Air

Director: Ben Affleck
Starring: Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Jason Bateman, Marlon Wayans, Chris Messina, Chris Tucker, Viola Davis, Matthew Maher, Julius Tennon, Damian Young, Jay Mohr
Running Time: 112 min.
Rating: R 

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

After a montage of 80's milestones set to Dire Strait's "Money For Nothing," Ben Affleck's Air kicks off by taking us straight into Nike headquarters, where something huge is about to go down, even if no one knows it yet. Based on a true story, it's about one man's gut feeling based on extensive knowledge and experience. Having already rolled the dice on a number of bad ideas and some really good ones he didn't get credit for, key employee Sonny Vaccaro has a new one he thinks can turn the fledgling company's fortunes around. And it just might be crazy enough to work.

This details how a Nike basketball scout signed college standout Michael Jordan to the sponsorship deal that transformed sports as we know it, to this day still generating a seemingly endless revenue stream. Unlike others, Vaccaro knew what bringing Jordan aboard would mean and was willing to do anything to get him. In retrospect, it's almost impossible to envision another outcome, but the film transports us into a world where it's not such a sure bet, as Alex Convery's script reveals everything that needed to fall exactly into place.

So accessibly mainstream that even those uninterested in basketball or sports in general will be hooked, it's easily the best in its genre since Moneyball, if slightly lighter in tone, but representing the type of adult-driven Hollywood picture that doesn't get made nearly enough. It also marks the long anticipated onscreen reunion of Affleck and Matt Damon, which doesn't disappoint, as both bring their best to this deceptively accomplished audience pleaser.

It's 1984 and Oregon-based Nike is on the verge of shutting down their unprofitable basketball shoe division as CEO and co-founder Bob Knight (Affleck) tasks Marketing VP Rob Strasser (Jason Bateman) and Sonny (Damon) with picking recently drafted NBA players to sign. Lagging far behind Adidas and Converse in sales, they're still primarily known for running shoes, leaving this division hurting for resources and attention. 

With North Carolina's Michael Jordan out of their price range and already planning to sign a lucrative Adidas contract, they go down the list of more attainable draft picks like Melvin Turpin and John Stockton. But Sonny can't let it go, pushing Knight to spend the department's entire budget on acquiring an uninterested, unaffordable Jordan and build their entire brand around him.  

While Jordan's understandably protective mother Deloris (Viola Davis) drives a hard bargain, Sonny will have to first find a way around his fast-talking, abrasive agent David Falk (Chris Messina), who makes the player's feelings about Nike abundantly clear. After gauging interest from Jordan's friend and Olympic coach George Raveling (Marlon Wayans) and consulting with upper level executive Howard White (Chris Tucker), Sonny remains undeterred. He's willing to risk it all, even if Nike's entire basketball division goes down with him.     

Sonny's tenacity causes headaches, but he's the real deal when it comes to knowing the game, as we see him continuously rewatch the most famous highlight in Jordan's NCAA career, but through an entirely different lens than everyone else. While Knight got Sonny this job and clearly respects the hustle, he still has a board to answer to, so the latter has to make things happen on his own. If shaking up the status quo and challenging the entire system is what it takes then that's what he'll do. 

Standing out as a likable straight shooter in a sports business full of used car salesmen, it's easy to see why Michael's dad, James (Julius Tennon) immediately takes to him and even the far more skeptical, business-minded Deloris respects his straightforwardness. Sonny's face-to-face with her at the Jordan home is one of the film's best scenes, as he cleverly exposes the competing companies' weaknesses before Deloris eventually finds out just how right he is. It's probably the closest this comes to being any kind of cynical capitalistic critique, which is fine since such an approach would seem wildly inconsistent with what Affleck's trying to accomplish.

If the first few minutes weren't clue enough, the 80's nostalgia rarely lets up, from the clothes to office decor and barrage of period specific needle drops on the soundtrack. There's even a washed-out, VHS look to Robert Richardson's cinematography. But Affleck gets away with it since there's something unabashedly sincere about his intentions, aside from also benefiting from a story that's never been explored to this extent in a dramatic feature.

Damon plays Sonny as disheveled and defeated, until inspiration strikes and he hits the ground running. He knows Jordan is a generational talent who needs to stand out rather than be the third wheel with Magic and Bird at Converse. He has to be the whole brand and treated as such for this to work and many of Damon's strongest moments involve him trying to sell his bosses on exactly that.

Affleck's performance as Knight is something else, almost as if every sad sack internet meme of the actor looking stressed, conflicted and frustrated was suddenly transposed to the screen. Not knowing much about the real Knight beyond him being an eccentric guy, it's hard to tell how much of the portrayal was intended to be comical, but it's a hoot anyway. 

A mullet-haired Jason Bateman steals the movie out from under everyone, as his perpetually irritated Rob Strasser grounds the insanity, reining in some of Sonny's less desirable instincts. He initially comes off as a slick, sarcastic company yes man before Bateman gradually peels back the layers to remind Sonny that while taking risks can pay off, the negative consequences of bigger, less calculated ones don't just fall on him. 

Everything comes to a head in their pitch to the Jordans when Nike sneaker designer Peter Moore's (Matthew Maher) "Air Jordan" masterpiece is revealed. Credited as being played by actor Damian Young, there's a deliberate attempt not to show Michael, other than briefly from the side or behind. Stepping into this iconic role would be daunting for anyone, but you have to wonder whether this decision unintentionally causes the distraction Affleck was looking to avoid. But since the picture isn't technically "about" Jordan he gets a pass and you just roll with it.

Supposedly, Jordan himself suggested Viola Davis play his mom and was that ever the right call. Falk might be his agent, but it's clear from the get-go who really is. Tough but fair, she doesn't suffer fools, remaining acutely aware of her son's worth. What she asks for is unprecedented, but not unreasonable, at least knowing what we do now. The final meeting is full of ups and downs until Sonny digs deep to deliver an unforgettably emotional speech that both predicts and understands Jordan's place in the cultural landscape.      

Lifted by its tremendous cast, you could imagine a few of Air's performances being remembered come awards time, regardless of when or where this was released. It's a rousing, well-made sports drama about recognizing someone's value and fighting for it, especially when no one wants to listen. You could argue all day about how Nike's deal permanently moved the industry goalposts, but there's no questioning the undisputed impact of the player who got it.    

Ozark (Season 4: Part Two)

Creators: Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams
Starring: Jason Bateman, Laura Linney, Sofia Hublitz, Skylar Gaertner, Julia Garner, Jordana Spiro, Felix Solis, Jessica Frances Dukes, Damian Young, Alfonso Herrera, Adam Rothenberg, Verónica Falcón, Katrina Lenk, Charlie Tahan, Tom Pelphrey, Bruno Bichir, Bruce Davison, Richard Thomas, Joseph Sikora, Kevin L. Johnson, Jane McNeill, Brad Carter
Original Airdate: 2022

**The following review contains major spoilers from the fourth season of 'Ozark'**

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

For all the justified criticisms that can be made lately of Netflix, Ozark has remained one of their true creative bright spots since its 2017 premiere. And with each subsequent year it continuously silenced skeptics who initially dismissed the series about a a family relocating to the Missouri Ozarks to launder money for a Mexican drug cartel as a Breaking Bad knock-off. Since then, the writing, performances and direction have revealed it to be more than anyone could have reasonably expected and the streamer made the right call in deciding this season would be its last, quelling fears this would overstay its welcome. 

