Hidden Blade: Wartime intrigue in Shanghai

Shanghai in World War II was a viper’s nest of competing interests. Occupying Japanese forces had to deal with Chinese fighters who were themselves splitting under two leaders, Communist and Nationalist. French and British nationals along with Shanghai natives were restricted to an international concession where rights were stripped away daily. With allegiances shifting daily, no one could be trusted.

Complicated and obscure, Hidden Blade conveys the suspense and danger of the time through a handful of key figures. Foremost is He (Tony Leung Chiu-wai), a “director” collaborating with the Japanese after surviving a brutal onslaught on Guangzhou. His two underlings — Ye (Wang YiBo) and Wang (Eric Wang) — carry out his dirty work.

The three answer to Watanabe (Hiroyuki Mori), a swaggering, heavy-drinking Japanese officer who thinks he knows the war better than he does. Sitting in on their meetings is Tang (Chengpeng Dong), who believes, perhaps foolishly, that he can negotiate with the Japanese.

Director Chang Er, whose last film was the excellent The Wasted Times, sends these characters on a convoluted journey of betrayals, double-crosses, and twists that mirror the progress of the war at large. Instead of following a straight chronology, he stages and restages scenes, breaking the narrative in order to flesh out the characters, adding new colors to their behavior.

Take the opening scene, in which He interrogates Liang (Huang Lei), a Communist functionary. He is all smiles and efficiency, much like Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterds, teasing and manipulating Liang into a mortal mistake. When the scene reappears much later, viewers have found out enough about He to be able to more accurately question his motives.

Never miss any opportunity to see Leung Chiu-wai perform. He is in command here, often better, more nuanced, more subtle, than the material deserves. It’s another in a long line of his deeply worked out roles. The big acting surprise in Hidden Blade Wang YiBo, a singer, dancer, and former member of the boyband Uniq. This is his first major movie role, and he’s a soulful knockout, able to convey the sorrow and loss of an agent unable to explain his actions.

Hidden Blade is needlessly complex, especially for those unfamiliar with Shanghai politics during the war. Chang Er does little to help viewers, alluding to nicknames, neighborhoods, and offscreen events that will be obscure to viewers in the US. A third act shift to action is unfortunate, reducing the movie to a routine spy adventure.

Still, Hidden Blade has a lot to offer viewers. It’s especially gratifying to see a mainland Chinese film that refuses to resort to propaganda.

https://youtu.be/yzZ_oHR5wRE

Opening in selected theaters February 17 from Well Go USA.

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The Eight Mountains: how friendships change

Based on a 2016 novel by Paolo Cognetti, The Eight Mountains is memorable more for what it shows than what it means. The novel, vivid descriptions of living and climbing in the mountains near the Aosta Valley alternating with observations about engineering, construction, love, and family, had similar issues. Like the movie, carefully assembled and less than the sum of its parts.

Cognetti is a talented writer, and his novel consistently engrossing. The same is true of the movie, despite problems with pacing. Written and directed by Felix van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch, The Eight Mountains pares down some characters, smooths out the novel’s timeline, and makes extremely good use of its Italian landscapes.

The plot follows two young boys: Pietro, from a middle-class Turin family, and Bruno, living with relatives in a dying mountain village. They are friends but also rivals for the attention of Pietro’s parents Giovanni (Filippo Timi) and Francesca (Elena Lietti). On the cusp of their teen years, Pietro makes a decision that will change Bruno’s life forever.

Years later, Pietro (Luca Marinelli) has abandoned his parents to work as a chef and aspiring writer. Bruno (Alessandro Borghi) remains a mountain man, working construction, reviving his uncle’s cheese-making alpeggio, marrying Pietro’s castoff girlfriend Lara (Elisabetta Mazzullo). The two friend reunite when Pietro’s father dies, leaving him a tumbledown shack on a remote mountain that the two rehabilitate.

Bruno runs into financial problems, Pietro finds a girlfriend in Nepal, the two fight and reconcile. That’s it until the ending, telegraphed by Pietro’s account of Buddhist “sky burials” in the Himalayas.

