Michael

Director: Antoine Fuqua
Starring: Jaafar Jackson, Colman Domingo, Nia Long, Miles Teller, KeiLyn Durrel Jones, Laura Harrier, Juliano Valdi, Joseph David-Jones, Nathaniel Logan McIntyre, Rhyan Hill, Judah Edwards, Jamal R. Henderson, Jayden Harville, Tre Horton, Jaylen Lyndon Hunter, Jessica Sula, Mike Myers, Kendrick Sampson, Larenz Tate, Liv Symone, Deon Cole
Running Time: 127 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)   

Despite widespread opinion that musical biopics are interchangeable, most can actually be distinguished by how far filmmakers stretch the truth and the level of devotion they hold for their subject. Director Antoine Fuqua's Michael proves this by delivering what's partially a tribute to unparalleled talent, but also an acknowledgment of his sad upbringing, both of which inform the superstar he later becomes. At one point he's told they'll never be anyone like him, and for better or worse, we realize just how accurate that statement is. More enamored with his fans than the idea of fame, he was pushed too far too soon, launching a career that reshaped music, but also destroyed him in the process. 

Michael never stood a chance at a normal life, and while Fuqua predictably caught heat for omitting the serious allegations leveled against the singer, he didn't have much choice, reshaping his third act to clear the legal hurdles required in getting this made. But it wouldn't fit the tone or timeline anyway, which revolves around a rags-to-riches story that helps explain why it's hard to find anyone who doesn't call themselves a fan, regardless of age, race, gender or nationality. And this captures that with spectacular musical sequences and a pair of performances in the title role that avoid the groans and awkward laughs you'd expect to associate with the project.

It's 1966 in Gary, Indiana and steel laborer Joseph Jackson (Colman Domingo) forms and manages a boy bond consisting of sons Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon and 10-year-old prodigy and lead vocalist Michael (Juliano Valdi). Collectively dubbed the Jackson 5 by the strict, domineering Joseph, he works them into the ground as they perform gigs across the country, catching the attention of Motown record executive Suzanne De Passe (Laura Harrier). But with the Jacksons topping charts and the family relocating to an Encino, California mansion, label founder Berry Gordy (Larenz Tate) sees even bigger money in Michael as a solo act.

In 1978 when an adult Michael (Jaafar Jackson) releases his first solo album "Off The Wall" for Epic Records producer Quincy Jones (Kendrick Sampson), Joseph starts tightening the powerful grip he holds over his youngest son who yearns to break away and assert his creative freedom as an adult. With the support of mom Katherine (Nina Long), friend and bodyguard Bill (KeiLyn Durrel Jones) and loyal attorney John Branca (Miles Teller) he does just that, emerging as a pop culture phenomenon. But Michael's success comes at a cost, as he struggles to completely free himself from his father's grip.

From an early age, Michael is told by Joseph that life is made up of "winners" and "losers" and he'll have to decide which he wants to be. It's ironic advice coming from someone who couldn't be a bigger loser in life or this movie, as we've long heard how all of Michael's issues can be traced to his dad. Colman Domingo's performance as this monster definitely tracks, but the actor's perceptive in how he plays him, depicting a man for which nothing is good enough, pushing his kids as far as he wants while lining his own pockets in the process. And in finding hurtful ways to phrase even the most fleeting  compliments, Domingo still manages to give Joseph small doses of humanity, until you realize it's just another con job to get what he wants out of his boys. 

That the Jackson kids never refer to their father as "Joseph" is telling, highlighting not only the distance between them, but the fact he's their manager first, especially when it comes to Michael. So talented on stage that his brothers may as well be invisible, the ten-year-old's potential places him under enormous pressure and first in line for Joseph's vicious belt beatings. 

In vaguely expressing her disapproval while occasionally offering up a delicately worded objection to Joseph's behavior, it's clear wife Katherine fears him. Long's role is easily the film's most thinly written, as we're expected to believe Joseph's reign of terror somehow skipped over the woman he married. For young Michael, escape comes in the form of Peter Pan, a story that reverberates through his adult life when he attempts to manufacture a childhood that was robbed from him. 