Even if splitting the remaining 14 episodes into two halves was a questionable call that's increasingly become commonplace, this is exactly the kind of series that needs a specific end date. Stretching it over five or six seasons could inevitably lead to diminishing returns considering there are only so many fires Marty and Wendy Byrde can believably put out or catastrophes they can manipulate their way out of. And there seems to be a never ending amount of them in this last act, hinting perhaps it really was time, even with a finale heavily implying these characters could still have more story left.

These final episodes do bring it, culminating in a supposedly controversial ending that actually makes perfect sense when you check emotions at the door and examine the show's overall arc. This was always where we were headed, and viewers who didn't think the series would go there might need to give it a second look. It's reasonable to hem and haw about certain plot points, but "they killed my favorite character" just doesn't hold as valid criticism unless that death undermines what the show's building toward. If TV finales have taught us anything, it's that most are never going to be happy, and fans whose overall satisfaction hinged on the survival of Ruth Langmore were always setting themselves up for disappointment.

Showrunners need the creative freedom to off a major character so long as it facilitates the story being told and this is clearly one of those cases. If anything, it's a credit to Julia Garner's incredible series-long performance that everyone's up in arms, but Ruth signed her own death warrant at the start of the season. There was no chance she wouldn't try to extract revenge on behalf of her family and display the inner strength we've grown to respect most about her. We also knew the odds were extremely high she'd eventually have to face the consequences. Going ahead with it, she exits on her terms as the badass she's always been. 

After murdering Darlene (Lisa Emery) and Wyatt (Charlie Tahan) due to her continuing their heroine business, the ruthless Javi Elizondro (Alfonso Herrera) has now taken control of the cartel from his imprisoned uncle Omar Navarro (Felix Solis) and getting in on Marty (Jason Batman) and Wendy's (Laura Linney) FBI deal. Their reluctant donor, Chicago-based pharmaceutical CEO Clare Shaw (Katrina Lenk) is caught in the middle, as a raging Ruth (Garner) plots to take out Javi for killing cousin Wyatt, potentially blowing up everyone's plans and sending the Byrdes scrambling to salvage the deal meant to free them for good. To do it they'll need to contend with Javi's mother and Omar's sister, Camila (Verónica Falcón) and work to get her dangerous, unpredictable brother off the SDN List and extradited to Mexico to resume control of the cartel. 

The return of Wendy's father, Nathan (Richard Thomas), along with private investigator Mel Sattem (Adam Rothenberg) has turned attention from cartel attorney Helen Pearce's (Janet McTeer) disappearance to that of Wendy's brother, Ben (Tom Pelphrey) and the Byrdes' likely involvement in both. Still damaged from an abusive childhood at the hands of her estranged father, Wendy attempts to prevent him from growing closer with grandkids Jonah (Skylar Gaetner) and Charlotte (Sofia Hublitz), while she and Marty struggle to make their clean break from the cartel with the deck stacked against them. With Wendy's ambitions still growing, some serious political strings must be pulled to keep this family together and alive.

When Marty and Wendy first arrived in the Ozarks their marriage was essentially in shambles so it's the cruelest of ironies that this criminal enterprise is what ultimately saves the relationship, despite the unimaginable suffering it's caused everyone else. Of course, the biggest victims have been their own kids and Ruth, whose up and down relationship with the Byrdes was always going to be rigged against her. That's largely been due to their wealth and social standing, but also has as much to do with the FBI connection and cartel ties, slippery as both have been for them over the past four seasons. 

Ruth knows Marty and Wendy have often needed her to stay alive, and by making shrewd power plays that utilized her street smarts and fearlessness, she's frequently come out on top. But killing Javi changes all that because it's an emotional act of vengeance that can't be undone, no matter how justified it felt. Her and Wyatt going into business with Darlene may have been their biggest mistake, but dragging a willing Jonah into it was another one, even if you need a scorecard to keep track of all the betrayals in this series. To call Ruth's hotheadedness a flaw is almost unfair given her hopeless upbringing, but the possibility that she's finally overcome it to start a new life makes her eventual end all the more tragic. 

Despite animosity between them reaching a fever pitch, the Byrdes do have a begrudging respect for Ruth, knowing full well what's she's capable of when motivated. Or at least Wendy does, even as the dynamic between Ruth and Marty remains one of the series' most compelling, with both demonstrating a kind of twisted loyalty to the other borne out of necessity. But much like everything with the Byrdes, it's all about them, with Ruth used as only the means to their end. Once she outstays her usefulness or becomes a liability, all bets are off, and that's a cycle we've seen repeat itself over the course of the series.

The hope that Ruth may have finally gotten the drop on Marty and Wendy with her plan to gain control of the Missouri Belle casino with a returning Rachel (Jordana Spiro), makes the result sting even worse. And that they pull it off adds only another layer of devastation on top of Ruth doing the right thing by getting her record cleaned and going straight. Overcoming nearly every urge we've known her to have, she acts with a foresight and practicality we've haven't seen up to this point. It's just unfortunate that it comes too late, with one last receipt that needs paying back. 

 

Brilliantly played by Laura Linney, Wendy continues to double and triple down on unnecessary risks the more dangerous their situation gets, with Marty not only going along with whatever she wants, but now outright admitting as much. Basically his wife's puppet, he weakly attempts to convince her that the FBI's offer of a new life under witness protection is the best, safest option for them to get out unscathed. But Wendy was always more interested in becoming a political kingmaker, dragging personal attorney Jim Rattelsdorf (Damian Young) back into the fold to help her make this Navarro deal happen. 

Marty's sole moment of perceived power is short-lived, temporarily going to down to Mexico to take control for the injured, imprisoned Omar. Heisenberg he isn't, but the act's good enough to keep them in the game, even as it comes as a pathetically desperate attempt to again placate his wife. His memorable road rage breakdown, along with that key scene opposite daughter Charlotte in which he cries over Wendy's endless manipulations feels like the culmination of Bateman's terrific work throughout. Faced with all his faults, Marty has an image of himself wanting to do what's right, but he's unable to ever follow through, settling instead on defending the most immoral of actions. And yet Bateman's so earnest in the role that he becomes a character the actor won't allow you to completely despise, leaving us hoping for a redemption that won't come. 

The Byrdes are faced with a pivotal choice, as the challenges of getting Omar Navarro out of prison are weighed against aligning with his sister, Camila, who's secretly plotting to take him out. But the most psychologically rattling disturbance for Wendy is her own father, Nathan, who with hired P.I. Mel comes dangerously close to discovering their involvement in Ben's death. Nathan and Wendy's toxic father-daughter relationship almost totally reframes the latter's behavior over the course of the series, providing less an excuse than a full explanation. Wendy's past was no picnic and it turns out she shares far more in common with Ruth than suspected, at least as far as nightmarish childhoods go. 

Richard Thomas' performance as Nathan sneaks up on you, coming off at first as this laid back God-fearing Christian who's turned his life around, until gradually revealing his true deficiencies. Because Linney's made it so easy for viewers to resent Wendy, the possibility of anyone usurping her as the family's worst has escaped us. 

