One Touch of Venus (1948, William A. Seiter)

While One Touch of Venus only runs eighty-two minutes, it manages to do three sets of romantic arcs. It’s able to fit them all because lukewarm towel and ostensible lead Robert Walker disappears for long stretches of the movie. Sometimes Walker goes so Dick Haymes can serenade Olga San Juan; sometimes he goes so the actual A plot involving department store owner Tim Conway can take precedence. But he’s gone enough Venus shows it functions better without him, specifically when it’s focused on Ava Gardner. It takes Gardner a while to show some agency in the film—and she’s only really utilizing it to save (or seduce) Walker—but once she gets the chance, she doesn’t stop until the ship has righted for everyone involved.

Well, righted well enough for her and Walker, and San Juan disappears, which isn’t great, but Conway and Arden finish superbly.

The film begins with department store window dresser Walker setting up a Roman ruins diorama. It’s unclear it’s a diorama during the titles, which works out really well. It’s a good start. Then the film immediately sputters, introducing San Juan. She’s Walker’s girlfriend. She wants to get married. Isn’t she the absolute worst? You know who doesn’t think she’s the worst, though? Haymes. He thinks she’s great. But Walker thinks she’s the worst, but he’s on his way up to see department store owner Conway for a special assignment, so he doesn’t have time to dawdle.

Walker asks Haymes to babysit San Juan. It eventually includes San Juan and Haymes making soup in Walker’s apartment because the film—if it addressed the living situation—wasn’t forceful enough about Haymes and Walker being roommates. Also, everyone lives within two blocks of the department store.

I’m getting distracted with the more interesting second act, sorry.

Walker goes up to the boss’s, only to discover Conway just needs him to fix a pulley to smoothly reveal his latest purchase—a statue of Venus. The movie mentions some backstory to the statue, but it’s never important. It’s just to give Conway and Eve Arden something to talk about besides bickering about him being a womanizer and her being unappreciated for doing all the actual work of running his business. It’s the forties, after all. Conway and Arden are great together. They start with Conway relying on Arden, then the bickering, so it’s clear when it counts, Conway shuts up and listens.

After some middling physical comedy work, Walker kisses a statue, turning it into Gardner. She’s the actual Venus, somehow freed from the statue by her father, Jupiter. If the curse is only lifted when some guy gets too frisky with her saucy statue, I feel like it’d have been a franchise. Walker ostensibly has had a glass of champagne, and it’s gone to his head, but he and Haymes are lushes, so, no. We never find out the rules of Gardner’s human form. Walker can’t do the scenes with her. He’s initially freaked out by the transformation, then Conway sics the cops on Walker for stealing the statue, so there’s an additional layer to everything. Suffering detective James Flavin investigates.

The first act is trying to be screwball, except Walker’s an ass. It’s also a musical. Haymes and San Juan frequently go from musical interlude to musical interlude, and Gardner’s (dubbed) singing affects the libidos of all the lovers in the city. Sounds like it’d make a great montage, except we only find out about it in a dialogue aside. The film’s entirely focused on the department store and the handful of people involved, even though they have the perfect opportunity to mention it when there’s a mass making out in the park scene. The movie doesn’t establish it’s not the norm.

It’s also where director Seiter shows off his proficiency at directing the musical number. Venus is always fine. Walker’s not good at the slapstick and cruel in the screwball, but he’s not bad. He’s a twerp. And then he’s a twerp with Gardner, except she loves him unconditionally for smooching the marble. And he’s not interested in Gardner because he’s got a girl already—San Juan, who he doesn’t want anything to do with when they’re in scenes together. Until—about halfway through the second act—he just falls for Gardner, even though she’s been super seductive, even though Conway’s met her for a minute and is also pursuing her. Walker’s characterization—script and performance—fizzle their potential—and necessary–chemistry.

So it’s a good thing once Gardner gets going on her own, everyone gets along beautifully. It even works in musical numbers (where Gardner’s not actually singing). She has one with San Juan and Arden—it’s a trio number about looking good for your man or something while making him dinner—and (again, thanks to the musical staging) it kind of just works. There ought to be a bunch of subtexts, except the movie can’t get too into the details of San Juan and Walker’s relationship (or he and Gardner’s).

