The Odyssey (2026)

Reviewed: 08/15/2026

Combined Rating: 4/5

Lauren’s Review:

I can’t remember the last time a film was so highly anticipated… in my household, anyway. We watched endless reviews beforehand, almost all of them from haters who claimed that the film was awful in seventy-eight different ways. Much of it centered around the woke casting choices, but then there was the modern dialogue (completely takes you out of the story!), the script was too self-aware, boring, uninspired, and also feminist (…feminist? Really?) But, we read The Odyssey aloud together, plus it was written and directed by Christopher Nolan, so we couldn’t *not* see it… 

Honestly, I now have to wonder about all of these critics’ judgment in general. Seems to me that they must have gone in determined to find fault for some preordained reason—and of course, if you want to, you certainly can. As for me, aside from the same jarring casting choices everyone else is talking about (which really do take you out of the story, but they’re bit parts so it didn’t interfere with my appreciation overall), I think Nolan improved upon Homer a great deal. (I feel I can legitimately say this, because I’ve read The Odyssey twice now. While it was a decent adventure story, I found it slow, episodic, and with too little characterization.) Nolan’s pacing, by contrast, was superb—so much so that I almost didn’t even notice the film’s (admittedly absurd) nearly three hour length. By inserting the whole thing into a frame story, as told by Odysseus (Matt Damon) to Calypso (Charlize Theron), the story doesn’t get bogged down in a linear structure, but jumps around in time—from the Trojan horse and the battle at Troy, to just the highlights of the monsters and adventures on the high seas. Meanwhile, it interweaves flashbacks to Ithaca from before Odysseus left, to the present, as Penelope (Anne Hathaway) fends off her boorish suitors (of whom Robert Pattinson was most memorable), and Telemachus (Tom Holland) plays for time while trying to learn what has become of his father.

I also felt far more emotionally invested in the characters in this version than in the original. Homer’s Odysseus, while clever, seemed arrogant and unfaithful to his long-suffering wife—which was kind of just the culture, I think. Women were expected to remain faithful, while men could do what they liked with impunity. In this version, at least, Odysseus doesn’t sleep with Circe, just Calypso (for seven years)—but he only does that because Calypso drugs him, and he doesn’t even remember Penelope’s existence until just before he leaves. I also found Penelope and Telemachus sympathetic, Pattinson’s character cowardly and hatable, and the climactic ending satisfying and well-deserved. Yes, there were nits I could pick at here and there—but really, I think there’s been quite enough of that.  ****

Frank’s Review:

Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey is not Homer, but its own unique beast that borrows the bare bones to tell a decidedly modern story. I don’t have a problem with that because the story he chose to tell was well told, productive, and even, arguably, moral. What it offers about regret and restraint is worth consideration, if not equally timeless. Chiefly, Nolan conveys dramatically that there are inevitable ramifications for how we choose to treat people…especially strangers. When we take it upon ourselves to flaunt the civil conventions that the Greek Gods were invented to congeal, societies, and even civilizations can quickly break apart. Next thing you know, we’re all “sea people” without even realizing it. Nolan understands just as myths and legends morph over time to maximize their culturally specific impact, the blanket truths imparted therein inherently appeal to most of us, or at least enough of us to maintain a fragile co-existence into the 21^st century. Whether the “Trojan War” was about reclaiming honor or economic superiority, murdering an entire city-state seems an overreaction laden with unintended consequences. Very few of us could lop the head off a young villager without having that face emblazened on our conscience. As basic courtesies in our world get increasingly violated, I think Chris rightly decided it was high time for a refresher course.

Much of the pre-release criticism surrounding this film focused on “historical inaccuracies” and liberties that are sufficiently egregious to pull the viewer out of the story. While these moments exist, they didn’t compromise the premise, but in multiple ways, rather accentuated it. The diversity I initially lamented as being arbitrary instead served to remind that this is for, and reflective of, us, not people who have been dead for 1,000 years…even at the risk of pissing off modern Greeks, who treasure the source material as foundational for their national identity. But as much as origin stories are necessary for cohesion within, they can also be tweaked for resonance without. I mean, it’s not like any of this actually happened. But if it did, and the juicy scroll of deeds is one day found in an Ionian cave, I reserve the right to join the lynch mob of denunciation. Until then, I’ll probably ignore the two hour YouTube session bitching about how the cyclops actually had a beard and was a much better conversationalist.

Or, if you vehemently disagree with my quasi-pretentious blather, may I present an alternative theory to explain away “modern insertions” into the ancient period setting? Imagine Matt Damon (whom we all know to plagued both by self-loathing and delusions of grandeur) as a student in a Greek Mythology 101 community college course, who falls asleep during a feminist-tinged lecture and has the most lavish fever dream, choppy and chaotic, as dreams often are. The movie is his dream. The night before, Damon watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail, subliminally reminding him in the face of danger to just “run away…run away!!!” His kids call him dad, when they’re not stressing him out, and he spends too much vacation time trying to wrangle them to “get off this effing beach and go home.” His wife is out of his league, and he’s constantly worried about Ben Affleck, or maybe Batman, moving in. His dream ends when his redemption arc is complete, and he finally realizes if he just humbles himself and gives up control, being Matt Damon might be tolerable after all. I think it works in this context, and makes all the jarring “say what?” moments more palatable. I’m not trying to “out-Nolan” Christopher Nolan, whom we all know to be smarter than the smartest person we know, but in this dark age of cinema between eras of coherent scripting, is it wrong to ask audiences to think outside the box? ****

Meal Pairing: This movie was made for the theatrical experience (if any were), but if you’re re-watching at home, prepare a Greek themed charcuterie board with lamb strips, pita bread bites, feta crumbles, Kalamata olives, quartered tomatoes, pepperoncinis, and a side bowl of tzatziki and olive oil for dipping. Highly recommend some “Alpha” Greek Beer, which you can find at your local Pappoule’s (in Tucson).

Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die (2025)

Reviewed: 08/08/2026

Combined Rating: 4.25/5

Lauren’s Review:

This one is worth picking for the title alone—and I might have done so, if I hadn’t also known that it was a comedy about AI taking over the world. (We all need a little levity around that topic right about now.) The film didn’t stop there, either, but likewise offered biting social commentary on several other serious issues plaguing modern society. They didn’t even shy away from school shootings. The screenwriters are nothing if not bold, and I can hardly explain to you how “jokes” about this don’t come off crass and insensitive at best—yet somehow, it works.

