Little Woods (2018, Nia DaCosta)

It’s impossible to say how Little Woods would play if Lily James weren’t terrible. As is, the film’s a waiting game to see if James will ever have a good scene. Spoiler alert: she doesn’t. She’s so bad I was expecting the production company to be “Lily James Productions.” She lets down writer and director DaCosta and lead Tessa Thompson’s ambitious, searching work every moment, but she also never seems to be trying. It’s a bewilderingly bad performance in a non-vanity project.

Woods is one third character study of Thompson, one-third examination of her and James’s relationship, one-third rural America drug thriller. That second third, the one involving James, ought to be a character study too, but James is so flat it can’t happen. Sometimes it seems like she’s just terrible opposite Thompson, who tries to hold scenes up and sometimes succeeds. Sometimes not, of course.

But James is also bad opposite baby daddy James Badge Dale (who’s fantastic as a mediocre white guy) and baby Charlie Ray Reid. James and Dale have weird scenes together where it’s like James doesn’t know she’s supposed to know Dale even though they’ve got one kid, Reid, and another on the way. Then her scenes with Reid come off as bored babysitter, not a struggling, loving mama bear.

There are a bunch of unresolved plot threads, and they could either be just unresolved plot threads or more James scenes removed because they bring the movie down even more. She can’t handle anything. Not even pouring coffee (she’s a diner waitress).

Meanwhile, Thompson can handle all of it. Even when Woods’s plot details get a little absurd, which James’s acting make worse, Thompson can handle it. She’s fantastic.

The movie opens with Thompson finishing her probation for drug smuggling from Canada. She was bringing over cheap meds for those in need and oxy to sell to the local working addicts. Since probation started, her adopted mom (presumably James’s birth mom, but dead mom doesn’t mean anything in the movie) died, and the bank is foreclosing on the house. All the timeline stuff is unclear; all the ground situation stuff is unclear. DaCosta sometimes goes for moody, but not in the first act, so it’s uneven.

Lance Reddick plays Thompson’s probation officer. He’s very supportive and encouraging; if there’s a story to him and Thompson being the only Black people in the movie, it too got cut. He’s there primarily for tension and exposition dumps. It’s a fine stunt cast.

Just as Thompson’s about to get out of the life for good, rival dealer Luke Kirby asks her to team up—she’s just so much better at dealing than anyone else. But she’s out. Unless James does something silly like get pregnant again because James can’t handle anything by herself.

Things go from bad to worse for Thompson, and everyone has to make some drastic, life-changing decisions. Except Dale, because he disappears sometime during the second act like they cut him dying, but—again—it was probably just another atrocious scene with James.

Really strong direction from DaCosta, who can’t do anything with James’s performance but works great with everyone else. If James’s performance were good, who knows? If it were great—on par with Thompson—it’d be exceptional just to get those two performances together. Except not with James.

Solid, but sometimes too DV photography from Matt Mitchell. Nice editing from Catrin Hedström and music from Brian McOmber and Malcolm Parson.

Little Woods has a fantastic Thompson lead performance and some fine directing, but James lets all the air out of the tires.

One Night in Miami… (2020, Regina King)

I fully expected One Night in Miami to end with a real-life picture of the film’s historical subjects. The film recounts—with fictional flourish—the night of February 25, 1964, when Muhammad Ali (then still Cassius Clay) defeated Sonny Liston to become the world heavyweight champion. He celebrated his win with Malcolm X, Jim Brown, and Sam Cooke. One of Miami’s subplots (or, at least, frequently referenced details) is Malcolm X being a camera geek. But director King never goes to the “real,” instead letting her cast carry the film to its devastating finish.

Kingsley Ben-Adir plays Malcolm X, Eli Goree plays Cassius Clay, Aldis Hodge plays Jim Brown, and Leslie Odom Jr. plays Sam Cooke. There’s a small supporting cast, basically Joaquina Kalukango as Betty X, and then Lance Reddick and Christian Magby as Ben-Adair’s Nation of Islam bodyguards; they’re kind of buzzkills for the evening.