Juliano Valdi's heartbreakingly impressionable turn as young Michael and the Jackson 5's formation is probably the least explored, but most pivotal aspect to his biography. It's also a credit to John Logan's script that this period doesn't differ dramatically from the adult section, much like Michael himself. Similar to his fictitious hero, he never grows up and can't, torn between the dread of standing up to Joseph and forging a career on his own terms with the help of super attorney John Branca. There's also an appearance from Mike Myers as CBS Records president Walter Yetnikoff that just might be his least distracting cameo yet.   

Despite the two sharing only a handful of scenes, Michael's bond with his bodyguard Bill represents the rare instance where the singer seems able to forge a real connection with another human being. But like most of Michael's interactions, even this carries a sad transactional quality that could only come from being a star of such stature. His only true friends are the giraffes, snakes and dogs that will roam "Neverland Ranch" along with Bubbles the chimp, who's depicted with CGI laughable enough to temporarily take us out of the plot. 

The second and third acts revolve completely around Michael's music, with Fuqua essentially transforming this into an extended concert film that recreates the singers' most iconic performances and videos. And did he ever make the right decision by casting Michael's own nephew, Jaafar Jackson, who's marvel in the role. Not only does he nail the voice, changing looks and isolation of a scared little boy trapped inside an adult's body, but shows us Michael's brilliance as a performer and choreographer. Whether it's "Beat It," "Billie Jean," "Thriller" or "Bad," even the most skeptical fans are in for a treat watching him capture the King of Pop's moves and mannerisms, all while capably filling the sadder, quieter moments in between. 

The Pepsi commercial disaster is rightly marked as a huge pivot point, officially signaling the last gasp for the Jackson 5 as a unit and Joseph as a promoter too sleazy for even Don King (Deon Cole) to trust. More concerned with exploiting Michael than admitting his own role in the accident that nearly took the life of his now burned and disfigured son, this event only feeds into the star's obsession with altering his appearance. What starts as a rhinoplasty and treatment for vitiligo will spiral into multiple plastic surgeries, but the film stops just short of that. Instead, the focus remains on his stage shows and superstardom, with Fuqua depicting the hysteria of fainting concertgoers being carried out by security.  

If Michael's easily the most eccentric, complicated and strangely inaccessible artist to have such a massive reach, this presents a strong case for why. In scenes when he's visiting hospitalized sick children and relating better to them than any adult his own age, an innocence and kindness shines through, perhaps hinting at what could have been. Of course, it's also impossible to watch this without the looming specter of those eventual allegations crossing our minds, creating an uncomfortable dichotomy.  

Since the first hint of those still legally unproven claims don't surface until 1993, Fuqua gives us a Michael most would prefer to remember, with the caveat that anything resembling a normal, well adjusted life was sacrificed for the music. In a sense, Joseph was right about Michael eventually wanting to surround himself with enablers and "yes" men, possibly in an effort to retain the independence he was cruelly deprived of as a child. It's this that eventually leads to his undoing.  

Michael's a true rarity in possessing near universal appeal, a fact this movie solidly hits on, justifying what some have labeled a "paint by numbers" treatment of the legendary entertainer. But given the scope of his music, this traditionally straightforward approach feels right, especially since the essence of Michael's likability depended on a desire to reach as many people from different backgrounds as possible. So whether his idealistic goal to unite the world can be traced to arrested development or an abusive childhood, he believed it. And as a result, so did his fans.                                                           

The Running Man (2025)

Director: Edgar Wright
Starring: Glen Powell, Josh Brolin, Colman Domingo, Lee Pace, Michael Cera, Emilia Jones, William H. Macy, Daniel Ezra, Jayme Lawson, Alyssa and Sienna Benn, Katy O' Brian, Karl Glusman, Martin Herlihy, Sean Hayes, David Zayas, Angelo Gray, Oluniké Adeliyi
Running Time: 133 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)     

Of the many Stephen King adaptations that hit screens in 2025, a new take on The Running Man always seemed the most logical on paper. That's mainly due to so much happening in the world since the author first published his 1982 novel about a dystopian reality show that sees its protagonist competing in a nationally televised battle for his life. But when the Arnold Schwarzenegger original hit theaters a few years later, it arrived as a cheesy guilty pleasure very much of its era, yet ripe for a potential revisiting down the road. 

