"A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Right at the beginning of “A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood”, we get a reminder of how dorky, hokey, cheesy and incredibly slow Mr. Rogers (played by Tom Hanks in this movie) was. Yes, yes, he was also tender, kind, and totally wonderful (more on that below). But, man, was he slow.

And not at all fancy. The show was half Mr. Rogers putting on/taking off clothes while singing some not-totally-appealing song, half him playing with ratty old puppets. No effects, no gimmicks, no production value.

So then why was everyone drawn to him? Why did kids tune in to his show so religiously for so long (895 episodes!)?

That’s what investigative reporter Lloyd Vogel (Matthew Rhys) of Esquire Magazine wants to know in this movie, which is based on a true story. Vogel is not sure he buys Rogers’ whole absurdly wholesome, outrageously good persona. Unlike Rogers, Vogel isn’t a warm and fuzzy type. Or, as another character put it, Vogel is not exactly a “lover of humanity”.

And Vogel has other issues. He is angry at his dad, Jerry (Chris Cooper), for abandoning their family while his mom was on her death bed. He is worried that he is going to be a bad father too. And the only thing he seems to know how to do is work, work, work. He doesn’t like this about himself. He doesn’t want it. But he can’t help it. He calls himself “broken.”

So maybe Vogel is an unusual choice to do a piece about the beloved, kindhearted Mr. Rogers.

But Mr. Rogers doesn’t see it that way. Rogers wants to talk to Vogel. He is enthusiastic about it. The first time he talks to Vogel on the phone, Rogers asks, in his characteristically slow, calm, sweet tone of voice, “Do you know what is the most important thing to me in the whole world right now?” He answers, “To be talking with Lloyd Vogel on the phone.”

Over the course of several meetings, Vogel tries to ask probing, difficult questions. But, more often than not, it is Rogers who ends up digging deeply into Vogel. Rogers wants to know about Vogel’s family, his background, what he likes, what’s bothering him. As a result, Vogel can’t get very far with his intended exposé.

Still, he tries. Vogel asks Rogers if it is a burden to always be dealing with other people’s problems. He asks whether Rogers’ children have found it difficult. He tries to tease apart Mr. Rogers, the character, from Fred Rogers, the person. Mr. Rogers doesn’t understand. He just wants to know about Vogel’s childhood stuffed rabbit.

Why? Why does he want to know about that? Why does he care?

Well, that’s just it—that’s the answer: He cares. He cares about Vogel. He cares about the kids that he meets and that tune into his show. He cares about them desperately.

But why? Why does he care about them? How could he care about them—people who, like Vogel, are cold, mean or even “broken”?

Again, Mr. Rogers sees it differently. In a 2002 commencement address at Dartmouth, Rogers says, “It’s not the honors and the prizes and the fancy outsides of life which ultimately nourished our souls. It’s the knowing that … the bedrock of our lives from which we make our choices is very good stuff.”

He then adds that what this means is that, “You don’t ever have to do anything sensational for people to love you.”

Why does Rogers listen? What does he want to know about Vogel’s childhood stuffed animal, as well as his family, he past, his pains, his heartache? Because he cares about Vogel. Why does he care? Because, according to Mr. Rogers, Vogel is valuable. Just the way he is. That’s it. Not because he’s a good writer. Not because he works at Esquire. Not because he has something interesting or important or sensational to do or say. For Mr. Rogers, it’s way simpler than that. It’s because Vogel is exactly who is his, and that’s valuable.

“A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” is, like Mr. Rogers’ show, cinematically unremarkable. There’s nothing fancy about it. Yes, Tom Hanks and Matthew Rhys do a fine job. And, sure, the movie is well composed in some other ways. But it is not sensational because of its plot, effects, lighting, score, etc.

What makes this movie sensational is Mr. Rogers himself and what he was able to bring to people’s lives aside from all the dorky outfits, worn out puppets, and cheesy jingles. Day-in, day-out, for over 30 years, he asked, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” And he really meant it. What could be more sensational than that?

"The Lighthouse"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

There are all sorts of ways to scare someone. You could jump out at them. You could gross them out. You could make them feel unsafe. Or you could give them an itchy, eerie, creepy feeling—make it a skin-crawling spook fest.

Or you could strip away all that—all the gore, the goons and ghosts and goblins; the fog and cobwebs and blood—and do something more basic, more primal. You could give them a snapshot of people in isolation. Of the inherent frailty of the human mind. Of what it is like to be unhappy, lonely, guilty, angry, resentful. All you have to do, really, is show them what it is like to be a human when things aren’t going so well.

That’s “The Lighthouse.” It’s two men getting stuck at a lighthouse. That pretty much sums up this move. Just two grumpy, crusty, sailor-looking dudes, who’ve got no money or education or dentists (apparently), and who can’t really stand each other, get stranded on a remote little lighthouse island somewhere in the cold, blustery New England sea.

And yes, absolutely, this is a horror movie.

