with an aloofness and underdog quality worth rooting for. Once Dylan enters his most recognizable black turtleneck/sunglasses phase, the actor completes his full immersion, becoming stranger, moodier and more withdrawn in the celebrity spotlight.

Feeling the burn of getting too close to an almost casually cruel Dylan, Monica Barbaro captivates as the increasingly frustrated Baez who tires of his games. Justifiably tiring of his games. she risks becoming collateral damage in his quest to reinvent folk/rock, which comes to a head in the film's thrilling final act. But her biggest feat is in credibly replicating Baez's distinctively rich soprano voice despite no prior singing experience. Asked to fill enormous shoes, it's about as accurate a portrayal as anyone thought possible.

One of the best details of Dylan's infamous '65 Newport set is the presence of Boyd Holbrook's Johnny Cash, who's depicted exactly how we'd hope, cheering on his pal's attack on the music establishment as the act of rebellion it truly is. Pete and the festival organizers may try to stop it, the crowd can boo and heckle him, but when Dylan starts in on "Maggie's Farm," the train's left the station and it hardly matters who's right anymore. As Baez says, he got the freedom he wanted. 

A Complete Unknown is less concerned with checking off dates, facts and milestones than conveying the experiences of those Dylan sucked into his vortex. In an irony he'd appreciate, by film's end he remains as much an enigma as when it started. Drawing the battle lines between what music was and where it's going, we can tell he didn't see any of it as a big deal, shrugging his shoulders with bemusement at all the chaos. He knew everyone would have to move on because this was just the beginning.

The Bikeriders

Director: Jeff Nichols
Starring: Jodie Comer, Austin Butler, Tom Hardy, Michael Shannon, Mike Faist, Boyd Holbrook, Damon Herriman, Beau Knapp, Emory Cohen, Karl Glusman, Toby Wallace, Norman Reedus, Will Oldham
Running Time: 116 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

If it's hard enough adapting any non-fiction book into a feature film, one consisting entirely of black-and-white photos and transcribed interviews might seem impossible. But writer/director Jeff Nichols seems to have figured it out with The Bikeriders, a historical crime drama based on journalist Danny Lyon's mid-sixties stint as a member of the infamous Chicago Outlaws Motorcycle Club.

While going the documentary route may have been more expected, Nichols finds a different avenue to explore the humanity beneath this chaos, narratively dissecting the impact of a rebellious subculture that helped define an era that eventually passes them by. It really feels like the last gasp for these outlaws, evoking nostalgia for a period many watching never experienced, but probably wished they had.

In 1965, photojournalist Lyon (Mike Faist) interviews Kathy (Jodie Comer) about her time with the Chicago-based Vandals Motorcyle Club, which founder Johnny (Tom Hardy) was inspired to create after watching Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones. She recounts feeling out of place among a gang of rough and tumble riders at the Vandals' bar, until meeting the brooding, hotheaded Benny (Austin Butler). Immediately attracted to his cool, distant aura, he takes Kathy home on the back of his bike, camping across the street until her angry boyfriend moves out in a huff.

Benny and Kathy begin living together as she gets to know the rest of the club, consisting of reliable Brucie (Damon Herriman), mechanically inclined Cal (Boyd Holbrook), volatile Zipco (Michael Shannon) and bug eater Cockroach (Emory Cohen). But with Vandals chapters soon popping up all over the Midwest, Johnny's had enough, approaching a disinterested Benny to take over leadership duties. Unfortunately, it may be too late, as a new challenger emerges and angry, disaffected youths reeling from the scars of Vietnam come home. With change on the horizon, there's a good chance America's original generation of bikers will be left in the dust. 

Kathy is initially the film's entry point, but it isn't long before this whole interview format takes a backseat to the personal drama surrounding these bikers. It's actually a bit perplexing why the character of Lyon is incorporated to begin with since there's no noticeable on screen attempt to absorb him into the club like the journalist was in reality. Occasionally, Nichols cuts to him questioning Kathy in a biker vest, but that's about the extent of Mike Faist's role. It's a bit off putting at first, but once you're absorbed in the story, this inconsistent framing device isn't given a second thought.

