Category: Crime

  • Trap (2024)

    Trap (2024)

    Rating: 1.5 out of 5.

    This movie is a masterclass in bad decisions and disappointing conclusions. Cooper, the protagonist, seems either blessed by a god of luck or surrounded by the most shockingly idiotic individuals imaginable. Seriously, no one in this movie behaves like a functioning human being.

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  • Cruella (2021)

    Cruella (2021)

    Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

    The following contains spoilers for Cruella (2021):

    I had the same reaction as everyone else when the first trailer dropped, asking out loud, “Is this what we’re doing now? Which villain is next to get a sympathetic backstory— the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?” No matter how this turned out, it would only reinforce the belief that Hollywood lacks a specific agenda and operates more as a reactive entity driven by recreating past financial successes before anything else. Since Joker raked in more money than anyone anticipated— especially the producers— it only makes sense that Disney would dig into their library for classic villains they could wring some sympathy dollars out of. All condescension toward the premise aside, Cruella is tolerably made compared to its empty-headed edgelord crush, but I say that in the same sense that Those Who Wish Me Dead was tolerable— until you thought about the script, where it was coming from, and who it was even intended for. There’s certainly a more satisfying throughline here, you can tell a lot of work went into where it counts, and it’s even occasionally funny and engrossing. But start asking questions, and the whole affair comes off as hollow— more interested in being the movie it wants to be than what it could have been.

    To summarize the setup: Estella Miller is a child in England with a talent for fashion design and a sharp tongue that leads her mother, Catherine, to nickname her “Cruella.” After getting kicked out of a prestigious school for rebellious behavior, her mother decides to move them to London. On the way, they stop at a wealthy costume party held at a manor, where Catherine leaves Estella in the car for a few minutes. Estella grows impatient and enters the party herself, catching the attention of three guard dogs— you guessed it, Dalmatians. While being chased, Estella sees Catherine asking the host for financial support near a cliffside. Just as Estella thinks she’s about to be caught, the Dalmatians run past her, up to Catherine, and push her off the cliff. Estella immediately blames herself, escapes the manor grounds, and spends the night near a public fountain in London.

    The next morning, she meets Jasper and Horace (her burglar cohorts, in case you don’t remember— I didn’t at first) as kids, and they band together as grifters well into their early 20s (though the cast playing them are all in their 30s— but w/e, recognizable names and all). Dyeing her until-now B&W hair red, Estella takes a job at Liberty department store as a cleaner. A bad day at work leads to a night of overtime and drinking. Growing more and more annoyed by the store’s lack of creativity, Estella takes a literal bag of trash and applies everything she knows to a front window display. The next morning, the display catches the attention of Baroness von Hellman— a haute couture designer with an even sharper tongue and the old money to back it up. She hires Estella as a designer after chastising the store manager, saying the display is better than anything he’s done in a decade. However, Estella’s ladder up to her dream career is complicated when she notices the Baroness wearing a brooch last seen around Catherine’s neck before her death. After the Baroness claims the brooch was stolen by a former employee, Estella, Jasper, and Horace devise a scheme to retrieve it— involving a fake-out robbery during one of the Baroness’s many parties where Estella becomes Cruella, acting as a distraction with one flaming collage dress after another.

    If this is supposed to be the low point of Emma Stone’s career, it’s far more fun than most Oscar-winning performances. She nails her British accent, looks great in the costumes and makeup, and camps nearly every scene when she’s not defaulting to the usual Emma-Stonisms— nervously apologizing and over-thanking the Baroness. While I may be perplexed at how this whole thing cost $100 million, they certainly didn’t skimp on the dresses— some of which made my jaw hit the floor four or five times. Take this as the uncultured praise it may be, but I had big fun seeing Emma Stone turn into a fashionista Harley Quinn, wondering what outfit she’d crash the party with next— though I don’t know anything about fashion, so mark me as easy to impress. The budget likely went to the costumes, the most realistic CGI dogs in any live-action movie to date, and the soundtrack— which, while it has highlights, mainly serves as an indictment of Craig Gillespie’s treatment of music. It’s laden with tired needle drops from front to back, pulling Nina Simone’s Feeling Good out as a boss-bitch anthem like it’s earned the stones to recontextualize that track. Paul Walter Hauser keeps getting better with each film, his accent game isn’t too shabby, and Emma Thompson is having too much fun as the icy, temperamental Baroness on a permanent ego trip.