For me, an amateur hiker, the best part of The Eight Mountains was the cinematography by Ruben Impens, SBC. Few recent drama capture the struggle and exhilaration of mountain climbing as well as this one does. A sequence where Giovanni helps the two young boys up a glacier is terrifying and beautiful at the same time. Summits are breathtaking, as are Impens’ golden-hour landscapes. You can understand the mountains’ pull as well as their danger, and why characters can sit and stare at their surroundings for hours.

Less convincing are the interactions between Bruno and Pietro. Given that Pietro is a writer who records what he sees, it makes sense that he withholds his emotions. Bruno is equally stubborn, to the point where we suspect his intellect. But at nearly 150 minutes, there’s a lot of dead air between two non-communicative men.

The script especially shortchanges Giovanni’s character. In the book he is smart, loving, give great advice, and tries to do right by both boys. In the movie he is a grump who smokes too much. As a result, Pietro’s eventual understanding of his father’s true nature lacks the emotional punch it should have had.

Among other films, van Groeningen directed The Broken Circle Breakdown, a pretentious cancer drama set in the world of Flemish bluegrass music; and the truly miserable Beautiful Boy, a real-life suicide melodrama starring Steve Carell and Timothée Chalamet. They give you a glimpse of where The Eight Mountains is heading: gloom, despair, death in beautiful surroundings.

Screened as part of the “Spotlight” section at Sundance, and inexplicably winner of the Jury Prize at 2022’s Cannes Film Festival.

Credits:     Directors: Felix van Groeningen, Charlotte Vandermeersch. Screenwriters: Felix van Groeningen, Charlotte Vandermeersch. Based on the book by Paolo Cognetti.Director of photography: Ruben Impens, SBC. Producers: Mario Gianani, Lorenzo Gangarossa. Starring Luca Marinelli, Alessandro Borghi, Filippo Timi, Elena Lietti.

Photo courtesy of Sundance Institute

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The Wandering Earth II: sci-fi prequel from Frant Gwo

Just in time for the Lunar New Year, Well Go USA opens a prequel to the 2019 blockbuster hit, The Wandering Earth II (or EartII, as the poster has it) expands on the original, building a thoroughly convincing sci-fi future on an enormous, imaginative scale. The epic scope and frequently extraordinary visuals almost make up for a weirdly prosaic plot that mimics just about any outer-space movie.

Based on a short story by Liu Cixin, the 2019 movie found the planet Earth being used as a sort of rocket ship to escape our expanding and exploding sun. 10,000 engines propel Earth towards the Alpha Centauri system, using Jupiter as a gravitational slingshot. Since the planet no longer rotates, its surface is frozen, with survivors living in underground cities.

The prequel starts several decades before the 10,000 engines are installed. Experiments with “digital life” vie with UEG (United Earth Government) rocket tests. Terrorists attack launch sites as Tu Hengyu (Andy Lau) learns that the plug is being pulled on his digital life program.

Tu is trying to resurrect his young daughter Yaya, killed in a car crash. So far he can interact digitally with her for two minutes, the limits of the 550A computer. Disobeying his boss Zhao Ma (Ning Li), he continues work on vastly more powerful 550C computer. Before the movie ends he’ll be taking over a 550W unit—the same one that becomes the evil MOSS system.

Meanwhile, Liu Peiqiang (Wu Jing) takes astronaut training, where he meets Han Duoduo (Wang Zhi), a beautiful and extremely competent officer. Liu is bringing her roses when they are trapped by terrorists aboard an earth elevator rocket. In a masterfully staged sequence, they survive the explosion of both the elevator and their compartment.

Wandering Earth II flows along the decades until the first movie begins, with director Frant Gwo staging showpiece after showpiece with remarkable confidence. Solar storms damage a research center on the moon, a tsunami floods New York City’s UN headquarters, a flotilla of rockets floats through space, riots disrupt food lines, robots go berserk.

The filmmaking style is fluid, involving, with visual effects on a level with Hollywood efforts. Take three shots after a bomb detonates inside a capsule: close-up of Liu, one of Duoduo, then a shot of her visored helmet floating between them, with perfect reflections tied to effects out the capsule window. The only real problem is Gwo’s use of anti-aging software. In his shots as a youngster, Wu Jing looks a bit unrealistic, his face digitally scrubbed. The wonderful Ng Man Tat also looks unconvincing in what appears to be a shot repurposed from the original film. (Ng died in 2021; the movie is dedicated to him.)