The film’s based on screenwriter Kemp Powers’s stage play, though the film never feels stagy. King keeps it very open until the four men get into the room together, starting with prologues for each. The film opens with Goree winning a bout in England, which allows for Michael Imperioli and Lawrence Gilliard Jr. cameos in his corner. Goree’s Miami’s most singularly dynamic performance. It’s not his movie overall, but he’s always in the spotlight. He’s the champ, after all.

Odom’s prologue involves him modifying his show to play for the shitty white people at the Copacabana. Odom gets to do three “live” performances in the film, though he’s constantly teasing a jam session. His role is the film’s toughest.

Hodge’s prologue has him visiting a white family in his hometown, thinking things have changed since he’s now the star of the NFL. Not so much. Unlike Goree or Odom’s prologues, the film doesn’t give Hodge the opportunity for honest reaction, which sets him up for the film’s most important part. Hodge works his ass off in the part, and it seems like overkill at the beginning, but then it becomes clearer why he’s doing it as the film progresses.

Those prologues are all set at some time before the One Night, with the fight taking place eight months before; the Ben-Adir prologue leads right into the main action. He and Kalukango are (justifiably) freaking out about Ben-Adir’s plan to leave the Nation and start his own organization. He hopes he’ll be able to convince Goree to come along with him on this Miami trip.

One Night in Miami is finite historical fiction, but King and Powers entwine it with actual history’s expanse. Even if the audience may not, the filmmakers know what happens to the subjects and how their stories end. They’re focusing on a point before tragedy, but also one where Ben-Adir can see that tragedy in the distance well enough to describe it.

After a brief, fantastic Liston match—where King is able to give Goree an even better spotlight than before—the action moves to the motel room, where the film will spend the majority of the remaining runtime. King and Powers open it up a little, with a liquor store run, a parking lot conversation, a rooftop dialogue exchange, but really it’s about this room.

Only Ben-Adir knows the plan. Both Hodge and Odom expect more people, some booze, and a better setting. Goree’s got a basic idea of Ben-Adir’s constraints for the festivities, but not his intentions for the evening; (hopefully) no one who knows about Ben-Adir’s plans to leave the Nation is talking about it.

Ben-Adir’s plan quickly derails as he and Odom’s mutual needling turns serious. Ben-Adir doesn’t think Odom is taking his position as a Black singer seriously; Odom thinks Ben-Adir’s a killjoy. It gets more and more serious, with Goree trying to play peacemaker while Hodge waits until the fists fly to get involved.

The film’s great success with these scenes is getting the exposition in; Ben-Adir’s Malcolm X is a natural lecturer, giving Miami a lot of exposition dump leeway, but having Odom’s Cooke default to personal attacks brings in a lot of character and relationship backstory. All four men have existing history with one another, but it’s all implied, even when they talk about it. King and Powers only have one flashback, and they save it for something everyone needs to see, not hear about.

As the night goes on, people will pair off for private conversations. Hodge provides counsel to everyone at one point or another, with his conversation with Ben-Adir the most affecting. It’s when all Hodge’s character work pays off. Meanwhile, Odom and Goree have a different conversation—in many ways, Goree can synthesize Ben-Adir and Odom’s hopes and dreams, with Hodge being the experienced elder statesman.

So while Goree starts Miami and the whole film’s “about” him because he’s the champ, the conflict between Ben-Adir and Odom is the centerpiece, and then Hodge actually holds them all together.

The best acting overall is Ben-Adir or Hodge, though Goree’s the most impressive. Odom’s excellent, too; it’s just less his film than Ben-Adir or Goree’s. Hodge’s the fourth wheel, so when he proves himself so essential—Hodge’s performance as Brown, not just Brown’s part in the narrative—he’s spectacularly impressive.

