This Guy at the Movies

Let’s compare/contrast “Manhunter” (American; 1986; crime drama/mystery/thriller; running time 2 hours; written and directed by Michael Mann, based on the 1981 novel “Red Dragon” by Thomas Harris; rated R for disturbing imagery and content, sexual content, violence, smoking; in theaters Aug. 22, 1986, available on VOD and streaming services, including Amazon Prime Video), which includes the first film appearance by (and you might have heard of him) Hannibal Lecter, with “The Silence of the Lambs,” which came along five years later with some (including Lecter) but not all of the same characters (portrayed by different actors), also based on a book by Harris, and became the third and most recent picture to earn Oscars in all five major categories (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Adapted Screenplay) and the first horror movie to win for Best Picture.

Looking at Lecter: Or Lecktor, since that is how he is referenced (changed from the source material) when Brian Cox plays the incarcerated psychiatrist/cannibalistic serial killer in Mann’s film. Cox based his portrayal on Scottish serial killer Peter Manuel, and he is suitably unnerving as he crawls into the minds of those who dare to converse with him. Little is made of Lecktor being a cannibal, which is the defining characteristic that Anthony Hopkins, as Lecter in “The Silence of the Lambs,” director Jonathan Demme and screenwriter Ted Tally used to turn the character into a movie icon. Remarkably, Hopkins had only 16 minutes of screen time in “TSOTL,” but he makes the best of them. Hopkin is wryly funny and disturbing at the same time. Cox makes only a couple of brief appearances in “Manhunter” before becoming an afterthought. As with other characters in his film, Demme brings the camera in uncomfortably tight on Hopkins’ Lecter, close enough to make the audience’s skin crawl. ADVANTAGE TSOTL.

Meet the protagonists: In “Manhunter,” William Petersen is Will Graham, a serial killer whisperer who has retired to a Florida beach with his wife and young son when friend and FBI agent Jack Crawford (Dennis Farina) pays a visit and wants to get the band back together because a serial killer is striking homes in the South based on the lunar calendar. Petersen is at first reluctant but of course gets sucked back in. Petersen’s Graham talks a lot (and sometimes screams) to himself, and parallels are drawn between him and the killer (Tom Noonan as Francis Dollarhyde, aka “the Tooth Fairy”). In “TSOTL,” Jodie Foster plays Clarice Starling, a young student at the FBI academy who is sent to talk to Lecter about a serial killer, “Buffalo Bill” (Ted Levine), in part because she is an attractive young woman. Foster’s Clarice is swimming upstream, a woman trying to prove herself in a man’s world. Clarice is the much more interesting character of the two, and Foster’s performance is far superior. ADVANTAGE TSOTL.

They’re the bad guys: Noonan’s Dollarhyde is an uncomfortable watch, an imposing (described as 6-foot-7) and unattractive man who is a stereotypical loner and clearly mentally unstable. He selects his victims, attractive young women with families, from home movies he develops as part of his job at a film lab (remember those?). He believes he can “change” his victims, with each one bringing him closer to his own metamorphosis into “the Dragon.” Levine’s “Buffalo Bill” is a transvestite (or, at least according to Lecter, thinks he is) who selects his victims based on size, as he prefers chubby women so that he can starve them, thus loosening their skin so he can cut it off and sew it into a suit for himself. Both serial killers are brilliantly conceived and intriguing, not to mention menacing, characters. You don’t want to get physically involved with the Tooth Fairy (as one of his would-be victims does). And you’d better run if someone asks, as Buffalo Bill does, “What are you, about a Size 14?” DRAW

The story: Both films operate on the same basic premise: Lecter is consulted by an investigator to try and get inside the mind and understand the motives of a serial killer on the loose. In each case, Lector’s clues and the work of the protagonist bring law enforcement closer to the killer. Both stories are riveting and tension-filled. Each makes the audience wish they would hurry up and catch the killer already. DRAW.

What they look like: Mann’s “Manhunter” is pure “Miami Vice,” which was the style of the time. Mann frequently employs dense color tints (like the deep blue when Petersen’s Graham is with his wife) to create mood. Mann’s picture is stylish to a fault. It was criticized as such upon its release, and time has done little but be unkind to it. Demme uses a more straightforward, almost clinical approach, and his frequent use of tight, screen-filling close-ups oftentimes gives his film a documentary feel. Demme’s film is far better at creating an uneasy watch. Pay attention to how you feel when the camera moves through Buffalo Bill’s home for the first time. Or when we get our first glimpse of Hopkins’ Lector. “TSOTL” loses points, however, for the heavy black block letters with white outline in the credits. Those must have looked good to someone at the time. ADVANTAGE TSOTL