Everyone, even Walker, to some degree, is appealing. By the end of the picture, his pursuit of Gardner in their romantic comedy is enthusiastic enough—and there’s enough distance between them—it’s compelling. But Gardner’s best with Conway and Arden. Arden gets fourth billing (presumably below Haymes because he’s singing more), but she walks off with the movie in the first act. In the second act, she makes a bunch of jokes at the expense of her own appearance (what with a goddess like Gardner around), and it’s not great, but the film then gives Arden a great third act. Based on her girl powering with Gardner. So it all works out.

Much of the tepid romantic subplot elements could be a result of the Code; Venus is a Broadway adaptation; they could get away with more on stage than they could on screen.

Conway’s awesome. He’s sixth billed, but since Walker disappears, Conway’s the de facto main love interest for the third act. It’s a brisk, assured transition; once Gardner’s in charge, Venus finds the confidence it’d been missing from the start.

Lovely photography from Franz Planer, okay enough songs—the singing’s better than the songs but okay enough—competent, assured, meat and potatoes direction from Seiter. Fabulous gowns for Gardner by Orry-Kelly—it’s glamorous without being too glamorous, with a bit of Code-acceptable and barely problematic cheesecake thrown in. Arden image-shaming herself is much worse stuff.

Gardner saves Venus from a mediocre start. Conway and Arden make a big difference too, but it’s all about Gardner.

This post is part of the Sixth Broadway Bound Blogathon hosted by Rebecca of Taking Up Room.

Silo (2023) s01e05 – The Janitor’s Boy

“Silo” threads a tiny eye of the needle and manages to kill off yet another character, fully introduce the conspiracy behind their murder, introduce two potential patsies and one killer, resolve that murder arc, and do an action sequence. All with a script credit show creator Graham Yost, who hasn’t had his name on the good episodes to this point. Maybe it’s director David Semel once again delivering the goods.

He also appears to have told the cast to knock it off with the silly accents. Rebecca Ferguson doesn’t get many lines—she’s the terse film noir detective only in a Western, only in a sci-fi—but when she does have them, the down deep accent is missing. It’s far more obvious when Harriet Walter shows up and barely has that weird eighties kids’ fantasy movie accent thing going. “Silo”’s been excelling despite a lot, but it’d be awesome if the accent thing got sorted.

This episode has new sheriff Ferguson (on her second or third day on the job, at most) investigating another homicide before the last body’s even cold. She’s got to work with her new deputy, played by Chinaza Uche. He was supposed to be the new sheriff if secret police agent Common got his way, and Common is the one who gives Uche the job, taking advantage of Ferguson not knowing the rules. It’s possible Uche and Ferguson are going to become amusing buddy cops, but so far, it’s not even implied.

Because even though we’re now halfway through the season, “Silo” still hasn’t established what the norm’s going to be. This episode ends with Ferguson starting the second act of the season (“Silo”’s on a delay since the first two episodes featured protagonists who die in their episode), and it’s entirely possible they could introduce a new supporting cast for the rest of the season.

But this episode—which does have to trick the audience to succeed (Yost’s going to Yost)—is still a major success. “Silo” can be about its bullshit but still excel. Ferguson’s got a swift murder investigation to run, which involves Common conspiring against her—but how far—and Tim Robbins being fun and kooky as the mayor (as opposed to low-key sexist). We also meet the Judge, played by an apparently uncredited Tanya Moodie, who is not the stunt cast I was expecting but is quite good. In her nothing scene.

Based on how the investigation wraps up, it’s unclear whether she’ll be important going forward. It’s wild how “Silo” mixes narrative shenanigans with prestige streaming so well. Maybe it helps the narrative shenanigans are from the source material (“Silo” has yet to Westworld, for instance); the approach does let the audience in on some secrets, but they’re not great secrets. It’s not even character development since the show’s managed to kill off almost every major character it’s introduced. And Ferguson barely knows most of the victims (if at all).

And they’re making it work, which is delightful.

“Silo”’s on pretty dang solid footing now.

I wonder who dies next week?

Silo (2023) s01e04 – Truth

I spent a while this episode worrying last week’s superior episode was a fluke, but, no, “Silo”’s found some great footing, even with the still wonky future accents—which make even less sense because we flashback to Harriet Walter when Rebecca Ferguson gets down to the engineering department as a kid, and Walter doesn’t have the weird accent. Even with the very real possibility the show is going to kill off a supporting character every episode, which I don’t remember from the Wool comic book adaptation, and means they’re going to need to start introducing more characters real soon….

Even with those potential problems, “Silo”’s great. Well, it’s another great episode. It’s going to take a while for these peaks to prove stable.

