REVIEW: The Kid Detective (2020)

 

I honestly did not know what to expect from The Kid Detective when I saw the poster pop online. I was hoping it would be a Canadian Canadian movie, not a shameful attempt at emulating an American movie; no offense to my homies Yves Simoneau & Erik Canuel, but if you wanna do American then move down south (to be fair Simoneau did…). And I have to say, my hopes were fulfilled far enough to cover my lack of expectation.

Abe Applebaum, played by the very underrated Adam Brody, used to be a prodigy in his small town for his premature deducting skills. Before he could even drive he already had his private detective agency complete with a downtown office where, for a quarter, he would solve kid-level mysteries. But after a teen girl disappeared and teen Abe failed to solve such a real case, his life went sideways, and adult Abe now 32, still clings to his amateur-sleuth practice while the world has moved on. When a teenager ends up stabbed 17 times and his girlfriend comes to Abe for answers, can he finally grow up enough to be the man he dreamed to be as a kid and solve all that needs to be solved?

Right off the bat the movie strikes the viewer for NOT being striking; American audiences will see in it a patched-up TV pilot that failed to find a series order, Canadians will see a character study that cynically uses comedy to paint a picture of childhood trauma. Because a trauma is what Abe truly has to deal with; an entire town enabled him to live out a fantasy, then shoved at him the very loud crash of reality. A very masterful restraint from headliner Brody skillfully avoids clichés of a disheveled & pathetic PI while exploring why they became such clichés. After a teen informant sends Abe a wild goose chase, he comes back with a trouncing so awkward and uptight even Bogey must have smiled from the grave.

A metaphor for the pains of looking back, if there ever was one…

Neither a thriller nor a comedy, the film offers great -if simple- moments of pathos that surprisingly remain while suddenly exploding into a dark climax. It matters little how many Ex Machinas it took for older Abe to fulfill younger Abe’s promise, once he does solve the case it neither feels like victory nor defeat; it feels like coming head-to-head with the consequences of pain too-long buried. In that, this very humble, low-cost movie shines above any that copped-out of being released in a year filled with nothing BUT anxiety: PTSD isn’t reserved for battlefield soldiers, it affects everyone who lives through a trauma, and letting a child put the weight of the world on his own shoulders leaves him with deep scars.

A very comfortable cast of players surround the once-teen heartthrob; a growing Sophie Nelisse (who broke-out in Oscar darling The Book Thief) as Abe’s latest client, a gorgeously-ageing Wendy Crewson as Abe’s overprotective mother, and respectable veteran Peter MacNeill in a performance that left me downright shaken. All of them shine in their acting choice to let the real star shine; Adam Brody, in an ironically sober tour de force (his character is always drinking or snorting yet never feels like a drunkard or junkie) carries the whole thing solidly on his shoulders.

I couldn’t help being reminded of investigation dramedies that Canadian Television does so well yet rarely does anymore, where a character resolves their lives alongside a mystery, like Danger Bay, Seeing Things, The Edison Twins or Due South. Which is probably why so many will invoke the aforementioned feeling of it looking like an aborted small screen project. But I do invite any viewer to watch it the way I did: no expectation, and hope it’s good. Because it is.

TV REVIEW: Helstrom (2020 Hulu)

 

Approaching Hulu’s new horror/thriller series Helstrom without taking into account that the source material is published by Marvel comics will definitely help lower the expectation thus enjoy for what it is. Although there isn’t a whole lot to enjoy aside from the fact that all episodes came out at once (as it often happens in Stream Land) which contributed to kill a rainy weekend in style.

The story revolves around Ana & Daimon Helstrom, estranged siblings born of a serial-killing father and a mother who has spent the last 20 years padlocked in a mental institution. The mother because “something” has taken a hold of her, the father because he IS the one who lets those ‘somethings’ roam free. Both siblings, now grown and full of piss & vinegar, have retained from their parents certain abilities that they use to hunt things that go bump in the ceiling and all four walls.

I have a beard, a hummer, and a thousand yard stare. I must be on TV.

Truth be told I never read the Helstrom comics, but according to what few reviews I did skim before bingeing, the apple was thrown clear from the orchard. Those looking for respite from the giant gaping hole left in our need of a Marvel TV fix since Netflix killed off their ‘Defenders’ shows and Hulu themselves pulled the plug on teen-centric Runaways and Cloak & Dagger, will not be given much satisfaction. The trailer attracted me for making me think I would be treated to a mash-up of The X-Files and American Gothic, but this was less Mulder & Scully and more Bummer & Sulky.

Mind you I still enjoyed watching it, in the same way I enjoy a Chinese buffet. It’s not really good but there’s lots of everything and I’m hungry. I will give GIANT kudos to whoever decided to not HBO their show into a Blood & Nudity extravaganza; Lots of shows everyone praise have lost me after a short while for having rested too much on the appeal of nipples and bits and bits and bits. Here not a breast in sight, and the only romantic moment was killed pretty quickly. BUT it was killed PREDICTABLY. And that is the show’s greatest failing.

Producers went for a refreshingly unknown cast for the main characters, and surrounded them with players who are long overdue their moment in the sun; Elizabeth Marvel gave me the chills like few could since Louise Fletcher, and Robert Wisdom has no difficulty carving his own place among the Fishburn-Freeman-Braugher stereotype of the badass black sage who mentors the young “heroes”. Also a back-pat to Alain Uly who plays the Renfield archetype with a rare and welcome retenue.

I chose the wrong day to visit Willie Wonka’s damn Factory…

But try as they may, none of the players can manage to make us care about their characters. Most of their traits and developments are cliché only less than the tired, predictable and terrible lines of dialogue they are bogged down with. Yes, Ana is a badass woman of power, but does she really have to talk like she’s a masculine cliché from the lower shelves of a late-80 video store? It becomes downright infuriating -not to mention distracting- when you the viewer can say where each should have been good but was not because atmosphere relies on a jump scare you see coming from behind Mr Magoo’s glasses or the dialogue was written by an random pick form a stinky hat fill of all terrible action-movie one-liners.