What they sound like: Remember the 1980s, when seemingly every film was scored by some guy in a room with banks of synthesizers? Thankfully that trend didn’t last long. The score for “Manhunter,” by Michel Rubini and The Reds, is a series of synthesized bleeps and blorts that doesn’t work well with a story about the hunt for a serial killer. Synthesized scores have come a long way when it comes to building mood since then; think the recent work of Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor. Howard Shore took a far more traditional approach to scoring “TSOTL,” and it is more effective at enhancing the tension. Both movies make great use of pre-existing music. Iron Butterfly’s 1968 epic “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” is the perfect choice for an extended sequence in the final act of “Manhunter,” and at 17 minutes, 5 seconds (the album version), it is haunting as it gives Dollarhyde ample time to do his thing. While not as lengthy, “Goodbye Horses” by Q Lazzarus feels like it was made to play loudly as Buffalo Bill looks in a mirror and lusts after a version of himself. And I can’t hear “American Girl” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers without thinking that Buffalo Bill is out there trying to load a chair into his van. DRAW.

Overall thoughts: In its final act – when (and I’ll say SPOILER ALERT even though this movie came out during the Reagan years) Dollarhyde gets off on a blind woman petting a sedated tiger, has sex with her after studying home video of his next victim, stalks her outside her home, kills a man he sees her with and then abducts her so that he can “change” her, at least until Graham catches on to him – “Manhunter” goes toe-to-toe with the more ballyhooed “The Silence of the Lambs.” But the latter is a much stronger end-to-end work, one that, despite its honors, seems somehow underrated more than 30 years later (it doesn’t rank high on many lists of all-time great movies), perhaps because of its disturbing content and status as a horror film (though it is at least equal parts forensic crime investigation story). “Manhunter” bombed at the box office upon initial release and played to mixed reviews, but it since has become a much more respected work and even earned cult status, in likelihood because “TSOTL” came along five years later and is a masterpiece. Despite its outdated style, “Manhunter” is well worth your time. It pales in comparison to “The Silence of the Lambs” mostly because the latter is near perfect.

My scores: “Manhunter” 81, “The Silence of the Lambs” 96

One of the more positive aspects of that thing we call the internet is that you are never more than a couple of keystrokes from obtaining affirmation from people (or maybe bots) you will never know. After watching “Best. Christmas. Ever!” (American; 2023; holiday comedy; running time 1 hour, 20 minutes; directed by Mary Lambert, written by Todd Calgi Gallicano and Charles Shyer; rated TV-PG for mildly suggestive dialogue; streaming on Netflix on Nov. 16, 2023) and thinking, “More like ‘Worst. Christmas movie. Ever!’” I cranked up the old Google machine to research this monstrosity and was comforted to find, under the “Discussions and forums” header, this Reddit thread: “’Best Christmas Ever’ (and the author didn’t even bother with the title’s annoying punctuation) might be the worst movie I have ever seen.” At least the author was kind enough to build in wiggle room with the word “might.” This is the opening salvo of the Christmas season for Netflix, which has joined Lifetime and Hallmark in cranking out inane holiday entertainment that a remarkably sizeable number of viewers can’t ever seem to get enough of, regardless of how awful and how unoriginal they are. “Best. Christmas. Ever!” is indeed awful and unoriginal (not to mention uninspired and annoying), its only saving graces being that it is mercifully short (just under 73 minutes before the end credits roll) and the final act is so ridiculous that the film goes from bad in a dull sort of way to bad in a funny sort of way, albeit briefly and assuming you stuck around past the first 10 minutes or so and didn’t declare Christmas canceled this year.

Heather Graham is Charlotte Sanders, an engineer whose “placeholder” job isn’t working out. She is married to Rob Sanders (Jason Biggs), a dreamer of modest means who tries to flip houses. Just before Christmas, Charlotte receives a holiday letter from old college friend Jackie Jennings (singer Brandy Norwood, or just Brandy if you prefer), whose life is impossibly perfect. Charlotte – Bah! Humbug! – hates Christmas letters, and she is envious and suspicious of Jackie. Charlotte, Rob and their impossibly annoying little kids set off for her sister’s new place for the holidays. But since Charlotte and Rob are weirdly focused on Jackie (Rob and Jackie were bandmates and sort of a thing in college), here’s guessing they get lost and end up at the home of Jackie and her family. And wouldn’t you just know it? They do! Jackie’s place is perfect, the kind of home where EVERYTHING is covered with Christmas ornaments and lights. Jackie has a perfectly studly husband (Matt Cedeno as, um, Valentino) and her own impossibly annoying child (Madison Skye Validum as Beatrix) who, and I suppose this is a thing (?), has been admitted to Harvard at age 10. And wouldn’t you just know it? Charlotte, Rob and kids get snowed in at Jackie’s perfect Christmas home. Charlotte is jealous when Jackie and Rob are mildly flirtatious. And then she finds a letter from Rob in Jackie’s mail. Huh-oh. Will Charlotte and Jackie come to an understanding? You bet. Will Charlotte learn a lesson about not comparing yourself to your more successful friends? Uh-huh. Won’t there be a time-filler tangent about proving whether Santa Claus is real? You called it. What would a holiday movie be without a death to drive the sentimentality? It wouldn’t be much of one. Wouldn’t it be cool if this ended with Jackie trying to fly a solar-powered hot air balloon that is having an electronics glitch (“Good thing I’m an engineer!” Charlotte says) when a life-sized Santa sleigh gets tangled up in its rope ladder and Charlotte must climb down the ladder and get into the sleigh so that the balloon will fly properly just as their kids are at the outdoor town Christmas play and looking into the sky with binoculars hoping to see proof of Santa? Wait, what?