But this episode’s got a lot of good gristle for the future. In addition to Ferguson becoming sheriff and working up a mutually reluctant partnership with her deputy, Will Patton (who’s so good, especially as “Silo” becomes a Western this episode), we also find out Patton’s in some weird up-top-copper conspiracy with secret police agent Common. Tim Robbins also gets a bunch more to do, which turns out very well. Until this point, Robbins has been a peculiar stunt cameo. In this episode he gets to do stuff, including have stand-offs with Ferguson; they’re great. As long as neither of them dies too, there should be plenty more good stand-offs.

It takes Ferguson and Patton most of the episode to decide to work together, partially because Patton’s on a self-destruction arc, and Ferguson’s got to prove herself reliable not just for being his boss but for cleaning him up when he’s a mess.

The flashbacks—starring Amelie Child Villiers as young Ferguson—set up Walter and Ferguson’s “down deep” future but also establish Villiers’s relationship with dad Iain Glen. Things in the present are too busy for Ferguson to go say hi to Glen (even though we’ve already met him). The episode opens with a flashback in the flashback, to when Sienna Guillory—as Villiers’s mom and Mrs. Glen—is still alive. Also, there’s a little brother. They die between the first and second flashbacks, which then establish Glen’s not suited for single parenting and Villiers would be much happier anywhere but with him. Luckily, she’s simpatico with Walter, who somehow knew Guillory.

We don’t find out how Guillory or the brother died, we don’t find out if Glen’s thirty-six pounds of de-aging makeup (or is that bad CGI) was a personal appearance fad in the silo or if they didn’t have enough budget (not to mention the possibility of different casting), and we don’t meet the judge yet. So we’ve got one major cast reveal left. I don’t think it will be Susan Sarandon, but it should be Susan Sarandon. Or Susan Dey.

This episode’s also got a different director, David Semel, who is a very experienced television director and not that cinematographer who ended up directing Steven Seagal movies (Dean Semler). Semel does a perfectly reasonable job directing. He knows how to direct the actors, he gets how the show’s straddling multiple genres—they’re not sexist against Ferguson, they’re classist—and it’s precisely what the show needs after Morten Tyldum’s wanting work from the chair. Semel’s sturdy.

“Silo” may stumble and fumble going forward; it may even get stronger, but as long as they can deliver on half their promises… the show’s going to be okay.

Even with those accents. And the often too iffy special effects (no more “young” Glen, pretty please).

Also, it’ll be a problem if they solve the mystery by killing off all the suspects until it’s just Ferguson versus the bad guy. I mean, obviously, that one. Really hope they don’t do that one.

Room Service (1938, William A. Seiter)

Room Service appears—well, sounds like—it sounds like it ends with Groucho Marx singing along to a spiritual in a stage play and breaking into occasional mimicry of a Black woman singing. For no reason. Like there was a subplot about a racist parrot they cut from the movie (it runs seventy-eight minutes, so it’s not impossible). But, no. It’s just this weird, shitty moment, which kicks Service square in the nuts.

Without that moment, I’d describe Room Service as middling, but—wait for it—inoffensive Marx Brothers. We’re in the era where Zeppo’s retired, Groucho’s checked out, Chico’s fifty-fifty, and Harpo’s seventy-thirty, but the direction’s bringing him down. Visibly.

The Brothers will get into a bit throughout the film, and director Seiter won’t showcase it. It’s like he’s resentful at his stars… all of them. I’m not sure Lucille Ball gets more than one close-up. She just sort of walks in and out of scenes, providing cleric support and reminding everyone Groucho’s dating a hottie. It’s too bad because she and Groucho have enough chemistry; it’d have been fun to see her around more. Room Service did not start its life as a Marx Brothers play, so the archetypes are a little off. Screenwriter Morrie Ryskind is more successful with some adaptations than others. Groucho’s the least successful.

Anyway.

The bad guy in the movie is Donald MacBride. He’s the company man from corporate (hotel corporate) who’s in town to throw the Marx Brothers out for being deadbeats. MacBride originated the role on Broadway, which is kind of a surprise since MacBride’s the one who knows where the camera’s supposed to be, and Seiter doesn’t. MacBride does whole scenes acting in a non-existent covering shot. Or maybe all that footage got lost. Maybe it had the racist parrot on the same reel, and someone smart burned it before it got to the editing room.

It’s not in the IMDb trivia.