Let me be clear: I was entertained by Helstrom. I didn’t hate it, at least not nearly as much as most review sites out there did, and it did make for a fun binge on a 3-nights weekend. But it didn’t stay with me when I was done the way Trinkets or Stranger Things or Dark did. To reprise the Chinese buffet analogy, I felt like I had just eaten a fortune cookie; you enjoy it, but what’s inside isn’t sustaining, nor interesting. If anything it serves as a reminder that if Kevin Feige didn’t touch it, it isn’t Marvel Gold.

REVIEW: Bill & Ted Face the Music (2020)

 

So I'm sitting here watching this movie because I feel I have to, less and less trying to keep an open mind nor trying to either remember who I was back when I adored those characters or defend their 'artistic' choices in my own head for an article I was less and less sure I'd be writing because who cares about Bill & Ted really, and then something funny happened. Not... I mean, ... I'm not about to launch into an arc here, I literally mean something funny happened. In the movie. Because so far not much had. Nor interesting, for that matter. But this, as simple and quick and probably not intended as it was, made me belt an out-loud chuckle.

Put a pin in that. Because it happened again. HA! And again. I mean you gotta give it up for a movie that drops the humor hammer on you 1 hour into its 90 minutes runtime. Respect to the headliners for letting it NOT be them who brought it. The thing is (yeah, ok, arc) now I'm actually enjoying this.

Quick recap for those not in the know. The film concerns Bill & Ted, two former teenage slackers who are now... adult. Slackers. Once, 31 years years ago, they were visited by Rufus the time traveler (George Carlin) who taught them that one day a song they write will unite the world, but they won't get there unless they pass their high school History presentation, so he gave them an 'American' Tardis and sent them through history so they could learn it proper. ly. Then 2 years later another future guy had clone robots of them send them to Hell where they met Death (William Sadler) and came back to life to play an 'Excellent' concert in front of 25K people. With Death playing bass.

But now, being middle-aged suburban dads who can't even pack half a seniors bingo hall, they still haven't written the damn song. Their co-dependence is driving away their Princesses wives, their grown daughters are turning into exact clones but with better musical taste, and reality is about to end, in like 75 minutes dude, unless they come up with that song once and for all. As they trip forward through time looking for future-thems who already wrote the song so they can "steal" it, a killer robot is sent after them (again...) in hopes that their nonexistence will prevent all nonexistence.

"Dudes, what if we're all part of a computer simulation..."

Truth be told I haven't watched Excellent Adventure in over 15 years, and I only watched sequel Bogus Journey twice; didn't like it nearly as much, but William Sadler solidly planted Death's feet as one of the most hilarious supporting characters of the 1990s, and himself rightly became a fixture of movies from that decade. I probably will not rewatch either for fear they won't hold up, same reason I was weary of watching the very late threequel: the trailer showed me a Bill and a Ted that still go "Woa, Dude!" and somehow 46 year-old me don't find that funny, or charming, or anything positive. And that point alone, as I somewhat reluctantly launched into the film, kept grating at me.

So those 2 keep meeting older and older versions of themselves who are increasingly worse losers, which is more depressing than funny; you're middle-aged and already feel like a failure and keep seeing that it only degenerates the further you go. So by now I'm really not enjoying this film. But then the killer robot makes a mistake: the daughters when through time as well to gather the greatest jammers of all (Mozart, Hendrix, a drumming cavewoman whom God knows how they heard of) but when they come back with their new friends they get accidentally lasered to death. And sent to Hell. And the robot... panics. THAT. Is when the funny starts.

Initially a terminator-type cold-stone killer, this robot suddenly shows he's a robot only on the outside: when he talks and doesn't sound robotic, he sounds like a dweeb. Who feels bad. And whose voice is incredibly similar to the hilarious bald guy on Barry (because HE IS!). And the further he opens his mouth the funnier the film gets, because he does eventually find his targets at which point he tells them his name. Over and over. I mean, his name is really important to him. And it's so friggin hilarious I won't spoil it here. But you start realizing the movie was not missing someone funny, it's someone funny enough for the 2 leads to showcase away from themselves. One of those had just arrived.

And then they break out the Big Gun. Death.

"I'm starting to wonder why I live down in Hell when you try so hard to replicate it up here!"

The moment Bill Sadler appears, he friggin steals the whole show. With one simple combination of German accent (kids, go on Wikipedia and look-up Ingmar Bergman if you wanna begin to understand) and body language, he makes me laugh out loud straight away, which I promise you is not easy because I am discreet as Hell and I laugh the way I die, on the inside. By then the whole thing starts to make sense, starts being funny, and dagnabbit starts being interesting. Keanu Reeves, one of the bigger stars on the planet, and his co-star who didn't need the paycheck because he's a respected producer and director, are using the platform that made them famous in order to let others shine. Starting with William Sadler, one of the most underrated actors of all time, and with Samara Weaving, niece of Reeves' Matrix nemesis Hugo Weaving (apparently she got the part of Bill's daughter when Reeves learned who she was).

Keep that in mind folks, because that's the key to the story, and the movie in every aspect, but I won't spoil it any further. Suffice it to say, as soon as the end credits rolled, which emphasize what I just illustrated and is amazing to no end (the boys called on the internet to submit 30-second video clips of themselves rocking out to a music clip from the film, with some of the clips being selected and used in the finished film), I felt like watching it again with the hindsight I now had.

Let's be honest, Bill & Ted Face the Music will not win any sort of award except maybe for best-ageing actors, but as reluctant as I was going into to it, the film gave me anything but what I was expecting. It looks simple of mind, but ends up giving the message we all most need RIGHT NOW. Watch it, you'll get it.

