This Guy at the Movies

“Late Night with the Devil”

Genre: Found-footage paranormal horror/satirical comedy

Countries: Australia, United Arab Emirates

Directed by: Colin Cairnes and Cameron Cairnes

Written by: Colin Cairnes and Cameron Cairnes

Starring: David Dastmalchian, Laura Gordon, Fayssal Bazzi, Ian Bliss, Ingrid Torelli, Rhys Auteri, Josh Quong Tart, Georgina Haig, Michael Ironside, Christopher Kirby, Gaby Seow, Steve Mouzakis

Rated: R for violent content, a sexual reference, some gore, language

Run time: 1 hour, 33 minutes

Release date: Made debut at South by Southwest Festival on March 10, 2023; in limited U.S. theaters March 22, 2024; available on Shudder on April 14, 2023

Where I saw it: Regal UA Galaxy on the northeast side of Indianapolis, on a Sunday afternoon, $10.50, about 25 other people in the theater

What it’s about: In a film presented as a documentary about a late night TV talk show on Halloween night 1977, host Jack Delroy (Dastmalchian), desperate to catch Johnny Carson in the ratings, stages a special occultism-themed episode that includes guests Christou (Bazzi), a psychic; Carmichael the Conjurer (Bliss), a former magician turned skeptic who takes pleasure in debunking the paranormal; and Dr. June Ross-Mitchell (Gordon), a parapsychologist and author, and her subject, Lilly D’Abo (Torelli), a tween girl who is survivor of a satanic cult’s mass suicide.

What I liked about: This is why horror movies (at least the better ones and the ironically bad ones) are so popular with audiences. “Late Night with the Devil” is cheesy, hilarious, clever, well-made, well-acted and, when the chips are down, scary AF, and all done on a low budget (rumored to be less than $2 million, and the film made more than that in the U.S. during opening weekend). It works as a sincere, amusing and disturbing send-up of 1970s late night TV, from the spot-on set and costume designs (lots of tan, orange and burgundy), to the tension created among (purposely) mismatched guests, to the spirit of a TV show and its host desperate for a larger viewing audience. This is a slow burn that gets more frightening as it goes (and goes totally bonkers in the final act) and, best of all, it’s so immersive that you will feel like you are watching a 1970s late night show even while you are in a modern-day theater. … Dastmalchian is one of the those, “Hey, it’s that guy!” actors, having appeared in numerous small supporting roles in such movies as “Dark Knight,” “Ant-Man,” “Suicide Squad” and (briefly) “Dune” and “Oppenheimer.” He takes a rare starring role and runs with it. He is sensational, right down to the talk show mannerisms, in portraying a desperate man who can turn on the (phony) charm for the cameras and may or may not really care for his audience and guests. How far would he go for ratings? Dastmalchian’s expressive eyes can convey a wide range of emotions, sometimes within a few seconds of each other. The rest of the cast excels, too, especially Bliss as the smug, cigar-smoking skeptic who is in effect the story’s antagonist (you will want him to meet an awful fate); and Torelli, who fully understood the assignment. She is genuinely creepy with a wide-eyed smile and odd body movements, and that’s even before Dr. Ross-Mitchell lures the devil out of her. Maybe. Torelli’s Lilly is unsettling every time she is on screen. … The Cairnes brothers utilize mostly practical effects until the big scene. And though some of the effects might not be up to 2024 standards, keep in mind this is a low-budget horror movie and that less-than-convincing effects only add to the, umm, charm.

What I didn’t like about it: You might be so immersed in the faux TV show that you might not notice that the film isn’t convincing with its found-footage concept, especially during the final scene. Also, the TV show segments give way to backstage footage (in black-and-white and a wider screen ratio), and it isn’t explained why the footage is so comprehensive (those involved in the show are shot from various angles backstage). Was it filmed for the documentary? Was it also found? … The ending has proven to be divisive, but I thought it worked perfectly. You decide.

Who it will appeal to: More seasoned moviegoers will enjoy the nostalgia factor, but this is a young person’s horror movie and should be seen with an audience that gets into it.