The first crusty dude—the younger of the two—is Ephraim Winslow (Robert Pattinson). He arrives on the island to make a little money as an assistant operating a lighthouse for four weeks. That’s the contract. Winslow isn’t wedded to the sea or anything. He just needs some cash to set himself up when he goes home.

The second crusty dude—an old salt if there ever was one—is Thomas Wake (Willem Dafoe). He’s straight from Moby Dick. When not barking orders, guzzling liquor, and farting, he tells poetic tales and recites oceanic mythology in a thick, lyrical Irish accent. He has wild, bushy hair, a full beard, a limp, and a ship tattooed on his chest.

Right from the get-go, things suck. Particularly for Winslow. Although he is not too much of a talker, he seems to have hoped for a more-or-less congenial four weeks sharing duties at the lighthouse. No such luck. Wake immediately makes it clear that he’s in charge, that he’s not to be questioned, and that Winslow is to do all of the menial tasks—real grunt work—while he looks after the lantern atop the lighthouse.

So Winslow carts coal, clears out the (absolutely disgusting) cistern, patches the roof, oils the gears, and takes out the bed pans. Then Wake barks more orders, criticizes Winslow, and farts. Over and over. Day in, day out.

Then things get weird (as if they weren’t already). Winslow starts having these crazy dreams that include, among other things, dead bodies, logs, and a super creepy mermaid. And Wake, for his part, has some kind of mystical regard for the lighthouse lantern. God only knows what he’s doing up there while on watch.

Things get even weirder. The line between reality and … well, I don’t know … dreams? Hallucinations? Mere thought? At any rate, it all becomes very blurry. They’re going crazy, each in their own way. It’s kind of like “The Shining,” nautical edition. And at no point in the movie does it feel like things are going to end any better for Winslow and Wake.

Part of that feeling has to do with a pounding fog horn that batters your psyche like relentless waves harassing the seashore. I’m not sure whether the fog horn is supposed to be coming from the lighthouse or passing ships, but, at any rate, it’s a super effective way to communicate pure, inescapable doom.

The rest of the sound editing in “The Lighthouse” is equally effective. As is the bleak, harsh black-and-white cinematography. Just in general, the look and feel of this movie is as striking as it is a perfect fit for what is going on in the movie. It’s beautifully done—and horrific.

“The Lighthouse” is, like the lives of the island’s two inhabitants, elemental. It doesn’t get its “horror” designation via anything too fancy, or jumpy, or gory. It’s more basic—images, facial expressions, thoughts, and feelings that, in other context, might not be that scary. But, on that lonesome rock, they chill to the bone.

Director Robert Eggers pulls off a real feat of storytelling. He taps into the deepest human anxieties and fears without any of the frills. And the other major players in this film also do a fantastic job. The actors—all two of them—are great.

“The Lighthouse” is, if nothing else, a cinematic achievement. It is scary, unsettling, disturbing, shocking, bewildering, gripping—and all with relatively simple tools. It doesn’t take a blood-soaked, ghoul-infested fright fest. Just two dudes stuck at a lighthouse.

"Ad Astra"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Major Roy McBride of the United States Space Command is a cool customer. He's got ice in his veins. Strap him to a rocket, knock him off his footing thousands of feet in the air, shoot at him, yell at him, punch him, bite him, claw at him—he won't blink. One of McBride's claims to fame is that his heart rate has never gone above 80. I just took my pulse while writing this review. 83.

Yup, he’s cool as a cucumber.

Even so, the mission he’s given in "Ad Astra" would flap even the most unflappable of heart rates. You see, McBride's second claim to fame—besides having the most even keel in the shipyard—is that his dad, H. Clifford McBride (Tommy Lee Jones), was a super famous astronaut/space explorer. Unfortunately, his dad's most famous mission ended in apparent disaster. It was called “The Lima Project” and the mission was to travel all the way to Neptune in the search of extra-terrestrial life. But when the Lima Project suddenly lost contact with mission control, everyone assumed the worst.

Indeed, they—including Roy, who, to be honest, was straight up abandoned by his father—assumed the worst for the next 30 years. Until, that is, super destructive cosmic rays started being emitted from around Neptune. Then, who knows? The Space Command top brass think it's McBride Sr. They think he's still alive, maybe disgruntled, and is sending the angry, civilization-threatening rays toward Earth as some kind of revenge or attack or something.

That's where McBride Jr. comes in. They want him to travel to Mars, where they can send a signal to Neptune, to try to get in contact with his dad. He placidly accepts the mission in the same way you or I would agree to pass the ketchup. 

But cracks in his visage begin to emerge. It's not the travel, first to the moon then on to Mars. Nor is it the space combat, terrifying mayday calls, or other near-misses. It's his dad. The man who abandoned him and his mother. The man who didn't care enough to give them a second thought. The man who he nonetheless loves and admires and in so many ways is just like. That's who and what is breaking him down, causing him to doubt and worry and rage, and finally, for the first time, to unveil his humanity.