The direction’s never good; about a fourth of the jokes land, though there are eventually excellent jokes (thanks to Harpo). Chico gets less and less enthusiastic throughout; he’s playing Groucho’s sidekick, only Lucy really ought to be Groucho’s sidekick, but then there’s Cliff Dunstan as Groucho’s suffering brother-in-law. Dunstan’s great. He also originated on Broadway. And Room Service is actually about putting on a Broadway play. Groucho’s the broke producer. Obviously.

Just as Dunstan has to throw Groucho out, playwright Frank Albertson comes to town to see how things are going. See, he’s broke too. He’s also the most obvious Zeppo part. It’s just so frustratingly a Zeppo part.

Albertson’s okay. He’s fine. He doesn’t have to sing or dance, he just has to moon over Ann Miller, which is weird because of a significant age difference. It also complicates Miller being good. Like, she’s good, but it’s just… no. IMDb trivia page has the details.

The opening credits are cute, which shouldn’t be as memorable as one of the film’s standouts. There are some good sequences, but they’re obvious set pieces and never as good as they should be. Some of it’s the production. The sets are just a little small, especially since Seiter’s composition is so bad. That composition—and the lack of coverage—hurts the editing. George Crone’s a little slow with the cuts, even when it’s not to compensate for Seiter, but if Crone paced it better, the movie would probably only be too short to be played as the feature. Room Service’s plot is skin and bones, and they still pad reaction shots.

The third act’s a boon. Basically, once a turkey flies, it’s on an uptick until the end.

Then wham goes the WWTF of Groucho’s singing voice.

What and why.

The Equalizer (2021) s02e16 – Vox Populi

Right up until the ending, which resolves Tory Kittles’s recent professional turmoil story arc–two racist white cops kidnapped him and tortured him because they thought he was just a mouthy Black guy, not a Black cop—this episode’s one of the best “Equalizer” episodes.

It’s also something of a “gimme” episode, just because of the structure. Lorraine Toussaint is on a jury where the evidence doesn’t make sense, and it certainly seems like the cops are railroading a Black defendant (RJ Brown). Brown’s accused of raping and murdering a white woman. The episode comes real close to talking about systematic racism (especially for CBS), and there are numerous “gotcha” moments where the white jurors catch themselves being a little racist. It’s always unintentional and without actual malice, but the moments are there. Toussaint’s great and rarely gets enough to do on the show, so having her be the de facto client this episode is excellent.

Of course, Toussaint doesn’t know Queen Latifah’s investigating the case. Latifah knows Toussaint’s not happy with the evidence or the prosecutor’s case; Latifah tells sidekicks Adam Goldberg and Liza Lapira (neither of whom gets much to do) Toussaint wouldn’t have complained if she didn’t want Latifah to do something. Still, it’s never actually made clear Toussaint had that motive. So while Latifah’s trying to figure out if Brown did it, Toussaint’s playing 12 Angry Men with the other jurors.

Sam Pearson, James Adam Lim, Rosa Arredondo, and John Bedford Lloyd are prominent other jurors. Pearson and Lim are more sympathetic to Toussaint; Arredondo and Lloyd are the most antithetic. Lloyd’s better playing the whole jerk than the conflicted one, but Toussaint keeps their exchanges rolling even when his resolve starts slipping.

Kittles helps Latifah out with the investigation, seemingly setting him up for one future plot arc only to flush it for another incredibly problematic one. At least he’s not leaving the show. And hopefully, he and Latifah get to keep being cute together going forward. But it’s a letdown, especially after all the time the episode spends setting him up for something else.

Laya DeLeon Hayes has a mostly offscreen subplot about Latifah feeling bad Hayes has to lie about her mom being “The Equalizer” (to her dad, Latifah’s ex-husband). Unfortunately, given the show seemed to be setting the ex up as a permanent foil, the arc plays reductive. Similar to Kittles’s whole thing.

Nitpicking about future plotlines and multi-episode arcs aside, it’s a strong episode. It’s a Toussaint one. How could it not be?

Apartment for Peggy (1948, George Seaton)

Apartment for Peggy has a protagonist problem. It’s also got what seems to be a Production Code problem, but more on that one later (especially since it gets tangled with the protagonist problem). The film opens with retired university philosophy professor Edmund Gwenn dispassionately deciding he’s going to kill himself. He’s been working on his post-retirement book for eight years, and it’s almost done, his wife has passed away, and his son died in World War II. So he’s just taking up space.