My score: 91 out of 100

“Hana-bi” (in English, “Fireworks”) (Japanese; 1997; crime drama/thriller; running time 1 hour, 43 minutes; written and directed by Takeshi Kitano; N/R but includes strong violence; made debut at Venice Film Festival on Sept. 3, 1997, available on VOD and streaming services, including Mubi) is a film that will subvert your expectations at every turn. Sure, it’s a crime drama, with a tough guy protagonist (or anti-hero, if you prefer) with a short fuse and seemingly endless reasons to use it. It basks in blood and violence, much of it taking place in slow-motion, as if to dare the audience to stomach it. But “Hana-bi” also is a provocative film, and not just through the use of violence. Call this a thriller, but it’s an action movie only in short bursts; otherwise, it moves at an arthouse pace, lingering on facial expressions, flowers, the beach, whatever happens to come into the camera’s view. It’s a thinking person’s crime drama, asking you to ponder such concepts as how violence perpetuates itself, how violence is never fully satisfying but can be highly effective, how men define themselves by their jobs and physical abilities, how art is therapeutic, the fragility of life, the fragility of love. It’s all there, filmed gorgeously and with a hip sense of humor, culminating in an ending you won’t soon forget. The same holds true for what comes before the final moment, too.

Writer/director Kitano (also known professionally as Beat Takeshi) is Yoshitaka Nishi, a 50-ish former police detective with a penchant for violence. He is forced into retirement after a botched arrest results in a fellow detective being killed by the suspect and two others being left severely injured. One of them is Nishi’s longtime partner, Horibe (Ren Osugi), who is left paralyzed and falls into a deep depression after his wife and daughter leave him. Nishi, now unemployed, takes care of his wife (Kayoko Kishimoto as Miyuki), who has been hospitalized with leukemia. At the urging of doctors, Nishi takes his wife home. To pay for her care, Nishi borrows money from the yakuza (Japanese organized crime) but quickly gets in over his head. He meets the yakuza’s collection efforts with a quick right hook and/or gunfire, but the collectors are relentless. Nishi hatches a plan (an illegal one) to get the money to repay the loans, then takes his dying wife on a road trip, with not only the gangsters but law enforcement on their trail. What fate awaits Nishi and his wife?

“Hana-bi” is a movie more about moments and concepts than story. Left to just its plot, this would be an ordinary crime drama centering on a tough guy in too deep with the crime syndicate. Kitano’s Nishi is much more complicated than your average aging badass. He’s a man of few words, and the camera often stares at his face, which remains mostly stoic except for facial tics that might or might not be involuntary. He seems crusty, but a sensitive side comes through for his wife when it matters. Following the narrative can be challenging. Kitano employs frequent flashbacks that jump around in time, made more dramatic by an editing style (and Kitano also did his own editing) that at times feels abrupt. Kitano makes a few curious narrative decisions, like the story spending much time in a junkyard. And a segment in the middle of the film in which Horibe, who has become an artist with encouragement from Nishi, stares at flowers and envisions surreal paintings he is going to do (and they are beautifully weird) lingers a little long. But the power of the themes and the visuals more than make up for the film’s minor misgivings. This is remarkable, daring filmmaking and considered the masterpiece of Kitano, who is better known in Japan as a comedian and TV game show host. If you are looking for a movie more substantial than your average crime drama but still crave kick-ass violence and blood, this is the way to go.

My score: 91 out of 100

“Knox Goes Away”

Genre: Crime drama/thriller/neo-noir

County: United States

Directed by: Michael Keaton

Written by: Gregory Poirier

Starring: Michael Keaton, James Marsden, Suzy Nakamura, Joanna Kulig, Ray McKinnon, John Hoogenakker, Lela Loren, Marcia Gay Harden, Al Pacino

Rated: R for violence and language

Run time: 1 hour, 54 minutes

Release date: Made debut at Toronto International Film Festival on Sept. 10, 2023; in limited theaters March 15, 2024

Where I saw it: Republic Studio 10 Cinemas in Shelbyville, Ind., on a Tuesday evening, $7, three other people in the theater

What it’s about: Aging hitman John Knox (Keaton) is diagnosed with a rapidly evolving form of dementia. When his last job results in two unintended deaths, Knox decides to liquidate his assets and “go away.” He’s about to execute his exit plan when his estranged son (Marsden as Miles Knox) shows up at his house after having committed murder. Miles Knox wants his father to cover his crime, giving John Knox two situations to deal with before he loses his ability to function.