Just a little bit. Roy McBride demeanor is still mostly calm, his affect flat. And it’s the same with the movie. It is intentionally subdued. It has the serenity of the steadiest of astronauts. Epic, cosmic scenery is accompanied by stillness, quiet. Dramatic action sequences are dulled by an understated score. Dead bodies are floated out into space as a matter of course. McBride presses a button, pulls a lever, does his duty.

However, like McBride, while the film is calm, even remote, it is also, importantly, not emotionless. Quite the opposite. In movies like this, epic scenes from space—as a character speeds past Jupiter or enters Mars’ atmosphere—are typically accompanied by dramatic, soaring music, or a church organ witnessing to the grandiosity of the galactic cathedral. But imagine floating nearby Neptune—cold, dark, vast, hauntingly blue—in utter, complete silence. Imagine what that would feel like. It would have to be otherworldly, surreal, lonely, and terrifying.

One of the things “Ad Astra” does so well, besides imagining and delivering on a well-composed vision of the future, is reveal the intense, powerful emotions that underlie McBride’s placid demeanor and, perhaps more to the point, his deep, dark depression.

“Ad Astra” could have benefited from more time to develop these subtleties—it could have been a miniseries, for example. Still, the film is an emotional accomplishment—a tribute to Pitt’s acting and James Gray’s directing. It’s not all rocket blasts, explosions, and fiery destruction. It’s cold, dark, icy, lonely space—the vast haunting, dwarfing unknown.

"Good Boys"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

The joke about “Good Boys” is that none of the main characters are old enough to see the movie. There’s lots of cussing. It’s crude. There’s sex and drugs and alcohol, and plenty more talk about these for-mature-audiences-only topics. It has a well-earned R-rating.

But how else is one to give an unvarnished portrayal of a gaggle of 6^th-grade boys? They cuss because it’s new, and cool, and what big kids do … though, hilariously, they don’t really know how to cuss, and they don’t know how to pronounce the more salacious words they use, and they hardly even understand their racy topics of conversation. Like a pubescent boy’s overgrown feet, their minds are coming of age a little more quickly than they can handle with any kind of coordination.

Max (Jacob Tremblay) is a tad more mature than the others. The other two members of the friend group—Lucas (Keith L. Williams) and Thor (Brady Noon)—are mostly posers. The biggest difference is that, while they all talk a lot about sex, only Max actually has the raging hormones to back it up.

And the object of those hormones, and Max’s undying affection, is Brixlee (Millie Davis). He doesn’t really know her. But he’s way into her. So, naturally, he makes her something in art class, consults with the necessary intermediaries, and works the middle-school back channels to set up an all-important rendezvous with Brixlee.

Luckily, a “kissing party” is coming up. So Max sees his opening.

Meanwhile Lucas and Thor have their own stuff to deal with. Lucas’ parents are getting divorced. Thor, despite his rough exterior, is hardly winning the admiration of school bullies, and he feels that all-too-common pressure to be something other than what he wants to be (which is a Broadway-type singer).

Still, despite their mix of pre-teen woes, they all end up getting wrapped up in Max’s plot. Max realizes he doesn’t know how to kiss. Which, you know, is basically essential to kissing parties. But instead of just Googling the dang thing, the three boys use Max’s dad’s drone to spy on some teenagers who, they figure, must be kissing.

They aren’t. But the teens do notice the drone. And then things spiral out of control (including the drone). Now Max and Co. have a new problem—getting busted by Max’s dad for quasi-larceny and full-on destruction of property.

So they have to get a drone. Which means they have to somehow get to the mall on their own. While also avoiding the pissed off teens. And while still making the necessary preparations for the kissing party. Oh, and also while being cool—they have to be cool as well.

“Good Boys” delivers a minor miracle. For it portrays middle school boys in a way that more-or-less rings true, and yet also, somehow, makes them endearing—even, dare I say it, loveable. What really is the worst demographic in the known universe comes out looking, not just human, or understandably vulnerable, but also kind of sweet.

The movie is funny, too. And smartly funny. It’s not just “That little kid just said the F-word, oh my,” funny. It has an extra layer of wit and biting sarcasm, which, coupled with the fun (if not groundbreakingly innovative) situational humor, makes for a smile-inducing 90 minutes.

“Good Boys” does not have grand ambitions. It tries to be charming—and succeeds—but not sappy, overly sweet, or even particularly emotionally punchy. It takes the kids, but not itself, seriously. And it succeeds within these limits.

So if you’re at least five years older than the kids in this movie, or have a parent or guardian lax enough to take you, it’s worth a good time.

"Once Upon A Time in Hollywood"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Two men, one woman—one real-life, two fictional. One at the beginning of a career, one at the end, and one without much of a career at any point. Seemingly disparate stories intertwined by fateful history. Or, rather, they could have been intertwined, if only in the “what if?” part of our imaginations.

Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a famous TV cowboy. Or, he was. Now his career is faltering and he’s stuck with short-lived appearances as a villain whose inevitable fate is to be quickly offed by the good guys. He’s stressed about it.

