I saw Speak No Evil (2024)

Producer Jason (The Invisible Man 2020) Blum's Speak No Evil, written and directed by James (Eden Lake/The Woman in Black 2012) Watkins, is a retelling of Christian and Mads Tafdrup's effective, 2002, Danish chiller of the same name. The story is reality-entrenched, in the manner of The River Wild, Duel, Deliverance, Southern Comfort, Hunter's Blood, Straw Dogs, The Wicker Man, Midsommar, Race with the Devil, Wrong Turn, House of 1000 Corpses, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and The Hills Have Eyes. That means, its circumstances are not far beyond what could happen to anyone in the wrong place at the wrong time.   

In Speak No Evil's case (and this goes for either edition), the emphasis falls on a misjudgment of character, where people thought to be generous and kind turn out to be sadistic and deadly. 

As with the original, the remake introduces us to a family, American in this instance (though stationed in London), on vacation in Tuscany, Italy, that by chance encounters a rural, British family during their sojourn. The Americans consist of Scoot (Monsters) McNairy's Ben Dalton; his wife, Mackenzie (Terminator: Dark Fate) Davis' Louise; and their daughter, Alix West Lefler's Agnes. The rustic family is helmed by James (X-Men/Narnia/Split) McAvoy's Paddy (a professed physician of some sort); his wife, Aisling (The Nightingale) Franciosi's Ciara and their mute boy, Dan Hough's Ant. The latter clan seems friendly enough that the Daltons accept Paddy's invitation to visit their farm. 

This is a ploy, of course, with odd behavior occurring no sooner than the Daltons arrive. Ant is most peculiar, in this respect, a lad who seems desperate to share secrets (yet frightened to do so), while being openly bullied by his dad. Little by little, the degree of Paddy's cruelty builds, as he keeps the full extent of his evil concealed until an explosive reveal.  

To reveal the reveal would spoil the story, unless one has seen the original's perturbing path, but even then, the redux adds a ton of new twists and turns, but the concept's survivalist drive is the same, allowing audiences to see through an unwitting family's eyes. 

As with the Tufdruf version, the performances in the 2024 version are top-notch, but McAvoy is the movie's magnet, balancing his character between hospitable charm and all-out, sneering contempt. His performance, which channels the noxious, slow burn of Fedja van Huet's antagonist, is a Jekyll/Hyde tour de force, where he squeezes the terror for every vindictive drop. 

It's safe to say that both versions of Speak No Evil are solid nail-biters, due to their wrong-turn predicament, but also because we've all been fooled by smiling faces at one time or another. Speak No Evil reminds us to be on guard with strangers, though like the Daltons (and their woeful precursors), too often we arrive at that realization too late. 

An Alternate Reality: I saw the Dark Phoenix Rise...

I'm not sure where "Dark Phoenix" fits into the X-Men film franchise. Don't care. I'm cool with the whole, alternate-reality, time-tripping zeal. It makes the series more fascinating, brooding, irreverent, funny, exciting...you name it.  It's anything goes and so far, it works. 

Still, in the heart of the shuffling, there's a faithful standard stays: One knows what one's getting, no matter the scenario, the characters involved, who's portraying them or what sector they populate.

Case in point: "Dark Phoenix", written/directed by "X-Men" veteran, Simon Kinberg. It takes place in a parallel 1992 (initiated by a woeful '75 prologue), where the telekinetic Jean Grey (Sophie "Game of Thrones" Turner) figures deeper into the ranks of Dr. Charles Xavier (James McAvoy)'s superheroic school. There's no reason to doubt young Grey's exceptional abilities (she sure does shine in that big, space-shuttle sequence), but unlike what's served in other X-Men movies ("Last Stand" above all), this Grey teeters on villainy.

The possibility causes concern for Xavier, who's plagued by student-body dissent, and Erik Lensheer/Magneto (Michael Fassbender), who's still trying to find his way. Per indignant impulse, Grey can lift folks into the air, toss 'em around, kill 'em if she's not careful...or if she so chooses. And what the hell is she turning into? If it's not something virtuous (the idea being that bad might turn into good), what then will the X-Men (and the world...hell, the universe) do?