The accuracy of regional accents will always cause debate but Comer really commits to her memorable Midwestern twang. Having no idea how realistic it is or isn't, there's no denying it adds an air of down home folksiness to a character who's supposed to be out of her element in this grungy atmosphere. But as much as the film attempts to put Kathy at its center, Butler owns the screen from the moment he appears in a performance not entirely dissimilar from his Oscar nominated Elvis turn, with a little James Dean mixed in. 

Butler's approach should seem overdone or cliche, but he's just too good to deny, capturing the essence of this introverted, self destructive loner capable of flying off the handle on a whim. He hints there's more bubbling beneath the surface, even as Kathy tries to figure out exactly what. Correctly surmising Benny needs to get out of this club before he gets himself killed, he'll do whatever he wants, even as we question whether that really will solve his anger issues. There's an equally strong chance his association with the Vandals might be the only thing left keeping him sane.  

Tom Hardy is the Brando to Butler's Dean, basically attempting a full-on impersonation of the iconic actor, which he pulls off pretty well, intimidatingly throwing his weight around to maintain some degree of law and order. But between a family and an actual 9-to-5 job, he's getting exasperated as his grip starts to slip. Even when they're not seeking it out first, violence has a way of finding them, but Hardy strikes the right balance between thuggish brute and fair, loyal leader with a heart.

The best scenes involve the Vandals picking fights, pulling pranks, riding through towns and sometimes just sitting around smoking and telling stories, as this loaded cast of recognizable faces distinguish their characters with unmistakably unique personalities. A subplot involving a group of youths led by a knife-wielding delinquent credited as "The Kid" (Toby Wallace) and the arrival of California hippie biker Funny Sonny (Norman Reedus) give the film an extra jolt as it barrels toward the finish line.

There's nothing particularly groundbreaking about The Bikeriders, but it is a well acted, impeccably shot adult drama that fills a needed niche by striving for authenticity. More Hunter Thompson than Cameron Crowe, it finds its voice through the relationships, camaraderie and turmoil among this ragtag gang of outcasts relegated to the fringes. They play by their own rules, until the real world intrudes. But like so many other touchstones, it's fun while it lasts, leaving a cultural footprint that doesn't easily fade.             

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

Director: James Mangold
Starring: Harrison Ford, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Mads Mikkelsen, Antonio Banderas, John Rhys-Davies, Toby Jones, Boyd Holbrook, Ethann Isidore, Shaunette Renée Wilson, Thomas Kretschmann, Olivier Richters, Karen Allen
Running Time: 154 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

In what should be considered a relief, James Mangold's Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny is a mostly satisfying send-off for the iconic character, easily surpassing 2008's widely reviled, underwhelming Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Though a far cry from the first three films in the series, it has sections that come close to recapturing that nostalgic sense of adventure, with others curiously feeling more like a modern facsimile of classic Indy. But it's a good time, anchored by a story that's surprisingly focused given the concerns going in.

This is bloated at over two and a half hours, but doesn't drag, and whatever 80-year-old Harrison Ford's physical limitations are, they're covered by a plot that accounts for the challenges of his role. Mangold follows the familiar Spielberg template, at least until a denoument certifiably insane enough to inspire more debate and discussion. But unlike Crystal Skull, you can actually envision viewers remembering and even revisiting this, possibly healing some of the wounds inflicted by that previous film.

It's 1944 and the Nazis have captured Indiana Jones (Ford) and Oxford archeologist Basil Shaw (Toby Jones) while attempting to retrieve the Lance of Longinus from a castle in the French Alps. The Lance is fake, but German astrophysicist Jürgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen) has possession of half the Archimedes' Dial, a mechanism built by Syracusan mathematician Archimedes that supposedly enables time travel. Indy and Basil escape with the Dial, but decades later in 1969, a recently retired Indy is visited by goddaughter and archeologist Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), who believes he still has the object her late father Basil was obsessed with. 

