Reviews

There is a decent analogy, one that applies itself rather well at times, between the production of a streaming media limited series and the weaving of a tapestry. There are, in each, thousands of threads that comprise the final product. Each thread, when woven correctly, will be drawn tightly against the threads before and after, neither too loose nor too tight. Done successfully, there will be an understandable, recognizable image created that draws the viewer easily into its theme. It is an analogy that can be carried into a multitude of aspects.

Lessons in Chemistry is as finely woven a tapestry as could possibly be created. It glides through frames of time as smoothly as silk, shifting from Elizabeth Zott's storm-battered childhood through the academic gender discrimination of the fifties and into a time of rising above. The screenplay is masterfully written, and Brie Larson's depiction is superb. Within all those movements in time, the characters she and the supporting cast and the brilliant script bring to life, change and grow in perfect synchrony. This is character development at its finest.

Hoping not to stray too far down the analogy path, I will merely add that all the threads in Lessons in Chemistry have been woven into a gorgeous, brilliantly colored, work of art.

You do have to pause and consider why some reviewers feel the need to critique a series based on some technical flaw they hit the rewind button six time to find. Was it their compulsive need to put their vast expertise on display for the rest of us to marvel at? "I've driven since I was sixteen and that six-minute car chase through the streets of Paris just didn't look real to me (based on that driving experience, and the little woman and I visiting Paris back in '82.)" Do they yearn for those former days of glory and the reality in the series just didn't do it for them?

One reviewer of the series Vigil grumped-undoubtedly from genuine experience-that the submarine shown in the episodes was far too wide to be real. The first question for that particular reviewer was, "Have you EVER watched an airplane film, any type of airplane film? Bad guys, heroes, innocent passengers, frantic flight attendants, and at least one cockpit crew member all running through the plane's aisles. Never a drink cart in those films." Second question would be, "Wouldn't a documentary suit you better?"

Technical aspects of most action/suspense films are stretched across the spectrum, from fairly accurate to the absurdly unbelievable. Bullets bounce off a three-quarter galvanized pipe our hero is hiding behind. A guy gets punched ten times with blows one of which would hospitalize him. And we accept it because it is film. It is supposed to suspend our imagination.

Vigil is an excellent series from a suspense and mystery point of view. It is gripping and intense all the way through. The at-sea/on-land intermix is in near perfect balance. It is multi-layered enough for even the most discerning viewer. Suranne Jones and Rose Leslie give us their typical exceptional acting abilities, and the rest of the caste is superb. And believable (if you can just get beyond that submarine hull being a tad too wide.) Enjoy it, it is highly entertaining.

Start with Midge Maisel, the show's iconic lead character, and let your memory slide back through five seasons. As you scroll down (or back if you prefer) and touch upon names like Susie Myerson, Joel, Rose, Abe, Moishe and Shirley, you begin to realize that you can remember them all. Quite distinctly. And then you might ask yourself how that comes to be. We are talking five years worth, right? With a little reflection, the answer becomes apparent--great acting, great writing, great directing, and costumes to beat the band (to employ a hackneyed but appropriate cliche.)

These memorable characters are that way because they were brought to life. They had humorous, wistful, sometimes tragic aspects to their personalities, all of that stemming from the show running attributes listed above. They were nuanced characters. Look no further than that signature turning of the palms and a slight shrug of the shoulders from Lenny Bruce. A simple gesture that spoke a multitude of emotions. A simple gesture we remember--and likely will for years to come.

There was only one viewing flaw, in the reviewer's questionably humble opinion, and quite minor considering the superb complexities developed over the five seasons. As the show neared its completion, an enormous amount of plot and character resolution need to be set forth. To do this, flashbacks and flash-forwards were used to satisfy the end-stories of all those memorable characters. This had at times the sensation of a plucked elastic band. If that was the only flaw in its history, then The Marvel Mrs. Maisel should be placed with all due honor in that highest of categories--A Classic.

I lived in Williamsburg at the time of the filming of The Patriot. I was five years old and my family lived in the restored Carter-Saunders house next to the Governor's Palace. My school-mates and one of my brothers were extras in the film, so my perspective and review are undoubtedly biased to the positive side. I won't, however, recuse myself from writing this.

The Patriot should not be judged and compared to full-length theater films. It has none of the usual attractions--musket or sword battles, major drama between characters. It has one major character development--John Fry's growing transformation into a colonial rebel. It was intended as an introduction to Colonial Williamsburg's history, the reason for Winthrop Rockefeller's dream of restoring the original capital of the thirteen colonies to its earlier glory. Seen in that regard, the film is highly successful.

As a child I watched hundreds of people daily view a thirty-seven minute film and see Williamsburg come to life in 1775. I would play checkers with the projectionists once the film was rolling, always aware that our game needed to be finished within a half hour. So, I watched the film hundreds of times and saw thousands of people from dozens of countries become immersed in colonial history. Quotes from the script still return to me in my septuagenerian decade. That is the mark of a classic. As mentioned, I am aware of my tendency to the positive here, but to this day the camera-work, the opening scene coming through the brush into John Fry's plantation return. Viewed this way, this film is a classic and should be seen by everyone.