What I liked about: I went to see this simply because Keaton stars in it, and I wasn’t disappointed, at least not because of the writer/director’s efforts. While this might not be classic Keaton, his performance is typically edgy but also nuanced. He’s perfect for playing a man who sees killing as his job (he prefers not to know the awful things his targets have done to deserve being hit) but has depth (Knox is an ex-Army reconnaissance officer who is well-educated and well-read), is lonely (he has a standing weekly date with a hooker, Kulig as Annie) and is at least a little troubled by his past, including a failed marriage and falling out with his son. Keaton has proven time and again that he can go bonkers but dial it back when need be, and here he’s mostly reserved. His is a solid performance. … The premise is an interesting one, and it keeps the audience on its toes (but also creates some plot issues; see below). Has Knox, a meticulous killer adept at covering up the crime, become sloppy because of his condition? Or is he being sloppy with a purpose? … The crime procedural scenes, while off tone with the rest of the film, make for nice, lighter breaks in a serious movie, as the mismatched investigators – Nakamura as Det. Emily Ikari and Hoogenakker as Det. Rale – quip with each other and seem baffled by the two cases they are looking into but are nipping at Knox’s heels. Or are they?

What I didn’t like about it: Beyond a few visual effects meant to simulate Knox’s deteriorating condition, this is standard filmmaking, with a mildly suspenseful story that is not especially thrilling. You can view the sets, costumes, framing, etc., as a throwback to more classic noir-type movies, but you can also view them as rather ordinary. With a character like John Knox, this would have benefited from a more aggressive and inventive approach. … While the big plot twist is a keeper, another was telegraphed and a groaner. … Knox’s condition (he is given only weeks to live in his diagnosis) and advanced age (Keaton is 72 now) make it unlikely he could fend off three much younger armed bad guys within a few feet of him. But, hey, Liam Neeson (71) and Denzel Washington (69) do that all the time. Also, and maybe it was his dementia, but would a killer as skilled at coverups as Knox have left living a witness who knew his story?

Who it will appeal to: Fans of Keaton, the 55-and-up crowd

My score: 65 out of 100

“Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me” (American; 2012; music documentary; running time 2 hours; directed by Drew DeNicola and Olivia Mori; rated PG-13 for brief strong language, drug references; made debut at South by Southwest Festival on March 15, 2012, available on VOD and streaming services), the story of Memphis-based, should-have-been-a-contender power pop pioneering Big Star, mirrors its subject matter. Its enigmatic, a curious mix of rock ‘n’ roll exuberance and heart-wrenching melancholia that, like the band’s fate, leaves the viewer with more questions than answers. And it’s a bit of a mess. Filmmakers DeNicola and Mori line up a seemingly endless parade of the cult-status band’s most ardent supporters and just about everyone remotely involved in Big Star’s too-brief existence to tell the story, and it’s overkill. The film is hampered by a lack of footage from back in the day of interviews and performances by the band. But, in the end, you’ll come to understand why so many who take music seriously still wonder why Big Star didn’t in fact become big stars. Or at least sell more than a few records before eventually earning status as influential icons among the indie rock set.

The roots of Big Star were formed in the early 1970s when Memphis residents Chris Bell (guitar, vocals) paired with high school buddy Andy Hummel (bass) and a drummer they had worked with, Jody Stephens, to form Icewater. Bell asked Alex Chilton (guitar, vocals), who had tasted early success when, at age 16, he sang lead vocals on the No. 1 hit “The Letter” by Memphis blue-eyed soul band the Box Tops, to join the band. All were immersed in the Memphis music recording scene and were given access to Ardent Studios. Big Star took its name from a local grocery chain. In June 1972, they released “#1 Record” to critical acclaim. The Ardent label had aligned itself with Memphis’ Stax Records, and with a team assigned to push the record and the band, the sky appeared to be the limit. But the record never caught on, largely because of distribution issues. Those who heard Big Star’s music on the radio complained that copies of the album weren’t available in stores. The band, especially Bell, became disillusioned. Bell, the sensitive singer-songwriter type, and Chilton, a rock star with a penchant for reinventing himself, had been a curious mix, and their creative differences quickly surfaced. Bell also reportedly was upset that most of the music press had focused on Chilton because he was more well-known and charismatic. Bell left the band before what would become the follow-up, “Radio City” (1974), though some of the collective material that had included his input was used on the record. Big Star broke up but reformed as a three-piece, just in time for an event where its legend would be born. Memphis hosted the First Annual Rock Writers’ Convention in May 1973, and what was left of Big Star performed to rave reviews from the most important rock journalists of the time. Fame or record sales did not follow, though; Hummel soon left the band to go to college; and a third record, the highly experimental “Third,” was basically a Chilton solo record. Big Star was gone, like a brilliant shooting star that only a lucky few experienced.

“Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me” is like an indie rock version of one of those “Behind the Music” documentaries, but without the fall from huge success because there wasn’t any. Though a definitive explanation for the band’s commercial failure isn’t thoroughly explored in the film, a litany of cautionary tales contributed to it – questionable practices by the record label, jealously and in-fighting, drug use and other personal issues among them. Also, Big Star arguably was ahead of its time. They were playing what would come to be called power pop (emphasis on melody and harmonies, sensitive lyrics) as Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple and others were ushering in an era of heavy arena rock. Big Star would prove to be highly influential, though, to bands like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, R.E.M. and the Replacements. Their records became essential to any vinyl hipster’s collection. Bell died in a car crash at age 27 in 1978; Chilton, who would go on to have a wide-ranging career as a solo musician and record producer, died at age 59 in 2010 from heart failure; Hummel died that same year from cancer at age 59. Their music, as limited in output as it was, will live forever. Though “Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me” becomes a bit much with its numerous testimonials, runs on for too long (noticeably drifting when the band’s original run is covered) and, like the band did, lacks clear focus, it’s fascinating enough that it might convince you to buy Big Star records. Better late than never.

My score: 80 out of 100

I failed to see “Yesterday” (British/American; 2019; musical rom-com; running time 1 hour, 57 minutes; directed by Danny Boyle, written by Richard Curtis; rated PG-13 for suggestive content, language; made debut at the Tribeca Film Festival on May 4, 2019, in wide release in theaters June 28, 2019, available on VOD and streaming services, including Netflix) during its theatrical run nearly five years ago. Perhaps I was hesitant because the trailer suggested it would be too cutesy for my tastes. The trailer wasn’t entirely wrong. But an hour into viewing it recently on Netflix, I was convinced it was the right type of cutesy, a love story nestled in a high concept (what if only a couple of people could recall the Beatles and their music ever existed?) and all that glorious Fab Four music, seemingly most of the band’s catalog. But the film extends its stay (feel-good romances, even those situated within an interesting fantasy concept, shouldn’t go much past 90 minutes), and the odd partnering of director Boyle (“Trainspotting,” “28 Days Later,” a called-off attempt to direct a James Bond movie) and writer Curtis (“Four Weddings and a Funeral,” “Notting Hill,” “Love Actually”) leans heavily toward Curtis in the second half, which means it gets too rom-com-y and, as thus, predictable right down to its too tidy ending. But, in the end, the music matters.

Jack Malik (Himesh Patel, and he does all his own singing and playing and is fantastic) is a struggling 30-ish British musician who busks and plays to small, indifferent crowds at venues booked for him by his remarkably optimistic manager/driver/confidant Ellie Appleton (Lily James). Ellie, who has stood by Jack since they were in school, has a thing for Jack, who is oblivious. One night when Jack is riding his bicycle home in the dark, a worldwide power outage happens and he is struck by a public bus. When he awakes in the hospital (minus a few front teeth), he is stunned that Ellie doesn’t get one of his Beatles references in a joke. Later, he brings up the Beatles with Ellie and friends and, when they have no idea what he is talking about, brings them to tears by playing “Yesterday.” They seem to be hearing it for the first time. Jack sees an opportunity. People love it when he plays Beatles songs. What if he passed them off as his own? He struggles to remember the lyrics (they aren’t on the internet because the songs never existed) but eventually earns fame and fortune with an all-Beatles catalog. Will anyone eventually catch on to him? Will Jack come clean? Will fame interfere in what Ellie hopes is a future romance?

Wouldn’t it be interesting to hear songs like “Hey Jude” (Ed Sheeran, in a hilariously self-deprecating role, suggests “Hey Dude” instead) and “In My Life” (my personal favorite) for the first time? Boyle and Curtis do little with that concept, which culminates in an awkward scene (one that should have been lost in editing) in which Jack travels to a remote area to visit a central character in the concept who has long been dead in real life. Instead, the story drifts into familiar territory about the perils of sudden fame and Jack’s eventual recognition of the love that has been right there in front of him. It’s a rom-com, so all will live happily ever after. I laughed a lot (mostly in the first half of the film), especially when Kate McKinnon arrives on the scene as a shark of an L.A.-based manager who frequently criticizes Jack’s look (“It’s like you’re skinny, but also round.”), though her schtick wears thin. The best inside music joke is when Jack can’t get any hits on the Beatles with a Google search, is relieved when he finds the Rolling Stones and Childish Gambino, but then searches for “Oasis,” who don’t exist because, well, the Beatles didn’t. Even if you already know the songs (and who in the real world doesn’t?), it’s refreshing to hear them mostly stripped down to guitar or piano and voice, making their genius more obvious. Though this film falls well short of masterpiece, the songs certainly don’t. If you needed a reminder of how great they are, here it is.