Gwenn makes this decision no secret to his friends, who are all still teaching; the university’s dealing with the influx of G.I. Bill students and their wives (and sometimes families), so everything’s hopping. The friends are mortified, but what can they do. This plotline and character arc seem entirely problematic with the Code, so, right off, Peggy is making big swings.

Then Gwenn meets Jeanne Crain (Peggy). She’s a G.I. bride with a bun in the oven, and she’s about to lose her place to live. Her husband, William Holden, wants to be a school teacher and try to help make sure the next generation doesn’t end up in a war, too–Peggy will, at different times, be about generational clashes, classism, capitalism, and gender expectations; Seaton’s all over the place and gloriously so. Except Holden also wants to be able to put a roof over his family’s head, so he’s thinking about dropping out and going to Chicago to sell used cars.

The film never identifies its location, but it’s not far from Chicago, not even in 1948. A couple hours tops.

It turns out Gwenn’s got an empty attic—where he roomed soldiers during the war—and even though it’s a dirty disaster, Crain’s willing to clean it up to keep Holden in school and their dreams intact.

The film will go from being Gwenn’s story to—very, very briefly—Crain’s story, then back to Gwenn’s story, then, finally, Holden’s story. The finale is a narrative shrug where Seaton just relies on goodwill and humor, though the film’s punchline didn’t make it past the censors. You’ve just got to assume from body language and vague implications. Unless they were referencing some kind of contemporary advertising campaign for a product. But there are a few times scenes end early, like fading out mid-sentence; someone hacked at Apartment.

In addition to his surrogate family arc, Gwenn also gets a renewed professional interest one as the “Lost Generation” discovers the G.I. Brides are just as smart—if not smarter—than their husbands. It’s an excellent informed versus intelligent bit, and it’s probably the most successful plot in the film. Maybe because, even though it’s somewhat truncated too, it’s the most complete.

Crain’s turn as protagonist usually involves her doing something to help someone else. The film’s very big on altruism and how it clashes with post-war malaise and despondence. It’s fascinating, especially as Gwenn gives the impression of austere academic scholarship, and Crain’s back at him with big ideas and lots of slang. Seaton’s direction of Crain is to turn it up to eleven. Then he just lets the energy ricochet around the frame (which, obviously, is noticeably absent when Crain’s got her mostly offscreen character arc).

When Holden finally gets to play the lead, he too does most of his character developing offscreen, but since he’s the focus of Crain’s attention—no matter what’s happening in her life—and she and Gwenn are surrogate family now, Holden’s everyone’s attention. As a result, the movie goes from being about an old white guy realizing white guys shouldn’t be the focus only to focus on the young white guy. It’s unfortunate and very noticeably reductive.

It might just be the second act being too short. The film only runs ninety-six minutes. They could’ve done a bit more with Crain and Gwenn’s bonding, Gwenn and Holden’s bonding (they’ve got a great, long comedy scene assembling furniture together), and Gwenn’s professional pursuit. Not to mention Crain and Holden rarely get to be a couple when they’re not moving the plot along.

While some footage is clearly missing, the plotting’s occasionally jerky, and there are a handful of awkwardly composed one-shots (director Seaton and cinematographer Harry Jackson keep doing these bad higher angle shots), the first two acts of Peggy are entirely solid. By the increasingly troubled third act, the film’s got more than enough goodwill to carry it. And the performances aren’t all of a sudden bad; the parts just fail the actors. The changes affect everyone, from Crain being demoted when her story’s the most compelling, to a rash change in personality for Gwenn (though, arguably, the most reasonable change), to Holden finally having to confront his chemistry class problems.

They appear to be a lack of eye-hand coordination, an unlikely memory issue, and a complete inability to read his professor (an uncredited and very good Charles Lane).

The finish only works because the cast works so well. And worked so well for the previous ninety-five minutes.

The three leads are outstanding, with occasional hiccups, and it takes Seaton a while to reveal enough about Crain to explain her exuberant, boisterous personality. The main supporting cast is Gwenn’s pals, mainly Gene Lockhart and Griff Barnett; they’re good. And survive Seaton making them carry a bunch of the third act so he can avoid certain Code-unfriendly scenes with the main cast.

Apartment for Peggy could have been great, a singular mix of comedy and contemporary social issues affecting a wide demographical array. But, instead, it’s just good. It’s a success; it’s just not the success it seems like Seaton wanted it to be.

