DVD: Divine Viewing Diversions
Here are three quality films that opened theatrically earlier this year and will reward viewers who seek them out. One is a comedy, one a comedic-thriller sequel, and one a female version of a male-dominated caper flick.
“BOOK CLUB” (PG-13)
There’s so much individual and collective charm among and throughout this quartet of senior actresses, they comprise a virtual charm bracelet.
And that’s almost enough to allow us to glance past the sore-thumb script limitations of their collaborative contemporary comedy, “Book Club.”
Almost.
But as grateful as we might be for the existence of a movie that showcases the natural appeal and nuanced skill of national treasures Diane Keaton, Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen and Mary Steenburgen, we can’t help but wish that the script, so carefully designed to appeal to a particular demographic of gender and age, employed them more productively.
The life-after-60 comedy-drama, “Book Club,” looks in on four women of age – each smart, funny, accomplished, well-off, and fiercely independent – lifelong friends who meet in Los Angeles once a month to drink lots of wine and, if there’s still time, discuss whatever book they’ve just read.
But they cherish their four-member book club as a constant in their lives – one of the few – and have been showing up, sometimes from a great distance, for decades.
One evening, they’re introduced to “Fifty Shades of Grey,” the first in the erotic trilogy by E.L. James, which is out of their usual comfort zone and tosses a metaphorical Molotov cocktail into their respective late-in-life complacency, even though the book(s) in question serve merely as an entry point to the narrative and are not really dwelt upon.
Diane Keaton’s Diane (in a role written for her) is a recent widow whose two overprotective grown daughters drive her a little bit crazy.
Jane Fonda’s wealthy hotelier, Vivian, dates constantly but keeps her love life emotionally distant and no-strings-attached superficial.
Candice Bergen’s divorced Sharon, a federal judge, avoids romantic involvements but takes notice of the younger woman with whom her ex is now involved.
And Mary Steenburgen’s chef-and-restaurateur Carol stays focused on regaining her husband’s sexual interest, which has vanished since his reluctant retirement after 35 years of marriage.
These are the four overlapping and intersecting character arcs that we follow as Diane, Vivian, Sharon and Carol get involved, respectively, with pilot Andy Garcia, old flame Don Johnson, online blind date Richard Dreyfuss and distracted hubby Craig T. Nelson.
Their stories aren’t quite as compelling as we would like them to be, but the pleasant company, affability and rapport of the primary actresses keeps things pleasant even when they fall short of funny. Smiles of recognition are what the film is after, given that belly laughs are off the table.
Bill Holderman, a producer making his directorial debut, works from a by-the-numbers script that he co-wrote with Erin Simms, an actress making her screenwriting debut. Their well-intentioned premise makes us root for their success, but their screenplay begs for considerable further revision of narrative and characterization.
And it would appear to be their storytelling inexperience that keeps us attentive but not as engaged as we would need to be to have more at stake.
The result is a tepidly told tale during which we easily give in to distractions as the mind wanders: for example, we are reminded of such small-world connections as the fact that Don Johnson’s real-life daughter, Dakota Johnson, stars in the “Fifty Shades of Grey” trilogy.
Or that the four women seem to have been designed to parallel in some way the four characters on display in the television series, “Sex and the City” (you do the math).
That there is a predictability to the way things proceed is not necessarily a problem for the film’s target audience, given the genre and the credentials that the leads bring to the party.
After all, we’re talking about a quartet of Oscar nominees and several Oscar winners as well (Fonda for “Klute” and “Coming Home,” Keaton for “Annie Hall,” Steenburgen for “Melvin and Howard”). So we’re treated to the expertise of four – you should excuse the expression – old pros who know how to hold the screen, deliver a line, and demonstrate honed, knowing comic timing, but who sure could use a more inspired or fully baked script to work from.
As it is, the film is a pretender in the mold of a Nancy Meyers romp, but it lacks the follow-through that the setup sets us up for in such Meyers films as “It’s Complicated” and “Something’s Gotta Give.”
Still, no complaint from this corner is severe enough to obliterate our gratitude that the movie exists as a further reminder of how good the focal foursome is at their craft.
And that like a book club itself, “Book Club” is a viable alternative for moviegoers tired of or disinterested in the summer’s lineup of action-oriented spectacles.
“DEADPOOL 2” (R)
Just when the Marvel Comics Universe seemed about ready to take over Hollywood in all its self-important, action-adventure glory, along came 2016’s “Deadpool,” Marvel’s first R-rated offering, to show us that even a comic book-inspired superhero thriller could be just as funny, if not funnier, than a comedy.
Come to think of it, this was a comedy.
And we’re reminded of that in the sequel, “Deadpool 2,” which brings back title character Ryan Reynolds, who set us straight in the original:
“I may be super,” he said then, “but I’m no hero.”