My score: 69 out of 100

Picking at a beloved feel-good classic featuring a bunch of cutesy kids seems almost mean. But here goes. I revisited “School of Rock” (American/German; 2003; musical comedy; running time 1 hour, 48 minutes; directed by Richard Linklater, written by Mike White; rated PG-13 for some rude humor, some drug references; in wide release in theaters Oct. 3, 2003, available on VOD and streaming services, including Netflix until April 1, 2024), a movie I have enjoyed watching every couple of years or so. And, even viewed through a more cynical lens, it’s certainly enjoyable enough, an underdog story about an impostor teacher with a true rock ‘n’ roll heart instilling confidence (and the spirit of rebellious music) in a class of creatively stifled and privileged fourth-graders. And, yes, the soundtrack rocks, with everything from Led Zeppelin to Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers. But, unless you are gleefully caught up in the spirit of the thing, it has glaring issues. Director Linklater and writer White frequently test the bounds of believability. White does his man/child clown schtick unbridled for almost two hours, and he’s often hilarious, but he’s asked to carry a lot of the load. And his character, who resides in the category of “lovable loser,” isn’t so lovable unless you can overlook the fact that he is a narcissist with Peter Pan syndrome and a deadbeat who steals his former bandmate’s identity and breaks all sorts of school rules, not to mention laws, and somehow gets away with it, mostly through skillful lying. Few actors but Black could pull that off, and he barely does. Raining on your rock ‘n’ roll parade yet?

Black is Dewey Finn, a failing rocker and a guitarist with a penchant for self-absorbed 20-minute solos. After a disastrous gig in which he faceplants while stage diving, his band fires him. Dewey lives on the floor in the apartment of roommate Ned Schneebly (Mike White) and his domineering girlfriend Patty (Sarah Silverman, and more on her character later) and doesn’t seem to care he isn’t contributing to the bills. Ned, pushed by Patty, has given up on his rock ‘n’ roll dreams (he and Dewey were in a band together) and has become a substitute teacher. One day the principal of a prestigious prep school (Joan Cusack as the uptight Rosalie “Roz” Mullins) calls in desperate need of a substitute. Dewey pretends to be Ned and, despite having never taught, gets the gig. Taking over a class of fourth-graders, he has no intention of following a lesson plan. When Dewey sees his students performing classical music, an idea is hatched. He is going to turn them into rockers and co-opt them into his dream of winning the local Battle of the Bands competition. Can he turn a bunch of uniform-wearing prep-schoolers with Ivy League aspirations into true rockers?

The answer is, of course, yes. Dewey’s spirit, if misguided, is infectious, and he helps his students come out of their shells. While their band, later dubbed the School of Rock, doesn’t exactly play the kind of music that sticks it to the “man,” they do play passable rock, at least in a Disney-style movie. Black is a rubbery-faced whirling dervish, and his students are endearing in the way underdogs are, though the young actors are of mixed skill levels. Your enjoyment of “School of Rock” will depend almost entirely on your taste for Black’s thing and your ability to (like the other adult characters) ignore his transgressions. He twice kidnaps kids from a school and gets away with it, then, after he has been exposed and the stiff grown-ups have been won over, is given his own afterschool rock program. That’s about as believable as Dewey lying to the Battle of the Bands promoter about his obviously healthy students having terminal blood diseases and the guy buying it. Silverman has the unenviable task of playing a stereotype, the nagging shrew, the adult woman standing in the way of grown men clinging to their adolescent fantasies. I like Black’s work, preferring him in smaller, more restrained doses. But his energy, obviously sincere love of music and the rocking soundtrack carry this feel-good movie farther than it would have otherwise gone.

My score: 62 out of 100

“Dune: Part Two” (aka “Dune 2”)

Genre: Sci-fi/adventure

County: United States

Directed by: Denis Villeneuve

Written by: Villeneuve and Jon Spaihts, based on the 1965 novel “Dune” by Frank Herbert

Starring: Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, Rebecca Ferguson, Josh Brolin, Austin Butler, Florence Pugh, Javier Bardem, Dave Bautista, Christopher Walken, Léa Seydoux, Souheila Yacoub, Stellan Skarsgard, Charlotte Rampling, Anya Taylor-Joy (uncredited cameo)

Rated: PG-13 for sequences of strong violence, brief strong language, some suggestive material

Run time: 2 hours, 46 minutes

Release date: In wide release in theaters March 1, 2024

Where I saw it: The IMAX theater at AMC Showplace 17 on the southside of Indianapolis, on a Saturday afternoon, $18 (average for six tickets bought online, including service fees), about 125 other people in the theater

What it’s about: Paul Atreides (Chalamet) unites with Chani (Zendaya) and the Fremen on the desert planet Arrakis while seeking revenge on House Harkonnen, who destroyed his family. Believed to be the chosen one by Stilgar (Javier Bardem) and his followers, Paul must pick between the love of his life and the fate of the universe.