This post is part of the 5th William Holden Golden Boy Blogathon hosted by Emily of The Flapper Dame, Virginie of The Wonderful World of Cinema, and Michaela of Love Letters to Old Hollywood.

Legends of Tomorrow (2016) s07e09 – Lowest Common Demoninator

“Legends of Tomorrow” doesn’t have bridging episodes; it has rest stops and layovers. Last episode had the cast playing their evil android counterparts; this episode has them back playing their regular parts, just in a trashy reality show. Several characters get subplot work, mostly Shayan Sobhian and Olivia Swann, Tala Ashe and Nick Zano (and Tala Ashe), Jes Macallan and Caity Lotz, and Amy Louise Pemberton and Adam Tsekhman.

Pemberton leaps the Legends into the “Manor Dimension,” an extra-dimensional mansion where they can hide out and usually get free by going through a door. There’s a magic key. It’s been used to good effect throughout the season. Except they don’t have the key. The mansion is sitting just outside Hell, and when Matt Ryan, freaking out about the situation, leaves the window open, some damned souls get in.

These particular damned sold their souls to demon Giles Panton in exchange for making a successful reality TV show. Something went wrong; now they haunt people, and their presence amps up the drama.

Even someone like Ashe, who grew up on a reality show, finds herself unable to control the demonic influences. That reality show’s going to be important because we find out all about how Sobhian hid from it and that hiding changed the course of his life. He’s also just a boy trying to ask a girl (Swann) out on a date, which means he makes the gallant mistake of following her into Hell. She’s going to negotiate her friends’ safe passage with Panton.

Until Sobhian screws it up and makes things worse.

Though not as worse as when Pemberton, miffed the team is upset at her choice of quantum leap location (not to mention her romance with Tsekhman), turns off her emotions to better navigate the alliances and betrayals of the reality show.

Macallan and Lotz have subplots where they’re melting down individually instead of together, with Macallan obsessed with homemaking and Lotz planning an island vacation.

The biggest drama throughout the episode is Ashe and Zano. And Ashe. So, now regular Ashe is the social media influencer from the near future who Zano can’t stand. Only since they’re on a reality show and it’s turning him into a “Jersey Shore,” there’s a lot of tension between them. They go from almost making out to Ashe deciding Zano’s going to mess up his relationship with her alternate universe version (who lives in her magic bracelet). Ashe creates the subplot out of thin air (and the script, credit James Eagan and Emily Cheever), but it works thanks to Ashe. She’s so good overall, but especially here with the comedy.

Also good with the comedy is Lisseth Chavez, who decides she will outplay her teammates to win the reality show. Though it’s unclear if there are any actual (even demonic) rewards.

Eric Dean Seaton’s direction is fine. The episode’s got a Steadicam vibe, but not cheap aughts reality show Steadicam. It’s a little too professional.

The episode requires a lot from Sobhian—getting into his teenage trauma—and while he’s not the best actor, he’s incredibly sympathetic. And Swann’s able to hold up her part of their burgeoning romance arc.

Plus, the Pemberton and Tsekhman stuff is funny, but also not, but also funny about it not being funny.

Good episode, with some great performances from Ashe, Chavez, and Zano; they’re the three most obviously comedically inclined, and it pays off here.

Venom: Let There Be Carnage (2021, Andy Serkis)

Venom: Let There Be Carnage is under ninety minutes without the end credits, which is fine. While the third act is a perfectly decent bit of action “gore,” once it’s clear Naomie Harris and Woody Harrelson aren’t going to stop embarrassing themselves, the sooner the movie can end, the better.

Harrelson is the titular Carnage, and Harris is his girlfriend. They grew up together in a home for murderous children—though, twist, it seems most of the people these kids would’ve murdered deserved it, or at least the kids were acting in self-defense—and they took Harris away because she’s got superpowers. She has a Canary cry, a sonic cry, or a “Shriek” (her comic book villain name). When she’s being transported, she tries to escape, so the cop shoots her in the head. Everyone thinks she’s dead, but she’s really carted off to the facility where evil psychiatrist Sian Webber experiments on metahumans. I didn’t think metahumans were a thing in Venom 1, but whatever. They’re just all locked up at Webber’s hospital.

Webber doesn’t get a character name and doesn’t do anything but taunt Harris throughout the film, so it’s hard to have much sympathy. Especially since they’re like torturing the people.

Anyway.