It was a subtle distinction that placated, at least temporarily, those of us who felt superheroed and spandexed out at the time.
Like its predecessor, “Deadpool 2,” the 11th installment in the “X-Men” film series, is a hyper-violent, self-aware, and just about constantly witty thriller featuring perhaps Marvel’s most unconventional antihero.
And while it may not look like a comedy, the jokes and bits and gags and one-liners come at us with machine-gun rapidity.
Reynolds, whose comic presence is embedded in every frame, plays Wade Wilson, who, to deal with his cancer, subjected himself in the first installment to an experimental process. The result of the process was that he gained accelerated healing powers, disfigured facial skin, an unstable mind, a talkative tongue, and a demented – some would say inspired – sense of humor.
So Deadpool is Wilson’s alter ego, an indestructible, motor-mouth mercenary, a sardonic and psychopathic killing machine, a relentless wisenheimer dishing out suffering to those who deserve it.
And the sequel, like the original, is a self-contained spoof of its genre.
This trip, Deadpool/Wilson, who has come to grips with his facial disfigurement and found love (with Morena Baccarin), forms a team of mutants dubbed the X-Force to protect a young mutant (played by Julian Dennison) from a time-traveling soldier named Cable, played by Josh Brolin.
Ex-stunt master David Leitch, who directed last year’s “Atomic Blonde,” takes over the directorial reins from Tim Miller, and works from a screenplay by Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick – the duo who wrote the original – and Ryan Reynolds, who also served as a producer.
Leitch’s stunt background may account for the parade of frenetic action scenes, some of which seem to go on forever. That said, they are certainly well-executed, even while Reynolds is busy breaking the fourth wall and/or spewing pop-cultural in-jokes.
You could describe the plotline as being on the skimpy side, but given the snark and in-joke quotient, it hardly matters.
And Reynolds’ casting in the anti-heroic title role is, dare we say it, perfection.
While the film qualifies as one of those sequels that slightly tops its predecessor, it’s very definitely aimed squarely at a target audience that has seen “Deadpool.” So, to say that returnees will have more fun than franchise newbies is to understate the case by plenty.
As for fervent fans of the irreverent, subversive, manic, and very funny “Deadpool,” they should once again be squealing with delight at “Deadpool 2.”
“OCEAN’S 8” (PG-13)
Sinatra to Clooney to Bullock.
That’s the triple-play combo that has shepherded the “Ocean’s” franchise of crime thrillers that stretched over half a century, starting with Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack cronies in “Ocean’s 11” in 1960.
Then, just after the turn of this century, it was re-imagined and updated by director Steven Soderbergh as a trilogy – “Ocean’s Eleven,” “Twelve” and “Thirteen” – starring George Clooney, Brad Pitt and friends.
And now we get the female variation/rejoinder.
“Ocean’s 8” is an elaborate escapist entertainment, another star-studded sting, offering an ensemble of women led by three Oscar winners – Sandra Bullock, Cate Blanchett and Anne Hathaway.
And, like its predecessors, it’s preposterous and convoluted and moderate glossy fun.
Bullock plays Debbie Ocean, the estranged sister of Danny Ocean, the consummate con artist played by Clooney throughout the trilogy.
Just out of prison after a five-year sentence, she rounds up an all-female crew of crooks to pull off a seemingly impossible mission: a brazen scam involving New York City’s annual Met Gala, a fashion extravaganza at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
At stake, among other things, is a diamond necklace worth north of $150 million.
Director Gary Ross (“Pleasantville,” “Seabiscuit,” “The Hunger Games,” “Free State of Jones”), who also scripted “Big” and “Dave,” employs a light touch, offers extensive sleight of hand, and moves things along briskly, working from a screenplay with its share of surprises, if not quite enough tingly tension, that he co-wrote with Olivia Milch.
Soderbergh is one of Ross’ producers, and his supporting cast includes Mindy Kaling, Sarah Paulson, Rihanna, Awkwafina, Dakota Fanning and Helena Bonham Carter.
The cast is eminently watchable, even if they’re rather sketchily delineated – as the genre dictates – but the film resonates with contemporary audiences who want to see women make the impossible mission happen as they pull off a daring crime in plain sight.
How? Bullock’s Ocean explains:
“A him gets noticed. A her gets ignored,” she says at one point. “But for once, we want to be ignored.”
Improbable? Sure. But sufficiently convincing as it occurs.
This is wish fulfillment, plain and simple, with the kind of rooting interest that lets the audience dip their toes in the naughty.
A heist flick that’s nothing if not amiable, “Ocean’s 8” is a convivial divertissement that never quite shifts into high gear but features a low gear that’s a steal.