Nathan's arrival explains a lot about Wendy, as does his interest in taking Charlotte and Jonah away from their parents reveal all too much about him. For a while it looks like his plan will work, especially considering Wendy and Marty's diminishing ability to keep their kids safe. Wendy may be a monster, but now it's clearer why, and it's all too fitting that a blackmailed Ruth comes to the Byrdes' rescue again, reuniting them with their kids once and for all.

A plausible scenario wherein Ruth survives would have needed to be set in motion at least a season earlier, but that risks complicating the remaining plot even more than it already is, all for the sake of sending everyone home happy. The Byrdes 'car crash fast-forward at the start of Season 4 was a big teaser, but it functions less as a turning point in the plot than as a foreshadowing of the family's growing sense of invincibility. That they all walked away from the accident without so much as a few scratches only bolsters Wendy's confidence that they're untouchable. Sadly, she ends up being right. 

Ruth takes the bullet from Camila and goes out defiantly, expressing no regrets for killing Javi, while again remaining loyal to the Byrdes by not ratting them out. It's a devotion that's never been reciprocated, especially when a terrified Clare Shaw ends up being the one who gives her up after being threatened by Camila. As the weakest, least built for crime character in the series, it's appropriate that the buttoned-up CEO would crack. She never really signed up for this, much like so many others the Byrdes burned while building their empire. 

The only lingering loose end standing in the way of Wendy and Marty's freedom is P.I. Mel Sattem, who made his choice to take the bribe and soon regretted it. By pulling their usual strings, the Byrdes silenced him with a reinstatement to active police duty in Chicago, but his conscience grabbed hold. Stopping people like them is what Mel lives for and now literally holding the cookie jar capable of putting them behind bars for Ben's murder, he becomes the last piece of business they need to take care of. He makes it easy for them by hanging around to gloat, something we believe the tormented Mel just couldn't resist doing.

This isn't an ambiguous, open-ended conclusion comparable to The Sopranos finale. The screen fades to black and we hear the gunshot, but we don't need to see it to know that Jonah takes out Mel, as there are simply no other alternatives. The shy, quiet kid who could barely hold a gun in the first season has now delivered the final fatal blow to close the series' circle. Traumatized, but now indoctrinated into a life of crime with sister Charlotte, Jonah's gone through too much for his parents to pay now. And like them, he must be thinking that at this point, what's one more? After this, the Byrdes get a reset in Chicago running their foundation, finally freed from cartel shackles. They win. 

We've been painfully prepared for the possibility that the Byrdes could escape with little to no repercussions for their heinous actions. Whether they'd all get out alive and manage to avoid prison was the question this entire show was built on, and while it could have gone a number of ways, it went this one. And with that, Ozark provides a harsh reminder that a finale's job isn't to give fans what they think they want, but a closing chapter the story and its characters need. A reformed Ruth riding into the sunset to bask in her newfound wealth as Marty and Wendy face karmic retribution may have given us a fleeting high, but it would also ring false, going against what the writers have already long established this series actually is.  

Ozark: Season 4 (Part One)

Creators: Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams
Starring: Jason Bateman, Laura Linney, Sofia Hublitz, Julia Garner, Lisa Emery, Charlie Tahan, Felix Solis, Damian Young, Alfonso Herrera, Adam Rothenberg, John Bedford Lloyd, Joseph Sikora, Katrina Lenk, Bruce Davison, Richard Thomas
Original Airdate: 2022

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

After delivering its biggest shocker and best season last year, anticipation has built as to whether Ozark's final one could not only follow it, but capitalize on that momentum to finish strong. Broken into two parts, the first seven episodes of season 4 is all about complications, setting the table for sure the Byrde family, who are sinking even deeper into the control of the Navarro drug cartel. 

With Marty (Jason Bateman) and Wendy (Laura Linney) destroying everyone and everything around them just to stay afloat, whatever moral ambiguity existed when the series began has long passed, as are their promises to "get out" and start fresh. Too much blood has been shed and innocent lives lost to argue otherwise, even as they continue to. And while they might resent being used as puppets by the cartel and are justifiably terrified, the lore of money and public respectability proves too alluring for the insecure Marty and completely corrupted Wendy, whose insatiable appetite for power has believably transformed her into the show's Lady Macbeth. 

With the Missouri Belle casino now thriving and the possibility of them starting their own foundation, Wendy's flexing her political muscles, taking full advantage of opportunities not possible in Chicago before Marty made his pact with the devil. After watching Omar Navarro (Felix Solis) have cartel attorney Helen Pierce (Janet McTeer) shot and killed right in front of them, the fallout's immense, with him seemingly now entrusting the Byrdes as his right-hand couple. 

It's iffy how much longer Marty can keep playing both sides of the fence while Wendy still reconciles ordering the murder of her bipolar brother Ben (Tom Pelphrey), now considered a "missing person." What does Navarro want? Surprisingly, to get out, using Marty's FBI connection and Wendy's respectable reputation to cut a deal and make a clean break. But Navarro's volatile, hot-headed nephew Javi Elizondro (Alfonso Herrera) has other plans, angling to take over the cartel from his uncle and is more than willing to kill them both if need be.  

The big hook heading into the end game is a flashforward car crash that raises even more questions as to whether to Byrdes will ever truly be able to escape, with or without FBI assistance. Marty and Wendy have made their bed and all the scrambling and double talking he does or power plays she makes may not be enough. Their elevation into the cartel's inner circle following  is both good and bad in the sense that if Navarro does intend to go straight and Marty can get a deal done with FBI agent Maya Miller (Jessica Frances Dukes), freedom is in sight. But if any of it goes sideways, literal hell will rain down.

The biggest obstacle is Javi, whose trigger short temper and insistence in having his hands in everything threatens the Byrdes' very existence. Whether it's his sloppy methods of covering up Helen's "disappearance," nearly sabotaging Wendy's deal with a Chicago-based pharmaceutical company CEO (Katrina Lenk) or poisoning Marty's arrangement with Agent Miller, he's this series' answer to Better Call Saul's Lalo Salamanca, only lacking the intelligence. Smoothly played by Herrera, Javi does have some of that character's charisma, making it that much more terrifying when he doesn't get his way. Guided entirely by money and greed, with no forethought or planning whatsoever, his unpredictability establishes him as the season's most dangerous character. 

Completely defiant of this threat is the monstrous Darlene Snell (Lisa Emery) who with boyfriend Wyatt (Charlie Tahan) continues to grow her heroin business, which she cut the K.C. mob in on last season as make good for blowing off Frank Jr.'s (Joseph Sikora) genitals with a shotgun. Darlene powers on despite Marty's dire warnings of Navarro cartel retaliation, having recruited a still enraged Ruth (Julia Garner) to join her cousin Wyatt in moving the product. 

Jumping at whatever opportunity still exists to screw over the Byrdes for their role in boyfriend Ben's death, Ruth's tenuous arrangement with Darlene is destined for failure, if not far worse. Just the thought of these two toxic personalities attempting to co-exist without killing each other provides the exact brand of tension the series thrives on. Emery again impresses as the slimy, manipulative Darlene, but she's met her match in the cunning Ruth, who unsurprisingly wants to run this entire thing, even purchasing a sleazy motel as a front to do it.