What I liked about: I don’t often advocate for shelling out the extra money to see a film at an IMAX theater, but “Dune: Part Two,” like “Oppenheimer” last summer, demands the IMAX experience. It’s too big, too loud, too spectacular to be contained to a normal-sized theater screen and sound system. All that sand, the sand worms, the hallucinatory moments, the frequent battles, the explosions, and Hans Zimmer’s sometimes gorgeous, sometimes thunderous score seem to wrap themselves around you on the biggest of big screens. The storytelling is immersive, too, touching on forever familiar themes about bloodlines, natural resources, religion, fanaticism, ego, government, the quest for a better future and, yes, love. I dozed off a couple of times while watching “Dune: Part One” (2021) at a standard theater. “Part Two” had me on the edge of my seat throughout its 166-minute run time, and it didn’t seem near that long. … A huge movie demands huge performances, and Villeneuve gets them from throughout the cast. Chalamet’s transformation from an uncertain young man to an angry leader who has been convinced he is a messiah who can envision the future is remarkable. Chalamet has the acting chops to deliver on both ends of his character’s spectrum. Zendaya is his equal, her best moments coming when her character realizes that Paul is changing, and perhaps not for the better. Bardem’s Stilgar gets most of the laughs. And Butler, as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the heir to House Harkonnen, makes for one of the more menacing movie bad guys in recent years. He is scary throughout, especially when he is vanquishing foes in hand-to-hand knife fights in an arena, a scene that strategically employs black and white as a breather from the mostly monochromatic tan palette in the rest of the film.

What I didn’t like about it: As someone who prefers his movies intimate instead of epic, contemporary real world instead of futuristic sci-fi, quiet instead of loud, and with a minimal cast instead of ensemble, there is much here to digest, not in terms of storytelling (which is quite old-fashioned) but with the number of characters and how they are woven together. Also, I find it distracting when so many big-name stars are involved, especially when they just sort of show up for a short moment (like Taylor-Joy being on screen for about 10 seconds if that). The characters don’t have little depth, not a major concern, really, in an epic sci-fi movie of this sort.

Who it will appeal to: A wide range of audiences.

My score: 92 out of 100

Throughout “Pina” (German; 2011; documentary/performance art; running time 1 hour, 43 minutes; written and directed by Wim Wenders; rated PG for some sensuality, partial nudity, smoking; made debut at the Berlin International Film Festival on Feb. 13, 2011, available on VOD and streaming services, including Mubi) dancers speak glowingly of German dancer and choreographer Pina Bausch. And many of them suggest that Bausch taught them not just how to better express themselves through neo-expressionist dance but instilled in them a new language and vocabulary for conveying feelings. But if you are not familiar with that vocabulary and aren’t well-versed in theatrical dance, “Pina” is a lot like watching a foreign language film without subtitles (“Pina” does have subtitles, as the Bausch’s Tanztheater Wuppertal dance troupe features performers of many ethnicities speaking their native language). Those of us who don’t have a background in this sort of thing will undoubtedly be able to appreciate the powerful but graceful movements, the impeccable choreography and Wenders’ filmmaking, especially the arresting camerawork. And the uninitiated might enjoy the weirdness of it all, especially when the performers leave the comfort of the stage and are placed in natural settings. But if you aren’t into dance, “Pina” feels repetitive about halfway through. And, like me, by the end you’ll might be wondering what it all this dancing is supposed to mean.

Wenders had already begun work on a film about Bausch when, two days before filming was to begin, she unexpectedly died at age 68 from cancer just five days after she had been diagnosed. Wenders canceled the project, but the Tanztheater Wuppertal dancers convinced him to press on and make the documentary as a tribute to Bausch. In the film, the dancers perform excerpts from four of Bausch’s most well-known pieces, having rehearsed them under Bausch’s direction before her death. “Pina” also includes solo and duet dances from Bausch’s other pieces performed outdoors around the German city Wuppertal. Many of them are on or in the vicinity of the Wuppertal Schwebebahn suspension railway. Throughout the film, individual dancers speak (through voiceovers, as they are left to express their feelings through facial movements as the camera gazes) about how Bausch not only shaped their performances but impacted their lives.