Dark Phoenix's rise is emotional and engrossing, and therefore, pure "X-Men". By tradition, we know Grey isn't meant to be a Brightburn, but when it comes to parallel planes, anything's possible. From this, the plot's tension builds along with its central vixen: a developmental hallmark of this series that clicks every alternating (ha, ha) time.

Despite reports of reshoots by an (at this time) unnamed director, a large lump of credit must go to Kinberg for his knack of blending thrills with characterization. There's a quiet, old-school empathy to his live-action panels which pile-it-on hotshots could learn from, if they'd only take the friggin time. (Fans should be more respectful, too, for the stuff of "Dark Phoenix" is the real, adapted deal.)  

It also helps to have the old, supporting gang employed: Nicolas Hoult as the Beast; Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique; Tye Sheridan as Cyclops; Alexandra Shipp as Storm; Evan Peters as Quicksilver; Olivia Munn as Psychlocke; and Kodi Smit-McPhee as Nightcrawler.  (Jennifer Chastian enters as Liliandra, the fair-haired, body-snatching devil on Grey's suffering shoulder.)
    

It's odd, though, not to see Hugh Jackman as Logan/Wolverine (in extended or even cameo form), but the general group more than uplifts this chapter's progression, presenting a family (even if split) tending to a member who's fallen on tough times. It's a matter of love and duty to get her back in gear: a situation to which most viewers will relate.   

My only complaint: Mystique was cut way too short and while she lasted, remained (why, oh why?) clothed. Yeah, I know, she's not running about naked in the comics, and so... But damn it, I suspect this tactic (the brevity and concealment of it all) was installed more for appeasement than aesthetics. "Dark Phoenix" does lose a huge point for the evident, PC contrivance.

Otherwise, the movie holds its own with the competition (on the screen or page) and does a great job adding to the "X-Men" film series' longevity: something it's earned and damn well deserves. 

I saw Glass...

That "Unbreakable" and "Split" should blend isn't a stretch. Their link has long been on the wall of writer/director M. Night Shyamalan's cinematic universe, and in this time of live-action, DC/Marvel crossovers, why not a dexterous, subdued variation: a superhero fable filtered through the character-driven irony of "The Twilight Zone"?

With "Glass", named after Samuel L. Jackson's "Unbreakable" trickster, otherwise known as bone-fragile Elijah Price, our crafty filmmaker presents not only the flamboyant, titular terrorist, but Willis' sometimes hooded, though always valiant David Dunn. There's also James McAvoy's dangerous and anguished Kevin Wendell Crumb, abetted by a Horde of ready-to-rise personalities. These characters ultimately connect at Raven Hill Memorial Hospital, probed for a "cure" of their "alleged" abilities, but no matter what motions their psychologist, Ellie Staple (Sarah "American Horror Story" Paulson) takes, the three are destined to keep different yet overlapping goals.

As a result of their fated teaming, the conniving Mister Glass provokes Wendell's inner Beast, realizing that once this impetuous personality has been sprung, a major revelation will come to the world. As part of this unraveling plot, Dunn must squash Wendell's monstrous portion, but it won't be easy with Shyamalan's ingenious, signature foils. 

It's not just the writer/director's well crafted concept that makes the movie's heart pound, but its consummate leads: each established in previous chapters, but now like fine wine, richer...more matured. Their interactions resonate with urgency and sincerity, even when projected beyond their scope. In fact, the results of their clashing efforts fall right into the lap of "Split'"s Anya Taylor-Joy's Casey Cooke (Anya Taylor-Joy); Dunn's son, Joseph (Spencer Treat Clark) and Price's mom (Charlayne Woodard): for all intents and purposes, sidekicks to accompany the principals' weird, epic journey. 

Like other Shyamalan productions, this one chases the truth, which makes it a morality tale, but then aren't all superhero stories? Shyamalan knows the good-vs-evil deal better than most: how the tipping of the scales can impact lives, whether on a glossy, Hollywood stage or in everyday life. "Glass" emanates from the former, but prospers in the latter, reminding us that the causes of right and wrong, of courage and fear, dwell within the most common crevasses: "Twilight Zone"-ish, indeed. 

To further its intent, "Glass" demonstrates that despite what the story's secret-society scholars proclaim, heroes can rise from out any villainous pit: that no matter how horrid the actions, there's always a helping hand (whether plebeian or preternatural) to right the wrong and reassemble the shards. We only need open our eyes to see the evidence, to accept the truth, which is as clear as glass when we at last focus. In other words, "Glass" helps us see the world through a clear, logical lens, even if that lens hangs upside down.  