The story opens with a very strangely dressed, homeless-looking man (Sam Rockwell) walking into a diner with a bomb strapped to his chest, demanding the attention of its patrons. He announces that he’s from the future—a future in which AI has decimated humanity. He’s here to try to stop that future from coming to pass, and he believes that the right combination of people from this diner will succeed in their mission, which is to stop the creation of AI, tonight, in this very city. But only the right group of them will succeed. He’s apparently also stuck in a time loop, so he’s tried this 117 times before. Each time, the entire group has died violently… but he has a good feeling about tonight. When he finally chooses his team, we get each member’s backstory in flashback. Two are teachers whose students are basically zombies taken over by their phones. One lost her son to a school shooting, only to be approached by a sales team offering to clone him. The catch is that she had to recreate him by selecting from check-boxes for personality traits, which renders slightly stilted results… and also, every now and then he spouts product ads in casual conversation. (Frank tells me there was a Black Mirror episode like this once.) The man from the future almost doesn’t select the most important member of the team, as she’s dressed in a Disney princess outfit, which creeps even him out. She turns out to be allergic to technology (EMF sensitive I assume, though they never say this)—which becomes the key to their ultimate success.

This was one of the most unique and creative new release films I’ve seen in a very long time. Not only was the storyline itself original (or at least a unique mashup of older ideas), but the way in which it was told was fresh, too. There’s a whole lot of language and violence, but even those elements are tongue-in-cheek, and almost Monty Python-level ridiculous. I can forgive objectionable material far more when it’s delivered with a hefty dose of irony. ****1/2 

Frank’s Review:

A disheveled man with no name shows up at a diner with a wild pitch for the patrons. He claims to be from the future, and has what looks like a bomb strapped to him. Is this just another night in Los Angeles? As zany as it sounds, many of the patrons have their own reasons for hearing him out, since his premise seeks to save us from our future selves and the destructive artificial intelligence we enabled to spiral out of control in our own ignorant reliance upon it. With A.I., everything is fun and games until it’s not…and the man makes it comedically, if not perfectly clear we won’t want any part of what it will inevitably bring!

Only the right combination of recruited patrons can, on this very night, help the man find and “unplug” a child who creates the “technological singularity,” after which there is no turning back. Aborted attempts require starting from scratch back at the diner with a new combination of people, but blowing himself up 117 times is obviously taking its toll on our beloved Sam Rockwell, who delivers one of his best manic, yet endearingly foul-mouthed performances. This contrasts beautifully with the abject normalcy of his hum-drum recruits who argue amongst themselves like any of us, as strangers, would. Some of them could be heroes in the making, but these qualities are not self-evident. It seems impossible that any of these goofs could actually succeed to preclude our dispassionate villain from achieving total sentience.

The film successfully employs humor to tackle some heavy and dark themes about how technology is negatively impacting our personal lives and society at large, one of which is directly lifted from an episode of the British anthology series Black Mirror. But as the back-stories of the patrons get revealed in micro-flashbacks, we start to understand why these folks would want to take major risks to get involved in the cause, even if they are hesitant for obvious reasons, initially. The movie argues we need to start asking ourselves questions about how and why we use new tech so willingly, with few to no guard rails, just to satiate our immediate emotional needs. There is no reason to doubt that human weakness and fragility will lead us to one day cross lines to bring back artificial bot versions of lost loved ones, even as we continue plying impressionable teens with the latest addicting phones that serve to replace traditional parenting. Even as I was enjoying the hell out of this whirlwind romp, I felt disturbed thinking about how many independent thinkers we’re gonna have left when we actually get to the singular point when we need them to think, and act, most! ****

Meal pairing: With the diner setting, let’s go with a smashburger and fries, with a garlic aioli dipping sauce, and a hard cider. 

The Running Man (1987)

Reviewed: 3/20/2026

Combined Rating: 3.5/5

Lauren’s Review:

And here I thought “The Hunger Games” was original. Turns out, Stephen King beat Suzanne Collins to it by a couple of decades… though, to be fair, creativity is often just a mash-up of previous ideas, combined in new ways. “The Running Man” is “The Hunger Games” meets “Gladiator,” with a little bit of “1984” thrown in (although I realize it predates two of those three. It certainly doesn’t predate the actual Colosseum, though.)

In a far more dystopian 2017 than we actually experienced, Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger) commits the unpardonable crime of refusing to follow a government order to massacre peaceful civilians. (There’s no nuance in the script here: we’re just establishing that the government police state is evil, and Ben is good. Got it.) The others in the helicopter take over and kill the people anyway, and then (because we can’t have anything but yes-men on the police force), the government media team doctors the footage of this event such that Ben is made out to be the villain. While fleeing for his life, he breaks into Amber Mendez’s (Maria Conchita Alonso’s) apartment and forces her to aid in his escape. But she believes the narrative about him at first, and aids in his capture. From there, Damon (Richard Dawson), the larger-than-life host of a reality TV show called The Running Man, recruits him as a contestant. The show releases criminals into a maze, where they try to survive while being hunted by “stalkers” with ridiculous names and costumes very much like pro-wrestlers. Every runner in the past has been murdered by the stalkers on live TV, but Ben proves to be an especially entertaining contestant for the bloodthirsty viewers—because, you know, it’s Schwarzenegger. To heighten the stakes, Damon dumps a couple of Ben’s comrades in the arena with him, along with Amber (once she realizes he’s innocent, gets caught snooping for answers, and therefore also must die).

 The reason Frank mentioned this movie now was because the concept of “deep fake” videos is so prescient, though in the film, I don’t recall if AI was involved in manufacturing it. The characters in the film all follow well-recognized stereotypes: the hero with the terrible one-liners, the spunky love interest, the sidekick expendable buddies, and the hatable villain you just can’t wait to see “get his” in the end. I actually appreciate the fact that back in the 80s, there were no shades of moral ambiguity in films like this. You knew exactly who to root for, and you knew how it would end—you just might not know all the specifics of how they’d get there. The only really eye-rolling moment was the the cheesy kiss at the end (and I didn’t even warn you of a spoiler alert because, is it necessary?) But, to be fair… I guess Ben earned it. 

Frank’s Review:

“Buzzsaw,” “Fireball,” “Subzero,” and “Dynamo.”  These are names of some of the “stalkers” hired to satiate the bloodlust of the distracted masses on America’s most popular game show: “The Running Man,” in dystopian 2017 Los Angeles.  Authorities in this distant future punish dissent with death, unless you’re “lucky” enough to be chosen as a “contestant” in a spectacle of souped-up nihilism, running for your life with a false hope of pardon for surviving the gauntlet.  The glossy artifice of the show veils the dour inhumanity of daily existence, even as the multitudes rush to place bets on which stalker will “get the kill” on tonight’s episode!   It’s surprising the rabble has any cash at all, but I guess the point is that their desperation justifies the risk.  With the smarmy real life “Family Feud” host Richard Dawson on board to polish the kitsch as (subtly named) “Damon Killian,” this truly is MUST SEE TV when folks have little else to live for.