The question just keeps returning. Why are good comedies so rare? This question arises as soon as the credits start rolling on most of the comedies created these days. Simply stated, they are of very low quality--usually due to low-low-brow scripts. Some script writer (and likely and editor or two) pumps out a series of scenes replete with toilet jokes, wise-cracking juveniles, alcohol-saturated, immature T & A humor. Not a winning combo.

Only when there is a combination of creative, well-considered writing, good direction, good acting, and all the other necessary components does a comedy become a classic. When there is conflict, memorable, perfectly delivered lines, and tight editing, does a comedy become great. My Cousin Vinny great. Too often laziness seems to persist.

Aloha deserves partial credit for being on the plus side here. It isn't a classic, or even close, but it is worth watching. It veers from the hot tub humor and gives us a fun, upbeat look into a different side of military life. It is funny, quirky, and well acted. It isn't over the top with all of the above-mentioned low-brow humor. And, it has sweet romance developing at the correct pace. It deserves more consideration and better ratings.

There is far too often, among a select group of reviewers, a belief that if a single aspect of a film or series isn't to their taste, it immediately deserves a 1. "I really just don't like that supporting role actress. I'm grumpy this morning, giving it a 1."

This group does not comprehend film craft in the slightest. There are, especially these days with ever-increasing cinematography enhancements, a widening range of facets to every production. From sound track, editing, lighting, costumes, scripting, dialogue delivery, all the way through to CGI, the amount that goes into any production is multi-faceted. Multi, multi-faceted. Not all of them need to be reviewed, but they should be considered as part of the package. To critique a film or series based on one or two aspects is displaying evidentiary lack of understanding.

Daisy Jone and the Six may have an attribute or two that a reviewer doesn't particularly enjoy, but it most definitely doesn't merit a 1. The soundtrack alone should raise it to a mid-level rating.

As to how I view this series--it is entertaining and reminiscent of times when FM radio was new and edgy, when Firesign Theater came on at midnight. It has nuanced characters, with a storyline realistic enough for those of us who lived in Los Angeles in the sixties and seventies, and the music tracks elicit fond memories of the early clubs. And yes, I went to the Troubadour and The Golden Bear. And having gone to Berkeley, I saw more concerts at Filmore West and Cow Palace than most.

So . . . Keep in mind that there are hundreds of people who have dedicated time and skills to most productions. Keep it real, and don't let your singular disagreements cloud your judgement.

So many shows these days mistake rapid-fire dialogue for wittiness. It is an attempt to make the character sound quick and with it, but it frequently makes them have dialogue that sounds forced and pathetically unfunny. That is the case here. The first of a few flaws. The quality shows have characters that speak with natural rhythm. The development and interaction flows evenly and the humor is naturally funny. The characters in The Lake come out of the starting gate trying to entertain the audience by forcing the issue. There is also a believability factor missing here. The relationships just don't feel real or believable.

It is a rarity to encounter a series so powerful and finely crafted that it prompts me to proffer ten stars and write in superlatives. The Queen's Gambit does that unconditionally. The musical score, cinematography, directing, acting, and storyline weave a masterpiece that will endure the pillage of time. No doubt in my mind at all.

At its core, the series is a study of genius. And what a delightful subject to study in a time when intellect, science, math and aptitude are too often relegated to second chair behind footage of a spectacular one-handed catch. Center that genius in a nine-year-old orphan girl coping in an often uncaring society, and the study becomes even more fascinating, more pertinent. And like so many luminous minds, Beth Harmon's is accompanied by an always present, nagging vortex of darkness. That is a true study of genius.

The Queen's Gambit does something else extremely well worth mention. It depicts how other cultures and countries give praise so freely and easily for great minds, and how we seem to fumble at that.

Beth Harmon will be for me a complex, fascinating, simultaneously tragic and triumphant character on the same level as Lizbeth Salander. That is high praise indeed.

There have been films that have dealt with this same subject that have come before this one. Some have done it well. None, however, have lifted me, tugged at every emotion, and allowed me (an older man) to weep honestly. It is that simple for me.

That being stated, I tend to view films by looking at underlying features--the directing, the sound track, music, cinematography, and the acting. All were excellent in Me Before You. Kudos to Emilia Clarke, Sam Claflin, Jo Jo Moyes, and all others involved.

Thank you for letting and older man enjoy this beauty.

There are few films these days that take bona fide chances. Most productions coming out of Hollywood are formulaic, predictable, and saturated with commonplace. They rely on the same time-tested magnets--special effects, violence, some titillating romance, or toilet jokes.

Occasionally a movie comes along that breaks that pattern and changes our perspectives, The Artist being a fine example. Moonrise Kingdom not only takes chances, it does it with zeal. Daring is at the heart of this film. Start with the acting. Edward Norton is exceptional as the over-zealous Khaki Scout leader. Bruce Willis and Frances McDormand take infidelity to a new and hilarious level. And Tilda Swinton, what can you say about a character who refers to herself as Social Services? Every character makes us laugh, cringe, and simply, truly feel their personality. Now move to the screenplay, the use of maps, a narrator, impending hurricanes, social upheaval on a small island, and the anxious calm of young misfits running away from it all.

Films like this, the ones that can't quite be compartmentalized into neat genres, are incredibly difficult to bring off. Moonrise Kingdom does it with a boldness not soon forgotten.