    The last bit of praise I’ll offer before the spoilers knock down the whole house of cards is that the golden moth egg dress heist is genuinely funny. Making an entire dress out of moth eggs, faking a robbery so it would get locked in a vault— only to unleash a moth fiesta inside— is a satisfying middle finger to an authoritarian. Emma Thompson’s reaction sold the hell out of that moment.

    But the moral chandelier starts to snap when Cruella strolls up with a spotted coat and her cohorts exchange concerned looks. I realized, Oh yeah, we’re not getting away from the dog-killing issue, are we? Thankfully, the costume is a fake-out— but a foreboding one. Later, the Baroness deduces that Estella and Cruella are one and the same, ties up Cruella, Jasper, and Horace, and burns their apartment down— with Cruella threatening to kill her and your dogs as she leaves. Estella barely escapes with help from the Baroness’s valet, John (by the strength of Mark Strong), who reveals that the brooch is a key to a box containing her birth records. Turns out the Baroness was Estella’s biological mother all along— giving her away to Catherine so she could focus on her career (in a flashback that commits the sin of showing me a version of Mark Strong with hair).

    From here, any social, political, or philosophical commentary is tossed out so the script can double down on revenge. The paternal connection twist was predictable, but it’s still a lesser sin than trying to pass off Thomas Wayne as the Joker’s father. Yet the whole thing psyches out my main fear— that Cruella would turn into a dog killer— without addressing what kind of character is left in the absence of that extra sin. Without it, she’s just inherited her mother’s toxicity and talents. Capitalist girlbossing and rainbow virtue-signaling are hollow enough without Disney’s contributions to the neoliberal circlejerk, but this reductive hereditary nonsense blows the whole leg off.

    The further it goes, the harder it is to figure out who this was made for— aside from young girls into black-and-white. Unless this version of Cruella becomes as misunderstood as those who look up to Rick Sanchez and Walter White, I can’t imagine kids sitting through a crime thriller with adults fighting over fashion. It’s not selling any fresh political takes, but at least it doesn’t pretend to— unlike Joker. But in the absence of ideology, what’s left is franchise-padding— buying time before Disney has to remind everyone who this character really becomes. And if that’s not addressed, then I’m left asking the same question I had at the start:

    “Who really is Cruella?”

    2 ½ stars for the performances, costumes, and general digestibility— but overall pointless.

  • To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

    To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)

    Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

    This is one of those stories where I knew of its stature for as long as I can remember but was never assigned to read it in school, and I figured during a city-recommended self-quarantine for two weeks (even though I’ve tested negative and feel fine) would be the best time to read the entire book and immediately watch this. I can clearly see why it has garnered all of the respect over the years from educators, students, writers, and some aspiring lawyers, both young and old. The standout element to me, beyond the general appeal to human decency in the face of evil, the timeless theme of loss-of-innocence, the measured spare prose describing the nightly horrors lurking underneath Maycomb’s friendly facade, and the surprisingly forward-thinking (at least given the time and place this story is set in) views on gender, class, and race, is that this makes sense as the main prestige novel to teach American students about empathy.

    Gregory Peck and Mary Badham in To Kill A Mockingbird. TCM pressite. CB The Plain Dealer

    Time and time again, almost at the end of each chapter, Atticus stresses the importance of withholding judgment of one’s character until, say it with me, “you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” He understands that most people, in and of themselves, do not come out of the womb hating others based on the color of their skin. Everyone is a product of the environment they were raised in, extending from the setting of Maycomb, Alabama, to the culture, religion, and family histories that inform the politics of where they are raised. Atticus believes that every person does have some good or basic decency in them, taking this to a degree where even the lowliest, wicked, racist, and possibly incestuous people that live in Maycomb all have their emotional reasons for doing what they do, and at the very least they should be considered.