Everything in “Pina” is beautifully lit (indoors or out), and the camerawork of cinematographers Helene Louvart and Jorg Widmer is crisp and agile, as it frequently must capture multiple dancers moving in different directions on the stage. The visuals are so clean that when Bausch’s work incorporates water (both on the state and outdoors), it feels as if it might flow out of the screen. Bausch’s work frequently included props, and chairs play a prominent part in the dances. Much of this comes across as strange, like when one female dancer performs her movements on a floor covered with dirt while another woman shovels more dirt on her; or when a woman stands lifeless on a stage and male dancers approach her one by one, each touching her, frequently pulling at her ears and flipping her nose; or when a female dancer is outdoors in what looks like an industrial complex, shows two veal chops to the camera, then puts them in her ballet flats and dances. There must be some symbolism there. One theme that is obvious is trauma, as the female dancers frequently are restrained, or fondled, or wandering seemingly aimlessly, or are falling to the floor. The interviews start to feel like a roll call, as if Wenders took great pains to include everyone, and his film feels more rushed as the brief interviews appear more frequently. The documentary doesn’t reveal much about Bausch other than she was a tireless worker and demanding choreographer who was admired by those she worked with. Instead, it lets the performances of her works speak for her. If you get this sort of thing, perhaps you will better understand what Bausch was all about. If not, at least you were entertained.

My score: 70 out of 100

If  I told you “Spaceman” (American; 2024; sci-fi/drama; running time 1 hour, 49 minutes; directed by Johan Renck, written by Colby Day, based on the 2017 novel “Spaceman of Bohemia” by Jaroslav Kalfar; rated R for language; in limited theaters Feb. 23, 2024, streaming on Netflix on March 1, 2024) stars Adam Sandler as a Czech (!) astronaut sent into space alone to explore a cloud of dust and particles on the backside of Jupiter and starts to lose it from being isolated for more than six months and then undergoes intense psychotherapy from a giant spider (voiced by Paul Dano) that enjoys eating drug-laced Nutella and calls Sandler’s character “skinny human” and may or may not be real, you’d likely say something to the effect of “Hell yeah! That sounds wacky!” You wish. “Spaceman,” excepting awkward stabs at satire and the ludicrousness of a giant spider as analyst, wants to be taken oh so seriously. But it can’t quite reach the high-brow heights it aims for and instead is a slog of a two-location relationship drama that bounces around from present situation to dream-like flashbacks and goes nowhere interesting.

Sandler is Jakob Procházka, a hero in the Czech Republic because he has made it his mission to find out what’s up with a purple/pink cloud that has hovered over Earth for four years. He’s racing against time because a team from South Korea, also apparently a space exploration powerhouse in the near future, is right behind him. We meet Jakob six months into his mission. And though he assures command control he is fine (other than he can’t sleep because of a noisy malfunctioning toilet), he is not. He has remained in contact with his pregnant wife (Carey Mulligan as Lenka, and were Czech actors not available?) until … she sends him a “Dear John” video message that command control intercepts because the breakup would compromise the mission. Jakob, of course, becomes suspicious that he has not heard from his wife in a while. Cue the giant spider! Anxiety and boredom have already taken their toll on Jakob when the giant spider (Jakob will later name him Hanus) with the soothing ASMR voice appears to him (And, wouldn’t you just know it? Most of the cameras on his spaceship are not functioning.) Hanus can read the skinny human’s thoughts and feelings, and thus begins the exploration into the closed-off Jackob’s psyche. He’s got daddy issues (his father was an informant for the Communist Czech regime back in the day) and is driven to save humanity to atone for his dad’s sins. And, as the giant spider surmises, Jakob is selfish and has been absent not only in his marriage but in the relationship leading up to it. Will the giant spider help Jakob sort through his feelings? And does that giant cloud that might or might not hold the key to all humanity even matter when you have relationship problems on Earth?