The movie intersects with other sci-fi titles; whether it’s borrowing or influencing is not always clear. That space elevator looks a lot like the one in Foundation; the digital life issues mirror those in Jung_E. Like 2001, every computer, every surveillance camera, every network is a potential danger.

On the downside, the plot works up one too many do-or-die crises, ending in a laughable sequence in which Tu operates a computer keyboard underwater. One more strange choice is how the film uses titles to tell you what will happen. “Roche limit reached in 3 days,” a wife “who will die in 84 days,” “Lunar crisis in seven days.” It’s almost as if the filmmakers didn’t trust the plot, and tried to jolt viewers into paying attention.

None of this really matters in the end. The Wandering Earth II is so well made that it’s easy to overlook its flaws. Gigantic and intimate at the same time, it’s an extremely effective sci-fi blockbuster, with superstar performances from Wu Jing and Andy Lau.

Directed by: Frant Gwo. Cast: Wu Jing, Li Xuejian, Ning Li, Andy Lau. Director of Photography: Michael Liu. Editing Director: Ka-Fai Cheung. Edited by:Ye Ruchang, Yan Tingting. Co-edited by: Ye Xiang. Original music by: Roc Chen.

Photos courtesy Well Go USA

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Little Richard: I Am Everything review

In Little Richard: I Am Everything, Richard Penniman says, “I’m the emancipator, the architect. I’m the one that started it all.” But director Lisa Cortés has a more ambitious agenda. For her, Little Richard is rock’s ultimate victim.

A self-professed gay black performer from Macon, Georgia, Penniman forged a career in medicine shows, on the chitlin’ circuit, and in nightclubs, occasionally performing in drag. He borrowed liberally from artists like Billy Wright and Esquerita, fashioning himself as a pompadoured singer and pianist sporting flamboyant costumes. His musical influences included Louis Prima, Ike Turner, Sister Rosette Tharpe, and New Orleans shouters and belters.

Penniman combined blues, gospel and pop in ways similar to Fats Domino, Huey Smith, and any number of other performers—only outsized. He would clamber atop pianos, strip, push his audiences into frenzies.

Unfortunately, Penniman lived in a highly segregated society where homosexuality was outlawed. Even so, after signing with Specialty Records, he had a string of indelible hits. Like many performers of the time, he was not fully compensated for his work. White artists like Elvis Presley and, notoriously, Pat Boone covered his songs; later, he was a huge influence on The Beatles (who opened for him during a tour of England) and The Rolling Stones.

Unfortunately for this documentary, most of Penniman’s visual record comes after his prime. He appeared in a few movies, notably The Girl Can’t Help It. In those he routinely lip-synched to recorded tracks.

By the mid-sixties, he was considered an oldies act. This was true for most of his contemporaries like Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins. Elvis become a movie star, Jerry Lee Lewis switched to country music, and the rock industry on the whole was littered with has-beens. Like Berry, who never regained his early commercial success, Penniman spent fruitless years trying to re-establish himself, alternately abandoning his past and embracing it again.

It’s a sad story that is almost a template for rock careers. Very few performers can sustain careers for decades. Everyone falls out of favor at some point, and not everyone can claw back.

Cortés positions Penniman as a victim of society incapable of accepting him as a star. She buttresses her film with a string of historians, ethnomusicologists, and activists who use words like “non-normative.” The documentary tries to demystify Little Richard by dragging him into academia, by pigeonholing his sexuality, by shrinking his achievements and explaining away his magic.

Worst of all, people talk over his music. Not one song is heard in its entirety until the closing credits.

Penniman still bursts through the documentary’s portrait of him, smashing the frames confining him with exuberant verbal riffs and explosive songs. (And let’s note: European television handled rock music much better than the US.) Perhaps Little Richard: I Am Everything will convince viewers to seek out Penniman’s music rather than dwell on his problems.

Little Richard: I Am Everything is an official selection of the U.S. Documentary Competition at the 2023 Sundance Film Festival. Photos courtesy of Sundance Institute.

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Bandit: old story, thin paint

As generic as its name, Bandit recounts the career of Gilbert Galvan, a felon who flees the US for Canada in 1985. There he exploits national traits of kindness and trust to rob 59 banks. Played largely for laughs until it turns squishy, Bandit is pleasant but immediately forgettable.