Enter govt. helicopter pilot “Ben Richards” (a cigar chomping Arnold Schwarzenegger), who goes rogue when ordered to waste unarmed civilians protesting food shortages on city streets below.  Owning the media, the State deep-fakes the footage to make it appear as if Richards coldly fired on the people, over the government’s benevolent protests.  This part of the movie really hit home, not only for predicting the perspective employment of A.I. to steer political narratives, but in portraying the ease in which it can be done, and God forbid, overdone.   For this reason alone, this film has achieved a new and scary significance 40 years on.   Why the deep state keeps the original footage in a labeled file cabinet, however, defies logic, but hey, the rebels will conveniently need it later on to quickly win the crowd to Richards’s cause when, as a forced contestant, he surprisingly starts dispatching stalkers and upending the narrative.  When the practical crowd starts betting on Richards, the show runners know they need to stop effing around and kill him and his cohorts quickly, before the spin gets unspun.  But the bad news for Killian et all is that Richards already promised “I’ll be back,” and he didn’t mean only “in a rerun.”

The silly contrivances employed to advance the story don’t lessen its impact, because so much sympathy is generated for our protagonists in going up against a rigged machine, righteously (and gratuitously) exposed.  Unlike the more serious (and less memorable) 2025 remake, the original cares way more about being violent, slick, and fun, with plenty of time carved out for classic one-liners like “What happened to Buzzsaw? …He had to SPLIT!”  In the end, even the woman who resents Richards for getting her pulled into his problems, and ultimately the game itself, can’t resist his macho charms.  But in a quintessentially cheesy ‘80’s ending, I guess we’re supposed to assume the regime just folds to the off-screen, post credit revolution inspired by Schwarzenegger’s heroic antics.  Which is fine, because, to the film’s credit, it knows the everyman “doesn’t care about the politics.  It only cares about the “survival.” 

Meal Pairing: Thick chili with beans (add cooked spaghetti), stewed tomatoes, onions, and lots of shredded cheese on top with a plate of salty crackers. Works best if cooked over a dumpster fire out back…

Enchanted (2007)

Reviewed: 2/11/26

Combined Rating: 4.25/5

Lauren’s Review:

This is one of my all-time favorite movies… it only took us 10 years of marriage for me to finally convince Frank to watch it. 😉 (To be fair, I hadn’t asked him to watch it before now, though. I generally don’t, if I don’t think he’s going to like it. I think in this case I was getting him back for making me watch something equally objectionable, though now I can’t recall what it was.) I love this movie because it’s the perfect intersection of the Disney-princess fantasy, of a live action musical, and of a tongue-in-cheek send-up of the same. I feel like the actors must have had a ball making it, very much like “The Princess Bride” (also an all-time favorite).

The story starts out as a cartoon for maybe the first 15 minutes or so, as if it’s a 1950s original Disney film—only far more intentionally stereotypical. Simple girl Giselle dreams of “true love’s kiss,” with the help of woodland creatures, and then meets and simultaneously falls in love with Prince Edward. The next second, they’re about to be married, but Edward’s mother, her future wicked stepmother, sends her into a portal to another world, where “there are no happily ever afters.” Giselle (Amy Adams) then emerges in modern New York City, looking for her lost love and a way back home… only to encounter divorce attorney Robert (Patrick Dempsey) and his daughter Morgan (Rae Covey). Morgan of course is enamored of the idea of a real life princess, or soon-to-be princess anyway. Cynical Robert thinks she’s a little crazy, and wants her to become someone else’s problem—especially as Giselle’s innocent blunders give Robert’s girlfriend Nancy (Idina Menzel) the impression that he’s cheating on her. Eventually Edward (James Marsden) comes looking for Giselle, proving that at least some part of her story must be true. So does his wicked mother (Susan Sarandon), in the guise of a haggard old crone enticing Giselle to bite a poisoned apple. There are songs and dancing throughout, except for Robert, who declares, “I don’t dance. And I really don’t sing.” (Side note: they cast Idina Menzel in a musical, but she doesn’t sing?! Really? That was the only real disappointment. What a waste!) In the end, of course, true love wins the day… only Giselle’s true love turns out not to be Edward, after all, but her complete opposite (surprise, surprise).

It’s obviously both predictable and ridiculous, but that doesn’t matter in the slightest—in fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love it because despite the bubble-gum optimism of Giselle’s world and the cold cynicism of Robert’s, they meet in the middle, and create their own “happily ever after.” When I first discovered this film, one of the songs was on my playlist on repeat (“How Does She Know”): it reminds me of a facetious version of all the full-cast numbers from my favorite Disney films growing up. And one of my favorite things about 1950s and 60s musicals is that as soon as a character bursts into song, everyone immediately knows the lyrics and all the steps. Flash mobs make me happy for precisely this reason. I swear, this will happen in heaven… (in my heaven, anyway.) *****

Frank’s Review:

Few places in our discerned reality are more unpredictable than the big city, where (literal) fairy-tale dreams might still come true for those who don’t play it safe.  When wide-eyed “Princess Giselle” (Amy Adams) is dispatched through a portal from her animated realm of Andalasia to our live-action Big Apple by the evil “Queen Narissa” (Susan Sarandon), what results is an exercise in positivity affirmation that would make your typical cabbie squirm.  Stuck in a bewildering world not her own with no insight or resources, can Giselle win over a skeptical jaded john (and us, by extension) who no longer makes time for “magic?” Or, will her unnatural, unfathomably pleasant disposition get her relegated to the local looney bin before her stock “Prince Edward” can find and reclaim her?

Hiring live actors to portray animated Disney characters that “jump” from their cartoon world into ours is a risky proposition, because it requires total commitment from the on-screen talent.  No matter what judgements I may have rendered on the proceedings, ranging from silly to manic to downright insane, I give everyone performing in Enchanted credit for just “going for it,” because that was the only way the movie was ever going to work (if it ultimately did).  We have to believe these are naïve caricatures after a “true love” they’re sure exists, translating their anachronistic personas seamlessly into our reality, as if straight off the page.  The most pervasive (and ironic) joke the movie employs has Giselle confused for a “mental case” merely for reflecting simpler longings long-since forfeited for the unnatural sea of anonymity favored by modern city dwellers.  But the movie isn’t cynical enough to claim many in Giselle’s path aren’t secretly moved by her notions anyway.  It’s just a question of who has the stronger will, and who will adapt to who?

While chronic eye-rolling threatened to excessively divert my gaze, I eventually let myself accept that this was, in fact, Disney spoofing itself…and that made it easier to digest.  Much modern Disney fare fails in cringe attempts to be earnest, because our evolved cynicism precludes engagement.  The charm of this effort is in acknowledging our modern tendencies and then overtly contrasting them with the old-school optimism we’ve buried for the sake of “survival.”  In a sense, Enchanted kind of gives us permission to feel nostalgic about some ideal of “romanticism” we’ve collectively lost.  I wonder whether we actually ever had it, but I think we like to think we did.  Note: Although the animated portions of the movie total only 13 minutes, an extra ½ star is awarded for Disney’s decision to revert to the hand drawn cells they abandoned three years earlier in order to pursue inferior digital techniques. *** ½

Meal pairing: popcorn fried chicken and sautéed stir-fry vegetables over rice (generally I prefer brown, but this is a white rice kind of a film) with sweet and sour dipping sauce. Serve with a glass of rose Pinot Noir. 