That “Spaceman” isn’t all it could have been is not Sandler’s fault. He has proven himself as a competent dramatic actor, and here he is playing a character (the sad sack whose heart is in the right place) familiar to audiences in his many Happy Madison Productions comedies, sans the fart jokes. Mulligan, up for a Best Actress Oscar for her role in last year’s “Maestro,” is hampered by a thin character and that her performance is difficult to pin down because she most often appears in psychedelic flashbacks and (maybe?) fantasy sequences. Dano seems to have taken playing a giant spider seriously, and he injects humanity (the kind of humanity you can only get from a giant spider) into a film that is never quite as emotional as it seems to want to be. Some of the exchanges between Jakob and Hanus include funny moments, but I didn’t laugh out loud until I saw an astronaut who had left his spaceship hugging a giant spider in space. Whether Hanus is real or not is neither here nor there; it has little bearing on the story. Sandler’s own comedic films almost always have the same message, that family comes first. Here, the message seems to be that possibly saving humanity means nothing if you don’t have the love of a good woman. Whatever.

My score: 45 out of 100

“My Favorite Year” (American; 1982; comedy/drama; running time 1 hour, 32 minutes; directed by Richard Benjamin, written by Norman Steinberg and Dennis Palumbo; rated PG for some sexual references, smoking; in theaters Oct. 8, 1982, available on VOD and streaming services, including Vudu and Amazon Prime Video) delicately balances nostalgia, sweetness, pathos, romance, slapstick comedy, the occasionally raunchy one-liner, drama and a gonzo ending. But, more than anything, it’s a vehicle for Peter O’Toole, who no doubt drew heavily from his own life in playing an aging movie star (not an actor, as his character reminds us) for whom the line between reality and performance has been blurred as he womanizes and drinks to excess and, as he puts it, is accused of misdeeds he didn’t do but also gets away with more than most. O’Toole’s is a remarkable performance, one that earned him one of his eight Best Actor Oscar nominations (he never won) and was proof of his star power during a career resurgence after age 50. Even though O’Toole’s charm is impossible to ignore, this is not a one-man show, as “My Favorite Year” features a bevy of memorable performances, some of them in the smallest of parts.

The year is 1954, the favorite year of Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker), a young writer working for a TV variety show, “Comedy Cavalcade” starring Stan “King” Kaiser (Joseph Bologna), produced in New York City. The guest on the next show is Stone’s matinee idol, Alan Swann (O’Toole), who was the hero in several swashbuckler films in the 1930s and ‘40s and still is a recognizable star to the public though his career is in decline. Swann proves to be problematic; he first arrives at the studio drunk. Kaiser threatens to have him removed from the show but instead assigns Stone to look after him, keep him sober (he can’t) and get him to rehearsals on time. Stone and Swann form a bond, with Stone even taking the movie star to meet his extended family in Brooklyn. Stone also has a thing for young co-worker K.C. Downing (Jessica Harper), who finds Stone’s advances annoying. In the meantime, a local crime boss (Cameron Mitchell as Karl “Boss” Rojek) is none too happy that a recurring character on “Comedy Cavalcade” is “Boss Hijack,” and Rojek threatens to bring harm to Kaiser. Will the show go on? Can Stone keep Swann on point?

O’Toole’s is all sorts of versatile in “My Favorite Year,” as he deadpan delivers risqué one-liners, is hilarious performing physical comedy (including when he does a drunken somersault onto the show’s writers’ table) and calls upon his Shakespearean background during the movie’s heaviest dramatic moment, when his Swann (more than loosely based on the life of actor Errol Flynn) realizes that while he has enjoyed a movie star life, he has let down many people and struggled to find contentment. O’Toole was 50 when “My Favorite Year” was released and had already suffered the consequences of hard drinking, having had his pancreas and a portion of his stomach removed in 1976 and developing a blood disorder in 1978 (he died in 2013 at age 81). Linn-Baker (who would go on to TV fame in the ABC sitcom “Perfect Strangers”) was making his feature debut and is the perfect foil to O’Toole, frequently setting him up but also delivering in his comedic moments. He’s also part of a near-perfect romantic scene, when he convinces Downing to join him for dinner (Chinese takeout) and a movie (one of Swann’s works shown using a projector) in the office, and they kiss just as Swann’s character has vanquished the last bad guy and is kissing the damsel in distress. The dinner scene at the home of Stone’s mother (Lainie Kazan as Belle) and her second husband (Ramon Sison as “Rookie” Carroca) is the film’s funniest. Veteran actors Lou Jacobi and Selma Diamond, among others, are uproarious in bit parts. “My Favorite Year” has aged in places (Sison’s character is a racial stereotype, and sexist behavior abounds), the way a 42-year-old movie will. But it is a sweet ode to nostalgia that has, over time, become a sweet bit of nostalgia itself.

My score: 93 out of 100