Moviegoers love to watch crooks get away with heists, and Bandit‘s real-life angle adds another layer of potential to the film. Kraig Kenman’s script, based on a book by Robert Knuckle, covers incidents in Galvan’s story efficiently enough. The underpinnings of his behavior remain a mystery.

That’s the problem with Allan Ungar’s direction as well. Scenes unfold clearly enough, and some of the many bank robberies depicted do build tension. Still, Bandit is dismayingly superficial, from its 1980s production design to its needle-drop soundtrack to its almost complete disinterest in the feelings and motives of its characters.

Ungar adopts a lighthearted tone, letting Galvin (played by Josh Duhamel) deliver a jokey voice-over and steering away from the story’s darker elements. Galvin (known as Robert Whiteman for most of the film) is a nice guy in a bad business. Conscientious, nonviolent, clever, occasionally reckless, he is described by others as charming.

Duhamel’s charm factor is hit-or-miss, and while he gets how his character behaves, he doesn’t seem to understand why. He’s a blank in a film that desperately needs a better sense of time and place, of how Canadian society worked. As his girlfriend Andrea, Elisha Cuthbert is pleasant but not especially memorable. Nestor Carbonell plays Snydes, a Javert-like cop who pursues Galvin across Canada. It’s a perfunctory performance at best.

That leaves Mel Gibson as Tommy Kay, a sort of pimp and fence and minor crime lord who’s usually seen knocking back drinks in a strip club. Gibson’s been cancelled so many times that he’s having trouble scrounging up parts in low-budget B-films. Love him or hate him, he’s the best thing in Bandit. An unapologetic crook who can still lecture his teenage daughter about visiting strip joints, Kay is a master of his grimy, sordid milieu. Gibson makes the most of the role, but he’s not in the movie very long.

At points in the story Galvan tries to reform, promises to go straight. Then he drops right back into crime without a second thought. For all their own faults, movies like The Old Man and the Gun or The Grey Fox at least tried to examine the remorse their career criminals felt. Bandit bounces along from one robbery to another, from one stake-out to the next, from betrayals to double crosses with the same sunny indifference.

In Theaters, On Digital, and On Demand September 23rd, 2022. Photos courtesy Quiver Distribution.

Directed by Allan Ungar

Written by Kraig Wenman

Based on the novel by Robert Knuckle

Starring Josh Duhamel, Elisha Cuthbert, Nestor Carbonell, and Mel Gibson

 

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Restored Infernal Affairs trilogy: Film at Lincoln Center

You may know Infernal Affairs even if you’ve never seen it. The plot to the 2002 Hong Kong movie formed the basis for The Departed, to date Martin Scorsese’s only directing Oscar.

Recently restored by L’Immagine Ritrovata, all three entries in the original trilogy screen starting September 16 at Film Society at Lincoln Center. Directed by Andrew Lau Wai-keung and Alan Mak, they are the high-water mark in Hong Kong cinema over the past two decades, the gold standard for their direction, writing, and acting.

The plot pits two undercover agents — one a police officer posing as a gangster, the other a triad member who infiltrates the police — against each other. Moles have often been employed as plot points in crime films, like White Heat and Point Break. The innovation here was to mirror the two informants like yin and yang. Each has elements of the foe he pursues. Each has to betray his beliefs to carry out his mission. Each becomes lost between good and evil.

The script — by Alan Mak and Felix Chong — attracted the industry’s biggest stars. In fact, this kind of talent had rarely been seen together before. Andy Lau, a Cantopop heart-throb and romance icon, was Lau Kin-ming, a by-the-books policeman hiding a dark secret. Tony Leung Chiu-wai, a former TV actor shaped into a star by turns in Hard-Boiled and Bullet in the Head, took the part of gang mole Chan Wing-yan.  

Leung spoke to me about summoning up past hurts, rejections, betrayals to play Chan. “When  you think of how you’ve been hurt in the past, it’s not hard to bring those feelings to the scene,” he told me. In a startling scene, he responds wordlessly as Hon Sam, his boss and mentor smashes the cast on his arm, looking for proof that he is wearing a wire.