"Glass" will be recalled by most for its clever, identifiable delivery. Granted, we've swallowed the movie's concept many times over, but it's been rarely served with as much labyrinthine sophistication or seasoned uber-humanity. 

I saw Watership Down: The Miniseries...

I'm fond of the '78 cartoon feature of Richard Adams' hailed novel, "Watership Down", so much so that a remake, even if in a promising, four-part miniseries format, seemed a shaky prospect. Nevertheless, I've indulged in the Netflix (linked-to-the BBC) experimental, CGI excursion, and for the most part, I've come away pleased.

For one thing, the new version (as with the '78 adaptation) employs an exemplary cast, with James McAvoy as Chief Hazel (the tale's Bilbo/Frodo equivalent); Nicholas Hoult as his brother, Fiver (a Sam Gamgee of sorts); Gemma Arterton as Clover; John Boyega as Bigwig; Daniel Kaluuya as Bluebell; Anne-Marie Duff as Hyzenthlay; Craig Parkinson as Sainfoin; Freddie Fox as Captain Holly;  Jason Watkins as Captain Orchis; Ben Kingsley as General Woundwort; James Faulkner as the godly Frith; Taron Egerton as the legendary El-ahrairah; and Peter Capaldi as the feathered Kehaar (plus many more): a veritable who's who of contemporary, imagi/adventure-film veterans.

Though I had no doubt that each voice would match its assigned character (and yes, the alignment works in spades), the big test was whether the Noam "300: Rise of an Empire" Murro-directed/Tom "EastEnders" Bidwell-scripted structure would supply the earnest glue to keep its parts cohesive.

I'm relieved to report that the structure weaves well, capturing the essential, Orwellian/Tolkien-ish, warring splendor that's inherent in Adam's rich and rambunctious journey of life, death and tremulous travel, with all the good, bad and ugly contained. 

To enhance the journey, the computerized animation is lush, realistic ... superior to its big-screen competition (and produced for about twenty-million bucks, though I'm presuming the cast's collective cost figures in). Still, for sentimental reasons, I prefer the lower-budgeted, '78 style, but then as most of my readers realize, I'm old school. (For the record, I've not seen the '99 - '01 animated series, so I can't judge its look or implementation for comparison sake.)

On a more obvious down side, there are times when this miniseries, as with other Netflix productions, carries on longer than it should. No big deal, I suppose. I like Adams' characters, so it's nice to spend extra time with them, but I believe it would have been better if the novel (the odyssey from a doomed warren to an anticipated, safe abode) stuck to a ninety-minute or two-hour scope. 

On the plus side, Fiver's (let's-run-before-the-machine-invading-developers-kill-us) premonitions ooze the right, foreboding edge and a sense of constant, woeful threat flows throughout, due in large part to Federico Justid's Goldsmith-esque score. On the other hand, this version also numbs much of its "real-world" violence. 

Now, I must confess, I never found the book or initial movie by any means carnage-ridden. (It's just that one doesn't expect bloodshed among the cute and cuddly.) Still, violence is an indubitable part of Adams' engraved mythology. Considering the Netflix connection, why the restraint? After all, the subscription source serves upfront brutality per its Marvel programs, not to mention unapologetic accessibility to shows like "Breaking Bad" and "Dexter". (Now that I think of it, the deprecatory BBC might be to blame for the mollification...only figures.)

Regardless of its sporadic shortcomings and/or miscalculations, "Watership Down '18" should (at the very least) grant greater exposure to Adams' book, which is superior to most examples of kiddie lit, perhaps because it was never designed as kiddie lit. Adams' vision took the fringes of young fluff and spread it into a fresh, exotic and identifiable world, which folks of all ages could learn from and enjoy. (The novel, if the truth be told, is an allegory for overcoming the often intense struggles that stretch from childhood to adulthood: something parents should promote, not shun from their young.)

Let's hope that, even though softened and superfluous on occasion, this revisionist edition still delivers a prosperous, pop-cultural impact and perhaps leads to adaptations of Adams' short-story offshoots. My hunch--it will, and all for the better. Even a watered-down version of "Watership Down" has got to be better than the general, "family" fodder folks are inspired (or should I say, forced?) to exalt these days.  