One thing Dalton has maintained, if not his stardom, is his friendship with his longtime stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt). Booth doesn’t double much anymore—mostly just drives Dalton around after the latter’s license was suspended due to one too many DUIs. Booth also does handyman work for Dalton. As Booth blithely admits, he is Dalton’s “gopher”. He’s fine with it.

Then there’s Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie). THE Sharon Tate. Roman Polanski’s ethereal, hippie wife. Unlike Dalton, she’s just getting going in Hollywood—playing major, if not starring, roles in some of the biggest movies of the era. She’s pretty excited.

“Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is almost three hours long. So you might think there would be plenty more, plot-wise to fill in here. But not really. This movie saunters along at a leisurely pace. It’s not a quick-cut, high-octane bloodbath like many of Tarantino’s movies. Nor is it a showdown-at-the-O.K.-Corral movie like Dalton’s westerns. There are some of these things. But it’s more like Polanski’s “Rosemarie’s Baby”—a slow burn if there ever was one—only with a hint of lighthearted, playful zest.

Dalton continues to stress over his sputtering career. Tate goes to her own movie to soak up the audience’s reaction. Booth feeds his dog.

Gradually, though, these stories begin to come together. On a random trip to a commune, Booth discovers a potentially sinister side to hippie culture. Dalton and Tate discover that they are next-door neighbors. For those who remember the gruesome events of late-summer 1969, with Tate, her friends, and Charlies Manson’s freaky “family”, there is a foreboding, a tension, an inevitability lurking in the shadows.

Except Tarantino does what he wants with historical details (remember, for example, when the Inglorious Basterds assassinated Hitler?). So there’s no telling how this one will end.

“Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” is part charm, part tedium—which is perfectly encapsulated by Brad Pitt’s feeding his dog, or driving around, or walking, or just looking pretty for sizeable swaths of the movie. In this movie, things just kind of happen. A little bit here, a little bit there. No pushing the story along too fast. The movie just wants to show you around a bit—to let you say hello, and get to know, some interesting characters.

Until the end, of course. But that’s a whole other thing.

That “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood” is a slow burn isn’t, in itself, damning, or even particularly problematic. I’ve got nothing against slow, methodical character development. But slightly more worrisome is that a lot of this cinematic scenery begs the question, “What for?” Like, why do we need to spend four minutes watching Pitt make Mac n’ Cheese? What’s the point? Were these scenes—their length, in particular—supposed to be amusing? Or informative? Or useful to the plot?

This isn’t a very tight movie. There are loose ends, and diversions, and side stories that don’t really go anywhere. And a lot of seemingly superfluous action.

But it is also a charming movie, with charming characters, and funny little vignettes, and real human feelings and emotions. And, oddly, the ending—which is only like a 20^th of the movie—may just make the whole thing worth it.

"Toy Story 4"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Try to think of an original movie franchise where the fourth movie was any good. Go ahead, try. No, “Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope” doesn’t count—that was the first to come out; plus, it wasn’t original source material. I know people liked the fourth “Mission: Impossible” movie, but, meh, whatever … I don’t even remember what that one was about. “Rocky IV” was good. But, other than that, it’s pretty slim pickins.

So Pixar took some long odds with “Toy Story 4”. And this was an especially risky move, because Toy Stories 1-3 were pure gold. That’s a lot to live up to. Plus, the series seemed all wrapped up. It ended so well! So it’s natural to be a little concerned (as I was) that this was going to be an especially grave instance of not leaving well enough alone. I mean, what could they add to the story? What could “Toy Story 4” even be about?

Flash back nine years to a stormy night at Andy’s house. That’s where “Toy Story 4” begins—with Woody (Tom Hanks) trying to rescue RC and Bo Peep (Annie Potts). Woody manages to recoup RC, who was about to be washed away by heavy rains. But Bo is another story. She wasn’t caught in the rain, or stuck, or lost. She was about to be taken away. She was about to be given to a new family.

To Woody, that’s just as bad. Woody is loyal to the core. So he sees Bo’s plight as akin to an abduction—a terrible, unnatural, misguided tragedy. And since Wood is loyal, not just to Andy, but also to his friends, he is willing to risk life and limb to get Bo back home.

The thing is, Bo is ready to move on. She realizes she can’t stay with the same kid forever. Things just don’t work that way. So she asks Woody to let her go.

Woody is dumfounded. He doesn’t get it. And it’s not just that he does not comprehend Bo’s choice for her life. This strikes right to the core of what Woody believes is good for his, or any other toy’s, life.

Fast forward nine years and, deep down, Woody is still lost. As we know from “Toy Story 3”, he has a new kid—Bonnie (Madeleine McGraw). And he loves her dearly. But already Woody is seeing the same signs as before—Bonnie is growing up, moving on, moving past Woody.

Still, as Woody says, the noblest thing a toy can do is be there for a kid. And Bonnie needs it. She is going to kindergarten! On her first day of school, Bonnie comforts herself by making Forky (Tony Hale), a little toy made out of a plastic spork, pipe cleaner, clay, and googly eyes. For a moment, Forky is everything to Bonnie—a sort of bendy, pokey safety blanket.