If Ruth's still devastated by what happened to boyfriend Ben, Marty and Wendy's previously meek and mild mannered teen son Jonah's (Skyler Gaetner) pain far transcends it, made far worse by his mother's expectations that he simply forget that she killed his uncle and fall back in line. His decision to go against his parents and start laundering money for Ruth and Darlene feels less like a betrayal than justice to him, despite the increased danger he's put his family in. Out for vengeance in a way older sister Charlotte (Sophia Hublitz) never was when she had her own teen rebellion phase earlier in the show's run, he's all done covering for them.

We saw glimpses of this new Jonah last season when he threatened Helen, but Ben's death pushed him off the deep end, hardly giving a care whether anyone discovers his parents' misdeeds. This includes private investigator Mel Sattem (Adam Rothenberg), a disgraced former cop who's arrived in the Ozarks to look into Helen's disappearance and knows something's up. Wendy's excuses and desire to maintain the upper hand only pushes Jonah further away, with Marty flailing in his attempts to play referee. 

As an occasional voice of reason, Jonah now sees his parents as viewers do, knowing that no matter how much Marty and Wendy talk about wanting out, it's hollow. Ironically enough, a now more complicit, Wendy-like Charlotte has drawn the line, insisting he ride this out without putting them in worse jeopardy. But to Jonah, his sister's just the latest victim of Byrde Stockholm Syndrome, despite the fact that his illegal money laundering  makes him more like Marty than he'd ever care to admit. Just because it's for the other side doesn't make it right.

If it wasn't clear before, there are few situations Marty isn't capable of dancing around or talking his way out of, kicking these skills into overdrive when faced with the challenge of cutting a deal for Navarro with Javi breathing down his neck. With a relaxed, deadpan delivery and demeanor, Bateman remains the beating heart of the show and straight man to all the chaos erupting around him, maneuvering his way out of the dark corners the writers frequently paint the character into.

Linney's again terrifying as Wendy, who becomes more drunk on power with each new move she makes, strategically planning her next play while stepping over whomever or whatever it takes to get there. Now utilizing trusted ally Jim Rattelsdorf (Damian Young) as her personal attorney to facilitate this political ascent, the Byrdes still can't get out unless Navarro does, as complicated as that's become due to Javi's interference. 

You know it's bleak when even the supposed "good guys" who could actually help the Byrdes navigate their way out of this mess are severely compromised. Agent Miller is taken advantage of by Marty when Navarro won't play ball and the FBI have their own agenda, which doesn't include giving a free ride to a cartel kingpin. All this while Javi plots his takeover, increasingly viewing Marty and Wendy as liabilities rather than assets.    

One of the show's most explosive moments comes in the Robin Wright-directed mid-season finale (Sanctified"), when Emmy-award winning Julia Garner proves not only how masterfully she inhabits Ruth, but what a great screamer she is, practically summoning up everything available in her soul to convey an unimaginable inner pain in a wildly emotional final scene. It's an inevitable accumulation of poor decisions made by these characters and the likely headline when anyone talks about the first half of this season. 

Simultaneously needing her former employer Marty's resources while still harboring a bitter grudge for everything the Byrdes have done to her family, tragedy strikes and Ruth snaps, setting the stage for what could be Marty and Wendy's last stand. Suddenly, the probability of them crawling out from under the cartel's thumb with their lives couldn't look bleaker. And as these episodes prove, nothing is off the table in terms of who can or can't survive heading into the home stretch.

While the decision to split its final season supposedly resulted from a compromise between Netflix and showrunner Chris Mundy, we'll have to hope this isn't another case of viewers having to wait an inordinate amount of time for what's left. This streaming model of fewer episodes and tighter, shorter seasons have unquestionably led to higher quality storytelling, if you're willing to sacrifice some of the instant gratification. But given all the intriguing events that unfolded to set it up, Ozark's final half can't possibly arrive soon enough.  

Ozark (Season 3)

Creators: Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams
Starring: Jason Bateman, Laura Linney, Sofia Hublitz, Skylar Gaetner, Julia Garner, Charlie Tahan, Lisa Emery, Janet McTeer, Felix Solis
Original Airdate: 2020

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)


When the first season of Netflix's crime drama Ozark premiered in 2017 to strong reviews and even stronger viewership, few could have guessed it would eventually emerge as the streaming network's most reliable and tightly written series. Much like Breaking Bad, to which its been endlessly compared, it's the rare show that's gotten better as it's steamrolled along, culminating now in a third season that's easily its best. But in hindsight, maybe we should have known. It was always great, moving at a breakneck pace while still managing slowly develop its characters and dropping narrative bread crumbs that result in major, but logical payoffs. The show knows what it is and makes sense, with performances heightening the suspense and impact of an already exhilarating story.

All of those Breaking Bad comparisons seemed lazy at first, based solely on the series' premise of a regular guy and his family being dragged into the drug business. But now that reference seems truly earned, based not on the show's plotline, but its escalating quality. Season 3 is simply a thrill ride and as good as ten episodes of a drama you're likely to see, putting its central characters married characters at war with not only the dangerous outside forces controlling their lives, but each other. In way over their heads, but with wildly different ideas about how to manage, the crisis has become a mirror reflection of their contrasting personalities and histories, ripping their relationship apart in the process.

Fluctuating between clumsy incompetence and Machiavellian genius, The Byrdes have sucked so many people into their vortex, things were bound to blow up. And yet, the show remains at its core about the quest to keep their family safe, even as their actions seem to result in the exact opposite. When launching this new business, everything becomes about facades and keeping up appearances,
 but the arrival of an exciting new character throws a wrench in the power dynamic, providing the ten episodes with almost unbearable levels of tension. It's also one of the best acting performances of the year, as this previously unknown actor takes us to hell and back with one of the saddest and scariest recent on screen depictions of mental illness in any medium. You may as well just hand him the Emmy right now.

After opening and managing the new Missouri Belle casino as a means of laundering money for the Navarro Mexican drug cartel, Marty (Jason Bateman) and Wendy (Laura Linney) Byrde find themselves at a crossroads, with him wanting the family out of this terrible situation that followed him from Chicago, and her doubling down, more determined than ever to make this business work. Suddenly she's in the driver's seat, getting another taste of the power and ambition she once had early in her political career, impressing icy cartel lawyer Helen Pierce (Janet McTeer) and her boss, the terrifying Omar Navarro (Felix Solis), to whom Wendy now has a direct line.

While fighting over how best to keep their teen kids Charlotte (Sofia Hublitz) and Jonah (Skylar Gaetner) safe now that they know everything, the Byrdes have entrusted the fiery, foul-mouthed Ruth Langmore (Julia Garner) to manage the casino's day-to-day operations. But her frequent clashes with Kansas City mob boss Frank Cosgrove's (John Bedford Lloyd) son, Frank Jr. (Joseph Sikora), as well as her lingering resentment toward the Byrdes over her father's murder, make her a potential liability.

Still lurking in the wings is local drug runner Darlene Snell (Lisa Emery), who not only owns a piece of the casino, but still has custody of Baby Zeke, and intends on making the Byrdes pay for destroying her town. While she's now corrupted Ruth's estranged cousin Wyatt (Charlie Tahan) into helping her, Wendy's black sheep brother, Ben Davis (Tom Pelphrey), comes to town looking for a place to crash, revealing himself as a ticking time bomb unintentionally playing fast and loose their lives. As Marty entertains a new offer from the FBI and Wendy grows closer with the ever-present Helen, it looks like it'll take more than a few hours with their new marriage therapist to solve the Byrde's many problems.