4 out of 5 Neos

FIRST LOOK - Cobra Kai 3

 

Feels right to say just "3" and not "Season 3" now that it found itself a nw home on Netflix. For all the quasi-criminal cancellations the streaming giant has perpetrated (Did you hear about Glow? Yeah, I'm lighting a candle too...), saving the sequel series to the original Karate Kid is an olive branch that feels to fans like a friggin giving tree: Season 4 is already a go!

For those outside the now-growing circle, Cobra Kai is a venture of the now-defunct You-Tube Red, an attempt by Google at Pokemoning the video site into something that could rival the rising tide of streaming sites; the whole thing produced a few series and films, but only one managed to get some traction: Cobra Kai. So when Google pulled the plug on the whole thing, new rivers were created from the flow of fan tears.

And then Netflix bought the first 2 seasons. Ever since the series became available on its new home it has been almost non-stop among the top-5 better performers. The company had already commissioned a 3rd season of their own to complete the show (some say Netflix is ancient Esperanto for "3 and done") but seeing how many viewers either followed or are discovering the show in the last 2 months alone, they took the very wise decision to break the... Fourth wall.

The series takes place 34 years after the original film (you know, the good one) and plays with a fan theory that simply refused to die and keeps gaining more and more adepts: the REAL villain of the film was Daniel (Ralph Macchio), not platinum-blondie Johnny (William Zabka). Watch it again: Johnny never instigates, it's always Daniel striking first or harassing the other, Johnny only retaliates to the half-pint who keeps asking for it. In that light, the show focuses a little more on Johnny Lawrence, divorced, deadbeat dad barely making due as a handy man.

"Did Mr. Myiagi really purple-nurple you?"

Circumstances bring him back in the path of Daniel LaRusso, now a wealthy yuppie who owns a string of car dealerships and gives away bonsai trees with every vehicle. The encounter pushes ol' leg-sweeper to revisit the past in order to secure his future: re-open Cobra Kai dojo himself. Which of course Daniel won't accept, prompting him to step in Mr. Myiagi's footsteps to antagonize his old foe once again. Can these two old dogs learn the new trick of not letting their own kids repeat their mistakes?

No, so far there hasn't been any indication that the original object of contention between the two fighters, time-defying screen goddess Elizabeth Shue, will join the fun, although the second season ended on Johnny getting a call from her which he ignored when he threw his phone in the sea. Dude... Save the whales, damn you! Also rumors that Hilary Swank's character from The Next Karate Kid would show up have so far been unfounded, although having her own Netflix show just out last month might make her more receptive to the idea. We do however get a full serving of Martin Kove as original d-bag Kreese, and Johnny's old posse show up for possibly the best episode of the series where the gang gives their dying buddy Tommy a perfect ride into the sunset (actor Rob Garrison, who really WAS living out his last days, died 6 months after the season came out).

All that to say Hey, a quick first look at the new season, out this coming January and it won't be pushed back because it's a TV show not a feature film that studios want to squeeze every penny from, is available now. Enjoy!

TV REVIEW: All Creatures Great & Small (2020)

Throw any sharp object you can grab straight in my general direction if my opinion displeases you, I still absolutely adored Channel 5's new adaptation of the James Herriot stories All Creatures Great & Small. So sue me I was 4 years old when the old BBC series hit the airwaves and 15 when it was... put down. But I did read the first 2 novels in College, and I say with no hesitation that it is a love letter to those books. I am not disparaging the 80s show you watched every Sunday afternoon, I never even "bloody" watched it.

The 6-part series star newcomer Nicholas Ralph (literally, his very first acting credit) as young Glasgow veterinarian James Herriot, who faces a life working in the docks during Great Depression 1 (just being proactive, because you know the 2020s will go down as Great Depression 2) when he receives an invitation to join a vet practice as an assistant in the English countryside of the Yorkshire Dales. His new employer is at first ignorant of said invitation (his housemaid did the deed, you see) but the grumpy doc soon enough grows fond of having a pupil to taunt, while young James needs to acclimate to a town quite alien to him.

If you spent your global quarantine, like so many, bingeing on Netflix true-crime shows like Tiger King, than this show is for you. Because it could not be more different (honestly I haven't watched Tiger King, but even isolated I couldn't stop hearing about it from everyone). In a year that just keeps out-darking itself, the fictional town of Darrowby and its denizens are a breath of fresh air. The 1930s rural England recreation is a wonder to gaze at, almost as much as the characters are warm and witty to a fault. This isn't the melodrama of Downtown Abbey (even though both shows share a producer), this is the simple charm of life, in all its soothing appeal.

"You know, someday they'll make a show about us. And call it Doggy King."

Surrounding the hero to help him insert his entire arm in horse behinds are a refreshing array or British talent. No offence to the Daniel Mays, Philip Glenisters and Keeley Hawes of it all, but sometimes you wanna watch a friendly yet not SO familiar face that you don't see each week on any British channel. Samuel West of Mr Selfridge (and the 1995 adaptation of Austen's Persuasion, which I enjoy much more than I care to say) takes over as the good doctor and mentor who is as endearing as infuriating, while his housemaid and closest friend, Mrs Hall, gains surprising depth as played by the amazing Anna Madeley.

Joining them are Neville Longb... I mean Mathew Lewis as the resident rich a-hole, Switched at Birth's Rachel Shenton as the unavailable love interest, and upcomer Callum Woodhouse as the irresponsible, free-loading brother Tristan. Oh, and the town's overly eccentric pooch owner Mrs Pumphrey brings equal parts smiles and tears, as played by the recently-deceased Dame Diana Rigg. Seeing the spark still light up her eyes in her final role at 82 is a thing of beauty, a necessary heartbreak.

Unless you enjoy sociopathic tendencies that make recent times joyful ones for you, All Creatures Great & Small is a timely offering that we all deserve to dwell into. Ed Power of iNews put it best by saying: Who needs superheroes when you can watch a vet coax a cow to its feet?