We get all that backstory in the prologue, which has Jack Bandeira playing young Woody Harrelson. In the nineties. When Woody Harrelson was in his thirties. Harris is closer to actual age, but… Carnage asks for some extra suspension of disbelief in the silly movie about the head-eating space aliens who banter with their human hosts. Apparently, they really wanted Harrelson, who I hope got a nice check because his performance is atrocious. The part’s not good either, but there are times where there’s not zero potential. Harrelson and Harris’s parts could’ve been breakthrough roles with better writing, casting, directing, and so on.

The film will occasionally stumble into a Bonnie & Clyde-type tone and then run away from it like director Serkis doesn’t want to try anything at all; no one’s more ashamed of taking Carnage seriously than Serkis. With a better script and a less “realistic” visual tone, it might work as camp. But it’d need better performances. Harris, Harrelson, and cop Stephen Graham would have to go.

Graham’s the cop hounding Tom Hardy. Now, Hardy’s the star, but the story’s entirely about Harrelson and Harris, with Graham having been the one to shoot Harris back when she was a kid in his charge. Graham seems to be suffering from guilt over it, but maybe not. It’s impossible to tell with his acting and the script.

The film sets up Hardy—the human—as a complete doofus who can’t function without the Venom symbiote to take care of him. Hardy voices Venom, too, so large swathes of the film are actually just Hardy talking to himself. It’s fine. He’s slightly better as the symbiote than the human because it’s unbelievable Hardy the human could ever function as an adult with even the scantest responsibilities.

Michelle Williams is back as Hardy’s ex-girlfriend, who both Hardy the human and Venom pine for. But she’s marrying doctor Reid Scott, also back from the first one. Williams and Scott are like Hardy’s square friends. Thanks to Williams being phenomenal and holding the movie up whenever she’s around, it works out really well.

And Hardy’s pretty fun. Much of the dialogue’s bad, and Hardy and Graham are terrible together, but Hardy manages to be energetic while dejected, which is impressive. He always seems too good for the movie. It brings a charm, especially with Williams around.

The direction’s fine, albeit unambitious, rushed, and disinterested. Carnage’s script—credit to Kelly Marcel, from a story by she and Hardy—seems like three episodes of a poorly written cartoon strung together, so, really, anything’s a success.

It’s often silly, sometimes inept, sometimes bad, but usually kind of fun, which isn’t bad given all the constraints. If they could just get a better writer, Venom might be good?

Or at least better more of the time. Because despite some genuinely terrible performances from its actors, Hardy, Hardy, Williams, and even Scott make Carnage an almost all right outing.

Superman & Lois (2021) s01e09 – Loyal Subjekts

Right up until the second, harder cliffhanger—the first cliffhanger ought to be a hard one, but ends up being soft, which actually might end up being better given the characters involved—but right up until the finale, it’s a really effective episode with solid acting throughout. And a good explanation for why bad guy Adam Rayner is so fixated on Smallville, even though his insidious, ominous headquarters is clearly in some office park. Not quite LexCorp Towers, or whatever.

Heck, they may even explain—or start to explain—why Rayner’s okay with it.

But there’s also solid character drama for everyone in the episode. Tyler Hoechlin is recovering from experimental synthetic Kryptonite gas, making him more susceptible to damage than usual. It turns out he passed the “infection” on to super-son Alex Garfin. Lousy timing since Garfin needs to play piano at Inde Navarrette’s school recital; he stepped up when Navarrette’s dad, Erik Valdez, flaked out on helping her (again). So when Garfin gets too sick, Elizabeth Tulloch decides it’s time to cut dad Dylan Walsh (who made the Kryptonite gas to kill her husband if need be) out of her life, which really upsets both of them. Caught in the middle is Jordan Elsass, who’s recovering from a wounded teenage boy ego hit already, and having family drama really isn’t helping things.

Neither is Rayner deciding it’s time to move on to the next phase in his plan and deal with Tulloch. She’s been frustrated at not getting the dirt on Rayner’s evil plans, so she goes and curses him out in the office park, leading Rayner to suspect Emmanuelle Chriqui has been snooping for her.

Lots and lots of drama, eventually lots of suspense, and some decent Super-action from director Eric Dean Seaton. There’s still the muscle suit shoulders issue (though Hoechlin does a buff shirtless scene, so you wonder why they have the pads unless maybe his chest’s CGI), but the actual action stuff is cool.

Though the suit is too grey. They need to brighten up the super-suit.