Rarely do you see as many complications stack up over the course of a full season while having them still all pay off this thrillingly by the end. Co-creators Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams just keep piling it on, with everything always circling around the Byrdes, as lawyer Helen has now increased her stranglehold over the couple, now actually buying a house in the area and dragging along her rebellious teen daughter, Erin (Madison Thompson), with whom she has a fractured relationship.

We're given a lot more insight into the cold, calculating Helen's personal life, as Janet McTeer brings some more fascinating shades to Helen, strategically offering glimpses into what could almost be described as genuine human emotion from as the high-waisted pantsuit wearing operative. Of course, she and the writers are so smart in how they subtly walk up to that edge, before pulling back to remind us that whatever no matter what's happening with her ex-husband or daughter, she's all business and won't hesitate disposing of anyone if necessary.

Helen and Navarro are starting to see the floundering, stressed-out Marty as expendable, especially since he's doing everything he can to sabatoge Wendy's planned casino expansion, even wiretapping her. He just wants out, and it's hard to blame him, as he's being pulled in every direction from Helen, Navarro, the KC mob, Ruth, the FBI, his own power-hungry wife, and even at one humorous point, REO Speedwagon. It would be nice to just pack up and leave as he planned at the end of last season, but it's clear that's no longer a possibility, and for the first time since the pilot, Marty faces immenent physical harm, if not possible death at the hands of a displeased and highly volatile Navarro. Bateman is so good at playing Marty when he's lying, completely straight-faced in his deception and denials, all for the sake of keeping him and his family alive long enough to come up with a new plan. The actor does some of his best work of the series thus far, as a hopeless Marty suffers locked up in solitude in Navarro's Mexican prison, with childhood memories of playing arcade games the only thing keeping him going.

Marty from emerges from his torture test transformed, adopting a new philosophy while Wendy further crystalizes her role as the mover and shaker. Her reasoning that she's digging her heels deeper into the cartel to protect this family have been wearing thin since emerging as the Heisenberg of the series, clearly getting legitimate thrills from being in the power position as Helen and Navarro's chosen one.

The drama has trickled down to the rest of the family as Charlotte and Jonah seem more aware than ever of their parents dangerous dealings, with the former now working for her mom and the latter withdrawing further into himself after reeling from losing his only friend, Buddy, last season. But all their lives are about to be seriously shaken up by the arrival of the most pivotal character, Wendy's estranged younger brother Ben, whom we initially meet in a sensational school-set scene. And even without a clue as to his identity at the time, we can tell he'll be making a huge impact. 

Ben re-enters his older sister's life carrying a considerable amount of baggage, but it's only a matter of time before he's clued in to what's going on. The more he knows, the more he'll want to be involved. And that means trouble. But what's so masterful about Tom Pelphrey's electrifying performance is its sincerity, imbuing Ben with such an honest, moral compass that he almost comes across as childlike in his innocence, wondering why people just can't do what they say and say what they mean. Hyper-sensitive and just to a fault, he's just not built for a world filled with toxic criminality.

While the root of Ben's issues stem from a bi-polar disorder he's battled his whole life and his behavior becomes increasingly monstruous off his meds, there's hardly a moment where we doubt his intentions aren't pure or that he's right. He only wants to protect this family without realizing the best form of that he can provide is to either leave town asap or get back on his meds. And the more erratic and dangerous he is off them, the tougher everything becomes for Wendy, having to choose between his safety and that of her kids and husband. And that's a battle Ben could never win. So he has to be handled instead. The suspense in the final three episodes of the season the tension reaches a boiling point largely because his problems can really only be resolved one way if he continues down this road. And time's running out for all of them.

Despite Wendy's warnings to her, Ruth's relationship with Ben grows, with her emerging as the only person who seems to believe in him, to both their detriments. The decision Wendy feels she's forced to make regarding her mentally disinegrating brother is heartbreaking, with the scenes Linney shares Pelphrey in the penultimate episode representing a series-high on every conceivable level. Even as she senses an increasingly infantile Ben has gone completely off the deep end, there's this apologetic sadness in Pelphrey's eyes and voice that reflect an awareness of what he's done and how badly he's screwed up, all while remaining powerless to stop it. It's really some performance, especially considering he wasn't even a series mainstay until this season.

It all eventually comes down to loyalty. On shaky ground with their slip-ups, the only thing Wendy and Marty seem to agree on is that they need to make a big move to survive. The whole season sets up this power struggle with Helen over Navarro's allegiance that culminates in a truly shocking final moment, and one that  lays the table for a new beginning. The Byrdes may have temporarily gotten what they need, but as usual, the cost hardly seems worth the sacrifice, especially when it's difficult imagining a future where they're ever free from the shackles of the cartel.  For the time being, they've made their bed and have to lay in it, as the show teases the frightening possibility that the worst is yet to come. 

Ozark (Season 1)

Creators: Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams
Starring: Jason Bateman, Laura Linney, Sofia Hublitz, Skylar Gaertner, Julia Garner, Jordana Spiro, Jason Butler Harner, Esai Morales, Peter Mullan, Lisa Emery, Josh Randall, Harris Yulin, Marc Menchaca, Michael Mosley
Original Airdate: 2017

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

"Breaking Bad with Jason Bateman." That's the one-line description you've probably read in every article and review detailing the first season of Netflix's crime drama, Ozark. And I get it, at least on the surface. A seemingly normal middle-aged man gets sucked into the drug dealing business so he can provide for his family. While all the similarities pretty much begin and end there, if you were to describe and convey the concept behind the series as concisely as possible, it's tough to argue those five words don't do that. It does provide a snapshot that makes it easier to determine whether you're the type of viewer likely to give it a watch. But it's still different enough in both tone and execution that you can easily imagine someone who's neither a fan of Breaking Bad or Bateman still enjoying it. Even if "enjoy" probably isn't the best descriptor given its darkly grim, existential tone.

Netflix's Ozark

Ozark packs a lot of story and characters into a single season and is far messier faster-paced than Breaking Bad, but it all comes together, sprinting to the finish line with a thrilling, if somewhat shocking, conclusion that nicely tops off the season while leaving plenty of runway to keep going. Mostly about a flawed man thrust into extraordinary criminal circumstances from which there's seemingly no escape for him or his family, it's not only the best dramatic showcase yet for actor/producer Bateman (who also directed four episodes), but for a setting that's as much a character as anyone in the narrative. If we are still truly in the era of the "anti-hero," then this is a more than serviceable addition, proving that familiar trope is far from wearing out its welcome.

Bateman plays Chicago-based financial advisor Marty Byrde, who's fallen into a dangerous money laundering scheme with his old college roommate and partner at the firm, fast-talking deal-closer Bruce Liddell (Josh Randall).  When their client, Del (a scary Esai Morales), an enforcer for a top Mexican drug cartel, suspects them of skimming cash and kills Bruce, Marty's forced to relocate to the Missouri Ozarks with his cheating wife Wendy (Laura Linney), 15-year-old daughter Charlotte (Sofia Hublitz), and 13-year-old son Jonah (Skylar Gaertner).