King’s direction is phenomenal. Early in the film, she gets to show off the grandiosity of the era, especially with Goree’s boxing matches. But those scenes are still all very focused. When she scales down for the conversations, she widens the narrative distance to make room for all the actors. The Night is about Ben-Adir because he’s the only one who sees destiny waiting for him, but King makes sure the other actors still get to build their characters when Ben-Adir’s running the conversation. Thanks to King, Miami doesn’t just not feel stagy or like a stage adaptation; that origin is actually a surprise. The direction is so focused on the minutiae of the performances, not the dialogue deliveries. It’s not about who says what next; it’s about how hearing something or thinking something affects how someone reacts. It’s about the performances, specifically Ben-Adir and Hodge’s performances.

All the technicals are outstanding—Tami Reiker’s photography, Tariq Anwar’s editing, Barry Robison’s production design, Francine Jamison-Tanchuck’s costumes. And Powers’s script’s superlative.

One Night in Miami is a singular film about singular subjects. It’s an exceptional, profound motion picture.

Jonah Hex (2010, Jimmy Hayward)

If you ever find yourself not believing in the idea that White people of wanting talent can fail upward, watch Jonah Hex. Every one of the principals from the film worked again when, based on the film as evidence, maybe John Malkovich should’ve gotten another job. Sure, Josh Brolin isn’t terrible in the lead, but it’s not like he acts enough you’d think there’s something to him as a talent. Michael Fassbender and Megan Fox are just plain bad, though Fassbender’s failing at a part, Fox isn’t even acting a part enough to fail at it. Of course, she is sympathetic because Hex really likes victimizing Fox, the only woman in the cast with a speaking part.

At least, with multiple scenes and a speaking part.

The film runs an indeterminable seventy-five minutes (eighty with end credits); it feels closer to a couple hours just because it’s so boring in its badness. The only times Hex gins up any energy is when it’s being surprisingly bad in some way or another, like when Black man in 1876 Lance Reddick has to tell Brolin he knows he wasn’t racist when he was a Confederate soldier, he just didn’t like following orders.

Hex is a heritage not hate bunch of nonsense from 2010. It’s a very lazy film and could have just as easily not had the sexism, the racial optics, some ableism, and given everyone less work and based on everything else in the picture, they’d have embraced it, but screenwriters Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor had some very definite places they wanted to go with the film. Ick places.

It’s a stunningly bad lead turn from Brolin. Yes, it’s clear director Hayward has no idea to direct actors—or even whether or not he should be directing them; I swear in a couple scenes it looks like Fox is glancing off screen for some kind of guidance. Or editors Kent Beyda, Daniel P. Hanley, Tom Lewis, and Fernando Villena just do bad work. Yes, all four of them for a seventy-five minute movie. Hex reuses at least three minutes of the same footage, bringing the “original” footage runtime down to 72, then throw in another couple for the opening animated sequence, which Brolin narrates and recaps what happens between the prologue and the present action, and you’re down to seventy.

And for a seventy minute “intense Western action” adaptation of a comic book… Jonah Hex is still surprisingly bad. Incompetent might be the best word, but no worries, both producers failed up.

The only reasonable performance is Malkovich, who gets through it without any exertion or ambition, but without any failings either. He’s perfectly fine as a Confederate general who fakes his death so he can come back and firebomb the U.S.A.’s first centennial celebration with a steampunk super weapon. Sadly it’s about the only steampunk thing in the film, outside some explosive crossbow guns Reddick makes for Brolin; steampunk might at least be interesting.

Hayward’s a terrible director. He’s not good at action, either with explosions, guns, horses, fists, knives, or whatever else. Jonah Hex makes you realize what truly bad ideas Hollywood producers have about what makes something good.

Maybe the only thing I’m grateful about with Hex—other than the runtime—is not recognizing Michael Shannon, who seems to have a cameo and I do remember seeing someone who looks a little like him but thinking it was Neal McDonough. Wes Bentley’s quite recognizable and quite bad. One has to wonder what Malkovich thinks of acting opposite people who can’t make bad material palatable.

Will Arnett and John Gallagher Jr. have small parts I hope they talked to their agents about recommending.