The Life of Chuck (2024)

Reviewed: 9/20/25

Combined Rating: 2/5

Lauren’s Review:

Two things made me pick this movie: Tom Hiddleston (I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about him that is just so compelling), and the dance sequence in the preview. In retrospect, I guess the preview told me next to nothing about the movie itself, though. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t what I got. The movie doesn’t follow the traditional formula in almost any way, nor does it really have a super coherent plot. It’s divided into three acts, shown in reverse order, and Hiddleston (Chuck) doesn’t even show up until act two. 

In Act Three (shown first), the world is on the brink of apocalypse, though the cause isn’t clearly named, that I recall. (That was a surprise: given it’s Hollywood, I’d have expected it to be global warming—or “climate change,” since we’ve discovered that temperatures actually fluctuate.) The electrical grid ceases to work. Sink holes randomly open up and swallow people whole. Stars simply wink out of existence. One estranged couple takes center stage in the midst of all of this… and meanwhile, billboards and TV commercials pop up all over, thanking “Chuck” for 39 great years. Nobody knows who Chuck is, or what he has to do with anything, when the world is literally ending. (At this point I turned to Frank and praised Stephen King’s brilliance: what a hook! I absolutely had to know where this was going.) In Act 2, we back up and meet Chuck at last, as he walks down the street and breaks into the fabulous dance sequence from the preview with a woman he’s never met before, who (incidentally) just got dumped by her boyfriend. We still don’t know who Chuck is or why we care, but we get flashes of him dying later—and it becomes clear at that point that the “39 great years” are years he’s been alive, not years he’s been doing whatever his job was. Act One backs up to when Chuck was a child, and focuses on his tragic home life, how he learned to dance, and the mysterious and forbidden upper room in the house where he grew up. We never get an explanation for the “thanks Chuck!” messages in Act Three, nor why the world was ending… which to me was a confusing let-down. I suspect King figured none of that was the point anyway, and the audience would have forgotten the intrigue in the smaller human drama by then.

But, what was the point, then? I gathered what the story was trying to say was that life can be tragic and even cataclysmic, but because you’re not promised tomorrow, you should dance whenever you have the opportunity. Or something like that. The film is supposed to be “life-affirming,” according to most of the reviews. For someone who doesn’t know God, who has no trust that Someone bigger has his back, and no hope for greater purpose or ultimate redemption, I guess that’s about the most hopeful message there can possibly be. To me, though, that’s still totally bleak, almost to the point of nihilism. In trying to make the point that dancing makes all the sorrows of life worthwhile, I feel King actually made the exact opposite point. …And also, I still want to know who put up all the billboards. **

Frank’s Review:

Magical,” “hopeful,” and “life-affirming” are three praises critics have heaped upon Mike Flanagan’sThe Life of Chuck, based on a Stephen King short story from the collection “If it Bleeds,” published in 2020…with many claiming it to be “one of the best King adaptations ever!”  These descriptors piqued Lauren’s interest, while the Stephen King part piqued mine, but in the end…The Shawshank Redemption this was NOT!  It was not uplifting, and it was not horrifying.  What it was was a bleak existential metaphor masquerading as a Disneyesque fantasy that ultimately made no discernible point about why anything it presents for consideration matters.  There was no “there” there.

The opening segment (of three) portrays a near-future where some prefer to use ‘80’s style brick phones.  Suddenly, technology breaks down and cataclysms occur because, you know, probably “climate change,” and a teacher tries to quickly reconcile an estranged relationship.  Then all the stars go out, precipitating the end of the world where Jesus doesn’t even come back, but just…blackness and nothing.    Meanwhile, “Chuck” (an underused Tom Hiddleston) is an obscure 39-year-old on his death bed, but billboards advertising his supposedly consequential life are ubiquitous, serving only to annoy and confound unrelated characters dealing with their own impending collective doom.  At the very least, we eventually expect to see what on Earth Chuck did to deserve such universal celebration, but the only explanation we get is that at one point in his life, Chuck made a few people momentarily happy when he decided to incite a flash mob by dancing to raise some quick cash for a street drummer.  So, Chuck decided to “live in the moment.”  Yay.  What else have you got?

Instead of fleshing out the inherent “goodness” of Chuck, we instead flashback to his childhood to explore his love of dancing, and why he was persuaded by his alcoholic uncle (Mark Hamill) to do the “responsible” thing and pursue accounting instead.  In addition to crushing his dream, “Uncle Albie” also tells Chuck “not to ever go into the cupola of their Victorian home, because he had some supernatural visions there that turn out to be… *spoiler* …various people’s deaths…including his own, forthcoming.  In fact, many in this movie seem to drop dead, and others, like the aforementioned teacher facing the end of the world 30-ish years in the future, seem to be the same age when Chuck is a teen.  Is this inferring some kind of implicit melding of time (which would explain the earlier cell phone choice)?  If so, that doesn’t make this movie feel timeless.  It just feels muddled, with the incessant dancing feeling more and more like an excuse to fill run time that could have been better used connecting dots, like all those stars in the sky that unexplainably went out.  But when all has faded to black, all I can muster is: thanks for 39 passable minutes, Chuck! **

Meal pairing: Spicy Cajun shrimp and sausage jambalaya over rice, with hush puppies. Something about the dance scene makes me think of Cajun food… maybe because New Orleans just seems like the kind of place where people spontaneously bust out dancing in the middle of the street. 

Can’t Buy Me Love (1987)

Reviewed: 9/8/25

Combined Rating: 3.75/5

Frank’s Review:

It took me almost 49 years of life before I finally sat down for this ’80’s Romantic Comedy, because I’ve seen hundreds and assumed it was like all the others. But then I found out it was shot all around where I live in Tucson, Arizona, and I’m a sucker for accessible movie location pilgrimages, so I had my hook, and my excuse. I discovered that Can’t Buy Me Love, while parading many common tropes of the genre, rides a higher wave on the sheer talent of its two teenage leads: Patrick Dempsey (who I’m told later morphs into something called “McDreamy”) and Amanda Peterson, who died tragically in 2015 at age 43, after giving up on Hollywood entirely. It warms my heart that she will be remembered for such endearing fare as this, even as Dempsey, no doubt, continues to get ribbed for his nerdy, but equally lovable character “Ronald Miller.”