    That’s not an easy perspective to maintain, especially when such evil is at his doorstep or spitting in his eye. It also doesn’t mean everything is excusable, seeing as Atticus is speaking from his gut when he calls people who mistreat others based on race “trash.” It’s not any easier to hear or say in this day and age, having just come out of 4 years of the worst president of all time and still being left with his army of sycophants. But what this story does more strongly than a lot of other stories that take on this period and make it all about the white perspective is that this one is all about acknowledging the toxicity of the whites while simultaneously acknowledging the harsh conditions that would lead them to be toxic and how that hurts them as well. It’s not a story that’s interested in pointing fingers or going out of its way to make these racists seem not all that bad or worse, “very fine people on both sides.” The Ewells are the most tragic figures in the story, stuck in a cycle that’s now dragged the whole town into their shit but has ruined their family irrevocably, first and foremost. In my view, this story earns its “hurt people hurt people” perspective on empathy.

    I’ve read a couple of the criticisms of both the book and the film, many of which amount to putting it in the same company as any other neoliberal white savior narratives, and while I can understand where they’re coming from, even with this being my first time with this story, I believe that there is still substance and relevance to this. I’m not just saying that simply because it doesn’t measure up when I put it against other white savior narratives, both recent and much older, though that is a factor.

    The key difference here is that Atticus not only takes this case knowing damn well that he’s got a meager chance of actually saving Tom Robinson. He takes it knowing he could be caught in the crosshairs of the spiteful racism that’s been around long before he was born and will still be here long after he’s gone. He knows that the Maycomb residents won’t approve and will probably intend to hurt him and his family. He knows that the jury will still reach a guilty verdict no matter how compelling his cross-examinations and closing speech are. And he still sticks to his principles, does the hard work, and nakedly pleads to the better qualities in men, in his everyday work and everyday living, not in spite of the town’s hatred, but precisely because of it. Best of all, he didn’t do it for his own pride or out of any sense of guilt. At times, it almost doesn’t even seem like he’s doing it specifically for Tom because in Maycomb, that could have been any black man accused of rape. He did it for the sake of the future. He knew that the long journey of human progress begins with many failures of justice in order to achieve any of the major or minor successes that would make the records of history.  

    Having said that about him, when I read that Aaron Sorkin wrote the most recent Broadway adaptation of this with Jeff Daniels in 2018, I immediately thought, “Of course.” If what I said about The Trial of the Chicago 7 didn’t already make it clear, Sorkin’s talents for writing compelling court opera hit a political ceiling against his love of a character who is as well-spoken as he is, shares his views, and does unquestionably good deeds, getting in the way of the other voices within his stories and cheapening the dramatic function of the whole piece. But I am going off of my own prejudices built from years of watching his work, plus reviews of the performance that I’ve read from other people, so this is an incomplete opinion at best. It’s not to say anything about his bad habits taints this story or that now it sucks because he’s done it. After all, I don’t know. I haven’t seen that play, and unless it’s been recorded, I don’t know if I ever will. But on the surface, it makes sense why he would want to take on the ultimate do-gooder that is Atticus Finch.

    But forgive me, I’ve gone on for several paragraphs without even mentioning how this works as a movie adaptation. Again, I did not grow up with this, so it’s probably all the more reason it’s easy for me to say this, but I thought this was just fine. Not the best film I’ve ever seen, definitely not overrated, plenty to like, but I’ve got some discrepancies that I’ll just get out of the way now;

    First, this feels like watching the kind of movie where most of the director’s attention went to the performances and not much else. I know that it cost hundreds of thousands for Universal to build the backlot sets of Maycomb, but they still look like sets. I get that this takes place in the Depression, but none of the houses look like anyone is living in them; they look like sets! The editing also feels flat, mainly because many scenes end on notes of stilted silence between characters. There’s no cutting at the end of anyone’s lines. When the close-ups zoom in, I’ll be honest, I can’t tell if the effect was done at the time they were actually editing the film stock or if it’s something that came later in restorations, but either way, it kept knocking the frame out of focus or messing with the full resolution. It just didn’t look right.