TV REVIEW: Julie and the Phantoms (2020 Netflix)

 

Mother, Teacher and Burgeoning Podcaster, the bubbly Renata Az of Nini & the Fountain of Youth podcast gives us her assessment of the Netflix original supernatural family comedy Julie & the Phantoms.

IT CAME FROM THE DISCOUNT BIN: Horns (2013)

 

Truth be told I always was tempted -nay, fascinated- to watch the 2013 movie adaptation of Joe Hill's novel Horns, and never did for one simple reason: not being much of a horror fan, I kept bumping on the name Alexandre Aja. The French director made a reputation for himself with the polarizing gore-porn Haute Tension which I strongly feel was nothing but an excuse to see how far you can take the whole violence-on-screen thing, which made even Tyler Durden rolled his eyes at. That and the fact he later broke one of my sacred commandments: Though shall not remake a Bruce Campbell classic.

But what I DID know about it kept me circling the drain round and round: Based on a novel by Stephen King's son, headlined by Daniel Radcliffe, and concerning a dude whose inner demons aren't inner anymore.... Who wouldn't be tempted? Being a nite-time dweller, I often browse streaming sites in the wee hours to find an old show or movie to keep myself awake, and seeing as someone was streaming this one at 2am I thought: Hey, take it as a sign and watch the 'damned' thing. The deed now done I will say this: Horns would have been a huge hit... in 1995. 

"Wanna know how you can save 100% on your care insurance??"

The story centers on a young man called Ignatius, which is mentioned in full only once to probably avoid pile-driving home the fact that his name means "Fire Starter"; you need to know that and now you do, thank you very much. So 'Ig' has been dating the love of his life since high school but one night after an argument she is killed in mysterious circumstances, and left in the woods. Soon after Ig wakes up to find he has sprouted horns, but no one seems to notice that other than him. What he alone also notices is that in close proximity people can't help telling him the truth, the full extent of their deepest darkest thoughts, and if true-crime shows have thought us anything it's that people in small American blue-collar towns have a LOT of dark inside. With barely a push, the lad can lead people to act on those barely-buried impulses. It becomes a madhouse (a MADHOUSE!) and in a fun-to-watch way too.

The whole thing is filled to the rim with red-herrings and plot twists that make little sense other than to get the director whatever shot he wants. And for most of it, it doesn't matter. The reason and cause for the transformation and powers are never addressed nor sought to be; like Kafka's protagonists are more busy dealing with their predicaments than to ever really look for its inception, we are far more interested in what Horny Potter finds behind the curtain than how or why he can even lift it. In the thick of it, two names came to mind: David Lynch for the strange waking-dream feeling we get, and Hitchcock for the McGuffin of it all. But then in the 3rd act, a 3rd name added itself at least from my perspective: Wes Craven.

Whatchu talkin' about Willis??? After making a string of low-budget, bone chilling cult classics (Last House on the Left, The Hills Have Eyes, Nightmare on Elm Street) Craven wanted to do something different, a PG-rated supernatural thriller, and pitched Warner Bros on a macabre love story between a teen tech-genius and the dead, abused girl next door whom he sparks back to life with a computer chip (1986, give the guy a break). Thing is the studio thought the Elm Street guy would give them an Elm Street clone, not Romie-O and Julie-8, and took the film away from poor Wes to rework it into a generic 80s splatterfest. 

"You may be the Devil, but Austin Powers is the DEVIL!"

Smilarly, watching Horns enter it's homestretch felt like watching a 90s teen-targeted supernatural 'thriller' the likes of Final Destination, Urban Legends, et al: it basically becomes I Know What You Did Last Potter, in a manner so blatant and boring you can almost hear the studio execs cackling. Ig's journey becomes a basic whodunit, which in itself pulls the ultimate curtain of letting us realize how badly this thing is disjointed, not very well directed and somewhat aimlessly acted. A crying shame because the David Lynchian feeling from the rest of the film deserved a much better mess of an ending, if any conclusion at all. But what we get is the meddling kids unmasking old man Jenkins and the obligatory tussle using a pitchfork against a 200lbs anchor chain that lands 10 times on a guy's spine yet never breaks it. 

In a perfect world, Netflix will wait the customary 10 years and reboot the story for a 3-season show which will either fill the pot holes with concrete or shatter the whole dang road to smithereens. Until then I do recommend Horns as a late-nite Radcliffe triple-feature with friends to enjoy the young man's deliciously bonkers career choices, sandwiched between Swiss Army Man and Guns Akimbo. 

IT'S FREE ON YOUTUBE: Rock & Rule (1983)

Are you a fan of Bobba Fett? Do you know who to thank for his existence? No, not the... well yes, the infamous 1978 'Star Wars Holidays Special'. But to be fair, only ONE element of that atrocity (if you never seen it, be warned, it IS every bit as braindead as its reputation suggests) redeems the whole thing in hindsight: the 10-minute animated segment "The Faithful Wookie", entirely created by a small, independent animation outfit from Canada (Represent!!) who called themselves Nelvana.

Just as giants like Microsoft, Apple and Amazon started in garden sheds, damp basements and stinky home garages, the Canadian trio of artists started out their work in a crappy 1-bedroom apartment in downtown Toronto which they used as a 'studio'. Within just a few years their shorts had attracted the attention of the CBC (Canadian public broadcaster), who commissioned a series of half-hour seasonal animated specials: A Cosmic Christmas (1977), The Devil and Daniel Mouse (1978), Please Don't Eat the Planet (better known by its subtitle, Intergalactic Thanksgiving) (1979), Romie-0 and Julie-8 (1979), Easter Fever (1980) and Take Me Up to the Ball Game (1980).