Turns out, this movie struck a lingering chord with audiences that has earned it quasi-cult status, especially in Tucson, along with other locally shot non-western winners like Revenge of the Nerds (1984) and The Wraith (1985), both cult favorites in their own right. Can’t Buy Me Love could even complete a kind of ’80’s cult triumverite, if one were to watch all three back-to-back-to-back on an indulgent, pizza fueled Friday night. In a town known for producing epic (and not so epic) horse operas, it’s nice that we have a few cultural flicks that your basic low prospect, drooling downtownie high-schooler can more easily relate to. And trust me, the Dirty T has more than its share of those. Not that Director Steve Rash was trying to encourage impressionable nerds to bribe popular girls with $1,000 to pretend to date them for a month, because if Rash knew anything about Tucson, he’d have known that most local teens don’t want to work hard enough to earn $1K mowing grass in what is, predominantly, a desert. But if they ever did, it was in the ’80’s. So, I guess modern teen viewers might learn a lesson in “work ethic,” if nothing else?

Still, there remain a whole lot of people that talk about this movie, in local circles at least, which proves only that I’m not susceptible to their influence alone. But I am glad that I found a reason to put this on, and be magically whisked away to a time when malls were still the “town square,” guys like “Big John” were captains of the football team, and relationship dramas exploded at ill-monitored suburban house parties. But transcending all this is “Ronald Miller’s” climactic tirade against the tribalism that sadly, if not inevitably, still exists to isolate student “types,” all of whom are, in their own ways, just trying to survive the often brutal no-man’s land of high school. For taking this stand, Ronald more than deserves his riding lawnmower-into-the-sunset moment with “Cindy Mancini.” (Addendum: my recent trip to the Tucson Mall on a Saturday afternoon found it more than sparsely populated…color me surprised!)

*** 1/2

Lauren’s Review:

When I added this to my “to be watched” list (no doubt because Frank recommended it, due to the fact that it was filmed in the 80s), I had no idea that it was also filmed in my hometown of Tucson, Arizona. It was kind of surreal to see Tucson as it was back then, even though I didn’t recognize any of the specific filming locations. I was also fixated for much of the film on how Patrick Dempsey looked as a teenager—hardly recognizable! He’s one of those late bloomers, I guess: in 1987 he could still play a skinny nerd whom the captain of the cheerleading squad wouldn’t glance at twice, even though he grew up to be “McSteamy” or “McDreamy” or whatever it was that they nicknamed him in “Grey’s Anatomy.” (I only watched a couple of episodes here and there, though I do own some early 2000s chick flicks starring Dempsey, once he’d grown into himself.) Meanwhile, I was perplexed why I’d never even heard of his costar, Amanda Peterson, since she’s adorable and was a great actress too. We googled her later—turned out she died young and had an incredibly sad life. So that kind of overshadowed the movie itself for me, in retrospect.

Nevertheless, the story: “Ronnie Miller” (Dempsey) is apparently one of the few teenagers at Tucson High with a job, mowing lawns (which is ironic for Tucson, now that I think about it. Why did so many people here have grass in need of mowing? We put in fake grass in our backyard so we wouldn’t have to try to keep the real stuff alive.) The show opens with Ronnie mowing the front yard of his crush, “Cindy Mancini” (Peterson), and wishing for a way to get her attention. Cindy attends a party, wearing her mom’s ridiculous white suede getup, and someone spills wine on it. Desperate to replace it, she goes to the mall, but finds out that it will cost her $1000, which she doesn’t have. Ronnie, however, has the money from his job, and offers to give it to her—in exchange for her pretending to be his girlfriend for a month. I was a bit unclear whether his initial goal was to hope to win Cindy herself in the course of that month, or just to elevate his own social status by proximity to her. Eventually, she does fall for him, but he’s so busy reveling in his newfound popularity that he doesn’t even notice, and goes through with their pre-planned breakup charade. He gets to still enjoy his status for awhile even after this, though at the expense of his real friends. The moral of the story is predictable: Ronnie realizes he’s pretending to be someone he’s not, and he’s hurt people who really care about him in the process—including Cindy. 

The story does break free of some of the typical teen film tropes: the characters are well-developed, rather than caricatures. Even Cindy (the beautiful head cheerleader) is actually a likable person. The heartwarming ending might be cheesy if it were filmed today, but for the 80s, it hits all the right notes.

****

Meal Pairing: Extra Large Pepperoni pizza with banana peppers and a “Green River” soda, which you can still get at Rocco’s Chicago Style Pizzeria in Tucson!  And if you’re in the Old Pueblo, PM me for a personal tour of a few of the move’s haunts, narrated from my white van.

Somewhere in Time (1980)

Reviewed: 8/20/2024

Combined Rating: 1.5/5

Lauren’s Review:

Time travel, historical romance, and two leads I generally adore… “Somewhere in Time” had all the makings of what might have become one of my favorite films. I kind of knew from the over-the-top cheesy preview that I was more likely to heckle it, though, and that turned out to be the case. 

The story follows “Richard Collier” (Christopher Reeve), a playwright in the 1970s. At a party for his play, an elderly woman approaches him (as the whole room goes silent, like they all know the import of this moment), places a beautiful antique watch in his palm, and murmurs, “Come back to me!” Years later, Richard vacations in the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island, where he becomes obsessed with a photo of a beautiful young woman on display. He learns that she is “Elise McKenna” (Jane Seymour), an actress who performed in a play there in 1912. I’m not clear how he realized that she was the old woman who gave him the pocket watch—intuition, maybe?—but he researches all he can about her, and about time travel. A former college professor essentially tells him that he can do it through sheer mental will if he really, really believes, and excludes all evidence of the current era. He records himself saying that it is currently 1912 and listens on repeat until eventually he wakes up in 1912, on the day of Elise’s play in the Grand Hotel. (Suspension of disbelief, I guess? I’d have had an easier time with this if there had been some object that granted him the ability to time-travel… the watch would have worked. Though, more on that later.) When Richard approaches Elise for the first time, she’s never seen him before, though she was told in a prophecy that she would meet a man who would change her life, and asks if it’s him. In response, he shows her the pocket watch (time paradox #1: Elise got it from him in 1912, and will give it to him in 1972, and then he will give it to her in 1912… so when was the thing created exactly?) Anyway, Elise tries to avoid him, but they’ve only got a day, so that doesn’t last long. There’s really no “falling in love,” because Richard was in love with her from her picture, and she apparently was in love with him due to the prophecy, so they just gallivant for the afternoon. Then when he goes to see her play that night, she delivers this impassioned speech from the stage about love, directly to him. 