The trouble is, Forky doesn’t think he is a toy, or doesn’t want to be a toy—he thinks he is trash (that is, after all, where he came from). So he keeps trying to escape to join the other rubbish in the bin.

That’s where Woody comes in. He more-or-less babysits Forky to make sure he stays put in the loving arms of Bonnie. The question, which becomes ever more pressing as the movie goes on, is whether Woody will be able to do that. It also becomes unclear whether he ought to, and what Woody sees as the long game—where he should end up, who he should be, and for whom.

“Toy Story 4” currently has a 97% on Rotten Tomatoes. When I first saw this after watching the movie, my immediate (and enduring) reaction was, “Whoa! 97%!? … Only 97%? What were the other 3% thinking!?” 358 reviewers have reviewed “Toy Story 4”. That means that 11 critics—11 living, breathing human beings who presumably have hearts beating in their chests—gave this movie a “rotten” rating. Who are these people? What’s their deal? What happened in their childhood? Is everything O.K.? Should we call someone? I’m concerned, and at a total loss.

Because “Toy Story 4” is a treasure. It is beautiful in so many ways: The Randy Newman music, the goofy and also touching humor, the lively animation, and the introduction of great new characters like Forky—who is perfectly voiced by the ever-delightful Tony Hale (aka Buster from “Arrested Development” aka Gary from “Veep”)—and Duke Caboom (Keanu Reeves), Canada’s most famous daredevil.

But, to my mind, the real marvel of “Toy Story 4” is in how, just as Andy grows and develops and matures throughout the movies, so too do the characters and themes. The first “Toy Story” was a fairly straightforward story about loss, envy, regret, loyalty, and redemption, though even there the sparks of something greater were present. But these themes have been so richly developed in the rest of the movies, including “Toy Story 4”.

Woody learns the meaning of sacrifice. He learns about letting go—its necessity, its importance, its value. This movie, more so than the others in the series, really is all about Woody. And we see him grow, mature, and learn.

And we, the audience, learn and see and understand and oh-so-poignantly feel that the noblest thing any person—whether toy or person—can do is be there, and comfort, and love, another person. “Toy Story 4” packs a brilliant, emotionally vibrant punch. It is one of the rare movies made for kids—or, really, anyone—that is worth watching and re-watching just to see empathy, and to learn from the struggle, the joy and sadness, and the humanness of its characters.

“Toy Story 4” was a risk. It paid off bigtime.

"Pokemon Detective Pikachu"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

I play “Pokémon Go” with my six- and three-year-old sons. Yeah that’s right. We play it. Laugh it up. We like it. It’s fun. I’d never played or watched anything Pokémon related before that, so I never developed any particularly deep love for the franchise. Still, when I recently took my six-year-old son to see “Pokémon Detective Pikachu”, we were undeniably excited to see live-action renditions of Charizard, Gyrados, Snorlax, Mew …

… and Cubone, Slakoth, Psyduck, and, of course, Pikachu. Sure enough, there they were. So many of them! Seriously, it was like taking a tram ride through the zoo—“Ooh, look, there’s a Charmander! And Aipom! And, wow, cool, there’s Mr. Mime!”

Aside from all the sightseeing so clearly aimed at the Pokémon faithful, this installment in the Pokémon franchise follows, not the beloved Ash, but Tim Goodman (Justice Smith)—a 21-year-old insurance salesman … who looks and acts and surely must be closer to 15 years old. Goodman has been summoned to Ryme City after the apparent death of his estranged father, who was a detective.

When he arrives in Ryme City—which is distinctive because humans and Pokémon live side-by-side as equals—and after he does the whole “whoa, look at all the Pokémon” thing for a while (which, again, makes no sense as anything other than Pokémon-nerd eye candy, since Goodman has surely seen these Pokémon before), Goodman visits the police station (his dad’s workplace) and his dad’s apartment to collect his belongings.

But when he gets to his dad’s apartment, Goodman realizes something isn't right. Not only are there suspicious materials lying around, but a suspiciously aloof Pikachu (Ryan Reynolds) in a Sherlock Holmes hat shows up as well. Then Aipoms, who are high on some kind of Hulk-ifying anger juice, start going after them.

After they escape, Goodman learns that this Pikachu was once his dad's partner. Except the Pikachu doesn't really remember much because he has amnesia. With the help of Lucy Stevens (Kathryn Newton)—a tabloid writer who aspires to be a more serious journalist—they get on the case.

It turns out that Goodman's dad may not be dead after all. And there may have been some funny business involved—something having to do with a Mew. And the seemingly-benevolent financier of Ryme City (Bill Nighy) might have had something to do with it.

Plus, look at all the Pokémon!

As I said, my son and I came to see this movie in part to see some Pokémon. We got our fill of that (thus, my son was pleased). But we also went to, well, see a movie. And that part of the excursion was less satisfying.

For “Pokémon Detective Pikachu” isn’t a very good movie. It is corny, hackneyed, melodramatic and/or sentimental at the wrong moments, predictable, and just so clearly taking advantage of the fact that millions of people are in love with Pokémon and so will ravenously consume anything the franchise dishes up.