The acting’s strong across the board, with only Hoechlin and Tulloch slow-burning to get there. As usual, it’s not entirely their fault. Tulloch gets a bunch of exposition dumps before some id broadcasting. Then Hoechlin’s, you know, stuck acting opposite Angus Macfadyen’s voice, and Macfayden’s performance can always drag a scene down. But they both get to good places. Elsass, Navarrette, Garfin, Walsh, Chriqui, and Valdez all do consistently good work, in that order. It’s almost like when Valdez isn’t implying his MAGA hat without wearing it, he does a good job.

Also, guest star Leeah Wong. She’s really effective as one of Rayner’s test subjects.

Rayner… well, he’s wanting. Very wanting. Maybe he’ll turn it around as the season enters the grand finale. Probably not, but maybe.

Flight to Mars (1951, Lesley Selander)

The first act of Flight to Mars is quirky enough and soapy enough I had hopes for the finish. The film’s about the first crewed expedition to Mars, and I knew it had them landing there and meeting Martians, so I figured there’d be time for more quirkiness and soapiness at the end. It seemed like it’d be a fun, weird conclusion. Unfortunately not.

The quirky in the first act is second-billed Cameron Mitchell’s reporter interviewing all the people going to Mars. It’s a big surprise—the Air Force hasn’t told anyone about it, and the launch is secret because they can’t afford crowd scenes. Mars also doesn’t have the Space Race going in the background—and no one was in space at this point either, so there’s no general understanding of the science; the combination gives it a little charm. And Mitchell’s all right. He’s got the job of exposition dumping, scene after the scene, and he can do it. Most of the actors can do it.

Not unbilled William Forrest, he’s terrible as the general. For a while, it seemed like he wasn’t going to get any lines; he was better without any lines.

Mitchell goes from team member to team member to introduce them, starting with team leader John Litel. He’s the principal scientist. Litel’s not great, not bad, not distinct in any way. It’s not good writing, and Litel gets out his lines, but he’s pretty background for the team leader. Then there’s Richard Gaines, who’s the folksy geologist with family tragedy going on, and Mitchell bonds with him over it. That bonding is the aforementioned quirky. Mars hits pause on the exposition to have this quiet character moment for Gaines and Mitchell. It’s interesting. In that moment, Arthur Strawn’s script is actually interesting. Then it’s over.

And we get to the soapy. Pilot and rocket scientist Arthur Franz (who, despite being third-billed, is the star of the movie) is oblivious to the affections of his assistant and copilot, Virginia Huston. Huston probably ought to be second-billed. She’s fourth. But Huston’s real important for the first half. She stops being important in the second half when Martian girl Marguerite Chapman shows up and draws Franz’s eye. Mitchell’s after Huston, so he tries to aggravate the situation with Franz. It’s at least energetic plotting. Until Mars blows off a second solo scene for Mitchell and Huston. It’s still soapy, just not enthusiastic.

The Mars portion of the film has a dying planet, white guys with symbols on their chests, and technology, so women aren’t trapped in the kitchen. On Mars, women get to work. They can be assistant scientists like Chapman (or spies like Lucille Barkley), just so long as they wear short skirts and high heels. Even Huston gets into the short skirts and high heels (in Mars, do as the Martians do). Meanwhile, all the Earthling males wear these black leather jackets. The silliest costumes are the Martian spacesuits, which look like pajamas with foam helmets.

Mars is in color, which maybe brings it more personality than it really needs. The color’s nice and crisp, but Mars’s costumes and sets can’t withstand too much crispness.

There are some slightly inventive low budget effects—like two good matte paintings, with a big asterisk on the word “good”—and director Selander’s got his moments. But Chapman and Franz aren’t compelling leads, and the script’s not there for Morris Ankrum and Robert Barrat’s political squabbles to make the third act dramatic enough.

Mars isn’t without amusing, diverting moments—especially for fans of serials; I spotted a bunch of serial actors—but it doesn’t live up to the first act. There is one good team conversation while traveling to Mars where the film actually pretends the characters have thoughts; the actors do well with that scene. The movie really lets the cast down (especially second-billed Mitchell).

Also, the rocket ship model makers didn’t pay attention to the spaceship interior gravity logic and the frequently obvious mistake grates. Speaking of gravity… the actors are terrible when they’ve got to pretend to be experiencing acceleration. It’s not budget, it’s not 1951, maybe it’s bad direction, but wow, they all look very silly.