I’ll attempt not to spoil the end, except to say, is it even possible for time travel romances to end happily? This one purports to, but it’s really actually quite dreadful. As a general rule, I hate sad endings, but the entire film was so absurd that in this case, I just laughed. It’s one of those so-bad-it’s-good films, but at least the absurdity reflected the innocence of a bygone era. They’d never make a movie like this today. **

Frank’s Review:

I can usually be persuaded to suffer schmaltzy romance if at least two of the three additional factors are in play: a) a time travel element, b) a period setting, and c) charismatic actors I enjoy watching. When I learned that Somewhere in Time had all three of these factors, employing the delectable talents of reigning Superman (Christopher Reeve) and the world’s hottest Bond girl (Jane Seymour), I assumed it would be smooth sailing. How could this possibly be bad? Oh my dear, let me count the ways.

Firstly, the entire movie takes place at a sleepy hotel on Mackinac Island, Michigan that my grandma enjoyed visiting in the 1980’s. Back then, old timers loved to venture there to experience a sentimental throwback to their Victorian era childhoods. After all, they don’t even allow cars on the island! I can dig that, but in presentation, the film stock was so soft and the palate brushed with so much pastel, that I was fighting heavy eyelids from the get-go. As what felt like decades of minutes ticked by, we watch Reeve fall “in love” with a portrait of a pretty lady in the hotel lobby and start obsessing more and more over it, torturing himself as if in some uncanny state of deja-vu. Secondly, the time travel element made zero sense, succumbing to a standard time-loop paradox so many genre films suffer from. But this one was surely the laziest contrivance I’ve ever seen to facilitate a story. Did the “key” item originate in the present or the past? Don’t even try to figure it out. I think the director was hoping we’d just focus on the “destiny” of the lovers and the “idea” that what happened between them was inevitable…the product of “fates intertwined,” or some such hokum. Thirdly, Seymour was still in “Solitaire” mode for much of the film, giving creeper Reeve the cold shoulder as he tried every awkward thing under the sun to romance her away from her period protector (Christopher Plummer). We see no organic bonding, or inherent connection, until the story demands “Elise” arbitrarily realize “Richard” is the love of her life. The epiphany does not feel earned, or even necessarily believable. Fourthly, the conclusion switches gears entirely in its laughable “resolution.” Let’s just say they way our lovers end up together goes way beyond maudlin, into the realm of pathetic. If anyone is hoping for a happy ending, they will most likely be forced to settle for fleeting pleasures of their watered down vodka tonic, which if they’re smart, they will have been nursing for the duration of this pitiful slog.

I can only attempt to redeem this rant by suggesting an alternative expenditure of time to the humble reader. If you are interested in delving into actual mysteries of the remote Mackinac Island, there is a great half hour episode of “LORE,” hosted by Aaron Manhke, that discusses various ghost stories and creepy legends of the past you can sink your teeth into. Whether true or not, they at least will earn your contemplation as legends tied to real places tend to do. And if the unearthed is concealed beneath the soft pastels of a Blue-Velvetized exterior, all the better. *

Meal pairing: Baked French onion gnocchi—you need something rich and carb-heavy for this one. Pair it with a Pinot Noir. 

Oppenheimer (2023)

Reviewed: 2/23/2024

Combined Rating: 4.25/5

Lauren’s Review:

I have come to have high hopes for any film directed by Christopher Nolan, though I’m not one who usually pays much attention to directors. Most of the time the director doesn’t make a great deal of difference, in my opinion, but Nolan’s are very distinctive. Regardless of the topic, I know the film will be mind-bending, thought-provoking, and action-packed. They’re always worthy of discussion afterwards, as well, sometimes because of the themes, and other times just to try to put the pieces together to decipher what actually happened. Oppenheimer was no exception; it could have been just a standard biopic, but the story was told out of chronological order, keeping certain important pieces of information from the viewer until the narrative was ripe to reveal them. The acting was superb, though the film could have been an hour shorter and been the better for it, I think.

The frame of the story is a private “trial” of J Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy) to determine whether he is a Communist traitor to his country, though it’s fairly clear from the beginning that the trial is a sham, and the charges are trumped up. The trial serves as a pretext for flashbacks to various stages of his life—as a young physicist, when he did socialize with those affiliated with the Communist party, and even had an affair with one of them (and there’s multiple quite unnecessary nude scenes here). Later it jumps far forward in time, after his successful development of the atomic bomb, when he has a brief tête-à-tête with Einstein (a scene which recurs at the very end of the film). We see him meet his wife, Kitty (Emily Blunt), and their rocky subsequent relationship, during which Oppenheimer’s affair continued. The story really picks up in the second hour, which is devoted to the race against the Soviets to develop the atomic bomb. When Oppenheimer saw what the bomb he’d created had been used to do, his psychological turmoil was brilliantly depicted, and he cautioned President Truman (Gary Oldman) to limit further development of atomic weapons, making an enemy of the president. The last hour returned to the vilification and “cancelling” of Oppenheimer in the trial, because his caution was misconstrued as Communist sympathies as the Cold War tensions rose. We learn at the very end that much of this was orchestrated by the US Atomic Energy Commission chairman Lewis Strauss (Robert Downey Jr), who had a personal vendetta against Oppenheimer. Though Strauss suffers for this when his motives are exposed, Oppenheimer’s name was effectively smeared, and his career destroyed. 

The film dragged a bit after the nuclear test was completed, though if it had ended there, I think the film’s message would have been quite different. The last hour depicted the conflict between Oppenheimer’s moral qualms of what evil such a powerful weapon might yet be used to perpetrate, and the political establishment who could not hear the nuance in his concerns. They simply painted him with McCarthy’s Communist brush, and dismissed him. The tendency to apply the ad hominem and straw man fallacies to one’s political opponents surely occurs in every age, and it’s no less prescient in ours. It’s also quite valid to consider today the importance of regulating a powerful technological advancement—AI, for instance—so that it doesn’t get out of hand. 

****1/2

Frank’s Review:

Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer is a serious movie made by adults for adults, in a year that produced mostly silly, childish movies for silly children masquerading as adults (see Barbie, release the same weekend…actually, don’t see it and say you didn’t).  Nolan, by this point in his storied career, has earned a plethora of risk affirming clout to flout, but even still, I’m baffled there was an audience in hiding for this focused, thought provoking, mostly historically reverent story that employs scientific minutiae and nuanced realpolitik.  Just when I was about to lose all hope.  I mean, the movie made almost a billion dollars at the box office.  And yet, despite its challenging nature, this three-hour epic biopic with surprisingly little action still pushed me to the brink of my increasingly restless viewing capabilities.