Now, with the confluence of reality TV, the internet, smart phones, digital surveillance, artificial intelligence and socio-political conflicts, key aspects of King's eerily prophetic tale have come to pass, creating a wealth of new ideas from which co-writer/director Edgar Wright can draw. And does he ever, which only makes the chilly reception this received from critics and audiences even more perplexing. Unfolding at a breakneck pace, it's edited and constructed well enough to earn a lengthy run time, with much of its success attributable to Wright's world building, a smart script, its great cast and a handful of mind blowing action set pieces. 

In a near future, the United States is governed by an authoritarian media entity called the Network, which ensures the country's population lives in poverty with little access to affordable healthcare. Rearing the nation's viewers on a trashy diet of reality TV and violent game shows, ordinary citizens are given a chance to beat the odds in rigged televised competitions that offer substantial monetary rewards. The most popular is The Running Man, where three "runners" have a shot at winning $1 billion if they survive 30 days without being killed by the Network's five "hunters." But for recently unemployed blue collar worker Ben Richards (Glen Powell), it could be his only chance at affording medicine for he and wife Sheila's (Jayme Lawson) sick two-year-old daughter, Cathy (Alyssa and Sienna Benn).  

Despite Sheila's pleas, Ben auditions for the show, bringing him face-to-face with producer Dan Killian (Josh Brolin), who senses he might have a huge ratings draw on his hands. Ben signs on the dotted line, but when the hunt begins, he quickly realizes fans are being duped by Killian and bombastic show host Bobby Thompson (Colman Domingo) into viewing him as a cold, calculated criminal. But while Ben captivates the audience and outsmarts mysteriously masked lead hunter Evan McCone (Lee Pace), Killian orchestrates the ultimate finale, as the show's latest breakout star fights for his survival. 

Even before the film's title card appears, we see a desperate, quick tempered Ben pleading for his old job back, having risked standing up for co-workers in a society where selfless actions aren't just frowned upon, but punished. Now with a sick child and his wife pulling double duty waitressing at a shady establishment, desperation starts sinking in. It's also our first glimpse of this corporate media dictatorship that strikes just the right balance of hewing close enough to certain aspects of contemporary culture while also having a semi-futuristic feel firmly rooted in sci-fi.  

Wright and co-writer Michael Bacall are threading a thin needle here, but the execution is backed up by Andrew Whitehurst's VFX and some really impressive set design from Marcus Rowland that help move this far past the TV-centric plot of its 1987 cinematic predecessor. And though a certain cheese factor remains, it's considerably less, passing as an actual game show you'd watch, albeit one that serves the story's many thematic goals. 

This battle-to-the-death manhunt presided over by its sleazy, carnival barker of a host manipulates viewers into accepting whatever constantly changing "rules" Killian sees fit. But it also accomplishes a larger, more sinister goal in keeping the lower class subservient to the Network, who dangle the possibility of hope over helpless contestants who don't stand a chance at winning. They're aware how stacked the deck is, but don't have a say, knowing their only shot at escaping poverty is surviving to the end. Cunning, athletic and angry enough for that to seem attainable, Ben's in a different league than fellow contestants Jenni (Katy O' Brian) and Tim (Martin Herlihy), creating an intriguing dynamic with Killian, who sees dollar signs for at least as long as he can control him.

The show's presentation and format is concisely explained without slowing the momentum, but it's what happens once Ben leaves the studio that makes for such a thrilling ride. If the '87 film failed at opening up King's story, this better explores Ben (given some flimsy disguises by William H. Macy's store owner Molie) contending with a bloodthirsty public eager to give him up for a reward. As the hunters close in, the film cleverly incorporates social media and drone cameras, making it clear even the highly skilled Ben needs more help. This is evident when mandatory video testimonials he mails in to air on the program are edited and manipulated by Killian to push the Network's agenda and turn viewers against him.  