Upon Indy discovering Helena's motivations for locating the rare piece aren't what he assumed, they're followed by Voller (fronting as NASA engineer "Dr. Schmidt") and the CIA, along with a gang of mercenaries helping him reclaim it to drastically alter history. Joined by Helena and her teen pickpocket sidekick Teddy Kumar (Ethann Isidore), Indy must find directions to the Dial's other half and stop Voller from opening the time fissure before it's too late.

A setting and era this different is something that's never really been explored in the franchise so the character's advanced age does present an opportunity to take advantage of a fresh scenario. And it's downright surreal observing the curmudgeonly professor and archaeologist floundering in 1960's New York City, riding the subway, watching TV and complaining about his neighbors blasting the Beatles. It further reinforces the idea he's stuck out of time, desperately clinging to history as the world passes him by. Never crankier, we eventually discover why, with Ford again expertly slipping into the role while sarcastically poking fun at Indy's seniority.

For all the fuss over the casting a female lead opposite Ford, Waller-Bridge's Helena isn't intended to compensate for the challenges of having Ford carry this on his own. Her backstory and connection to Indy fits the plot, with the actress bringing some screwball comedic timing to the proceedings and handling herself just fine in the action sequences. The least of this film's issues, she proves they made the right casting move in foregoing potentially bigger stars who may not have meshed as well with Ford. And despite some help, he's hardly relegated to the sidelines, nor is the character's attitude or demeanor a drastic departure from what we've embraced for decades. 

Ethann Isadore's kid sidekick is more derivative, clearly meant to invoke Short Round from Temple of Doom, but even his function suitably expands, adding a little extra kick to the narrative's machinations. As villainous Nazi scientist Voller, Mikkelsen creepily makes for one of Indy's more ambitious adversaries, mapping out a grand plan that wouldn't seem out of place in a Bond picture. John Rhys Davies returns in a smaller role as Indy's old pal Sallah while Antonio Banderas has an even tinier one as tactical scuba diver Renaldo. Thankfully, John Williams' legendary score is back as we remember it, with some additional flourishes. 

Mangold's staging and filming of the big action set pieces are highlighted by a horseback chase through NYC during the Apollo 11 parade and another with motorized rickshaws in Tangier. Both are superior to the murky 1944 prologue, which marks the franchise's most elaborate use of digitized technology yet, with a 25 minute sequence depicting a de-aged, deep faked version of Ford's Indy. It's pulled off reasonably well, but is still an odd fit for a property entrenched in retro influences like Saturday morning serials of the 30's and 40's.

You can't help but wonder if the opening is too much of a distraction, almost daring audiences to search for flaws and unintentionally harming what should be a fully immersive experience. And considering how Star Wars fans lose their minds over the briefest use of AI effects, a full half hour is a risky experiment. While trimming the sequence may have helped in covering noticeable shortcomings, it doesn't hurt to admit we might not be ready for this yet, at least to such an extent.

In a franchise with melting faces, extractions of human hearts and aliens the idea of time travel could still be a bridge too far for some fans. The hesitation isn't completely unwarranted since this veers further into the sci-fi realm than we've ever seen in the series, while maintaining the ancient mysticism that's defined other historical artifacts. The only difference here is how far the writers take it, actually following through on what's promised.

Larger questions are addressed regarding what transpired between Crystal Skull and the events of this installment, helping to explain how Indy ends up in this bitter place, latching on to the past like it's his last hope. How it fits into the plot is clever and certain to stir up more debate surrounding the creative choice made in the closing minutes. But it's safe to say common sense prevails, as the alternative would leave a dangling thread when all loose ends need to be tightly tied. An exciting, old fashioned blockbuster, Dial of Destiny goes out on top, upholding the spirit of the franchise while giving us the fitting final chapter we were owed fifteen years earlier.

