The Nice Guys

The Nice Guys, 2016

Directed by Shane Black, 116 minutes

Ryan Gosling, Russell Crowe, Angourie Rice, Matt Bomer, Margaret Qualley

Review by Katherine Scheetz

             

From the pen behind the Lethal Weapon franchise comes a detective comedy with all the glam and funk of 1978.

              Gosling is Holland March, a scotch-soaked PI who, despite his chain smoking, ambiguous moral code and the gun in his cookie jar, makes an endearing contestant for father-of-the-year to his 13-year-old daughter Holly (Rice). They are a pair still dealing from the death of Holly’s mother – in very different ways.

Enter Jackson Healy (Crowe), a voluminous enforcer who is “not in the yellow pages.” He’s after March for following the daughter of a prominent figure in the Department of Justice, Amelia Kuttner (Qualley). March has been hired by the aunt of a dead porn star – one Misty Mountains – who Amelia has a mysterious connection to.

              The mob is trying to spread their porn operation to L.A. and Misty, Amelia and Amelia’s experimental-film-making boyfriend are involved somehow. The scruffy Healy, the squeamish March and a very Nancy-Drew like Holly team up to find out just how much, especially when hit-man John Boy (Bomer) is called in for clean-up.

              The storytelling is complex – paying homage to the cinematic grandfather noir films – which risks isolating the audience that is there for pure entertainment value.

Never fear, though, Gosling is here. The physical comedy this guy pulls with his breathing, his arms, his gag reflex, his groaning, his shaking – it’s downright hilarious. As if we need more to laugh at, Shane Black and Anthony Bagarozzi have penned a script that barely leaves enough space for us to breathe in between dry, profanity-ridden jokes.

              Production designer Richard Bridgland (American Ultra) and set decorator Danielle Berman (The Hangover) romance us with groovy mirror walls, mermaid aquariums, Yoohoo chocolate milk, rotating car shows and psychedelic lights. It’s a supersaturated delight.

              There’s no denying that Black has made us work to follow the story. But with a script for the ages and a team that’s up for anything, it’s not all work and no play, I mean, it is the 70s after all.

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Captain America: Civil War

Captain America: Civil War, 2016

Directed by Anthony and Joe Russo, 147 minutes

Chris Evans, Robert Downey Jr., Scarlett Johansson, Sebastian Stan, Anthony Mackie, Elizabeth Olsen, Chadwick Boseman

Review by Katherine Scheetz

             

              Marvel once again orchestrates a star-studded ensemble as only Marvel can. It’s the same rapport Joss Weedon brought to the Avengers franchise, this time, with both new and improved faces.

              Bucky (Stan) returns as the Darryl Dixon of Marvel, Black Widow (Johansson) sports her best look yet, Black Panther (Boseman) debuts with reverberations throughout the fandom and Spider-Man (Tom Holland) seamlessly keeps pace with seasoned avengers whose balls have actually dropped.

             

With civilian causalities stacking up circumstantial to the Avengers missions, they are called out to answer for the loss. A UN doctrine for bureaucratic regulation ruffles feathers and rifts friendships when Iron Man (Downey Jr.) surprises by signing in agreement and Captain America (Evans) abstains.

              Insert the pressure of the Cap’s longtime friend Bucky – the Winter Soldier – being caught up in an assassination plot, as well as a sneaky Slovakian psychiatrist (Daniel Brüel) holding onto video footage and an agenda of his own.  The result is a snappy superhero plot peppered with quips among super-friends.

              A now-displaced Wanda (Olsen) and synthetic Vision (Paul Bettany) share a few human moments that far surpass the forced-out kiss between Sharon Carter (Emily VanCamp) and Steve Rogers. Sorry Carter, no matter how good you think his biceps look holding a helicopter aground, you two have no chemistry.

             

Marvel’s secret weapon here is a chatty Peter Parker, ousted by the ever snarky Iron Man Stark via hitting on his Aunt May (Marisa Tomei). Holland’s promise makes our Spidey-senses twinge for more.

              The battle sequences are well shot with low camera angles that give it a grandeur equal to the scale of the film. It’s clear the choreographers had a blast putting the sequences together, testing the limits and creativity of each superpower present.

              There is no way to prepare for what writers Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely have created from Mark Millar’s comic, but hang on through the exposition for some serious power-punching twists.

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Criminal

Criminal, 2016

Directed by Ariel Vromen, 113 minutes

Kevin Costner, Ryan Reynolds, Tommy Lee Jones, Gary Oldman, Gal Gadot,

Review by Katherine Scheetz

Operative Bill Pope (Reynolds) winds up dead after an excruciating torture scene marked by electric shock to the teeth, with valuable anti-terrorist information in his head about asylum-seeking tech genius, “The Dutchman.” Experimental neurosurgeon Dr. Franks (Jones) is called to transplant Bill Pope into the head of Jericho (Costner) – who has a frontal lobe condition, making his brain the perfect blank slate to imprint Pope’s data onto. He also happens to be on death row.

Central Intelligence’s goal is to allow Jericho to get the anonymous “Dutchman” to safety, but both volatile characters go rogue and make more than a few uncalculated decisions. Jericho’s recall inevitably pulls Pope’s wife (Gadot) and daughter (newcomer Lara Decaro) into the race against time – and   a nuclear deal with the Russians. 

The CIA London office is HQ for this pseudo-sci-fi thriller, giving cinematographer Dana Gonzales the chance to paint a gritty picture of London with aerials of urban bustle.

However, this is a movie carried by its cast, particularly Costner’s enigmatic performance. He straddles the dichotomy of Pope and Jericho with gravelly grace, unadulterated rage against polished CIA training. Gadot is a willowy breath of emotion opposite him, haunted by her husband’s expressions that shadow Jericho’s face. It’s a moving duet of a performance, bulking up Gadot’s 2016 resumé of releases (Triple 9 and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice).

              The script is as accommodating as Costner’s fluidity – springing us from fluent French to ‘I’m speaking Spanish mother-effer’ in under 10 seconds. While Vromen’s thiller isn’t breaking any box office records, it’s a solid reminder that Costner hasn’t lost his touch.

             

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