I don’t want to be agitated by another Netflix Christmas movie, but here we are. Before the ludicrous LOL parts, I was, from the comfort of my sofa, doing much aggressive sighing and fidgeting. At one point (not one of my prouder moments, but I was watching the movie alone, so it’s OK) I shouted, “F**king shut up!” at the know-it-all kid. That’s the Christmas spirit! Bad movies can be forgiven. Lazy moviemaking shouldn’t be. Even at this time of year. Best. Movie review. Ever!

My score: 5 out of 100.

“The Holdovers”

Genre: Period piece dramedy

Country: American

Directed by: Alexander Payne

Written by: David Hemingson

Starring: Paul Giamatti, Dominic Sessa, Da’Vine Joy Randolph, Carrie Preston, Gillian Vigman, Tate Donovan, Brady Hepner, Ian Dolley, Jim Kaplan, Michael Provost, Andrew Garman, Naheem Garcia, Stephen Thorne, Darby Lily Lee-Stack

Rated: R for some drug use, language, brief sexual material

Run time: 2 hours, 13 minutes

Release date: In limited theaters Oct. 27, 2023, in full theatrical release Nov. 17, 2023

Where I saw it: Kan-Kan Cinema and Restaurant on the near eastside of Indianapolis, on a Saturday evening, $13, about 40 other people in the theater

What it’s about: Set in 1970 at Barton Academy, a New England prep school, a curmudgeonly ancient history instructor (Giamatti as the bug-eyed, pipe-smoking Paul Hunham) is assigned to stay at the school over Christmas break with students who have nowhere to go. Among them is Angus Tully (Sessa), a gifted but troubled student whose mother has canceled their holiday vacation plans; and Mary Lamb (Randolph), the school’s head cook who is grieving over the loss of a loved one. Paul, Angus and Mary will form an unexpected alliance as they learn to cope with their situations and embrace life again.

What I liked about it: Pretty much everything. “The Holdovers” is a bittersweet, gripping, insightful drama that builds momentum (and gets funnier) and never lets up through the ending. It reunites Giamatti and Payne, who collaborated on the brilliant 2004 dramedy “Sideways,” and for both men it represents their best work in years. The film is a commentary on the human condition, about people (some from privilege, some not) for whom life is challenging and in desperate need of kindness and connection. Though it is fiction, the story is a testament to how humans can, under the right circumstances and with the right people in their peripheral, grow and change over the course of just a couple of weeks. “The Holdovers” connected with me emotionally; I was either laughing (muted at first, out loud later), crying or feeling better about the world. You can’t ask much more from this type of movie. … Giamatti, Randolph and Sessa (in his first feature role) are brilliant, delivering in-depth characters with strength, nuance and (ultimately) likeability. Randolph’s Mary is the most likeable of the three, a woman putting on a brave front until it all comes pouring out while imbibing at a holiday party. Paul and Angus both are at war with the world, a frustrated young man and a world weary one who realize they are bitter and unpopular but struggling to do much about it. They will, of course, be redeemed, as Payne and writer Hemingson (also a producer) peel away their layers so that the audience knows why they are the way they are. … A couple of graphic touches meant to depict the period are borderline corny, but the setting, set design and wardrobes (and hairstyles) give this the feel of a movie more than 50 years old. … All three of the main characters have a potential romantic interest, and a lesser, more upbeat and perhaps less realistic movie would have had them develop the way an audience expects or wants. Life and (potential) love aren’t always a slam dunk, and this film handles romance with that in mind. And it is better for it.

What I didn’t like about it: My only complaint is not about the movie but a man in the audience whose phone started ringing while Paul and Angus were conversing in the final scene, and it took him 10 to 12 rings to figure out how to shut off what was, I am assuming, his own phone. A great movie moment ruined by someone who felt the need to have their phone on.

Who it will appeal to: Anyone who goes to a movie to feel something.

My score: 95 out of 100.

