Black Bag

Director: Steven Soderbergh
Starring: Michael Fassbender, Cate Blanchett, Marisa Abela, Tom Burke, Naomie Harris, Regé-Jean Page, Kae Alexander, Ambika Mod, Gustaf Skarsgård, Pierce Brosnan
Running Time: 94 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)     

In Steven Soderbergh's sleek, stylish espionage thriller Black Bag, a group of suspects find themselves roped into a cerebral chess game by a calculating couple. It's like Clue for intellectuals, respecting the audience's intelligence while succeeding off the strength of its performances and a tightly wound script. Though occasionally difficult to follow on a single viewing, the puzzle pieces gradually fall into place as two of our most captivating actors keep us glued to the screen throughout. 

Only when the film settles in your mind do you realize it's more about trust between partners and the difficulties of making a relationship work. And even in such an inherently duplicitous job, the two leads have this figured out in a way few couples do. They may not trust their spouse indiscriminately, but they've reached an understanding to have each other's backs at any cost, giving them an edge in a profession where that seems unattainable. 

When British intelligence agent George Woodhouse (Michael Fassbender) is given a week by his superior Meacham (Gustaf Skarsgård) to investigate the mysterious leak of a top-secret software program known as "Severus," he's informed that one of the five suspects is his wife and fellow SIS operative, Kathryn (Cate Blanchett). But when Meacham's poisoned, George invites the four other suspects to dinner, lowering their inhibitions and playing a game meant to uncover the traitor's identity. 

These suspects include the organization's satellite imagery specialist Clarissa (Marisa Abela), her boyfriend and managing agent Freddie (Tom Burke), another managing agent James (Regé-Jean Page) and his girlfriend Zoe (Naomie Harris), the agency's psychiatrist. But while the couples' dirty laundry is aired, George discovers additional clues that could point to Kathryn as the possible mole. Treading carefully, he digs deeper, while still suspecting the others are hiding something. Inching closer to the truth, he'll have to decide how much to tell Kathryn and weigh whether it's worth jeopardizing his career to protect her.  

The best scenes involve George cooly and calmly gaining the upper hand, whether it's at the dinner table or during an impromptu polygraph test intended to unearth the liar among them. The latter sequence is masterfully edited and scored with a pitter patter rhythm that builds tension as his interrogation escalates from simplistically irrelevant to incriminating. Each of the suspects are smart but have secrets they're hiding from each other and George, which may or may not be directly tied to the Severus program. Either way, these personal and professional relationships become a tangled web George must unravel to find the leak. 

Part James Bond, part George Smiley, a fastidious, subtly menacing Fassbender is decked out in horn-rimmed glasses and a turtleneck to play this seemingly low key man who makes his few words count. Knowing more than he's letting on, he puts viewers in the same boat as these highly capable suspects, any of whom could be behind this. But as shifty as the other couples are, George and Kathryn operate on another level, even when they're on different pages as his suspicions of her grow. In tackling this sophisticated ice queen to perfection, Blanchett expertly keeps us guessing, with both actors leaving little doubt their characters would kill to protect their partner. There's also a great undercurrent showing how George and Kathryn constantly watch each other since they're incapable of shutting that mechanism off. 

The supporting cast is uniformly excellent, especially Abela, who follows her breakout role as Amy Winehouse in Back to Black with another impressive turn as the tough but vulnerable junior agent Clarissa. Going toe-toe with Fassbender, she's the film's scene stealer, bringing different shades to a character who has everything to prove and lose. Regé-Jean Page and Tom Burke are effectively shady, as are Bond vets Naomie Harris and Pierce Brosnan (as the gruff SIS boss), with Harris really shining in her witty exchanges opposite Page. Accompanied by a thorough, extremely detailed explanation, the ending isn't just smart, but makes sense, even if you'll need to run it back in your head a few times.   