Triad Hon Sam boss is played by Eric Tsang, one of the series’ two secret weapons. (Tsang’s part was played by Jack Nicholson in The Departed. Arguably Tsang’s is the stronger, more coherent performance.) The roly-poly Tsang was a beloved TV host, the star and director of popular comedies, and a founding member of Cinema Cities, a studio that helped Tsui Hark, John Woo, and Ringo Lam find a foothold in the industry.

He plays Hon with a combination of affability and menace, a strategy that keeps his underlings off-balance.

“I’ve done many gangster roles. Comrades, Almost a Love Story, was my first, and  I thought about that one for days. How can I be believable as a bad guy? Then I remembered a big brother figure, someone like me physically. Short, not too handsome, but with a great sense of humor. You would always hear him laughing. So I tried that.

“When I accepted the Hon Sam part, I said to myself, there must be a reason for me to do what I do. Why do I have someone killed in prison? Because he doesn’t deserve to be jailed, he deserves to be dead. So there’s always a reason to my character. Even though I commit hideous crimes, I feel I am doing the right thing.”

A director himself, Tsang introduced nuances to his  Infernal Affairs that weren’t in the script.

“With the gangster element in Infernal Affairs, all the violence, I have to surprise viewers,” he said. “For instance, when I throw the rice plate in the police station, that wasn’t in the script. I brought that lunch box myself. I felt that by swiping it off the desk, it shows the viciousness of my character. That he’s not afraid of law enforcement.

“That scene where I break Leung’s cast — I wanted to do something unexpected, to shock the audience. Breaking his cast shows my fearlessness.”

Tsang’s counterpart in the story is Chong Chi-Shing, played by Anthony Wong. (Martin Sheen played a similar role in The Departed.) One of the cornerstones of the HK industry, Wong built a career in which he drew upon his Eurasian background to portray a series of villains and monsters in films like Hard-Boiled, The Heroic Trio, and the real-life cannibal tale The Untold Story.

He plays Chong with casual aplomb, tight-lipped, carefully dressed. In his scenes with Leung he pulls away from the other actor, uncomfortable with the informant’s uncontrolled emotions.

“Normally when actors play policemen, they act very powerful, exert authority,” he told me.  “I played Chong a different way. My uncle was a policeman. To him it was only a job. So when I was Inspector Wong, it was only a job to him. I go to the office, I do the job, and then I go home. I played him like a banker, not a policeman.”

Wong has since appeared in a remarkably wide range of roles, from Johnnie To thrillers like Vengeance and real-life martial-arts teacher Ip Man to a Cantonese adaptation of The Normal Heart.

Lau started out as a cinematographer at the Shaw, eventually shooting significant films like Ringo Lam’s City on Fire and Wong Kar Wai’s feature debut As Tears Go By. By the 1990s he was directing the Young and Dangerous franchise and Sausalito, a Maggie Cheung vehicle. After Infernal Affairs he collaborated with Mak on the race car drama Initial D and Confessions of Pain, starring Tony Leung. Working solo, he directed Revenge of the Green Dragons, executive produced by Scorsese.

Cinematography and production design were key to Infernal Affairs. (Lau shared photography with Lai Yiu-fai.) Unlike most Hong Kong films of the time, shot with feverish colors on garish sets, Infernal Affairs unfolded in monotonous office towers, washed out tenements, barren storerooms. The palette featured steel greys and icy blues. Christopher Doyle, the “visual consultant,” helped refine how Lau and Lai would approach shooting.

Apart from its action, expertly staged by Dion Lam, and the enormous tension generated by the screenplay’s twists and reversals, Infernal Affairs is marked by its gravity. The entire series is permeated by a sense of destiny, of predestination, of the impossibility of escaping fate.

The Chinese title Mou gaan dou translates roughly as Infinite Way or Non-Stop Way, a reference to eternal hell. This concept propels all the characters in the story to their inescapable destiny. Life is an endless hell, as an opening title states.

Andrew Lau and Alan Mak did not set out to make a trilogy, but response to the first Infernal Affairs was so overwhelming that they put together both a prequel and sequel. Infernal Affairs II starred Edison Chan and Shawn Yue as younger informants, with Tsang and Wong reprising their roles. Infernal Affairs III puts the focus back on Leung and Lau, introducing Leon Lai as another police foil. They are superb additions to the first entry.