It is during that period that a young bearded director named George Lucas became a big fan of their work and charged them with a short 'toon for his... 'Special' special. And THAT effort got them approached to work on a hot new project from producer Ivan Reitman, called Heavy Metal. Which they had the the giant brass ones to turn down in favor of crafting their own crazy sci-fi/fantasy story: 1983's Rock & Rule. 

To be fair it wasn't an easy movie to market, despite being from the era where a frightening amount of children movies were dark and disturbing as Hell (Neverending Story, Secret of Nihm, Black Cauldron, Something Wicked this Way Comes, etc). American distributors MGM/UA had no clue what to do with it, and it quickly fell off the marquee after little to no profits to show for, on an $8M budget. That should have been that for the company had they not already branched out in producing a multitude of animated & live action children series, on both sides of the border and abroad, going as far as getting tagged by the BBC to produce an animated Dr Who series (which sadly never came to be, but concept art can still be found online). Now they rival even Disney with their output in children TV programming; if the mouse isn't involved, chances are Nelvana is.

And in the meantime, Rock & Rule quickly found itself on cable TV, where it became an 80s fixture and gained absolute-cult status. Today it's one of those movies that make you feel part of a special club if you were lucky enough to have discovered AND appreciated it back when HBO first started airing it. But after almost 40 years, I still can't quite tell you exactly who it was meant for....

Anyway it's free on YouTube courtesy of Canadian lighthouse keeper Retro Rerun. Enjoy!

Why some people still refuse to simply wear a mask to stop the spread...

 

On the Subject of the Next Bond...

 

Pandemic willing, the next installment in the James Bond film franchise should see the inside of a theater before there are none left to screen it. And it will also be the last for current torch bearer Daniel Craig; cue the windmill of rumors and speculations. Might as well touch the subject, and not just because of a recent Showdown on this here platform, but because a once-candidate is again trying to throw his steel-rimmed hat in the ring. Superman himself is telling whomever will listen that he's ready to go.

The prospect of the next Walther PPK owner resurfaced this month thanks to Henry Cavill who, doing the rounds for the Netflix franchise-in-waiting Enola Holmes, kept being asked about his chances to put on the tuxedo now that he's a world-renowned name. He was considered for the part back when Casino Royale was being pitched, but the then-22 years old was passed on in favor of 36-year old Craig. It wasn't age though that that tilted the scale away from him, but his size; last year the actor candidly expressed that his weight lost him the part. Who knows if THAT's true; Christian Bale got the Batman part after playing a living skeleton in The Mechanic, but then overdid his weight gain by 100lbs, and STILL got to put on the... rubbers. 

"Why YES, I would be awesome has a young Hagrid!"

Setting aside the REAL reason he hasn't a chance in Krypton for a moment, one needs to argue that his fame and actor's resume work against him, not in his favor. The original Bond, Sir Sean "Hot Shingles" Connery was a complete unknown before Dr No, and Pierce Brosnan was known but not exactly a 'star' thus his casting came with no baggage other than having played a Bond-wannabe in mid-80s TV fixture Remington Steele. Craig Himself had little to brag about before Bond came along, you can't quite blame Timothy Dalton for how badly his tenure stank, and George Lazenby would've Lived & let Die had he kept quiet rather than big-mouth himself off the job (MGM circulated that poor Box-Office returns prompted his dismissal and not the actor getting too big for his britches, yet on paper his only 007 outing was on par with Connery's previous). 

Yes Roger More was already a well-known name when he took over, but when I watch him schmooze Carole Bouquet I still see Simon Templar and not Flemming's licensed killer, which proves my point. Cavill already played an iconic super-spy in The Man form UNCLE (which originally was a Bond rip-off for TV) as well as a super-guy who arguably is the most famous comic book hero of all. Add to that Netflix's global success with The Witcher whom Cavill portrays, and you got a case of casting Jeremy Renner to replace both Ethan Hunt and Jason Bourne: putting an already over-exposed actor in yet another established franchise. Hire Johnny Depp as Dr No and ScarJo as Pussy Galore and you crafted the least inspired spy film of the century. A money-maker for sure, but boring in every aspect.

Back to reality though, Henry Cavill should get himself used to wearing yellow contacts because as hinted earlier, not a chance. Now before anyone call me a Nazi, I don't CARE what gender/nationality/ethnicity/sexual identity the next Bond would be. I didn't care that Zend...whatever her name is, is now Spidey's "MJ", that Wally & Iris West are no longer gingers, that Hikaru Sulu bats for the other team, as long as the part is well-written and the actor being cast brings it around downtown. But it would be hypocritical not to acknowledge the fact that more people would be outraged at yet another white dude to play Bond than at another 200k people dying of the current pandemic. For years now movements, real and astro-turfed, have called for a black stud or a bad-ass lady to flirt with Moneypenny. 

As Dr No-F***ing-Way-Mate, he'd be superb!

Let me be clear about what I previously said of Idris Elba, who was and probably still is a fan-favorite for the famed spy: he's 48. By the time another Bond film starts filming -let alone gets released- he will be over 50. "But Anthony," you say, "Roger Moore was 46 when he made his first Bond". No, he was 45 when he made it then the film got release the next year. Also, producing a movie back then was far quicker and easier; his first 4 outings came out within 6 years. It will have taken 16 to see all of Craig's 5 turns. So by the time Elba reaches film #3 he will have crossed 60, and be getting down with a supermodel who's only 20. We're talking Bond, not the U.S. presidency, for Q's sake.

At this point it honestly is anyone's guess who will take over the mantle of the Master Spy from Daniel Craig, but for my money, if Henry Cavill really needs to play an archaic literary character that many before have put their stamp on, I'd much rather see Netflix go the whole nine on their Enola Holmes experiment and give the big guy a big Holmes film of his own. 