There's a relentless, brilliantly staged hotel action sequence that sees Ben attempting to escape the hunters' clutches that's somehow topped by a latter one that plays like a deranged and dangerous Home Alone reenactment. All of it eventually leads to a plane ride from hell that finds Ben in an explosive final showdown that'll determine his ultimate fate. Along the way we get some lively supporting turns from Daniel Ezra as a Running Man-obsessed streamer aiding Ben in his escape and a wildly entertaining Michael Cera, whose rebellious survivalist Elton will do anything to exact revenge on the Network that killed his father. 

Cera's brief, but incredibly memorable and eccentric performance strikes just the right tone while Emilia Jones appears late in the third act as Amelia, a highfalutin woman taken hostage by Ben. Yes, her character's a plot device, but you'd never know that considering all she brings to a role that serves an such an important function in Ben's quest to open the public's eyes to government crimes and corruption. 

Though Pace strikes an evil, imposing presence as masked vigilante McCone, it's Brolin's Svengali-like Killian who calls the shots, filtering instructions through Colman Domingo's flamboyant emcee. The latter puts his own unique spin on Richard Dawson's '87 outing while the ideally cast Brolin personifies this smarmy, manipulative mastermind with more than a few twists in store. He may respect Ben's will to win, but primarily sees him as a tool for further strengthen the Network's grip over society. 

Ben becomes a symbol, and whether he survives the ordeal or not, his impact could prove longer lasting by showing citizens their potential power to invoke change. Powell provides a worthy mix of anger, desperation, physical prowess and morality to the rebellious Ben, demonstrating again why he received all those early Tom Cruise comparisons. While he's not there yet, and his best work remains 2024's overlooked Hit Man, this project can't help but feel like another step forward in further showcasing that versatility.        

Aside from a pat, overexplanatory final few minutes that tells rather than shows, The Running Man flirts with perfection and may even be superior to King's similarly themed The Long Walk adaptation from the same year. Easily putting to shame the '87 version, it'll rattle Scott Pilgrim fans to hear it's a strong contender for Wright's best film, or at least his most focused and accessible. Free from any polarizing quirks, this looks and feels like a big deal, rarely letting up as it makes the most of its inspired premise. And by using time and technology to expand on the original's ideas, it enhances the potency of a message that's only grown in the decades since. 

Dead Man's Wire

Director: Gus Van Sant
Starring: Bill Skarsgård, Dacre Montgomery, Cary Elwes, Myha'la, Colman Domingo, Al Pacino, John Robinson, Kelly Lynch, Todd Gable
Running Time: 106 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)   

During Gus Van Sant's biographical crime thriller Dead Man's Wire, a voiceover declares that holding onto anger is the equivalent of drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. But by film's end, we're left wondering whether that's true or the real life antagonist actually did get the satisfaction he sought. Eerily prescient, it focuses on this man with a grudge and the extreme measures he takes against those he thinks wronged him. And though his intended victim isn't around for the consequences, he finds a suitable replacement, leading to an unusual standoff that sends the cops and media into a frenzy. 

Initially, the police want this abductor to feel as if he's receiving the attention he so desperately craves, hoping he'll drop his guard long enough for them to go in for the kill. But what happens when the public chooses to view him as a sympathetic figure screwed over by a soulless corporation? With a compelling tale like his, it's no surprise many can relate, enabling them to somehow see past whatever violence he's capable of, as scary as that seems.    

On Tuesday, February 8th, 1977 in Indianapolis, a high strung, mustachioed man named Tony Kiritsis (Bill Skarsgård) arrives at the Meridian Mortage Company building for an appointment with CEO M.L. Hall (Al Pacino). Entering with a sling on his arm and a long box, an agitated Tony makes a scene when informed M.L. is vacationing in Florida. His son and company President Richard (Dacre Montgomery) intervenes, agreeing to meet with him. But once inside the office, Tony removes a shotgun from the box, wiring it to Richard's neck and rigging it to fire should he attempt to escape. 

Believing the Halls cheated him out of money on a land development deal, Tony calls this abduction into the police himself, hoping to expose the Halls. With a wire wrapped around his neck, Richard's taken out of the building and onto the street by Tony, attracting the attention of Detective Michael Grable (Cary Elwes) and TV news reporter Linda Page (Myha'la), who's looking to raise her profile with a big story. As the FBI closes in and Richard's life hangs in the balance, Tony uses local radio DJ Fred Temple (Colman Domingo) to send his message to the masses. But with time running out, he wants money and an apology, or the shotgun goes off.