Under the guise of providing financial support to struggling local businesses, Marty must pay off the debt to Del and continue laundering the cartel's cash if he and his family are to survive. But he also must contend with Ruth Langmore (Julia Garner) a local 19-year-old burgeoning criminal looking to secure some of Marty's laundered dough for her trailer park family. As well as Jacob and Darlene Snell (Peter Mullan and Lisa Emery), husband and wife crime lords agitated by him infringing on their territory. Watching it all is undercover FBI agent Roy Petty (Jason Butler Harner), who's infiltrated the Langmore clan determined to find out what brought Marty Byrde and family to the Ozarks from Chicago after his partner turned up dead. And he suspects the worst.

Jason Bateman as Marty Byrde

The series benefits from having a protagonist we're not exactly sure how to read at first. Upon initially meeting Marty, he appears to be an intelligent, capable financial advisor and family man. And strangely, that perception of him doesn't really waver throughout despite some unimaginably poor and downright dangerous choices that land him in his eventual predicament. It speaks volumes about this guy that within the pilot episode's ("Sugarwood") opening minutes, he appears to be watching porn while meeting with a client, until Bruce slides in and effortlessly closes the deal.

As a "numbers guy" we're led to believe Marty's a poor salesman, and maybe he is, but he'll pull off the ultimate sell job later when his back's against the wall and his life's threatened. And boy does he deliver in that moment. We'll also find out pretty early that the adult entertainment he's pulls up on his laptop isn't for his own satisfaction, but rather footage of his wife Wendy's affair provided to him by a private investigator.

All this merely sets the table, providing the context for a man isn't quite comparable to Walter White. He's doesn't need the respect and adulation of his peers or deem himself a failure, mostly because he isn't. Nor does he get into business with the cartel for the adrenaline thrill. There's no forthcoming "I did it for me" speech in the show's final season, whenever that may come.

Del (Esai Morales) takes aim

Marty made a deal with the devil. Plain and simple. He got into to business with Del because he wanted to make more money to better provide for his family, and in doing so stupidly put them all at risk. And the big difference here is that you believe everything Marty says because he's played by Bateman. We want to take him at face value that he knew nothing of the cash the firm was skimming off Del. That he couldn't be that dumb or careless. And yet Bateman gives him a used car salesman sliminess that hints it's very possible.

These two Martys are on full display early when Del's wrath comes down, disposing of Bruce and leaving the trembling accountant to beg for his life. And in the best acted scene of Bateman's entire career, he spins this surprisingly sound business proposal based entirely off an Ozarks travel brochure that falls out of his pocket.

A more deliberate thinker rather than a fast one, Marty's pitch to Del to spare his life with a gun pointed at his head is a great one borne on the spot from sheer desperation. The entire range of emotions that a defeated, exasperated Bateman takes Marty and the viewer through as he plays his only hand left is nothing short of gripping. We believe such a speech would dig him out, which is just about the highest compliment that can be given to the performance and screenwriters Bill Dubuque and Mark Williams. And that's only the beginning.

The Byrdes discuss their options

Marty's ability to compartmentalize everything in his life comes in handy when he needs to pack up his Chicago-based family and relocate to the Ozarks at literally a moment's notice to make good on his debt to Del. He takes a logical, almost workmanlike approach to uprooting his entire life and existence, as his wife Wendy becoming more financial partner than spouse. It's an arrangement both seem strangely comfortable with, each vaguely masking their mutual contempt for the sake of protecting their family. But they even clash over this, butting heads over how much the kids should be allowed to know about what's happening.

Given her most complex role in years, Linney tackles Wendy with a stubbornness and rigid determination that only increases the deeper she's sinks into Marty's crisis, flipping houses as a realtor and taking advantage of the locals to further facilitate his money laundering. If there are any true victims here, it's the kids, with neither asking for or deserving any of this, as both Charlotte and Jonah's lives are interrupted at particularly crucial stages.

For the angst-ridden Charlotte, whose entire teen life revolves around her friends and phone, the Ozark move represents a social death of sorts, trapping her in a "redneck" environment that couldn't seem further from her relatively privileged existence in Chicago. Since Jonah's younger and still struggling to find an identity, this move causes some of his more eccentric and disturbing tendencies (such as his fascination with dead animals) to surface in uncomfortable ways. also begins to forge a friendship with terminally ill, cranky curmudgeon Buddy Dyker (Harris Yulin), the house's previous owner and current tenant

Greetings from the Missouri Ozarks

Lesser writing would have depicted Charlotte and Jonah as merely spoiled brats, and while Hublitz and Gaertner's introspective, realistic performances go a long way in preventing that, it's also hard not to recognize the toll their parents' choices  have taken on them. Unfortunately, any time either rebels, no matter how justified, it only draws unwanted attention, placing the whole family squarely in Del's cross hairs.

If you're really running with the Breaking Bad comparisons, then Julia Garner's 19-year-old Ruth Langmore would be the Jesse Pinkman to Marty's Walter White. What starts off as the most adversarial of relationships with Ruth stealing Marty's (or rather Del's) money evolves into an unlikely, tenuous business partnership as he provides her opportunities she never knew existed, regardless of his motivations or even hers. Having to fight and claw her way through a rotten life because of incarcerated father Cade (Trevor Long), she's essentially had to babysit two know-nothing uncles, Russ (Marc Menchaca) and Boyd (Christopher James Baker). All while acting as responsible big sister to younger cousins, Wyatt (Charlie Tahan) and Three (Carson Holmes). The prospect of all this cash represents her only break.

Initially a union built on blackmail and manipulation, it soon becomes clear to both Ruth and Marty they can use one other to reach their desired goals. For the former, it's an influx of funds to rescue her from a dead-end life, while latter senses in his new "employee" a gritty shrewdness that can help him more effectively filter this cash. What's in the way is Ruth's entire family, who simply don't have the intelligence or restraint to be included in any of this.

Marty faces off with Ruth (Julia Garner)

Ruth's turning point comes when she must make the soul-crushing choice between blood relatives and a father figure she never knew she needed in Marty. All this with the sociopathic hand of her real father still strategically trying to control her every move from behind bars. The character's internal complications call on Garner to do a lot in the role and it's impressive just how believably she's able to subtly, and sometimes even not so subtly, convey that struggle depending upon the story's frequently surprising developments.   

Moving at a breakneck pace, the series' biggest joys come in watching Bateman's Marty plot, squirm and scheme on the fly as his options get smaller. And as dark as that sometimes seems, there's also a lot of humor in seeing him attempt to ingratiate himself into this community full of colorful supporting characters, many of whom he's manipulating to launder Del's cash.

In buying a strip club out from under local thug Bobby Dean (Adam Boyer) and financially supporting Rachel Garrison's (Jordana Spiro) Blue Cat Lodge hotel and restaurant, Marty unintentionally rattles the cage of the diabolical Snell family, who have the Ozark market cornered on money laundering, successfully running a heroin distribution ring through an idealistic local riverboat pastor, Mason Young (Michael Mosley). True to form, Marty somehow finds a way to step right in the middle of it.