MARQUEE SHOWDOWN #6: Bond vs Bourne

WHY?
Doug Liman's Bourne re-invented the Espionage/Action thriller with it's gritty, fast-paced yet sober cinematography and its surgical fight sequences. So successful was this offering that the Bond reset borrowed those very elements for its own renaissance,  going as far as casting an actor that looks like Matt Damon's incarnation of Jason Bourne (the original one, played by soap-y 70s stalwart Richard Chamberlain, arguably felt lifted from the Roger Moore era of 007). Although I doubt Bourne would be caught dead in those blue trunks that made many a lady fawn for Casino Royale's soaking Craig. But back to the original statement, the 2000s adaptations of Bourne & Bond have an awful lot in common. So let's cage them up together and see who comes out alive.

THE PLAYERS

Jason Bourne : Matt Damon

Matty got his first role, even if small, at 18 in 1988 and on the big screen alongside Lily Taylor, Vincent D'Onofrio and Julia Roberts. 9 years later, after playing bit-parts a-holes and d-bags in a variety of films from School Ties to Chasing Amy, he scored his first huge role in a movie he co-wrote that got him a pair of Oscar noms and a win, among a plethora of other awards. Since then he established himself as one of the most solid and versatile screen actors on the planet, equally at ease playing vile miscreants (Interstellar, Mr. Ripley, The Departed), bumbling pushovers (The Informant, True Grit, Ocean's 11), or classic Hollywood heroes (The Great Wall, All the Pretty Horses, Bourne...). Very few if any of his acting choices were duds, and he never becomes too big-headed to appear in blink and you'll miss it cameos that only the most vigilant of viewer can recognize him for. At 50 he already has his status of Tinseltown Legend secured, acclaimed and respected for his work both in front and behind the cameras; decades from now his name will be mentioned alongside the likes of Redford, Eastwood, Cagney and Fonda.

James Bond : Daniel Craig

Older than Damon by 2 years, Danny Boy got in front of cameras 2 years later as well, but mostly on the small screen, playing bit parts and guest roles in series that no one remembers (Covington Cross, Boon), no one WANTS to remember (Young Indiana Jones Chronicles, the 90s half-hour Zorro) or no one remembers his appearance in (Drop the Dead Donkey, Sharpe, Heartbeat). He started getting noticed in the early 2000s, with small parts in big-bucks movies (Lara Croft, Road to Perdition, The Jacket) and front roles in specialty movies (Sylvia, Layer Cake, Munich). His big break finally came with Casino Royale which in 2006 rebooted the long-dwindling Bond franchise with great aplomb and success. However outside MI6 most of his efforts aren't worth checking out, much less remembering (Flashbacks of a Fool, Cowboys & Aliens, The Golden Compass, Dream House). More recently though, the looming specter (snark) of leaving the Bond role seems to have motivated him to select better projects. Logan Lucky in 2017 was no bank-breaker but got solid kudos, and 2019's sleeper hit Knives Out offered him the chance to create from scratch an entirely new master sleuth worthy of crossing iron with Holmes, Marple or Marlowe. Out of that, a new and interesting franchise could secure his financial future for years.

Advantage:Jason Bourne

RATINGS (on Rotten Tomatoes)

Jason Bourne : Identity sits at  83%, Supremacy at 82%, Ultimatum a whopping 92%, and Jason Bourne a splattering 54%.

James Bond : Casino Royale reigns at 95%, Quantum drops to 65%, Skyfall rises to 92%, Spectre drops again to 63%. 

Advantage:Jason Bourne

BOX-OFFICE 

Jason Bourne

The Bourne Identity: 214,034,224

The Bourne Supremacy : 290,835,269

The Bourne Ultimatum: 444,100,035

Jason Bourne: 415,484,914

TOTAL: $1,394,454,442

James Bond

Casino Royale: 616,501,619

Quantum of Solace: 589,580,482

Skyfall: 1,108,561,013

Specter: 880,674,609

TOTAL: $3.195.317.723

Advantage:James Bond

ANALYSIS

Literature-speaking, there probably IS no Jason Bourne without James Bond; one can even argue the former's initials are an homage to the latter. Credit where credit's due, Ian Fleming's creation was and still is a massively influential one, both on the page and on the screen with 14 books and 26 movies to carry the character forward. However the style, content and characterization of Casino Royale were to The Bourne Identity what every possible film making company were to Marvel Studios after their instigation of the 'Shared Cinematic Universe': "Holy CRA*P let's do THAT!". The 007 franchise had been struggling to stay afloat ever since it was taken to space in the late-70, and despite a step in the better direction in casting Pierce Brosnan to erase the Tim Dalton stinkers (sorry Timmy, they just sucked), the ship was still taking on water; the character was becoming increasingly anachronistic and simply nothing fresh could be squeezed from it. 

Bourne arrived in 2002 theaters like a demolition train through a stale pile of past-due bunt cakes. It was fresh, it was fast, it was gritty, down and dirty, and you just did not f**k with that guy yet couldn't help love him. Sadly by the time the obligatory trilogy was achieved, the studio efforts to copy the copier, pull a Bond and transfer the franchise on someone else's shoulders, felt every bit the milk-to-the-last that it was and failed to generate any interest from critics nor viewers. Having cast as the new lead an actor so over-exposed even 1990s Tommy Lee Jones was rolling his eyes, was maybe not the best move. And when an attempt to back-track to the original star came along, no one gave a shaken Martini anymore. Still, the franchise a s while was a shot in the arm for non-FX heavy action movies and gave MGM an lesson on how to Viagra the life back into an ageing property.

Advantage:Jason Bourne

WINNER: Jason Bourne

TV REVIEW : Des (2020 ITV)

 

There's something invisibly off-putting about ITV's 3-episode series Des right from the get-go, which in hindsight is a stroke of genius because it is also how the viewer is made to feel about its titular character throughout the ordeal: he does absolutely nothing to antagonize you yet he chills you to the bloody bone.