Indeed, part of the problem with the movie is that so much time—and so much of the gravitational pull on the plot—centers on our seeing Pokémon, identifying Pokémon, watching Pokémon do cute and funny things, and so on. This rarefies and cheapens any genuine plot the movie may purport to offer.

"Pokémon Detective Pikachu" is supposed to be some sort of detective mystery, I guess. But it doesn't feel like it. Sure, Goodman, Pikachu, and Lucy Stevens do scamper around chasing leads. But it's all too easy to just not really care about these uninspired (and predictable, and uncompelling) plot machinations. I, at least, didn't care. I doubt my son did either.

On the other hand, we saw a lot of Pokémon. So my six-year-old was happy.

"Shazam!"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

For this review, I was planning to watch “Avengers: Endgame”, because it is a big deal and everyone is going crazy about it. But then I thought maybe I shouldn’t, because I haven’t seen all of the “Avengers” movies (I only have so many hours set aside for this series that is reproducing with rabbit-like rapidity) and so I probably wouldn’t do it the justice its avid fans would like, or demand, of a review.

So I saw a different superhero movie. You might be thinking, “Oh, you saw ‘Captain Marvel’.” I did not. “Hellboy?” Nope. “Is ‘Black Panther’ still in the theater?” No … or, I don’t know … But, anyway, the movie I saw was “Shazam!” Now you might be thinking, “Huh, you mean that Shaq movie from the 90s?” No, that was “Kazaam” (though, I admit, I flirted with this mistake too).

“Shazam!” is not a kids’ movie featuring Shaq as a genie. But it does feature kids and magic. One such kid is Thaddeus Sivana (Ethan Pugiotto). He’s got a mean dad and brother, and, on one cold night in 1974, they are having a fight in the car when, magically, Sivana gets whisked away to another realm where a wizard (Djimon Hounsou) tells Sivana he is looking for a new champion to help round up the Seven Deadly Sins, which were released on Earth awhile back.

But Sivana is a bad boy who is tempted by the Sins, so Wizard sends him back to the car, where Thaddeus makes a ruckus, distracts his dad, and causes a car crash.

Zoom ahead to present day and another bad boy, Billy Batson (Asher Angel), is making his own ruckus around town. Like Sivana, he’s got some parental issues—namely, his parents abandoned him and so he was forced to bounce around various foster families. However, unlike Sivana, Billy finally ends up with a cool foster family (an impossibly cool foster family), including parents who care and foster siblings who are polite and caring (again, impossibly polite and caring). Billy’s roommate, Freddy Freeman (Jack Dylan Grazer)—not to be confused with the Atlanta Braves first baseman—is all into superheroes and is especially cool.

Another way that Billy is not like Sivana is that Billy is deemed worthy to be the wizard’s champion. So the wizard makes him a superhero—i.e., Shazam (Zachary Levi). Shazam is super fast and strong, bulletproof, and can shoot electricity out of his body.

At first Billy/Shazam just plays around with his powers, like any kid would, and doesn’t really use them for good. But then Freddy, who, again, knows all about superheroes and so knows how they ought to act, calls him out on it (basically: “With great power comes … yada yada yada”).

And then, also, Sivana—now Dr. Sivana (Mark Strong)—reemerges as a super villain and, after killing his mean dad and brother, comes after Shazam. So Billy/Shazam kind of has to kick it into gear and play the superhero.

So there’s a fight, and it’s like kids vs. adults, and it looks hopeless, then not, and then … well, I’ll let you guess. If your guess is based on your knowledge of some very standard, unoriginal superhero plot, your guess is probably completely right.

So, yeah, “Shazam!” is unoriginal. I guess the foster-kid thing, and the parent problems in general, are supposed to be a different angle. (Though, don’t most superheroes have parent problems?) But it’s all like flat soda: No fizz. No pop.

And insofar as you like epic superhero battles, “Shazam!” is likely to disappoint you. That’s only the last little bit of the movie. The bulk of the time is spent on uncompelling backstory and adolescent hijinks.

Now, I didn’t loathe “Shazam!”—and, to be fair, it seems like a lot of other people liked it. I just didn’t know why I should care about it or its characters, or why I should be interested in it, or, indeed, why I should want to watch it.

I guess I should have seen “Avengers: Endgame”. Alas.

"Us"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Before filming “Us,” writer/director Jordan Peele had his cast watch certain horror movies so they could all be on the same page. They included “The Shining”, “Funny Games”, “Let the Right One in”, “The Birds”, and “The Sixth Sense”. These movies are all super atmospheric. They make impending doom visceral and pervasive, like a thick, noxious fog settling in around you, enveloping you, obscuring your vision, filling your lungs. These movies are horrifying in part because the malevolence they portray is readily perceptible and yet at the same time mysterious, a-rational, and utterly unknowable. It’s not supernatural—at least not always—but it sure isn’t natural either.