It’s like, “How much more bleak could ‘Hurricane Season’ (in Spanish, “Temporada de huracanes”) (Mexican; 2023; drama/murder mystery; running time 1 hour, 39 minutes; directed by Elisa Miller, written by Miller, Daniela Gómez and Fernanda Melchor, based on Melchor’s 2017 novel of the same name ; rated TV-MA for sex, sexual assault, drug use, violence; streaming on Netflix on Nov. 1, 2023) be?” And the answer is “None. None more bleak.” This is a relentlessly depressing tale of people living in a small village in Veracruz State on Mexico’s east coast and stuck at the bottom of that country’s socioeconomic ladder without any sign of hope or ambition. Occasionally filmmaker Miller serves up a tender moment, and at times the cinematography, despite the deeply impoverished setting, is gorgeous. But the film, told in chapters based on characters involved in the main storyline and in clunky non-linear fashion, amounts to poverty porn (think a Mexican version of 2017’s “The Florida Project”) and borderline just porn.

The story begins with a group of young boys discovering a body, with snakes crawling out of its mouth, washed up at the edge of a river. The corpse is that of the village witch (Edgar Trevino), a transvestite who hosts orgies and gives the young male participants drugs. We know this because the story backpedals to detail the events leading up to the body being discovered and beyond. If there’s a main character, it’s Luismi (Andrés Cordova), an androgynous young adult who loves music but frequently does drugs, lies about having a job and seems to be the witch’s favorite boy. He has a sister (Paloma Alvamar as Yesenia) who goes to the police and asks them to investigate when Luismi goes missing. Like all the young women in the village, Yesenia has resigned herself to a life of house chores because it’s that or sex work. Luismi’s best buddy (and he will become more than that) is Brando (Ernesto Meléndez), a troubled young man shaken by the absence of his father (none of the men in this story work or stick around) and a thief. One day a 14-year-old girl (Kat Rigoni as Norma) arrives in town by bus, is chased by men who want to pimp her out and meets Luismi. He brings her home not knowing she is pregnant by her stepfather and has run away from home. Luismi’s mother (Conchi León as Chiquis), a prostitute, thinks it best that Norma abort the child (especially since Luismi has little interest in working and supporting a child), so she takes Norma to the witch, who has her drink some sort of concoction that makes her violently sick and bloody and lands her in the hospital. All of this will be tied into the death of the witch, if you can keep track of it and if, about an hour into this, you aren’t looking for a bridge from which to jump.

“Hurricane Season” moves at a lethargic pace, and if nothing else that makes it easier to keep track of the jumping around in time. But it also gives the audience plenty of time to ponder lives that go from awful to worse. It’s not clear what the point of all this is, unless it is to shine a light on the parts of Mexico in which existence is like this, without much explanation or suggested remedies. The characters (and, forewarned, they casually use homophobic slurs and other politically incorrect terms) are trapped in their impoverished state and unable or, when viewed with cynicism, unwilling to do anything about it. Without work or prospects for it, the village’s young people turn to crime, drugs and sex. No one in “Hurricane Season” seems to be having sex for love, or even strong like, or for pleasure. Instead it’s either an act of desperation (an attempt to feel anything remotely positive) or a way to sort of scratch out the most meager of livings. Only Brando indicates a desire to get out of this mess, his idea being that he and Luismi escape to Cancun by stealing the money to get there. Oddly, given everything that has come before it, a voiceover in the final scene suggests the people in this part of Mexico have hope because the sun comes up each day. Clearly, at least among those in this story, they are going to need much more than that.  

My score: 38 out of 100.

The key to a good underdog story is a likeable protagonist who you want to see beat the odds and succeed so that you can stand up and cheer. In “Nyad” (American; 2023; biographical sports drama; running time 2 hours; directed by Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin, written by Julia Cox, based on the 2015 autobiography “Find a Way” by Diana Nyad; rated PG-13 for some strong language, thematic material including sexual abuse, brief partial nudity; in limited theaters Oct. 20, 2023, streaming on Netflix on Nov. 3, 2023), the filmmakers practically dare you to not like an unbridled narcissist who turned even her closest friend into an enabler and couldn’t seem to understand why everyone around her didn’t appreciate her greatness the way she did. Annette Bening does an admirable job of portraying swimmer Diana Nyad, but her character is so off-putting that the effort seems wasted. As one might expect, husband-and-wife directors Chin and Vasarhelyi, award-winning nature documentary filmmakers making their first narrative feature, deliver breathtaking views of oceans and sunsets, but their movie is too busy, with a flashback for every occasion, frequent archival voiceovers by Nyad and not the actor portraying her, and choppy editing and overzealous filmmaking gadgetry. Cox’s script is pure by-the-numbers underdog storytelling, right down to the banal dialogue. And since the audience already knows the outcome (there wouldn’t be a “Nyad” if she had failed), there’s virtually no tension and thus no emotional payoff during the triumphant moment. Put it all together, and “Nyad” is barely watchable. If that.