Jacob Snell (Peter Mullan) stares Marty down

Viewers can both cringe and delight uncomfortably in seeing our exasperated protagonist escape violent, potentially fatal scenarios on his wit alone. And often a lot of luck. He's getting it from all sides, as the Mexican drug cartel, the Snells, the Langmores, and the FBI emerge as simultaneous threats brought upon by his own choices. And Bateman's dry, sarcastic straight man persona been better utilized than when he's attempting to bargain with all of them.

If there's an episode where you can at least momentarily take a breather, it has to be the flashback-centric "Kaleidoscope," which travels to 2007 to give us a glimpse into the lives of the Byrdes before the decision to take Del on as a client destroyed everything. It reveals just enough for us to question the level of blame Marty should be assigned, and just how complicit Wendy was in the initial stages of what then seemed like an exciting, if dangerous business opportunity. Besides shining a light on an incident that became the impetus of their future marital problems, it delves deeper into the somewhat frightening psyche of FBI agent Petty, whose backstory contributes greatly to the unprofessional, sometimes downright illegal, methods he uses to go undercover and immerse himself in the case.

There are points during the season where you think the writers are almost daring you to take what happens seriously, since the unfolding events end up being just so damn fun. And while it still contains many darkly humorous moments, it manages to retain real, escalating stakes and a look and feel that's cold as ice, visually entrenching every frame of the show with enough blue to make Christopher Nolan jealous.

The walls close in on Marty

The show's level of creativity is evident even in the much-discussed opening title card, as four symbols or images (designed by Fred Davis) directly corresponding to that episode's events appear in a giant "O," each spelling out the word "Ozark." On paper, this may seem trivial, but it's ultimately clever foreshadowing that leaves you speculating about how each of the four icons will come into play. Rarely is it a disappointment how they eventually do.

Comparisons to that certain AMC drama with a superficially similar plot were always inevitable, but rather than running from those, Ozark's up to the challenge, gaining its own momentum for reasons that couldn't be further removed from the plot or characters of that series. And it mostly works because of the Emmy-worthy Bateman, whose everyman persona is exploited and challenged in ways we've yet to see until now.

Even with the narrative advantages of Netflix's abbreviated season, there's still the question of how sustainable Ozark can be long-term as it continues to burn through its story at such a rapid rate. Everything catches up with Marty by season's end, as he must decide to flight or fight, struggling to protect his family from the dire situation he's unintentionally trapped them in. With a lot of questions that still need answering, this is one of those shows where you're having too much fun enjoying the ride to even entertain overthinking it.         

Game Night

Directors: John Francis Daley and Jonathan Goldstein
Starring: Jason Bateman, Rachel McAdams, Kyle Chandler, Billy Magnussen, Sharon Horgan, Lamorne Morris, Kylie Bunbury, Jesse Plemons, Michael C. Hall, Danny Huston, Chelsea Peretti
Running Time: 100 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Getting a big boost from a clever script that takes some unexpectedly twisted and darkly inspired turns, it's unlikely anyone would walk away from Game Night dissatisfied. And that's exactly how it should be. While this doesn't reinvent the comedy wheel, it  accomplishes what few recent comedies have in delivering a fun time without being burdened by qualifiers that it's overlong or makes boneheaded decisions along the way. Carried by a ridiculously talented cast, it takes a reasonably high concept comedic premise and just runs with it, offering the reassurance that everyone involved knows exactly what they're doing. As it turns out, they do.

When super-competitive gamers Max (Bateman) and Annie (Rachel McAdams) meet during trivia night at a bar, it's love at first sight, as the two begin dating and then marry, bonding over their shared obsession with winning. This is exemplified by their traditional weekend "game night" with friend Ryan (Billy Magnussen) and spouses Kevin (Lamorne Morris) and Michelle (Kylie Bunbury). Excluded is creepy, socially awkward cop next door, Gary (Jesse Plemons), who's been uninvited from the festivities ever since his wife left him and is desperately looking to get back in. But when Max's extremely successful and charming brother Brooks (Kyle Chandler) reappears on the scene, it causes his lifelong feelings of inadequacy (as well as his inability to conceive a child with Annie) to bubble to the surface.

Looking to once again show up Max, Brooks plans to take game night to a whole new level, staging an elaborate interactive role-playing mystery at his new pad that the participants won't soon forget. The winning prize: His Corvette Stingray. But when things get out of hand, and the line separating what's a game and an actual kidnapping starts to blur, the players must band together to save Brooks and somehow find a way to escape with their lives intact.

What makes all of this work is its premise, or rather co-directors John Francis Daley (best known for playing Sam on Freaks and Geeks) and Jonathan Goldstein's commitment to keeping the characters and viewers in the dark about what's happening. There are moments in the script where you confidently assume the unfolding events have to be "part of the game," yet you're still not completely sure. The uneasiness surrounding that, and each of the major players' reactions to the escalating crisis, permeate every scene, making for some great comedic exchanges.

Each character seems to have a relatable quirk that's exploited with every catastrophe, allowing the night's "mystery" to act as the perfect platform for their faults. The movie wastes no time, from an ingenious board game-style opening credit sequence that lets us know everything about Max and Annie within minutes, leading right into the "game night" concept. He's insecure. She's hyper-competitive. Brooks is an attention whore so in love with himself that this interactive mystery theater could only be his idea. And with the arrival an "FBI Agent" at the door, we're off to the races.

If you're searching for a comedic or dramatic actor who makes everything around him better by simply being there and logically, matter-of-factly existing as a surrogate voice for the audience, few are better than the largely unheralded Jason Bateman. And you could argue none are as reliable, knowing when you see his name atop the credits he'll deliver exactly what you want and expect, regardless of whether the project itself happens to disappoint. And it definitely doesn't here. Of course, the argument against him is that he always plays the same put-upon straight man. Aside from that being entirely disproven with darker turns in The Gift, Disconnect and his recent best ever work in Netflix's Ozark, I'd still argue variations of that lane is all he needs since it's such an easily adaptable one across all genres.

Bateman's normalcy makes those around him seem scarier, funnier and more entertaining than they would have otherwise been opposite someone else. Ceding the spotlight so co-stars can reap the rewards, no one can look as befuddled, grimace in disgust or dryly deliver a sarcastic dig quite like he can. If the quintessential small screen example of his comedic skills are are found in Arrested Development, then Game Night might stand as his best recent big screen offering of it.

Nearly every sub-plot and one-liner lands, logically furthering a plot that's probably better mapped out that it had any right being. While it's arguable the mere casting of Bateman and Chandler as feuding brothers is enough to carry this, it's surprising how many other elements click into place and manage to play just as well. If only occasionally given the chance to show it in other projects, Rachel McAdams can be devastatingly funny when she needs to be and here she's given the opportunity opposite Bateman to utilize that timing. They bounce off each other so well that they're the rare screen couple that are even funnier when they're in total agreement because their personalities are so competitively obnoxious, yet strangely compatible. They play the whole thing straight, forging forward to win despite obvious signs this isn't a game. Or is it? To these two everything may as well be, which make them the perfect victims/players.   