Aside from Skarsgård's genuinely unsettling performance and a remarkable sense of time and place, the film's greatest asset is how quickly it gets down to business, letting the smaller details pour out as this situation escalates. From the start, there's something off enough about this guy that the pressure's on to give him what he wants, or at least make him think he's getting it. It's also intriguing to watch these opening office scenes with the knowledge that Tony would have been immediately tackled at the front door if this occurred today. But it's the 70's, establishing him as just another irritated client on a Tuesday. 

Viewed through a pre-9/11 lens with no security cams, it's easier to see how Tony pulls this off, his unusual shotgun contraption throwing off authorities as they proceed with heightened caution. All of this gives Tony time to lay out his terms and milk the public's attention while a terrified Richard suffers through the ordeal, his life potentially ending with one sudden move in the wrong direction. 

Montgomery's performance conveys a thinly layered sense of guilt that Richard and his father really screwed this man out of his cash since that's what this company does. Pacino's big scene as M.L. confirms just how little respect he has for his own son, who's essentially a subservient hatchet man. Even with Richard's life on the line, the elder Hall proves too stubborn and entitled to give an inch, frustrating both Tony and the FBI. Pacino's subtle here, never hamming it up as his character comes across completely unaffected and incapable of relinquishing control. 

While Van Sant gets a little heavy handed as he flashes back and forth between TV broadcast recreations and the actual action, tension remains at a fever pitch throughout, delivered in a style intentionally reminiscent of Pacino's Serpico and Dog Day Afternoon. A menacing, unhinged Skarsgård exudes false bravado as the walls close in on Tony, who still plans to walk away scot-free. Domingo also impresses with a nuanced, charismatic turn as the radio DJ caught in the middle of these volatile negotiations. As the only person Tony trusts, if not flat-out idolizes, you'd think using him as a liaison would give the FBI an advantage. And for a while, it does.  

Logic dictates Tony can't get away with this, but his belief he will is what makes him dangerous. The closing title cards revealing the fates of those involved are legitimately surprising, as is the real news footage that appears over the credits. But by depicting the genesis of similar events we'll see play out over the following decades, Dead Man's Wire shows just how easily criminals become celebrities. And while they continue to bask in that adulation and exposure, it still still says as much about us as them.                  

Drive-Away Dolls

Director: Ethan Coen
Starring: Margaret Qualley, Geraldine Viswanathan, Beanie Feldstein, Colman Domingo, Pedro Pascal, Bill Camp, Joey Slotnick, C.J. Wilson, Annie Gonzalez, Matt Damon
Running Time: 84 min.
Rating: R

★★½ (out of ★★★★) 

Drive-Away Dolls is an entertainingly bad comedy from a talented director who makes it more tolerable than it has any right being. So much so that while watching you can't help but consider just how much worse this could have turned out with someone other than Ethan Coen at the controls. It's primarily about this bond between two lesbian friends, with the crime caper they've unwittingly walked into finishing a close second. And while Coen and co-writer Tricia Cooke intended this to be released as Henry James' Drive-Away Dykes, it's no surprise to anyone why the studio wouldn't gamble on that title, which is actually more in line with the film's wacky tone. 

The movie's at its lowest when drowning in crude humor that occasionally feels dated even for the decade it's supposed to take place. But the real kicker is that the characters are fully developed and a smattering of jokes land, even if cringing viewers may find themselves wishing it were somehow less polished. Maybe if this wasn't well made, the scene transitions weren't so inventive or it didn't contain such good performances, an outright dismissal would feel easier. Unfortunately, it's still a mess, straddling genres while seemingly targeting two entirely different audiences.

It's 1999 in Philadelphia when Jamie (Qualley) and her best friend Marian (Viswanathan) make plans for a road trip to Tallahassee, Florida after Jamie's ugly break-up with girlfriend Sukie (Beanie Feldstein). But when drive away car service owner Curlie (Bill Camp) accidentally leases the girls a vehicle already booked by criminals Arliss (Joey Sotnick), Flint (C.J. Wilson) and The Chief (Colman Domingo), they're unknowingly stuck with cargo stolen from an eccentric collector (Pedro Pascal). 