Diana Nyad (born Diana Sneed; she took her last name from her mother’s second husband, who was using an alias) gained national attention with her distance swimming feats in the 1970s. She took an extended break from swimming (she’s also an author, journalist and motivational speaker) until, having turned 60 in 2009, she began training for a feat considered nearly impossible – swimming across the Florida Straits from Cuba to Key West, Fla. (more than 100 miles), nonstop. Nyad had first attempted the feat in 1978 but was pulled from the water by her team doctors after 42 hours because strong winds and swells had taken her off course. Her next attempt started Aug. 7, 2011, with Nyad supported by a boat and crew and swimming without a shark cage, which in her mind would make her feat more legitimate. She lasted 29 hours in the water. A third attempt in 2011 lasted about 67 miles; she got farther on a fourth attempt in 2012 but was halted by storms and jellyfish stings. On Aug. 31, 2013, she set out on her fifth attempt and this time was successful, completing the swim in about 53 hours.

Nyad’s accomplishment is remarkable (try going two days without sleep and hallucinating while trying to swim in a choppy ocean), but (and this isn’t in the movie) its validity has been called into question and has never been formally ratified. The Guinness Book of World Records revoked Nyad’s achievement. In September of this year, with the movie looming, the World Open Water Swimming Association updated its own 2022 report and declined to certify the swim. “Nyad” wasn’t about to let that get in the way of a good story, even one that describes itself as “true.” It hits all the underdog story beats — protagonist sets a seemingly ridiculous goal, is driven by doubters and a troubled past, refuses to give up on the dream, has a moment of redemption, accomplishes the goal – at about the time it is supposed to hit those beats. Bening’s task must have been challenging, portraying a character who never tired of talking about herself and was abrasive (and sometimes borderline abusive) to those supporting her and even those who loved her but still is supposed to come out of it all a hero. Bening has great support, especially from Jodie Foster as Nyad’s remarkably patient friend-turned-coach Bonnie Stoll, a character infinitely more embraceable than Nyad. Even if you can overlook the main character issue, the directors  try too hard to make a hybrid of a feel-good underdog (sort-of) true story and documentary (especially in it use of graphics). They could have made a straight-up documentary, but a narrative allows more leeway for creating a better story. At least in theory. I have read online articles that report Netflix viewers are calling “Nyad” a “masterpiece” and “Oscar contender.” Maybe they had been swimming for more than two days and were suffering from sleep deprivation when they said that.

My score: 24 out of 100.

Describing “A Married Woman” (in French, “Une femme mariée”) (French; 1964; drama; running time 1 hour, 34 minutes; written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard; N/R but includes sexual situations, dialogue about sexual violence; in French theaters Dec. 4, 1964, available on VOD and streaming services) as the story of a disillusioned young woman who is torn between her husband and lover and becomes pregnant not knowing which man is the father is too simplistic. That’s the condensed version, but it’s so much more than that and told in such a way that it’s a disservice to imply it is your average love triangle tale. Godard, up against a self-imposed time crunch that would require him to make the film in less than three months (so that it could make its debut at that year’s Cannes Film Festival), takes an abstract approach, with scenes (shot in silky black-and-white) often lasting just a few seconds before fading into the next and others that are nothing more than a close-up of a character delivering an extended monologue on the types of topics intellectuals love to discuss (most of them amounting to “what’s the meaning of it all?”). Cinematographer Raoul Coutard’s camera isn’t bashful, often so close that it shows only actors’ hands, or torsos, or an eye, or words in an advertisement. Though “A Married Woman” is about sex (but nothing graphic), pleasure and love, it’s also about what it would be like to be a woman in early 1960s France and feel trapped not just between two lovers but in a world in which her every thought, decision and desire is measured not by what it means to her but what it means to men. Macha Méril is Charlotte, the title character. She is married to Pierre (Philippe Leroy), a pilot who has a young son by a previous marriage. Her lover is Robert (Bernard Noël), an actor. With Charlotte’s husband away for work, we meet her and Robert when they are in bed. And though they talk about love, their relationship is restrained emotionally. Robert is expecting Charlotte to leave Pierre, but she seems indifferent. She returns home when Pierre flies back into town, and there’s a chill to their relationship. Then Charlotte finds out she is pregnant, which implies that she has a decision to make. But the matter isn’t so cut-and-dry in Godard’s hands, and the film ends with Charlotte and Robert back in bed professing their love for each other and then saying, “It’s over” before “Fini” (“The End”) starts the end credits. So what’s over? Godard’s up-close approach puts the onus on the actors, who deliver convincing performances. Méril’s Charlotte is beautiful (and the camera knows it), and she somehow seems cynical and naïve at the same time. In the scene in which she finds out she is pregnant, she and her physician (Georges Liron) discuss contraception (too late!), and Charlotte asks him if the father of the child could have been determined by who got more pleasure out of their love-making. Though the storytelling often feels random (one segment called “Intelligence” is just French filmmaker Roger Leenhardt discussing philosophy), Godard stays focused on his film being about the human condition and alienation, and how they apply to women. Godard’s film was banned upon release, in part because censors were concerned that the movie and title (originally “The Married Woman”) suggested that all women were adulterous, thus proving Godard’s point. Is “A Married Woman” provocative? That depends on what type of thoughts you want provoked. Is it entertaining? Depends on what you consider entertainment.