The short show centers on a British serial killer, Dennis Nilsen but please call me Des,  who was arrested in 1983 when the term serial killer had yet to enter social consciousness, and the murders he perpetrated -up to 15 according to himself- had yet to be linked in any way let alone to one specific perpetrator. In fact most of his victims had to that point been marked as runaways or simple disappearances, in no small part due to the fact that "Des" took the time to carefully dismember his victims (in some case with what a coroner describes a surgical precision), then cremate or simply bury the remains in his own backyard.

The series begins with his quick and quite calm arrest; officers are investigating human remains found nearby, he invites them in, they notice the smell and barely need to ask for him to point where the latest victim is stored. And then things only go forward, revisiting the past in conversation only but never in flashbacks. Everybody likes the man it seems, as confirmed by his co-workers who refuse to believe the allegations, and he himself keeps complimenting his own good nature. While willfully discussing how he carefully washed his victims before removing theirs heads to be boiled on his stove top. 

Who else is thinking "Bill Gates bio" right now?

As the central protagonist, one-time Doctor Who David Tennant reminds once again he is one of the most immersive and skilled actors working today, giving not even hope of glimpse to any of previous, maybe more light-hearted roles. Even Good Omens' wicked demon Crowley never snakes his way into our minds while we watch the drowsy-eyed killer discuss the semantics of chronicling his life with his chosen biographer, because why not when you consider yourself "the killer of the century".  Said writer is refreshingly played by an equally formidable thespian, Jason Watkins who criminally never gets named alongside his co-star as amongst the greatest of their generation. Why HE was never cast as the Doctor is an injustice worthy of its own true-crime series.

Rounding the cast is the always affable Daniel Mays, whom here goes against type in playing the audience proxy, a DCI that cannot decide what baffles him the most: the magnitude of Des' murders, the fact he did it incognito for so long, or the fact he happily confessed only to plead not guilty once the trial starts. "Those victims deserve the truth" Nilsen argues, in a gesture that does nothing but stretch his moment in the sun. Because THAT is the driving force of the entire narrative: Des is a "nice guy", but never got the attention and care he truly deserved, the same kind he gave to the corpse of his victims, and all the event portrayed were engineered by him so that he finally gets recognized. If only he had waited 25 year, he could have laid it all out online and be treated as a God by hordes of true-crime devouring viewers of Keeping up With the Komfy Killer. 

That off-putting feeling we get stranded with from the opening minutes to the very last, is that despite declaring our disgust at such a character, we still watch with great intent as well as an attention span we can't even offer our own entourage. So engrossed are we his this story that we forget to care how we never learned anything really about his victims nor do we meet them aside from the one who survived his encounter (revived by Des himself, after having failed to drown the poor lad, because that's how good a guy he is...). That off-putting feeling is the realization that we care more about a truly vile human being than the lives he was allowed to end for so long without being noticed. 

If that irony passes you by with glee, you will enjoy Des, for it is a masterfully crafted series.

REVIEW: Enola Holmes (2020 - Netflix)

 

SO you used to play guitar for the aunts and uncles at family BBQs with the nice wool socks grandma knitted for you, and then someone went and made you famous with a song like nothing anyone has ever heard and the whole friggin planet wants more. Of your socks too. Whaddaya do? How do you keep the pendulum swinging, how do you keep the iron hot to beat it just the right shape? You go with a cover, a song everyone knows, and you add your personal little twist. Hey, it worked for the Beatles, Elton John, even Johnny Cash made a ton of ...cash, late in life, with a career resurrection consisting of nothing but covers. 

God only knows if Netflix themselves knew that Stranger Things would be a global phenomenon, and one of the most iconic TV shows of all time despite having only released 3 seasons so far. But from Millie Bobby Brown, the linchpin of the whole show, big things are being expected. First she went with the sequel to the reboot of an American crack at Godzilla, which.... had its moments... but overall was a not exactly Jurassic Park. She needed a another hit, and fast. I gotta admit I was torn between rolling my eyes at the lazyness, and tipping my hat at the bravery, that her second attempt to De-Eleven herself would be a feminist-twisted riff on the world's greatest detective... who doesn't dress like a bat.

I mean seriously, everybody and their Chevy has done a 'twist' on Sherlock Holmes; Sir Arthur's private eye has been on the screens for pretty much as long as screens have existed, and many a name who put their stamp on it are synonymous with legend. Basil Rathbone, Nicol Williamson, Stewart Granger, Orson Welles, Charlton Heston, John Cleese, Micheal Caine, Christopher Plummer, Ian McKellen, Christopher Lee, even Max-friggin-Headroom himself Matt Frewer! And since everything old is new again, we've recently seen him as a recovering Junkie in NYC, an iPhone-addicted sociopath who lives with Bilbo the Hobbit, and a MMA-practitioning playboy who sometimes hangs with a space raccoon.

Technically it's not a gun, so Checkov won't mind they introduced a bow that will NEVER be used.

So yeah, it's both lazy to go with a -royalty free- literary property that even Hellen Keller has heard of, and ballsy to try and bring an angle new to something that's been rebooted more times than my Acer computer. And it's especially so for young Millie who also produces the whole thing, which smells of franchise. The problem is after my fifth trip to the refill station while watching Enola Holmes, I realized -sitck and stones can hurt my bones...- I don't wanna watch Eleven be a tween Holmesette. I wanna see The Witcher rip Moriarty's head off with with a grunt. 

Mind you, the casting is brilliant. Brown is absolutely charming as the rising sleuth, a trait she thankfully shares with her on-screen brother Henry Cavill who wisely chose to emulate the softly-smiling portrayal of Sir Christopher Plummer in his oh-too-short appearance as the master deductor. But the young lady, despite her abundant energy, is still young. She still needs a director with the moxy to let her know when she sucks -and sadly she does in various moments- as well as a screenwriter who will provide depth for her to plunge in. Here though the focus is clear: decors and period costumes, let the rest take care of itself. And an ancestral 'automobile' that even Jeremy Clarkson would acquaint to science fiction from its sheer ability to... function.