Do not miss this opportunity to see Hong Kong filmmaking at its peak.

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Moonage Daydream review: pieces of Bowie

How much you like David Bowie, and when you started liking him, will determine how you respond to Moonage Daydream. Written, directed, produced, and edited by Brett Morgen, the documentary provides an exhaustive account of very specific sections of Bowie’s career. What it doesn’t do is offer a convincing portrait of a notorious shape-shifter.

You’d never know it from this documentary, but Bowie was a divisive figure in the rock world. His early efforts were distinctly folk or pop, catchy enough at times (“The Man Who Sold the World”) but often just average. In his Hunky Dory phase he started appropriating glam rock, leading to accusations of selling out. Each new musical shift brought criticism as well as praise. The truth is, Bowie did not have a great rock voice, relying instead on personas and genre — spaceman, bisexual, plastic soul, krautrock — to push across his material.

Morgen buys into all the space crap, in particular “Space Oddity.” That’s partly due to the fact that the best material here comes from D.A. Pennebaker’s concert documentary Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (filmed in 1973 and released in 1979). On the other hand, Bowie not only participated in, but encouraged the visual documentation of his life. It’s amazing to see the same shot — Bowie from behind, the back of his head center frame, walking backstage — tour after tour, year after year, country after country.

Moonage Daydream takes a scattershot approach to its subject. Biographical details emerge slowly, based on Bowie’s own comments about his institutionalized half-brother, his emotionally distant mother, and his artistic ambitions. Through tape recordings, Bowie offers what amounts to a running narration in which he makes broad but not very helpful generalizations about art, music, love.

Morgen buttresses these with imagery, a staggering array of movie slips, concert footage, advertisements, posters, paintings, animation, talk shows, newspaper headlines, magazine covers, light shows, and umpteen shots of ecstatic audience members.

Some of Morgen’s choices are distressingly on point. Should Bowie mention a ray gun, Morgen will offer a 1950s sci-fi clip of, you guessed it, a ray gun in action. On the other hand, pronouncements like, “I’ve been esoteric all my life,” are likely to result in clips from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis or F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu. It’s up to you to figure out how Land Without Bread or A Night Out influenced Bowie. Or why they’re here.

Morgen includes a lot of Bowie’s music, but it’s mostly snippets: concert excerpts, video footage, etc. He makes almost no attempt to explain how Bowie worked: how he created, how he collaborated, how he refined.

The director focuses predominately on Bowie’s glam rock phase, and the artist’s later reaction to that style. Whole stretches of his career are ignored. “Changes” is relegated to the end of the closing credits. Where is “Fame” or “Young Americans”? For that matter, where is his first wife Angela?

Morgen is entitled to his own views about Bowie, even if they skew away from the musician’s most popular work. I’m grateful to hear a complete, live version of “Heroes,” and a bit miffed “Suffragette City” was left out. If you’re a Bowie fan, you’ll have your own pleasures and regrets.

David Bowie was a considerably more sophisticated artist than Moonage Daydream suggests. His reach was wider, his tastes more complex, and his relationship to the industry more conflicted. It’s too bad Morgen couldn’t have aimed higher.

Photos courtesy Neon.

Credits

Written, directed, and edited by Brett Morgen.

Produced by Brett Morgen.

Re-recording mixers: Paul Massey David Giammarco.

Supervising sound and music editor: John Warhurst.

Supervising sound editor: Nina Hartstone.

Music produced by Tony Visconti.

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Brahmāstra Part One: An Indian multiverse

Years in the making, Brahmāstra Part One: Shiva is the first episode in a trilogy about the “Astraverse,” an Indian take on the multiverse. Astras are superpowers that can take the form of a weapon or a person (a “divine” person). So like X-Men, and like Journey to the East, there are superstrong “bull” people, “fire” people, a “monkey” character who is hard to catch, etc. Like Avengers: Infinity War, the villains are trying to piece together shards of pottery to form a talisman that will destroy the planet. The pieces are held by “Bramansh” heroes: a Scientist (an unbilled superstar in an extended cameo), an Artist (beefy Nagarjuna Akkineni), and a Guru (the estimable Amitabh Bachchan).