My score: 77 out of 100.

David Fincher’s fingerprints are, as one would expect, all over “The Killer” (American; 2003; neo-noir action thriller; running time 1 hour, 58 minutes; directed by David Fincher, written by Andrew Kevin Walker, based on the French graphic novel series of the same name written by Alexis “Matz” Nolent and illustrated by Luc Jacamon; rated R for graphic violence, language, brief sexuality; in limited theaters Oct. 27, 2023, streaming on Netflix on Nov 10, 2023), right down to the director-by-proxy protagonist (if you can call him that), a man in constant search of unattainable perfection through cooly executed planning. Given it’s a Fincher movie, it’s all sorts of stylish and distant, the aesthetics and tone recalling other Fincher works, including “Seven” (1995), “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” (2011) and “Gone Girl” (2014). So does the sound, with Fincher collaborating once again with Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor. Michael Fassbender delivers a spot-on title-role performance, one in which he is on screen and talking (though internally) in almost every moment. This isn’t your typical revenge action movie, and it might rub some fans of the genre the wrong way. The action (like the story) is minimal, though it hits hard (but with dark humor) when it hits. Fincher and writer Walker are taking aim at a psychological study of a killer, not just the killing — although the title character gets around to doing plenty of that.

Fassbender is identified only as “The Killer,” a hired assassin who is in an office-turned-bunker staking out a target across the street in a high-end Paris hotel. The Killer, who narrates throughout in hushed tones and great detail, describes his mundane existence and his mantra (and you are going to hear this often), “stick to the plan,” as he listens to songs by the Smiths through headphones. And he almost never sticks to the plan, being distracted and thrown off by every little thing, including his own mistakes. His mark arrives at the hotel with a dominatrix, and Fassbender takes aim, waiting for his pulse (monitored via a device on his wrist) to drop to 60 bpm, for accuracy’s sake. He has a perfect record, he tells us (he won’t take credit for a mark who died of a heart attack before The Killer could squeeze the trigger), except … this time he misses and kills the dominatrix instead. And in the process he sets off a string of “consequences” that will include an attempt to “clean up” (there’s a lot of cleaning up and throwing away in Fincher’s movie, most of it by The Killer) the situation. This time, as they say in action movies, it’s personal when The Killer’s secluded hideaway in the Dominican Republic is targeted and terrible things are done to his girlfriend (Sophie Charlotte as Magdala). The Killer will make his way back through the hired hit’s chain of command. Will he spare anyone?

Fassbender was the right man for the job. By design, we learn little about his character. His constant inner monologue is almost always about how he approaches the job. He is clinical when observed from the outside, even when he is sitting across a restaurant table from someone he is about to execute. Fassbender nails the steely façade, and yet his performance is dotted with moments of dry humor that help set “The Killer” apart from other films in the genre. The laughs include his many aliases, based on familiar TV characters mostly from the 1970s. The Killer does his work in exotic locales and among the elite, but Fincher grounds his character by having him also exist in the everyday world, like when The Killer waits in line outside a McDonald’s for a breakfast sandwich, chucking the bread and eating only the protein. The Killer is constantly disposing of everything, including his cellphones and packaging for tools of the trade he orders from Amazon, and cleaning off fingerprints. The best action sequence is when he invades the Florida home of “The Brute” (Sala Barker), a muscular hit man, and an extended scene of hand-to-hand combat ensues. Tilda Swinton steals a scene as only she can, one in which her character (“The Expert”) downs glasses of whisky and tells a joke, knowing she has only minutes to live. Ross’ and Reznor’s score is hypnotic, ranging from ambient to industrial synth thumping. Most everything plays out in the kind of stark contrast and shininess that has become a trademark of Fincher’s work. “The Killer” got a minimal theatrical release before hitting Netflix, which is too bad (but a sign of the times) because the look and sound deserved to be experienced in a theater. But there’s enough here of interest, including Fassbender’s performance and Fincher’s handiwork, to make it a must-see even on a smaller screen.

My score: 85 out of 100.

Charlotte Rampling and Ludivine Sagnier burn up the screen in decidedly differing ways in “Swimming Pool” (French; 2003; erotic thriller; running time 1 hour, 43 minutes; directed by Francois Ozon, written by Ozon, Emmanuèle Bernheim and Joseph Kelly; rated R for language, smoking, drug use, graphic nudity, sexual content some violence; made debut at Cannes on May 18, 2003, available on VOD services). Director Ozon blends smoldering sensuality with tension and a blurred sense of reality on the way to a twisty, ambiguous ending that has left many scratching their heads but others bouncing around the possibilities inside theirs. Rampling and Sagnier demand your attention, but so, too, does the Hitchcockian story, one that never allows the audience to feel certain about what they have just seen.