While Jamie tries to get the straight-laced Marian to loosen up by taking detours to lesbian bars and parties, a determined Arliss and Flint are hot on their trail, determined to retrieve that mysterious suitcase and bag in the car's trunk, both of which are scandalously linked to conservative Senator Gary Channel (Matt Damon). But the inept, bumbling crooks are in for more than they bargained for as Jamie and Marian remain a few steps ahead. 

Playing more like a parody of a Coen brothers picture than the genuine article, it's best compared to their more satirical efforts like Burn After Reading or Hail Caesar!, even if shades of Fargo unexpectedly sneak in. While a cleverly shot opening sequence featuring Pedro Pascal's character hints at more comic intrigue than we actually get, certain details involving the retrieval of this contraband are funny. Most notably the scenes with these feuding, incompetent criminals and a memorable encounter with a local girls' soccer team. Beanie Feldstein also gives an off-the-wall supporting performance as Jamie's crazed ex that feels like the kind of role her brother would have played in 2007.  

Everything takes a backseat to the relationship between polar opposites Jamie and Marian, who realize through their witty banter and misadventures that they share more in common than originally assumed. That most of those exchanges pay off with some sort of visual sex gag is no fault of the actresses, who do their best with the material. In Viswanathan's case, she rises above this, giving a more sarcastically muted turn that grounds the movie and gives it a moral center. Sporting a Texas drawl, Qualley has fun as Jamie, and while the character is too much, Viswanathan at least ensures Marian's exasperated demeanor reflects that.

In addition to a really bizarre, uncredited big name celebrity cameo, Matt Damon makes the most of his brief screen time as a Senator on the brink of being embarrassingly exposed in more ways than one. But anyone expecting a mystery on the level of Pulp Fiction's briefcase may be disappointed by a reveal that's disgustingly humorous, but par the course for this script. Amusing to a point, you just can't help but roll your eyes, realizing how it sums up the whole effort in a nutshell.

Clocking in at a bearably brisk 84 minutes, Drive-Away Dolls is a minor letdown that ranks on the lower end of either Coen brothers' filmography, managing at least to team up two up and coming actresses who deliver the goods. But fans anticipating another cult classic should probably readjust their expectations to prepare for something closer to a queer American Pie. Everyone else will just be left scratching their heads, wondering why this didn't quite come together like it should.    

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

Director: George C. Wolfe
Starring: Viola Davis, Chadwick Boseman, Glynn Turman, Colman Domingo, Michael Potts, Jonny Coyne, Taylour Paige, Jeremy Shamos, Dusan Brown
Running Time: 94 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Based upon August Wilson's acclaimed 1982 play, Ma Rainey's Black Bottom is an entertaining, eye-opening spectacle that examines the plight of two strong-willed African American musicians fighting for what's owed to them in a business and society holding them down. They're both essentially battling for the same cause, even as the personal histories that have shaped their present serve as further roadblocks, preventing them from forming the most basically cordial working relationships, especially with each other. Operating under the thumb of white record producers looking to get rich off their talents, anyone familar with the power imbalance at work here could imagine another film told entirely from the vantage point of these executives. 

Much of that hypothetical picture would focus on how these bosses are doing the black musicians a favor while getting nothing but aggravation in return."Difficult" would undoubtedly be a frequent descriptor used by these men to describe how their contracted property won't bend to their will, even as the title character gladly wears that as a badge of honor. But such a film is entirely unnecessary since director George C. Wolfe seems to have already made it. Considering who was calling the shots, these musicians were always going to be relegated to supporting players in their own careers, without being granted the dignity of such an explanation.   

Unsurprisingly, Chadwick Boseman's performance would be receiving this level of praise regardless of whether it marked the final time we saw him on screen. His character proves to be the driving engine as he takes this cocky, smooth talking, hotheaded upstart musician on a tumultuous journey instigated by a pain and anguish we've only begun to partially comprehend, until it engulfs every frame, swallowing everyone and everything around it. His self-justification grows deeper and darker, threatening to explode at any moment, until it actually does.The film peaks at just the right time before making an early exit but it's the two Oscar-nominated turns that carry the picture. Thinking we know where all this is going until it's actually there, the finale is challenging to watch, all but confirming that the more things change, the more they haven't changed at all.         