It’s up to Shiva (Ranbir Kapoor, part of an acting dynasty), owner of an orphanage, an orphan himself, and part-time DJ, to discover his destiny, take on the villains, and save the planet. He’s helped by Isha (Alia Bhatt), a rich girl from London who can “feel the groove” when Shiva’s DJ-ing.

The first half is a typical Bollywood romance: poor guy wins over rich girl by showing her winsome orphans, rooftop barbecues, and superhot dance moves. It’s set on a scale unimaginable in Western films: hundreds of choreographed extras flinging themselves around ancient temples, courtyards, waterfronts. The second half descends into a sludge of indifferent special effects, endless battles, and deaths that turn out to be not deaths after all.

The film is being distributed by Star Studios, at one time Fox’s producing arm in India, now under Disney’s umbrella. Disney is opening it worldwide tomorrow (September 9), in five languages: Hindi, Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam and Kannada.

Director Ayan Mukerji has made a half-dozen or so movies, working a lot with Ranbir Kapoor. He has yet to start filming Part Two: Dev (spoiler alert: Dev = Darth Vader) and I will be surprised if he gets to Part Three. Mukerji does an excellent job with the songs but has trouble executing action + effects. He has no trouble milking maudlin plot turns for tears. The problem isn’t Mukerji’s efforts to make a Marvel-style movie in India. It’s why he would bother trying. Why prove you can make something as bad as a comic-book movie?

This is all TMI due entirely to my obsession with Alia Bhatt. Brahmāstra is her fourth film release this year, after her third-act appearance in RRR, her brothel-revenge drama Gangubai Kathiawadi, and her comedy about murdering an abusive husband, Darlings. [The last two are now on Netflix.] She is incredibly appealing here, even when called on to simper over fallen superheroes. Bhatt’s already finished two more movies, including the Gal Gadot vehicle Heart of Stone.

Bhatt also married Kapoor and is expecting their first child, which may help explain their undeniable onscreen chemstry. [Photos courtesy Star Studios.]

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Coast review: Teen friends grow up fast

A coming-of-age story with more bite than expected, Coast follows four young teens as they navigate their way through a summer in the suburbs of Santa Maria. Strong performances and sensitive direction make this stand out from usual genre entries.

Writer Cindy Kitagawa’s script focuses primarily on Abby (Fatima Ptacek), who lives in a modest house with her mother Debra (Cristela Alonzo), a nurse working night shifts. With her father largely absent (thanks to a transgression no one wants to talk about), Abby’s largely on her own.

Her old friends Kat (an exceptional Mia Xitlali) and Laura (Kaylee Kamiya) are being replaced by out-of-towner Kristi (Mia Rose Frampton), a flashy blond with connections to a visiting rock band. Jealousies, minor betrayals, misunderstandings all serve to cloud choices, spur fights, realign friendships.

Quarrels that will soon seem petty are shattering when they occur, especially in a washed-out, boarded-up, dead-end town. Or at least that’s how Abby sees it. Whether she and her friends realize it or not, their lives are changing, their world shrinking. Teachers and parents gently try to warn them of reduced expectations.

Directors Jessica Hester and Derek Schweickart take a quiet, observational approach to the story. They don’t push emotional scenes, and they take the time to let small moments unfold without comment. That way viewers share Abby’s point-of-view. The shabby bedrooms, boring classes, dusty streets are pushing her away in ways that are very easy to understand.

Through Kristi, Abby connects with Pinata Jones, a rock band led by Dave (real-life musician Kane Ritchotte). Abby’s inchoate dreams of a music career suddenly come into focus, prompting spur-of-the-moment steps that could have drastic consequences.

Which makes Coast sound much more ominous or pretentious than it really is. The miracle of the film is how it shifts viewers’ perceptions without judging anyone. In one small example, Abby makes fun of the Future Farmers of America, but Kat sees agriculture as a way to honor her family’s heritage.

In fact if Coast is about anything, it’s about acceptance, about finding a way to reconcile your dreams with reality.

Inevitably in a film this small there are some shortcomings. Subplots that feel a bit lumpy, like Melissa Leo’s turn as an advice-dispensing patient. The music is filmed live, a plus, but the band’s offstage material feels week. Kristi’s motives are opaque, while Abby occasionally makes choices that feel out of character.

But these are minor problems in a film with such a big heart. Coast captures small-town life so honestly that you care deeply what happens to Abby and her friends. That’s exactly what you want a movie to do.