Rampling is Sarah Morton, a British crime fiction novelist who has been successful but seems unhappy, bitter even. When she struggles to find inspiration for her next book, her publisher (Charles Dance as John Bosload) offers his home in France. Maybe isolation in a gorgeously sunny setting is just what Sarah needs. The change in scenery seems to help, and Sarah commences to write. But then another visitor arrives: Julie (Sagnier), her publisher’s young adult French daughter. What we have here now is a classic odd couple roommates story. Sarah is uptight, serious and probably hasn’t been with a man in a long time. Julie is fun, free-spirited and has been with a (different) man the previous night most every day. They bicker with each other; Julie’s sexcapades interrupt Sarah’s sleep pattern; and Sarah eats Julie’s food and drinks her wine hoping she doesn’t notice. Sarah eventually warms up to Julie and then becomes fascinated with her. Wouldn’t Julie – who doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, smokes a lot of pot and is naked as much as she is clothed – make a great character in Sarah’s next book? Not to give too much away, but hmm. Hmm indeed. Before you can say writer’s block, Sarah has perhaps too much material. Sarah pilfers Julie’s diary; Julie sneaks a peek at Sarah’s work-in-progress. Julie brings home a waiter (Jean-Marie Lamour as Franck) who Sarah has had her eyes on. Franck refuses Julie’s advances (clearly he is crazy). Then the waiter goes missing. Then Sarah learns Julie’s French mother is dead (“It was an accident,” Sarah is told, but what type of accident?). Then Sarah and Julie, once adversaries, are covering up a crime together. And then Sarah is taking off her clothes all Julie style for the older property manager (Marc Fayolle as Marcel). All this sounds like the makings of a great novel but perhaps too good to be true. Again with the hmm. 

Sagnier oozes sexuality that her Julie uses to cover a serious case of abandonment issues. Ozon has cinematographer Yorick Le Saux’ camera study every curve of Sagnier’s curvy body as it slowly pans over her a couple of times. It feels (purposely) voyeuristic. Speaking of which, Rampling’s Sarah likes to watch. She frequently stands on a balcony overlooking the titular pool where Julie enjoys skinny-dipping (sometimes alone, sometimes not) and, when Julie is in the throes of passion (or something like that) with one of the unattractive men she has brought home, Sarah watches through a window. And Julie doesn’t seem to mind, as she spots Sarah and just keeps on doing that thing she does. While it would be understandable if the members of the audience who enjoy young, attractive, promiscuous nude women were distracted by Sagnier’s raw sexuality, don’t go to sleep on the subtleties and depth to her performance. Julie is a damaged young woman, and Sagnier is convincing in that part of the role, too. And pay careful attention to Rampling’s performance. Her Sarah is as damaged as Julie, but in a different way. While Ozon’s camera focuses on Sagnier’s physical attributes, it also frequently zooms in tight on Rampling. And it is remarkable the emotions she conveys with just turned up edges of her mouth, flared nostrils and subtle eye movements. It’s apparent that much is going on in Sarah’s mind. Ozon leaves it to the audience to decipher what in “Swimming Pool” was reality and what might be the product of the author’s vivid imagination. And maybe the two are inseparable. Hmm.

My score: 91 out of 100.

It’s difficult to pinpoint when “Locked In” (British; 2023; crime drama/mystery/thriller; running time 1 hour, 36 minutes; directed by Nour Wazzi, written by Rowan Joffe; rated TV-MA for violence, sexual content, language; streaming on Netflix on Nov. 1, 2023) jumps the rails because it’s not clear this slimy (but in a PG sort of way), rich-people-being-bad soap opera was ever on the rails. What starts out as an attempted murder mystery gives way, in a big way, to everybody sleeping with everybody else, snark, back-stabbing, double-crossing and suspicious stares. And while that might sound like a recipe for fun, it isn’t here. The story takes its sweet time unraveling before it delivers a gonzo ending with an alleged twist that will surprise few who have been paying attention. And it figures to be challenging to pay attention throughout the entire running time.