Even running, throwaway gags like Kevin's unhealthy obsession with guessing the identity of Michelle's secret celebrity hookup and the airheaded Ryan wising up and bringing his super-intelligent ringer date, Sarah (Sharon Horgan) into the game, not only provide a decent amount of laughs, but result in extremely satisfying payoffs that enhance the characters. But the character who makes the most impact and sends the the film's entertainment quotient through the roof is Jesse Plemons' creep cop neighbor, Gary, whose obsession with his ex-wife and her "game night" friends make everyone within his vicinity deeply uncomfortable.

Plemons plays this perfectly, which is to say deadly serious, as if he's Hannibal Lecter wondering why no one's invited him to dinner. Just watching the other actors' react to this is a treat in itself, as everything from his stilted body language to monotone delivery imply a complete sociopath. He completely and unflinchingly commits to it, and the film is all the better as a result. While for many there's a certain level of anticipation in seeing Friday Night Lights alum Plemons reunited with Coach Taylor, he and Chandler share maybe about two scenes together. But it's the latter scene in the third act that will grab the most attention because it's just so completely insane. It isn't often you can say you've seen Chandler, Plemons, Bateman and Michael C. Hall all share the screen together at one time and have it exceed even the wildest of expectations.

It's nice to see a comedy that's as smart as the actors appearing in it since the last one to reach that lofty goal was Shane Black's criminally overlooked The Nice Guys. This isn't quite as laugh-out-loud hilarious and subversively clever as that effort, but it succeeds just the same for what it's aiming for. While there likely will be a sequel looming on the horizon, the idea of this concept being expanded isn't something I'd necessarily roll my eyes at provided it's done right and reunites the cast and creative forces that made this work so well. It isn't often you can say a big, mainstream comedy is even worth the trouble of revisiting, but another Game Night actually doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

Identity Thief

Director: Seth Gordon
Starring: Jason Bateman, Melissa McCarthy, Jon Favreau, Amanda Peet, Genesis Rodriguez, T.I., Morris Chestnut, John Cho, Robert Patrick, Eric Stonestreet, Jonathan Banks
Running Time: 111 min.
Rating: R

★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

I'm not sure what's scarier: Identity Thief cleaning up at the box office, raking in at upwards of 130 million dollars, or the thought of moviegoers leaving the theater in hysterics as they talk about their favorite scenes. Melissa McCarthy punching unsuspecting victims in the throat to evade capture? Jason Bateman's character being repeatedly told he has a girl's name? Or maybe, given the time and expense it takes to go to a movie these days, the scariest thought is picturing anyone being excited to see it in the first place and actually making plans to do so. But don't blame them. They just want to get out of the house, shut their minds off for a couple of hours and have a reasonably good time. That's what these comedies are for. And I totally understand that. It's fine. But can't we pick something a little more worthwhile than this? I laughed exactly once during this, making a mental note of what happened during that rare scene so I could mention it. And now, days later, I have literally no idea what it was. That's emblematic of Horrible Bosses director Seth Gordon's entire film, which piles on as many forgettable road trip/buddy comedy cliches it can while lazily tacking on a stolen identity plotline. Worse yet, it wastes the comedic talents of two actors who deserve much better.

Barely making ends meet at home and feeling the pressure at work, Colorado accountant Sandy Patterson (Bateman), is about to have his identity stolen. The woman doing the stealing is Diana (McCarthy), who uses a phone scam to obtain his info and live it up in Florida, treating herself to salon trips and late nights at the bar at Sandy's expense. A feat made that much easier by his unisex-sounding name. But when her wild behavior gets her in trouble with the law and the local cops pull up a mugshot, they inform him that they can't do anything unless she's brought to Denver. So with his job on the line, Sandy heads to Florida determined to track her down and bring her back with the promise that he won't press charges. Unfortunately, the boisterous, foul-mouthed Diana won't be going quietly and has already amassed a laundry list of enemies who'd like to take her down first. Already facing skepticism from his wife (Amanda Peet) and new boss (John Cho), Sandy has to find a way to control this clearly out-of-control con-woman long enough to get them both back safely and clear his name.

Amidst its many problems, the central one in Identity Thief is how overbearing and shameless the movie is in begging you to root for a couple of characters who are really kind of jerks. While that in itself shouldn't be an issue because we cheer on unlikable characters all the time, there's something about the way this whole scenario is set up and plays out that makes it especially insulting. Bateman's character starts off as kind of a hapless fool naively sucked into a scam, which is the path they should have followed since the actor specializes in playing hapless, likable underdogs. But instead, Craig Mazin's script makes Sandy more entitled and arrogant as the story wears on, to the point that I almost felt like rooting for Diana escape. That is if she wasn't also such a one-dimensional stereotype. Having two comic actors as likable and engaging as McCarthy and Bateman play two such unlikable people could be viewed as a mistake from the onset, but it didn't have to be since both are talented enough to pull it off had the material given them interesting characters to play. Instead it forces the co-stars (who in fairness do work well together) to wring laughs out of nothing besides the fact he's a married, straight-laced businessman forced to take a road trip with a brash, loud-mouthed female crook who sort of resembles Mimi from The Drew Carey Show.

Why the movie is even 'R' rated is somewhat of a mystery considering how safe and predictable it is, making all the vulgar, sexual stuff seem like it's jammed in for show. The script fares even worse when dealing with anything related to the legal or criminal end of things. Besides the premise stretching credibility to the max even for an absurd comedy, there's one too many supporting criminal players and obtrusive sub-plots, all of which are poorly handled. Besides the cops in Denver, there's a maniacal skiptracer (Robert Patrick) after Diana for a bounty and a couple of well-dressed baddies (Genesis Rodriguez and T.I.) after her for giving a drugrunner some bad credit cards. That he's played, however briefly, by Breaking Bad's Jonathan Banks was one of the few moments that made me grin. But a romantic interlude of sorts between Diana and a macho cowboy-type character named Big Chuck (Modern Family's Eric Stonestreet) is as painfully unfunny as it is overlong.

It's practically impossible to talk about the movie without discussing the controversy sorrounding Rex Reed's "review" of it, which seemed to gain more media attention than the film itself for obvious reasons. If Reed was legitimately concerned about McCarthy's health (unlikely) or trying to start a conversation about how overweight actors and actresses are portrayed on screen, then he should have done so, as few would argue the latter is a discussion worth having. Resorting to childish name-calling and personal attacks did nothing but perpetuate the unfair stereotyping he's falsely claiming to call attention to. What's worse is that the character's weight (while never mentioned explicitly) could actually be considered an issue in terms of how she's been perceived, leading to a potentially intelligent debate about how performers of size are always cast in clownish, embarrassing roles. But Reed clearly wasn't interested in any of that. His comments had no relevance to the film whatsoever and only bolstered the public's already negative opinion of critics.

As unenjoyable as Identity Thief is, it does deserve credit for at least attempting to treat the character as more than a cartoon in the last act. Ultimately, that also fails, coming too late and completely clashing with the the rest of the picture's mean-spirited tone. This of course makes it no different than most other mainstream comedies that feel the need to tack on a safe, happy ending when it's completely uncalled for. Does anyone doubt these two will be best friends by the end of the picture? Still, that whole Reed fiasco did made me wonder what kind of comedy we'd have if McCarthy and Amanda Peet's roles were reversed. The material's still uninspired, but at least it would have gained points for casting originality and given both actresses something radically different to do. Or we could just lock Rex Reed in the car for a torturous road trip with the female Sandy Patterson.