    The final few criticisms that I have would amount to asking why so many supporting characters who had entire chapters dedicated to their relationships with the children are given a scene or two here, but I can understand it for the usual pacing reasons. I would have liked to have seen more scenes with the children reading to the racist Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose until she died in the process of kicking her morphine addiction because that shit was moving, but after seeing the cheap old-lady make-up job they did on Ruth White, I can understand why most her scenes were cut, for both practical reasons and the pacing. Though while I’m still complaining, I also don’t care for most of the score in this film, but that probably is more my taste over it being wrong or anything.

    Even the scene that Roger Ebert famously criticized, where the mob shows up to Tom Robinson’s cell and Scout talks to Walter Cunningham without reading the room for so long that he becomes racked with remorse, causing him and the rest of the mob to simply leave… Again, I can understand where he’s coming from when he called it a “liberal piety,” but let me purpose this; The late great Dick Gregory said once on the topic of police reform that the people who are part of the system have no reason to change themselves or it because it gives them nothing to lose by killing African-Americans and everything to lose should they ever stand up for an African-American, thus turning on the white community. “Do you hate me more than you love feeding your own children?” was the question he kept posing that stopped me in my tracks.

    I don’t want to pretend to know precisely what words may have been going through Walter Cunningham’s head when Scout talked him down, but based on his original intentions when he came in and his subsequent decision to leave, it may have been something along the lines of, “Do we really want to risk making this child fatherless?” I also don’t want to pretend that’s an epiphany that occurred to many real-life white mobs before the thousands of lynchings that took place in the south. But for the sake of making the point within the scope of fiction that even in the darkest and most hate-filled places on earth, there can emerge some humanity when working people realize what they’re about risk doing to someone, I believe that Lee’s script and the adaptation here succeed in demonstrating this. Throughout the whole story, Scout has already been learning that even the most spiteful people such as (Granted this is in the book, not the film) Mrs. Dubose and Aunt Alexandra may have better intentions or a side to them that has more depth than the bigotry (And it’s not shown to be easy to accept but it is there). This scene reinforces that point. Scout is just taking control of the situation herself.

    The performances are where this still shines. Even if this whole adaptation sees fit to just replicate the dialogue with some voice-over narration for a Harper Lee/Scout Finch stand-in, nobody on the cast is going on autopilot. What more can one say about Gregory Peck? This is the role he made into an instant household name. The film even gives him the entire 6 ½ minute oner courtroom speech, and it’s the only time it stops feeling like a play on a Leave it to Beaver set and actually looks and acts like a film. While reading the book, I looked forward to seeing who would play Maudie Atkinson and Rosemary Murphy is great, but I wish there was more of her in the film. The show’s real star is Mary Badham as Scout, who I can’t imagine had an easy role, having to navigate the already toxic subject matter as both a character and an actress, given what was going on in the country at the time of this film’s release. Lee’s narrator being an older woman looking back on her younger years with a wiser eye and ear for human behavior, gave the perspectives of the novel such weight. Badham pulls off an innocence that still cautiously believes in people’s basic goodness, and I’d say it’s a shame she didn’t act more, but I can respect her reasons for retiring early.

    3 ½ out of 5 stars to the film adaptation and 4 out of 5 to the book. That’s about all I have to reflect on after catching up with this classic—no intentions of going anywhere near Go Set a Watchman at this time.     

  • I Care a Lot

    I Care a Lot

    Rating: 1 out of 5.

    Hate to sound as if I’m saying that specific topics shouldn’t be joked about because everything should be joked about, but considering how many people just learned the level of control a conservatorship legally holds over their ward from Framing Brittney Spears last week, this is poor timing at best.

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  • Murder On The Orient Express (2019)

    Murder On The Orient Express (2019)

    Rating: 3 out of 5.

    A colorful, rich, and classical dive into the murder mystery we’ve all been waiting for.

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  • The Judge (2014)

    The Judge (2014)

    Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

    The trial that decided the relationship between father and son.

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  • Gutshot Straight (2014)

    Gutshot Straight (2014)

    Rating: 2 out of 5.