When we meet Katherine (Famke Janssen), it is through POV as she is looking at and listening to a nurse (Anna Friel as Nurse Mackenzie). Katherine has been in a coma, the victim of a hit-and-run, and Nurse Mackenzie is convinced there must be some way to communicate with Katherine and unravel the mystery of why she is in the hospital. “Locked In” joltingly shifts gears to the story (told in flashbacks) of Lina (Rose Williams), Katherine’s adopted daughter. Now a young adult, Lina might be in love with Katherine, a former celebrity actor, but she is married to Jamie (Finn Cole), Katherine’s stepson and a young man with a litany of health problems, including but not limited to frequent seizures (which he apparently can fake or exaggerate) and prescription drug abuse. Katherine, Jamie and Lina live in a mansion left to them by Katherine’s late husband (Jamie’s biological father), who cut Katherine out of his will and left everything to Jamie (and now Lina, Jamie’s wife). This causes some issues for Katherine. Lina is unhappy, and Jamie’s handsome doctor (Alex Hassell as Dr. Lawrence) senses this and decides that the prescription is he and Lina having sex. So what does this have to do with Katherine lying in a hospital bed? One of these people, we assume, put her there. But why? And why should we care?

The saving grace of “Locked In” is the cast, especially Janssen and Hassell, who are full-on leaning into the seedier side of their characters. Janssen’s Katherine, when not comatose, is omnipresent with an evil glare, snide remark and resentment. Hassell, a one-man pharmacy, has an eye for the ladies (and not just Lina) and a lot of time on his hands for a doctor. Speaking of which, Nurse Mackenzie, who is the moral compass here, seemingly has only one patient and ample time to also perform police work. And – wouldn’t you know it? – when she must make a call during her shift, she apparently walks across town to do so, because her absence gives Lina and her doctor lover just enough time to sneak Katherine out of the hospital. The numerous plot holes are of the Grand Canyon variety. The “romance” between Dr. Lawrence and Lina takes eons to unfold, and when they finally get it on, it’s far more fizzle than sizzle. In a story this sleazy, would a little nudity have hurt? At least the final act is good for LOLs, most notably when Lina, on foot, is being chased by a gun-toting Katherine, on horseback. That feels like a mismatch. But to be fair, it makes about as much sense as anything else here.

My score: 22 out of 100.

“Anatomy of a Fall” (in French, “Anatomie d’une chute”)

Genre: Courtroom/crime drama

Country: France (dialogue in both French and English)

Directed by: Justine Triet

Written by: Triet and Arthur Harari

Starring: Sandra Hüller, Swann Arlaud, Milo Machado-Graner, Jehnny Beth, Saadia Bentaïeb, Samuel Theis, Camille Rutherford, Sophie Fillieres, Antoine Reinartz, Anne Rotger, Arthur Harari, Wajdi Mouawad

Rated: R for some language, violent images, sexual references

Run time: 2 hours, 30 minutes

Release date: In French theaters Aug. 23, 2023; in limited American theaters Oct. 13, 2023

Where I saw it: Kan-Kan Cinema and Restaurant on the near eastside of Indianapolis, on a Saturday afternoon, $12, about 10 other people in the theater

What it’s about: Set in the French Alps, when a struggling writer (Theis as Samuel Maleski) is found dead in the snow below his three-story chalet, police wonder whether he fell, was murdered or committed suicide. His wife (Hüller as Sandra Voyter), a more successful writer, becomes the prime suspect and is charged in his death, and her trial is not only about Samuel’s death but also their rocky relationship.

What I liked about it: This movie is not what the trailer led me to believe it would be, a Hitchcockian suspense thriller. While there’s a little of that, it’s mostly a courtroom procedural woven with marital drama. And it’s riveting. Intense. And meticulously made. It’s so engaging and immersive that I lost all sense of time, not only when it comes to the film’s length (those 150 minutes flew past) but what time of day it was outside the theater. This is such a deep story (especially when you consider there are just three explanations for what happened and just one suspect) that it feels like I am doing it an injustice trying to write about it after just one viewing. There is much to unpack and digest here, whether you take the crime case at face value or dig deeper into the subtext about marriage and relationships, parenting, the literary world and what it is like to be a woman accused of a crime in a male-dominated legal system. … Hüller delivers an Oscar-y performance as a woman who has watched her husband fall apart (the “Fall” in the title having multiple applications) after a tragic accident that left their 11-year-old son (Graner as Daniel) legally blind and marked the beginning of the end of her marriage. Hüller’s Sandra never wavers in her insistence that she is innocent and remarkably retains her composure as an aggressive prosecutor (Reinartz as the suitably vicious L’Avocat general) tries to twist her words and cast doubt on her character. Hüller never seems like she’s performing and never gets showy in a role that could have gone that way. Her Sandra feels much like a real person either put into an impossible situation or doing a remarkable job of lying her way out of one. The courtroom scenes also have the feel of authenticity. Even with occasionally aggressive camerawork, it’s like having a seat in the gallery for a trial that keeps getting more intriguing as it goes along.

What I didn’t like about it: I was hoping for one more wicked twist that never materialized. And I would have liked to have seen Sandra make a major mistake in her testimony (she’s caught in a couple of minor lies) or have an outburst in court, though that might work against character.

Who it will appeal to: Fans of tense courtroom procedurals and marriage dramas

My score: 86 out of 100.