And that’s how “Us” starts out. A little girl in pigtails. Perfect, ruby-red candy apple in hand. A stormy night on an eerie beachside boardwalk with her inattentive, bickering parents. Glittering lights. Dark corners. Screaming rollercoaster-riders. Carnies. Freaks.

And yet Adelaide Wilson (Madison Curry), innocent and naïve as she is, doesn’t perceive these poisonous vapors settling in around her. As her drunken father distracts himself with a carnival game, she wanders off—past a grizzled man holding a piece of cardboard with “Jeremiah 11:11” written on it, by some nefarious-looking teens, and down the steps toward the beach, where Adelaide finds a funhouse-looking thing that says “Find yourself” next to a big, blinking arrow pointing into its dark depths.

If Adelaide would have had time to look up the proselytizer’s passage, she would have learned it reads, “Therefore thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will bring evil upon them, which they shall not be able to escape; and though they shall cry unto me, I will not hearken unto them.” Don’t go in the funhouse, Adelaide!

She drops her candy apple and scampers inside. Outside, the clouds rumble, lightning peals, and, suddenly, the lights go out in the “fun” house. Adelaide whistles to lighten the mood. Someone whistles back. Adelaide does not, as advertised, find herself in what turns out to be a maze and hall of mirrors. Instead she finds another child much like her. Exactly like her—her spitting image—waiting for her, calm, still … but angry.

Fast forward 30 or so years and, somehow, Adelaide (Lupita Nyong’o) is a well-adjusted woman with a lovely little family—a husband, daughter, and son, all portrayed neatly in one of those cute little stickers on the back of their car as they head to their vacation home by the beach.

Adelaide seems normal enough. But she doesn’t feel totally normal as she finds herself, by happenstance, at the same beachfront where the incident took place so many years ago. Despite her anxiety, and the pleading reminders from the score that terror is lurking, everything looks all right at first.

But then a family shows up. It’s late at night. And an unidentified foursome is just standing there, all in a row—kind of like that sticker on the car—right outside Adelaide’s house. As this other family sees to inviting themselves in, Adelaide’s son, Jason (Evan Alex), offers a partial identification: “It’s us.” Indeed, the intruding family appears to be a carbon copy of Adelaide’s family. Exactly alike in appearance.

Who are they? What do they want? What are they going to do? These are some natural questions—questions that, of course, don’t get answered right away. Instead the truth is revealed slowly and painfully amid all sorts of intensity, brutality, helplessness, hopelessness, and horror.

Though, to be honest, I say the horror in “Us” abates a bit once the second family shows up. It’s just a different kind of movie, and the intense, mysterious atmosphere dissipates and gives way to a grizzlier, more in-your-face—though I think less terrifying—kind of film.

One way or another, “Us” remains super intense throughout. And it gets more complex as it goes on, both plot-wise and thematically. Peele kicks around ideas about class structure, systematic oppression, and deep, psychological questions about the self. Which are fun to think about. This movie is also well written, acted, shot, composed, etc. In short, it’s a good movie.

But it doesn’t quite live up to its promise or cinematic inspirations (e.g., “The Shining,” “Funny Games,” “The Birds,” etc.). While the mood set in the earlier part of the film would have made Hitchcock and Kubrick proud, it does not maintain this oppressive aura throughout. We get relief, or something near enough. Which is a bad thing for a horror movie to give.

Furthermore, the thematic material—about class, oppression, the self—while interesting, doesn’t really deliver the goods either. It’s as if Peele wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do, what he wanted the doppelganger families to represent, or what he wanted to say. He had some interesting ideas and just threw them out there for us to go Rorschach on.

Which is a little disappointing. Though certainly not disappointing enough to ruin the overall cinematic accomplishment of Peele’s sophomore run.

"The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part"

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

In the past few years—since the release of the first “Lego Movie”—a lot of people have come to realize, or at least feel, that everything’s not awesome. Like, in the world—not everything’s awesome. Nor is everything cool, even when you’re part of a team.

And if not everything is awesome in the real world, well then, I suppose it may not be awesome in the Lego world either. And, indeed, in “The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part,” it’s not. Just as the broader state of the world can be a major buzz kill, so too untoward environmental dynamics can rain on Finn’s (Jadon Sand) Lego parade.

The destabilizing baby-in-chief in Finn’s world is his sister. She wants to play too. But in her own way. And the pre-existing tenants of their local Lego world—which, recall, include Emmet (Christ Pratt), Wyldstyle (Elizabeth Banks), Batman (Will Arnett), MetalBeard (Nick Offerman), Benny (Charlie Day), and so many others—are rightly terrified by this development.

Emmett, ever the optimist, tries to reach out to the new sister-made Lego Duplo creations. But things don’t go well. And before you know it, Bricksburg is Icksburg—a dystopian “heck” scape ala Mad Max.

Some of the more heroic Lego characters—particularly a bunch of the literal superheroes—head out to baby sister’s Lego world—i.e., the “Systar System”—to fight back, but when they don’t return, those who were left behind begin to lose hope.