J. Robert Oppenheimer, the man, was almost incomprehensively brilliant, and certainly the kind of man modern institutions would no longer be capable of cultivating.  But in the 1940’s, Academia was still open-minded enough to allow scientists to pursue science to its unadulterated conclusions.  That the government would use science to our nation’s advantage was nothing new, but nuclear fission and the danger of splitting atoms for a massive bomb was truly out of left field, especially when aided by dreams, visions, and epiphanies, seemingly divinely inspired.  “I have become death…the destroyer of worlds,” Oppenheimer famously co-opted.  The film effectively conveys how Bob came to view, and possibly fear, himself as he struggled with what I only imagine would be a God complex, even as the weight of the bomb’s potential ramifications, coupled with government pressure to complete the project, must have engendered angst, dread, and feelings of entrapment.  The American public revered his mind and dedication to the war-ending devastation the “Manhattan Project” could conjur on its behalf, until the fickle winds of change quickly threatened his legacy by instilling a level of paranoia and ostracization that monumental people are more likely forced to suffer.  I was struck by just how fast support turned to scapegoating, as if the good doctor had nefarious intentions all along.  This tragedy, even more than the faceless thousands killed in the blasts over Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was the singular tragedy emphasized by the film, in its poignant and localized way.  From patriotic “Father of the Atomic Bomb” to “Communist sympathizer,” this was truly a story of how we sort out “legacy.”

Oppenheimer unfolds neatly in three discernible acts, almost like three episodes of the television mini-series this should have been.  Act One is the backstory, and how Robert rose to meet his moment in time.  Act Two is the most gripping hour, featuring the crunch time of building the bomb at Los Alamos Lab in the New Mexican desert before the Soviets did, and delivering it in time.  Act Three is the aftermath…the character assaults, and the business of sorting out true loyalties and legacies.  It’s all necessary, even if I found myself fidgeting amidst all the back-and-forth boardroom grillings.  In retrospect, the movie’s attempt to illuminate romantic dalliances could have easily been excised to save time.  I mean, nobody really wants to watch Cillian Murphy sit naked in a chair, regardless of the premise, right? This was not Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. Other scenes that invented history, like the early friendship with Einstein, could also have been cut.  And basically, everything with mustached Matt Damon, for obvious reasons.  But the central performance was absolutely gripping, and the reason to invest in this emotionally exhausting experience.  Murphy made me feel it, especially when President Truman was overly harsh and dismissive to him, as if he were merely a small piece of a much larger puzzle.  Afterall, most of us, regardless of how brilliant we are, are just a means to an end.  At least, that’s what I keep telling my wife.

****

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Meal Pairing: Well done T-Bone steak with plenty of A-1 sauce and a big baked potato smothered in butter, and a side of asparagus…with even more butter. Garlic toast on the side, and a Honey Brown to wash it down.

Sound of Freedom (2023)

Reviewed: 9/21/2023

Combined Rating: 5/5

Lauren’s Review:

I love the fact that “Sound of Freedom” is #1 at the box office as I write this. It seems like such a God thing to me: it was crowd-funded, filmed in 2018, and then parked for years once Disney acquired the studio that filmed it. Finally, Angel Studios bought the rights. While I wasn’t anxious to see the film when I first heard about its subject matter—it just seemed too gritty and hard to watch—I do believe that in this particular case, it’s an important film for shedding light on a horrific, worldwide, ongoing tragedy. Despite the fact that the major studios seemed intent on preventing it from ever seeing the light of day, it’s beating out all the major summer blockbusters. The story of the film itself is reminiscent of David and Goliath. 

The true story follows Tim Ballard (Jim Caviezel), a former Homeland Security Agent who caught and prosecuted those distributing child pornography. One day, a traumatized coworker asks Tim how many pedophiles he’s caught (many), and then how many victims he’s set free (none). This question haunts him. Pretending to be a pedophile himself, he befriends one of the perpetrators he caught in order to arrange a “meeting” with a child. As a result, he’s able to free Miguel, a child from Honduras sold into sex slavery at the beginning of the film. Miguel tells Tim that his older sister Rocio is still in slavery, after which Tim makes it his personal mission to find and free Rocio. He organizes a party for wealthy elite in Colombia, in order to entice Giselle, the beauty queen who originally abducted both Miguel and Rocio, to bring large groups of “models” (children). They rescue 54 children in the sting operation, but Rocio isn’t among them. Tim then gets a tip that Rocio is somewhere deep off the grid in the Colombian forest, and he goes undercover there as a doctor. There’s a dramatic escape once he finds her—and a happily ever after, at least for Rocio, Miguel, and their father. 

The film has all the elements and checks all the boxes for a great thriller—I’m really stunned that it also happens to be true. I really can’t think of a single element in the film that could have been better, for what it is. Certainly not my favorite subject matter, but even that was dealt with very sensitively. It ended on a hopeful note—particularly with Caviezel’s post-credits impassioned plea to “pay it forward” for those who may not be able to afford the price of the theater ticket, to raise awareness of the international child sex trade industry. I left feeling like I was part of a movement to make the world a better place.

*****

Frank’s Review:

The sad reality of child sex trafficking has largely flown under Americans’ collective radar, as do most issues relegated to the “far off lands” bin.  But for the first time, and since the release of the surprise mega blockbuster hit movie Sound of Freedom, people are not only talking about the problem, but realizing it has, indeed, metastasized within our own country like a secret cancer.  When a sea change in awareness like this occurs, the inciting art can be deemed a cultural touchstone.  And when that art is a delicately handled, personalized story that provokes anger, even as it inspires hope, it has the propensity to drive the public consciousness into measurable action.  Fueled by the passion and bold relentlessness of men like Mel Gibson, Tim Ballard, and Jim Caviezel (who plays Ballard in the film), the needle appears to be moving not just in Central America where the story is set, but globally. 

Even as American government officials colluding with corporations seek to damage and confuse children in unprecedented ways, Sound of Freedom at least seeks to physically save them, to fight another day.  It could not have come at a better time, and yet has managed to collect hordes of “progressive” detractors.  It seems nothing is without controversy in such a polarized society.  Although the story is inherently apolitical, elitists have tried to argue motives for rescuing innocent children from predators are somehow debatable.  I believe their main issue derives from the justifying line of Ballard’s dialogue: “God’s children are not for sale.”  To the godless, I guess children are merely commodities to be exchanged.  At best, it’s none of their business, and at worst, underground networks might be disrupted, delaying their “pizza” delivery.  I don’t know how else to interpret the outrage and arbitrary wedges driven in what, in any other time, would be completely non-controversial pitch.  As evil thrives when good men do nothing, so also evil cannot help but overplay its hand, inevitably poking the sleeping bear of righteousness.  The real challenge is awakening the bear from its cushy hibernation, but nothing touches an emotional nerve like good art.  I, for one, am groggy and disgruntled as hell. 