I saw Atomic Blonde...

For the record, I'm a big-time Eric Stanton fan. Stanton, in the event one is unaware, was a cartoonist/illustrator who specialized in female domination and related fetish themes. (Awright, my secret is out, but then as most know, I do fancy the off-kilter.) Stanton's ladies were tall, beautiful and powerful as hell, enough to strike down their male opponents in an instant. (When need be, they'd also administer prolonged torture, but that's another salacious topic for another salacious time.) At any rate, I'm happy to report that this summer's latest, high-profile, action flick, "Atomic Blonde", embraces Stanton's swell tradition. 

Based on the Anthony Johnston/Sam Hart, Oni Press graphic novel, "Coldest City" (and not AC's Femforce character), "Atomic Blonde" has been refashioned by Johnston and screenwriter Kurt Jonstad for director David Leitch, who tested his cinematic prowess on the hard-edged "John Wick". All the same, "Atomic Blonde'"s format stacks Stanton's implacable influence in spades.

The plot (like the graphic novel upon which it's based) occurs 1989, just as the Berlin Wall is set to fall: a historic, Cold War cap, indeed (and an indirect means to give the context some Bond, Bourne and U.N.C.L.E. intrigue, while sparking the scene with pulsating, Reagan Era tunes), but the setting only exists to let the femdom antics zing and roll. It’s Charlize Theron's long-legged Lorraine Broughton we’ve come to see, and by gosh by jingo, do we ever get our blow-by-blow money’s worth.

As anyone who's witnessed the film's trailers knows, Broughton looks mighty, damn fine when destroying her opponents. For the sake of a feature-length film, however, it takes more than a few Stanton-like panels to fill the time. To pad Theron's provocative presence, we're offered plenty of exciting scene hopping (and yep, that ballyhooed stairwell/apartment/chase sequence lives up to the hype), as our explosive Mata Hari cuts through Berlin to unravel the death of a fellow spy and locate a wrist-watch encoded with double-agent info.

Characters bounce off and revolve around our heroine as the passages ricochet: nice fodder until we re-enter the lusty stuff. The supplemental gang consists of Daniel Bernhardt; James Faulkner; John Goodman; Sam Hargrave; Johannes Haukur Johanneson; Toby Jones; Roland Moller; Til Schweiger; Bill Skargard and Eddie Marsan (who's closely linked to the coveted dossier): quite a distinguished, character-actor ensemble, which brings the bridging pieces a nice sophistication. 

However, it's Sofia “The Mummy” Boutella’s sultry, French operative, Delphine LaSalle, who stands out from the supporting-player pack, engaging our heroine in the type of tryst that (for some) is as much a part of the fetish scene as femdom. Man, oh, man, when these gals get it on, does the temperature ever rise!

James McAvoy’s David Percival, on the other hand, bolsters Broughton's smoking drive as the story's leading man. For a time, his presence gives us fellas a snappy spy with whom we can identify...if we wish. I mean, it isn't really a necessity when one has Theron to ogle; besides, in the world of double agents, is any dashing gent all that identifiable?

Again, Theron's presence is the film's overpowering thrust, as much as Scarlett Johannson is in “Ghost in the Shell”, but "Atomic Blonde" takes its femme-fatale concept to a whole new level, rivaling even the sexy zest of Emma Peel, Honey West, Nikita (any version) and those gutsy gals of "D.O.A.", "Charlie's Angels" and "Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!", if that can be believed.

Because of its provocative nature, "Atomic Blonde" could go down as Theron’s signature role, though the highbrows will probably prefer her ghastly guise in “Monster”. Sorry, but that look (though admirable for artistic cause) ain't my cup of tea. When one has such a stunning lady at one's disposal, it’s wise to let her beauty and strength shine through. (Okay, Theron was smudged-up in “Mad Max: Fury Road”, but that was in an exotic, not repugnant way; and even when she's bloodied and bruised in "Atomic Blonde", she pretty much resembles a goddess in abstract body paint--not at all unpleasing). I'm just glad that, in the glamour and violence departments, new Hollywood got it right for a change. 

There's no doubt that somewhere out there, dear ol' Stanton is beaming with approval.