After its film festival run, Coast was released to streaming on April 8 on Apple, Amazon, and Vudu. It’s also available on Google, Xbox, and Hoopla. The directors praise the mentorship of Bruce Dern, whose partner Wendy Guerrero grew up with screenwriter Cindy Kitagawa in Santa Maria. Although I’m coming late to this, Coast is a rewarding film that deserves your notice.

Top photo: Fatima Ptacek. Second photo: Ptacek and Mia Xitlali.

Directors: Jessica Hester | Derek Schweickart
Writer: Cindy Kitagawa
Producers: Alex Cirillo | Wendy Guerrero | Jessica Hester | Dani Faith Leonard | Derek Schweickart
Composers: Hannah Hooper | Kane Ritchotte | Alex Walker | Christian Zucconi
Cinematographer: D.J. Harder
Editor: Angelica Hester
Casting Director: Faryn Einhorn
Production Designer: Victor Capoccia

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Review: Beneath the Banyan Tree

Sensitive to a fault, Beneath the Banyan Tree explores an uprooted Chinese family trying to find its way in Los Angeles. Anchored by strong performances, the movie overcomes script and pacing problems to reach emotional moments that will resonate with sympathetic viewers.

Written and directed by Nani Li Yang, Banyan focuses at first on Ai-Jia (Kathy Wu), a struggling writer who earns a living leading sightseeing tours for Chinese. In a comfortable relationship with Vance (Travis Goodman), an animator, she’s thrown out of balance when she learns her brother and sister-in-law have been jailed on corruption charges in mainland China.

That means Ai-Jia has to take care of their children, rebellious teen Sheng-Qi (Demi Zijing Ke) and her shy, withdrawn brother Sheng-Yu (Jiayu Wang). They arrive in LA with Ai-Jia’s mother Jia-Rong Woo (Ah-Leh Chang Gua), a stern matriarch who doesn’t know anything about Vance. He’s not the only secret that will come to light as the characters try to adjust to new surroundings.

Much of Banyan concentrates on the day-to-day lives of its characters. Conflicts and complications multiply when the children enter school. Woo meets up with Tsiu (Ying Xie), an acquaintance from China prone to gossip, and starts visiting a senior community center. Vance stays in the background, confused about a dynamic unfolding in a language he doesn’t understand.

Given the film’s limited budget, director Li Yang handles the various storylines with an assured hand. Ai-Jia’s problems feel honest enough, and her inability or unwillingness to explain herself to her mother gives their scenes a surprising depth.

That’s partly due to two exceptional performances, partly to Li Yang’s light hand as a director. Edwin Beckenbach’s cinematography is a huge factor as well. He finds ways to bring out the best in the somewhat bland production design. Beckenbach’s extreme close-ups are something else, at times pushing the narrative forward almost singlehandedly. The shots of Qi are exquisitely beautiful, as are the tight, isolated shots of Yu with his classmate Raymond (Scott Felix).

Banyan reaches its emotional peaks in the scenes between Woo and Ai Jia. As played by the screen veteran Gua, Woo can be simultaneously steely and vulnerable. Past disappointments can be seen in her formal posture, her forbearance, the way she looks at the people around her. As much as she tries to deny it, Ai-Jia has the same traits. Kathy Wu does a superb job detailing Ai-Jia’s growing realization that she is very much like her mother. Both performers are wonderful.

The other storylines are more predictable and less persuasive. Qi is taken in by a smooth-talking student, Yu tries to repress his sexual urges, and both are pressured to live up to ideals they may not accept. These problems just aren’t very original, no matter how carefully Li Yang stages them.

Yes, Banyan has problems, some due to the budget, others to the script. Still, there is a commitment here that makes the movie compelling even when it occasionally sputters. That’s largely due to Li Yang’s sympathetic approach to the characters, and to a cast and crew that takes their work seriously.

BENEATH THE BANYAN TREE opened in North America on 3/15/2022. Platforms include: AT&T U-Verse, DirecTV, Dish Network, Sling TV. Also Amazon, iTunes, Vudu, Xbox, Google Play, YouTube Movies. The DVD is available via Amazon.com, Bestbuy.com, Walmart.com, and Barnesandnoble.com.

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