Staying a step ahead and knowing more than we do, Black Bag's mostly actionless plot relies on dialogue, sneaky looks, great cinematography and locations to get its points across. And since David Koepp's script can be challenging to decode, viewers are asked to read between the lines, which would usually invite a rewatch, if not for its whole plot serving as a thematic smokescreen for larger, more intriguing themes about fidelity. Well made and thought provoking, it's consistent with the rest of Soderbergh's prolific output, representing the kind of perceptive adult spy drama we could stand to see more of.                                                    

Back to Black

Director: Sam-Taylor-Johnson
Starring: Marisa Abela, Jack O' Connell, Eddie Marsan, Lesley Manville, Juliet Cowan, Sam Buchanan, Pete Lee-Wilson, Thelma Ruby, Matilda Thorpe
Running Time: 122 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)   

In Sam Taylor-Johnson's Amy Winehouse biopic Back to Black, everything clicks into place for the film's lead, who reminds us just how little we do know about the late English singer-songwriter's beginnings. Putting aside what was covered in 2015's acclaimed documentary, Amy, there's a strangeness to initially seeing her without the beehive hair and tattoos that shaped a unique persona matched only by the talent itself. And much of this is found in Marisa Abela's performance, even well before Winehouse skyrockets to worldwide fame. 

The most perplexing aspect of Matthew Greenhalgh's script is how it avoids casting blame for the singer's death, almost hoping we're absorbed enough in her highs and lows to overlook it. Of course, they'll always be skeptics nursing Dewey Cox hangovers and refusing to give any musical biopic the time of day. But as a respectable entry in that detested and mocked genre, this at least focuses on a more contemporary artist whose legacy hasn't yet been exhausted by a myriad of screen dramatizations. And while it's odd referring to an artist whose breakthrough album was released nearly two decades ago as "contemporary," it's at least a designation Winehouse easily earns. 

Raised in a Jewish, musically inclined home by father Mitch (Eddie Marsan) and grandmother Cynthia (Lesley Manville), Amy Winehouse (Abela) is performing at local pubs when her vocal talents catch the attention of manager Nick Shymansky (Sam Buchanan), leading to a contract with Island Records. But prior to her debut album's 2003 release, Amy takes a step back after creatively clashing with the label, soon meeting and falling for charismatic video producer Blake Fielder-Civil (Jack O' Connell). 

Between Amy's alcoholism, bulimia and violent outbursts and Blake's cocaine addiction, their rocky relationship seems doomed from the start. That and an unexpected tragedy provides the groundwork for Amy's universally acclaimed sophomore album, "Back to Black," which catapults her to critical and commercial success. With it come unpleasant consequences, as she spirals into full blown drug addiction that even a stint in rehab and a period of sobriety can't rescue her from.

While this follows a strict chronological trajectory that might provide further ammo for those tired of the format, it's also an effective snapshot of a relatively brief, unexplored flicker in time. Due to this, it avoids coming across as a history lesson that crams decades of a person's life into two hours, skipping years and events to fit a regimented framework. More disciplined in staying the course, this rarely feels like an exploitive collection of her lowest points.

Because Amy's brief but memorable ascent feels as if it occurred yesterday, there's an immediacy to the story that's more culturally relevant than usual. Having paved the way for Adele and the many other British soul singers who've emerged since, the experience of watching becomes oddly inseparable from the hypothetical question of how the rest of her career would have turned out.

Abela is tremendous in the role, all the way from the opening scene of Amy reminiscing with her grandmother to when she eventually implodes later on. The huge surprise is that the actress does her own singing, faring unusually well given the insurmountable challenge of replicating Winehouse's unmistakable vocal stylings and stage presence. The elephant in the room is how the film handles Amy's addiction, contradicting much of what's been reported. If her substance abuse issues have long been tied to Blake's toxic influence, this paints a far different picture, with him even controversially painted as a victim at various points. 

The pair's initial meeting might be the film's best sequence with O'Connell's finding just the right blend of dangerous sleaze and charm, as we wait for Blake to emerge as the monstrous, abusive instigator we've heard so much about. And though he's far from a positive influence and destructive in his own right, that doesn't really materialize here. Instead, Amy just can't seem to quit him, and while a refusal to go to rehab results in her most iconic hit, by the time she actually gets there, it's too late. Eddie Marsen's Mitch is a constant presence as her dad/manager, in denial and overwhelmed by the harsh reality of his daughter's situation.

Given the family's involvement in this production, it is one of the more sympathetic portrayals of an artist lost to addiction, sidestepping the same tawdry treatment Amy received from the media while she was alive. That the movie captures a certain authenticity can be attributed to an actress who foregoes outright impersonation to embody an insecure family girl with a giving heart who briefly became the biggest pop star on the planet. The hows and whys are sometimes frustratingly murky, but Taylor-Johnson gets a lot right in exploring the gap that separated who Amy was from what the public perceived her to be.