Jonah Hex is a crappy movie and not in any interesting ways.

Oh, and Aidan Quinn. Poor, poor Aidan Quinn. He too hopefully had a long talk with his agent.

John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017, Chad Stahelski)

If—and it's a big if—there's anything interesting about John Wick: Chapter Two as a sequel, it's how poorly the original filmmakers execute the sequel. It feels like a contractually obligated affair, only with the original principals returning.

Well, save David Leitch who produced the first film and was the (uncredited) co-director. Guess we know who brought all the energy. Because Chapter Two’s direction and action scenes are exactly what you'd expect from a contractually obligated sequel. There are big set pieces but with the locations, not the fight choreography, not the direction, not the editing (Evan Schiff’s cuts are middling at best). There's not even good (or enthusiastic) soundtrack selections. There aren't any sequences with distinct accompanying songs. The score’s no better; Tyler Bates and Joel J. Richard’s score does a minimalist Western theme for unstoppable assassin Keanu Reeves and it's a bad choice. It doesn't bring anything. John Wick: Chapter 2: it doesn't bring anything.

The movie starts shortly after the first one. In the first one they killed his dog and stole his car; Chapter 2 begins with him getting the car back from an exceptionally bad Peter Stormare. One cameo from John Leguizamo later (the film would’ve been immeasurably improved with more Leguizamo, who’s likable in a film without much likable) and Reeves is retired. Moments after re-burying his suitcase of guns and assassin credits (the criminal underworld, globally, operates on single gold coins in John Wick world), bad guy Riccardo Scamarcio shows up at Reeves’s door with a job he can’t refuse because in John Wick world, the plots don’t work if there aren’t jobs you can’t refuse. Being an assassin means following the rules; returning Ian McShane, who’s possibly the only consistently welcome frequent supporting player, can’t shut up about the rules. At least he’s amusing with it. Common, who plays Reeves’s target’s bodyguard, can’t shut up about the rules and he’s terrible at it. The film’s bereft of good villains. Common’s not good to start then gets worse the more the film asks of him. Scarmarcio doesn’t seem terrible when he arrives, then gets worse as things progress, but some of the problem for him is the stupid plot being, you know, stupid.

After getting his house burnt down for initially refusing the offer he can’t resist, Reeves meets up with McShane (to get McShane in the movie before he needs to be), then has his equipment prep sequence, which has him getting a bulletproof suit—like, tailored suit, not special outfit, suit suit, just bulletproof—and guns from Peter Serafinowicz (whose Q cameo is one of the film’s better ones). Reeves of course using all the guns he gets, including the AR-15 the film includes to show its love for gun culture, which never gets actually exciting because they’re not gadgets or even distinct weapons. The bulletproof suit comes in handy for Reeves walking around twisting and adjusting his suit jacket to block during gun fights. Handy for Reeves. It looks really stupid.

Also stupid-looking is the big finale with the amped up hall of mirrors shootout. For a second it seems like director Stahelski is including the hall of mirrors to do something fresh or innovative with the trope. Instead, he just adds some CGI to it and calls it good. Then it goes on forever. A lot of John Wick 2 is tedious. Especially the fight scenes, which are never well-choreographed enough to be interesting on their own; they don’t have much dramatic weight as it seems unlikely any of the goons Reeves fights are going to be able to take him.

Speaking of Reeves… he’s really bad here. It’s Derek Kolstad’s script, which seems unfamiliar with how Derek Kolstad’s script for the first film dialogued Reeves. Reeves has a lot of action hero one-liners. They’re all bad, with some being stupider than others.

Can’t forget the Larry Fishburne cameo. He’s really bad. Obviously he’s a Matrix stunt cast but you’d think they’d make sure he and Reeves would at least be fun together. They’re not

I guess Ruby Rose, who plays a deaf (or possibly just mute, it’s unclear) assassin, gets away somewhat unscathed. She’s not good, but she’s also not bad. Not being bad is a rarity in John Wick: Chapter 2. It’s a great example of sequel as pejorative.