Except, Emmet, that is. He’s still listening to his uplifting pop music, ordering super sugary coffee from a run-down coffee shack, waiving hi to all these mean biker dudes and terrifying robots, and, well, I guess making the best of it all.

Until, that is, his best friends get taken away by General Sweet Mayhem (Stephanie Beatriz), the general of the Duplo army. It’s strange, actually. General Mayhem comes along to say that their leader—Queen Wa’Nabi (Tiffany Haddish)—wants to marry the leader of Bricksburg (now Apocalypseburg), whoever that is.

Batman thinks it’s him, but then so do a bunch of other people, so General Mayhem takes them all away. Emmet is clearly not leadership material, so he gets left behind.

But that’s when Emmet finally sounds the alarm, gets pissed, kicks it into gear, and pursues the enemy. With the help of a familiar sounding bad boy, Rex Dangervest (Chris Pratt), Emmet makes it to the Systar System where his friends are being held.

Well but now they’re not actually being held. It’s more just where they live now. They seem happy and content. Almost too content. And Queen Wa’Nabi is nice, I suppose, but in a creepy I-may-actually-dismember-you sort of way.

But Emmet and Rex don’t buy it. Neither does Wyldstyle. They think everyone has been brainwashed. So it is up to them—or at least they think it is up to them—to shake everyone back to reality, or what they think is reality.

While watching “The Lego Movie 2” I laughed just about as much as I expected to laugh. Pretty close. Which, first and foremost, is praise for the movie, because I expected to laugh a lot. I liked “The Lego Movie” and really liked “The Lego Batman Movie”. And this sequel is cut from the same witty cloth.

Like the previous movies, “The Lego Movie 2” is funny, irreverent, fast-paced, and quirky in all the right ways. Kids will love all the fast action, exploding Legos, and slapstick humor, while parents will crack up at sharp puns and cultural references. So, yeah, this is a Lego movie. And that’s a good thing.

But, with that said, I didn’t laugh more than I was expecting. And I liked “The Lego Batman Movie” better. Also, while the moral in “The Lego Movie 2” is both well executed and timely—and I really do appreciate its addressing the not awesomeness in life—it won’t exactly blow you away with its profundity.

So “The Lego Movie 2” is, you know, good. Not great. But good.

Roma

By Matt Duncan
Coastal View News

Cleodegaria “Cleo” Gutierrez’s  (Yalitza Aparicio) life is, in many ways, not her own. She’s not a slave exactly. She’s a live-in-maid for a middle-class family in Mexico City in the early 19070s. But almost everything she does—every decision she makes—she does with an eye toward her employers’ needs.

Take the kids, for example. Cleo is basically a second mother (or more like the first mother) to the four kids in the family she works for—certainly she does more of the thankless, nitty-gritty work than Sra. Sofia (Marina de Tavira), the family’s matriarch. Furthermore, when Cleo learns that she herself is a mother-to-be, among the first things she considers is whether she can keep her job, how the family will react, etc.

This isn’t the only part of Cleo’s life that is wrong-way-round. She typically only gets off work after everyone else is in bed, so her social life is rarified, to put it mildly. And even the dynamics of the family she serves—strife and all—affect, beset, and toss Cleo about as if it was her family, her world, her life.

One could imagine this setup playing out in various different ways. For example, one could call to mind Alice from “The Brady Bunch”—an ever present part of the family who is represented as being happy and well adjusted.

On the other hand, it’s easy to take a more bleak perspective on Cleo’s plight. After all, she’s a paid actor in others’ drama. She does what others want her to do, and she does it how they want her to do it. Again, in this way, her life is not her own. Which sounds bleak.

However, in “Roma”, Cleo isn’t portrayed along either extreme. The picture is more complex and nuanced. On the one hand, Cleo’s predicament seems problematic, unfortunate, and borne of a clearly immoral system. But, on the other hand, it’s hard to escape the feeling that her life is deeply good—sad but beautiful. When Cleo, who should have never been in this situation—this life, this exploitation, this hardship, this unfair and inexcusable ordeal—embraces a family that is not her own, and clasps them together within her shielding arms, the feeling is just, thank God Cleo is here.

Now, of course this feeling is totally problematic. After all, that Cleo is desperately needed can hardly excuse her subjugation. It doesn’t somehow make it right, or even O.K.

But “Roma” is not about telling you how it is, morally speaking. This is not a sermon or stump speech. It is a look at the life and spirit, the ups and bitter downs, of a woman who the world overlooks. It does not depict the triumph of an ordinary life. Instead it shows its depth. Cleo’s life isn’t glamorous. It is hard and often boring and sometimes fun but never buoyed by sustained pleasure. Yet it is not meaningless. Far from it.

“Roma” is a beautiful film. It is careful and measured. It does not grasp beyond its reach or stumble into the traps of political or social bloviation. It is transcendently modest—in its acting, directing, cinematography, and so on. It cherishes everyday life without exaggerating or even particularly exalting it. It finds meaning in simple things—not just pleasures, but pains also. This is the stuff of life.