    A film about a gambling man who goes for a huge run on his money when picked up by a local richman.

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  • The Captive (2014)

    The Captive (2014)

    Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

    Losing a loved one is devastating. Knowing they’re still alive but trapped somewhere out of reach? Even worse.

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  • Rampage: Capital Punishment

    Rampage: Capital Punishment

    Rating: 3 out of 5.

    Wow. I don’t even know where to start with the messages in this film.

    Bill Williamson, the protagonist, is fed up—with the U.S. government, political corruption, systemic inequality, and the way the rich manipulate the law while the poor keep getting crushed. He doesn’t just say these things; he forces you to see them. His argument? That the government isn’t just influenced by money—it’s owned by it. Money is the law, and the system is rigged to keep power in the hands of the elite. Bill doesn’t just rant; he rewires your perspective on America—past, present, and future.

    And how does he deliver this message? By hijacking a news broadcast and unleashing an unfiltered, brutal manifesto. He tears into everything: healthcare, oil companies, war, political hypocrisy (calling out presidents like Washington and Obama), child casualties, and even pop culture distractions. It’s like he’s screaming every suppressed truth people have whispered about for decades.

    The film’s production? Solid but not groundbreaking. The action is standard—explosions, gunfights, nothing revolutionary—but honestly, I didn’t care. The message was too gripping to focus on technical flaws. Maybe they could’ve fleshed out Bill’s backstory more, but since this might tie into the first movie (which I haven’t seen), I’ll cut it some slack. Plus, the actor nailed the role—his intensity, his delivery, even his look was perfect. Character score: +1.

    Now, his methods? Absolutely extreme. But ask yourself: Would anyone have listened if he’d protested peacefully? How much do you really care about change? How far would you go to make it happen? Bill doesn’t just talk—he dares you to act. And while I didn’t agree with everything he said (let’s be clear, I’m not signing up for his manifesto), his arguments hit hard. As someone who already thinks about these issues, this movie was exactly what I needed.

    Fair warning: It’s violent. Bloody. Uncomfortable. But that’s the point—it’s supposed to shake you. If you can’t handle gore, harsh truths, or the sound of gunfire, skip it. But if you’re tired of sugarcoated lies and want a film that rages against the machine? Watch this.

  • 22 Jump Street (2014)

    22 Jump Street (2014)

    Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

    I haven’t laughed this hard at a movie in years. Like, actually had to pause it because I was wheezing. This is peak buddy-cop comedy—somehow even better than the first one, and that’s saying something.

    The plot? Basically 21 Jump Street but in college. Jenko (Channing Tatum) and Schmidt (Jonah Hill) go undercover (again) to bust a new drug called “WhyPhy” (which, yes, is exactly as stupid as it sounds). What follows is a ridiculous, self-aware, borderline-parody of college movies, bromance tropes, and even its own franchise. The fact that the movie knows it’s recycling the same premise just makes it funnier—like when Ice Cube’s Captain Dickson yells, “DO THE SAME THING AS LAST TIME! EVERYBODY’S HAPPY!”

    But what really makes it work? The chemistry between Hill and Tatum. Their “bro-ship” is the heart of the movie, and the way their dynamic gets tested (Jenko joining the frat bros, Schmidt falling for a girl) actually adds some real emotional weight—before they inevitably wreck everything in the most hilarious way possible.

    And the jokes? Relentless. From Schmidt’s terrible undercover name (“Jeffrakah”) to the entire spring break sequence (“MY NAME’S JEFF!“), this movie doesn’t let up. Plus, the end credits? Absolute genius. They mock every possible sequel idea (22 Jump Street: Medical School? 22 Jump Street: Space?!), and honestly? I’d watch all of them.

    Final Verdict: If you like comedies that don’t take themselves seriously (and can handle some very dumb but brilliant humor), this is a must-watch. It’s rare for a sequel to double down on the absurdity and stick the landing, but 22 Jump Street pulls it off.

    Best for: Fans of 21 Jump StreetThe Other Guys, or anyone who’s ever wanted to see Channing Tatum do backflips off a balcony.

    (P.S. The post-credits scene is essential. Trust me.)