Rounding the cast are Fiona Shaw, whom directors often mistake for a walking pastiche and not the incredibly versatile -and quite frankly gorgeous- woman she is (watch My Left Foot and explain to me why she keeps being cast as a Victorian Karen) , Sam Claffin who buries his chiseled good looks in the most inept Mycroft ever staged, and Helena Bonham Carter who still can't get someone to remember she once stood up to Tyler Durden. Truth be told all I know of Mama Holmes is that she is to blame for her sons' brains and demeanor, but I do know Mycroft is pushover nowhere but in Sherlock's mind. 

"it's Levi-OH-sah!"

In their attempt to bring about a new breed of Holmes, Netflix delivered a family movie that somehow will satisfy very few in any given family. Again the cast is charming and the costumes oh-so delightful, but try as she might to emulate Ferris Bueller, Enola Holmes is not the Walrus. The real bone I need to pick though is that nothing really grates me, no clear failure sends me flying in a rant demanding more than a few swig of the whatever non-alcoholic beverage I pretend to be hot for this week to keep my 17-year sobriety streak unbroken. The young starlet clearly needs directions, the screenwriter clearly needs to read Doyle, and the viewer clearly needs better popcorn, but otherwise no real fault could explain why I was left so apathetic to this latest approach to the source material. 

The one strength of the piece, as well as it's greatest heartache, is seeing what an instantly-endearing and mesmerizing performance Henry Cavill gives as the consulting detective. Never do we feel in his stance the burden of refreshing a character with nothing fresh left to offer, only do we mourn that his role is barely enough to adorn the poster. Where Netflix succeeded the most with this movie, which feels made-for-TV as much as any Netflix film not directed by Scorcese, is in selling us a Sherlock franchise where the erstwhile Superman is the star, rather than relying on the centerpiece of the streamer's best series so far.  I love you Bobby, but if I don't get The Clark Kent of the Baskervilles soon Ima be unhappy.

Still, it was a nice way to kill a quiet Thursday nite. 

3 Burps out of 5.

TV REVIEW: Solar Opposites (2020)

One episode of Solar Opposites, the latest brainchild of deliciously deranged mastermind Justin Roiland, opens with one of the main-cast aliens living on Earth, as he drives through his adopted human city in a frantic manner that wreaks havoc and destruction all along his path, then when he gets home, hurls himself inside the house and anxiously yells to his family "We have no nose!!!" Roll opening theme. The moment is truly hilarious, yet soon feels empty and barely satisfying because of how detached it is from any strong, coherent narrative. That, sadly, is how the entire show goes.

The series concern a family unit of sorts, comprised of aliens from a planet that was destroyed by a giant meteor. Like the Space Goofs of France, they crashed on our planet and must shack up together in a suburban house until they can repair their spaceship and complete their mission of finding a suitable planet to perpetrate their race, because Earth clearly isn't it. The concept of Aliens in a family sitcom setting has been tried many times before with various degrees of success -Mork & Mindy was hit & miss but remains beloved, 3rd Rock nailed it for most of its run, a plethora of others failed too hard to be remembered- but this one failed not for a lack of humor and human observations, but rather from not knowing what it wants to be.

They said Country music, they didn't say which country...

Roiland barely veils the many comparisons his new creation draws to his most famous, pop-culture sensation Rick & Morty. Both shows feature a grumpy genius whose gigantic brain is so perfect a plot device one could easily argue Roiland's double-dipping in that specific pool causes more of a meh than proper giggles. His partner in life and work, voiced by Thomas Middleditch of Silicon Valley, has nice guy routine that nowhere near attracts both affection and disparagement the way Morty does when faced with his grandpa's antics. As for 'the children', they reek of missed opportunities, save for one gloriously predictive episode where they are chastised for their loose school attendance, and in turn proceed to attend without fail every single day... of the summer.

Solar Opposites is what happens when someone with an overbearing mind for vicious comedy like Justin Roiland doesn't have the guidance of a man driven by strong subtlety of narratives like Dan Harmon. A recent episode of Rick & Morty, ironically all about storytelling, used Harmon's screenwriting tools themselves to drive the narrative of the story in what is another prime example of that show's incredible depth and intelligence. Here some of the gags are very clever but lift the cover and you get nothing but the floor, no underlying river of nuance is there strengthening the show and drive it along. The gore and absurdist violence that somehow finds every funny bone on Earth C-137, here feels just mean and desperate. And gets your cup filled quite quickly; after 3 episodes I was debating whether to drop it and watch BoJack Horseman again, or buckle and see the journey through.

Mad Max: Beyond Caring Dome

Along the way a second, background story develops where one of the alien kids starts himself an ant farm of sorts, comprised of humans who crossed him in ways that vary from refusing him a refill at the restaurant to looking at him funny on the street. He shrink them and ‘put them in the wall’ where they have to fend for themselves in a makeshift society. And by the end of the season that story, itself much darker and edgier than the show it is supposed to support, seems to become the main focus, as if along the way the creator, without his firm-handed usual partner, lost interest in the primary story and wished the secondary one was the whole show. Word around the water quantumizer is that Fox, who wanted a Rick Sanchez of their own, lost faith in their shiny new toy mid-way through production, and a good long year went by before a streamer picked it up. Smart money is on the fact that in between, the main man had a change of heart, and left us with a show that struggles to maintain its identity, if it ever truly had one of its own.

Mind you, this is coming from a rock-hard fan of the Smith-Sanchez adventures, so let us avoid the 'for fans only' trope. Solar Opposites is a valiant effort, but ultimately a lesson in how not to let your imagination run too rampant.

 Solar Opposites is available to stream in its entirety on Hulu right now.