Beckett

Director: Ferdinando Cito Filomarino
Starring: John David Washington, Alicia Vikander, Boyd Holbrook, Vicky Krieps, Maria Votti, Panos Koronis, Lena Kitsopoulou
Running Time: 108 min.
Rating: R 

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

Tightly wound and consistently suspenseful, Netflix's political conspiracy thriller, Beckett is bit better than it first appears, wringing genuine tension from the familiar premise of an ordinary man facing insurmountable circumstances. In certain ways, it starts out recalling something along the lines of 2010's The American in terms of tone and style before taking a more action-oriented turn that ups the excitement and violence level. In this case, the American in question is an innocent vacationer rather than a contracted killer, even as he inches closer to the latter by film's end. 

Having already acclimated himself nicely as the quintessential man on the run in Christopher Nolan's Tenet, this is the kind of role John David Washington has already proven to excel at. Here, he plays a man helplessly spiraling into imminent danger after making one horrible mistake that sets off a chain of almost inhumanly bad luck. Having to readjust quickly, he proves more formidable and resourceful than expected, as director Ferdinando Cito Filomarino tries his best to recreate the kind of old school, paranoid atmosphere prevalent in '70's pictures like The Parallax View, with decidely more mixed results.  

U.S. Tourist Beckett (Washington) is vactioning in Greece with girlfriend April (Alicia Vikander) when the two decide to leave their hotel in Athens due to nearby protesting. But when Beckett falls asleep at the wheel, veering off the road and crashing into a nearby house, April is killed immediately. Badly injured and trapped in the car, Beckett can make out a boy being accompanied out of the house by an unknown blonde woman (Lena Kitsopoulou) before he wakes up in the hospital the next day. 

After Beckett gives his statement to the Officer Xenakis (Panos Koronis) at the station, he returns to the accident scene, only to get followed and shot at. Running for his life with these assailants on his trail, Beckett needs to find a way to get to the U.S. embassy in Athens, relying primarily on the help of political activists Lena (Vicky Krieps) and Eleni (Maria Votti). With the truth behind why he's being hunted still unclear, Beckett must come to grips with his own fatal mistake while attempting to escape a dangerous web of deceit and corruption that cuts to the core of the country's unrest. 

With a premise and opening half hour that teases a Hitchcockian puzzlebox, it starts becoming clear later that there just isn't enough style and substance present for it to truly earn such a lofty comparison. That's fine, as few can, bit it does settle into more conventional action territory as Kevin Rice's script fleshes itself out, leaking morsels of information as Beckett deals with one complication after the next in his mission to find safety. But what he really wants is only to get his deceased girlfriend's body returned to the states so that this nightmare can end.

Beckett's guilt and anger over April's death seems to be his primary driving force, which is ironic considering the car accident doesn't have as much to do with the actual conspiracy as you'd think, at least directly. But does this guy ever take a beating, from getting shot, jumping off cliffs to getting stabbed, you could be fooled into thinking this is an unannounced Superman sequel. But because the story follows a clear trajectory of events and Washington's so effective at selling the anguish and frustration over his plight, it at least clears the low action movie threshold necessary for us to temporarily suspend disbelief.

Compared with Washington, Alicia Vikander's role as the doomed April is minor, her performance playing better in hindsight once the fallout following the character's death is fully accessed by film's end. That said, the two actors have very little chemistry as a couple and some of their early small talk is insufferable, putting a damper on the proceedings right out of the gate. Curiously missing in action since her breakthrough in 2017's Phantom Thread, Vicky Krieps turns in solid supporting work as the headstrong, but skeptical activist faced with the dilemma of whether to trust a desperate, volatile stranger. Boyd Holbrook also memorably appears as a U.S. embassy employee Beckett is forced to rely on if he has any hopes of extracting himself from this mess.  

It's up for debate whether the final explanation of events lives up to the action preceding it, but the creative execution mostly delivers, as the script's clarity and cleanliness is appreciated in a time when movies of this ilk pile contrivances on top of contrivances to get where it needs to go. There may be moments of that going on, but not an egregious, empty-headed amount, making it easier to become invested in the outcome. Revolving around a somewhat sympathetic protagonist in the wrong place at the wrong time, Filomarino holds our attention by using all the reliable tricks a throwback potboiler should. Beckett doesn't reinvent the wheel, but adequately accomplishes what's needed, making it more than worth a watch.