It's 1927 and popular blues singer Ma Rainey (Viola Davis) is under contract to Paramount when manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) schedules her for a recording session in Chicago with her Georgia Jazz Band members, Toledo (Glynn Turman), Cutler (Colman Domingo), Slow Drag (Michael Potts) and overconfident trumpeter Levee Green (Boseman). Hoping to break away from the band and land his own deal, Levee shows his original compositions to producer Mel Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne), to nearly everyone's disapproval. Ma is especially angered by his ambitions, believing a proven track record of success has afforded her the final say over him, the rest of the band and producers. 

Showing up late with girlfriend Dussie Mae (Taylour Paige) and 14 year-old nephew Sylvester (Dusan Brown), Ma demands the latter speak the album's opening narration despite his serious stutter, determined to have everyone wait until he gets it right. This instigates a battle of wills between her and the producers, as well as with Levee, who's not only underming Ma's authority with his own musical arrangments, but also seems to have designs on Dussie Mae. As tensions between Levee and the other band members threaten to boil over, disturbing revelations about his childhood come to light, sending his quick temper careening out of control.

Ma's strong stage presence, powerful voice and overwhelming personality may make it seem on the surface as if she's enormously successful enough to do what she wants, when in actuality this is the 1920's and white male label heads view her strictly as a monetary investment. She only seems to be in charge because everything's a fight to prevent them from walking all over her, at points even explicitly stating these men wouldn't pay her any mind if not for the singing that makes them money. And she's right.

Whether it's her bosses withholding money or trying to creatively call the shots, Ma has adopted this attitude as a survival mechanism, well aware that the career consequences could be far worse if she didn't fight for her fair share. For Davis, this role's a homecoming of sorts, having aleady won an Oscar and Tony for her role in Wilson's Fences, but this is an entirely different, brasher, more over-the-top role that requires a nuance few others could have brought to the more heavily dramatic moments. There's a lot of pain behind Ma's posturing and toughness so the real mastery in Davis' carefully calibrated performance comes when she allows us a peak behind that facade to earn a glimpse of it.

Knowing talent alone won't be nearly enough to overcome the prejudice, the flashy, egotistical Levee instantly becomes a threat to Ma's dominance, staking his claim to the spotlight. But regardless of how talented he considers himself, his attitude and temper get in the way. If the general feeling amongst the band members is that they can barely tolerate someone who hasn't paid his dues in the business, they eventually find out he's paid them in life, and then some. The entire story rests with Boseman's performance, to the point that everything else feels like a warm-up until Levee's triggered by the other band members about his "sucking up" to the white man. This leads to an emotional explosion, as well as some painful confessions about his upbringing that knock his bandmates on their heels. And the tensions only worsen from there. 

With a glimmer in his eye and a self-deprecating smile, Boseman initially disarms you, but at a certain point that turns, sending Levee over an edge he won't return from for the film's duration, lashing out in wildly unpredictable ways. The religious, mild-mannered Cutler, whose honest attempts to play peacemaker with Levee, Ma and the producers fall short. Colman Domingo's subtly effective in creating an impression that Cutler's put out these fires within the band before and whatever problems exist should take a backseat to the music he clearly loves. Glynn Turman is equally memorable as the mid-mannered Toledo, offering experience and wisdom Levee would have been wise to listen to if he wasn't already so far gone, well on his way down a path to inevitable violence.

In joining the many stage-to-screen productions in the past year such as One Night in Miami and The Father, this probably feels like the stagiest, if only due to the musical component and the fact its monologues are far lengthier. But clocking in at just over and hour and a half, Wolfe and writer Ruben Santiago-Hudson really keep it moving, with the story itself speaking volumes. The characters mistakenly direct all their rage at each other, while the true tragedy comes in the realization they may not have had much of a choice. The very last scene confirms Ma's dire prediction, with her and Levee proving to be no more or less expendable than the rest, as the label executives were only ever going to see one thing, no matter how hard they were pushed to think otherwise.