I’m surprised this movie was as competent as it was, having originated with a Christian production house called “Angel Studios.”  Most modern Christian fare is cringe-inducingly bad, setting back the very message they try so earnestly to push with a sledgehammer to the skull approach.  Without subtlety and competence, crux requisite emotions can rarely be engendered, and all that is left is “good intentions.” I only saw Sound of Freedom after word of mouth could no longer be ignored, and I’m so glad I did.  What singles it out is how it methodically focuses on simply telling its specific story.  It harkens back to the days when heroes merely did, they didn’t have to tell.  In that sense it is a throwback movie.  Director Alejandro Monteverde creates quiet moments for rumination where you can start to hear what the freedom spoken of actually sounds like.  Surprise:  it sounds like children singing.  The child actors, especially, are mesmerizing…inducing empathy and tears from a forlorn look…perhaps enough to quit your job and embark on an Apocalypse Now-style descent into the heart of darkness where evil lies.  Or at least enough to get you off your couch.  Maybe even enough to run for president of Mexico…as one of the film’s producers, Eduardo Verastegui, is now doing.  And he could just win too, if he doesn’t mind the expanding target on his back.  If nothing else, Angel Studios will have the cash on hand to produce a slew of new low budget movies that, if we’re lucky, will be a fraction as moving as their long-shelved, re-acquired $14 million dollar effort that, as it turned out, did have an audience.  Some stoic exec at Disney has got to be kicking himself.   

***** 

 Meal Pairing: Avoid pizza…that would be tacky.  Instead, enjoy a lovely stein of chilled Pacifico, some salty chips with chunky salsa and guacamole, and do up some steak fajitas on the grill topped with homemade pico de gallo and fresh cilantro.   

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

Reviewed: 7/18/2023

Combined Rating: 2.75/5

Lauren’s Review:

I know this is supposed to be a classic and all, but I’ve never been one to like something just because the critics say it’s supposed to be wonderful. In fact, more often than not, if something is critically acclaimed, I’ll probably think it’s awful. One interpretation of this dichotomy between critics and audiences is that the former, having more refined tastes, pick up on nuances that are lost on the rest of us. A less generous interpretation would be that critics purposely fixate on esoteric details in order to make themselves feel special. (There’s probably a little of both going on—after all, who doesn’t occasionally want to be part of the “in crowd”?) 

It’s possible there is some great depth I’m missing in this film, or perhaps, like “2001 Space Odyssey,” it’s just supposed to be a slow methodical progression without a lot of action. There’s a strange sequence at the beginning I hardly followed of abandoned WWII-era planes in the desert in 1977. Then people start seeing UFOs — first air traffic controllers, then three year old Barry, then local electrician Roy (Richard Dreyfuss), investigating mysterious power outages. After this, Roy and many others all over the world see images in their minds of a mountain, which they proceed to draw and sculpt. Roy becomes obsessed with this, building an enormous model of the mountain in his living room, prompting his hysterical wife Ronnie to leave him. Later, when Barry gets abducted by the aliens, his mother Jillian (Melinda Dillon) meets up with Roy to try to understand the meaning of the mountain images that they’re both seeing in their minds and trying to recreate. It turns out this is the Devil’s Tower in the Black Hills, and the aliens were trying to communicate with people all over the world this is where they plan to converge in the mothership. There the aliens return people they have abducted, and Roy chooses to join the (apparently friendly) aliens in the mothership. 

It’s a frankly boring story, but again, that might be because there have been so many, many, many iterations of the alien abduction story by now that this just seemed far too simplistic. The story was global, which it kind of had to be, but it meant scenes had to jump all over, to large groups of characters we never actually met. There just wasn’t enough going on for me to connect with any of the characters. I was glad when it was over. It had good music I guess, though. 

Frank’s Review:

Some movies work better as novelty experiences.  My first close encounter with Spielberg’s “nice aliens” was on a giant outdoor screen under the stars at the Devil’s Tower KOA campground, in the shadow of the other-worldy monolith made infamous by the movie.  Staff positioned the screen for maximum impact during their periodic and well-hyped special exhibitions, and we waited eagerly for the sun to set.  As I alternated my eyes from the screen up to the tower and back, I couldn’t help thinking “this is important…this MEANS something,” and I reveled in my “Weird Al” moment (sans mash potatoes).  Flashes of filmlight that occasionally illuminated the adjacent rock proved quite surreal.  There is something special about viewing a movie in the actual space where it was Hollywoodized, especially when the setting is so remote and naturally “alien.”  I’ve avoided revisiting for fear it couldn’t possibly live up to that singular star alignment, but my curiosity about the merits of the film itself, sadly, got the better of me. 

What surprised me the most about Close Encounters of the Third Kind was how little actually happens in it.  The slow-build to the big, climactic landing sequence begins in po-dunk, Indiana where a blue collar, quirky family goes through the motions, while unbeknownst to them strange lights waft, things shake, and unidentified things in the sky are glimpsed, seeming to “call” certain folks.  One of these folks is Richard Dreyfuss, fresh off the Orca from his deadly encounter with our favorite carcharodon carcharias Bruce…oh wait.  Actually, his life is nowhere near that interesting, because he’s a Hoosier…did I just say that?  Either way, when Roy (Dreyfuss) forms a bond with Jillian (Melinda Dillon) over their shared subliminal visions, they abdicate to chase their calling to Wyoming, where the little green men will eventually set down.  Roy leaving his wife for Jillian is about the most controversial thing in this emotionally chilly movie, but to be fair to his uptight wife Ronnie (Terri Garr) it’s hard to side with a grown ass man who plays with his food at the dinner table.  If there was some kind of statement being made about how it’s better to chase your implanted dreams than deal with your disfunctional family, I was certainly beyond the point of caring by the time Roy got around to ditching out.   

No effort is made to go deeper into why aliens are visiting, what they want, or why they’re infiltrating suburban minds.  This is purely a showpiece for spectacle…an excuse to show off late ‘70’s effects that do look quite impressive on bluray, but not quite impressive enough to wait that long for.  Sub-plots about scientists trying to figure out “what the hell is going on” are about as involving as a midnight viewing of The Andromeda Strain, with even less payoff.  There are a lot of guys shouting over chopper noise or whispering semi-unintelligibly in quiet rooms.  But if the alternative was hearing a five-note welcome jingle 800 times over, I may choose the boring scientists.  Unfortunately, we get both.  After over two hours of this, we’re finally treated to “the big landing/encounter” where everybody stares at each other for a few minutes before Dreyfuss gets chosen as a human ambassador in what he perceives as his destiny, or something.  Makes you wonder if he’s really excited about the unknown, or just feels it’s preferable to remaining an electrical lineman in the sticks.  But hey, these don’t seem like the kind of aliens that would force any unsolicited probings, so I’m sure it will be fine.  What’s not fine is my soiling of a treasured memory for failure to leave it alone.   

*** 

Meal Pairing: Hearty BBQ smoked brisket covered in sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy (preferably enough to mold into a mini-Devil’s Tower on your plate), and dill pickle slices. Try an ice cold Sunkist in the can to wash it down.