Roadside Attractions
Elizabeth Banks and Sigourney Weaver in Call Jane
More than a century after the end of the First World War, this latest adaptation of Erich Maria Remarque’s landmark novel demonstrates that its story is still a powerful reminder about the futility of war, and how it kills souls even before it kills bodies. Paul Bäumer (Felix Kammerer) is one of several German schoolmates who enthusiastically forge their parents’ permission to enlist in 1917, only to discover the horrifying realities of what has been sold to them as a heroic enterprise. Director Edward Berger stages some remarkable battle sequences, including suicide charges through No Man’s Land and an assault by French tanks that feels like something out of a monster movie. And Kammerer’s performance perfectly captures a descent into darkness, from the harrowing scene involving the agonizingly slow death of a French soldier, to his thousand-yard-stare during a last-ditch Armistice Day assault. The scenes focusing on those in positions of power—including the leader of the German diplomatic delegation (Daniel Brühl) and a German general (Devid Strisow)—exist mostly for ironic juxtaposition, and inevitably lack the power of the battlefront sequences once you get the point that those not actually fighting the war were either bloodthirsty, stupid or ineffectual. “Anti-war narrative” may be a redundant term if the narrative is honest, but the terrific filmmaking here makes the idea chillingly urgent. Available Oct. 28 via Netflix. (NR)
Call Jane ***
Director Phyllis Nagy’s fictionalized story based the Chicago-based group of the pseudonymous “The Janes” collective—which helped women procure illegal abortions from 1968-1973—certainly hits different now than when it premiered at Sundance in January. Elizabeth Banks plays Joy, a suburban Chicago housewife in 1968 who faces a life-threatening medical condition if she continues her pregnancy, and can’t get a medical board to approve an exception. She reaches out to the Janes for her own termination, then becomes involved with helping the group. Despite the serious subject matter—and a terrific extended sequence of Joy’s abortion that captures her terror with her literal white knuckles gripping her bed—Nagy also finds ways to be playful in her storytelling. A scene of Joy inspecting her own genitalia for the first time is set to Malvina Reynolds’ folk tune “What’s Going on Down There;” Joy’s practice for performing abortions by scraping out pumpkin seeds cuts quickly to dozens of pumpkin pies on the counter. Banks plays Joy’s evolution, from moralist who judges many of The Janes’ clients to compassionate advocate, mostly with subtlety, though her experience inevitably gets tied into her rejection of “honey, why isn’t my dinner ready” gender-role expectations. The third act is a bit of a mess, rushing the transition of Joy’s husband (Chris Messina) from stalwart conservative to smiling ally, and relegating the 1972 Chicago police raid on the Janes to a brief mention. On the way there, however, it’s a humanized version of a politicized story that avoids getting high on its own righteousness. Available Oct. 28 in theaters. (R)
Decision to Leave ***1/2
Because Park Chan-wook has often trafficked in some fairly extreme content (Oldboy, The Handmaiden), it has been too easy to overlook what an extraordinary visual stylist he is. Here he’s taking on the kind of psychological drama that would have intrigued Hitchcock in his prime: Busan, Korea police detective Hae-jun (Park Hae-il) takes on the case of a man’s death while mountain climbing, and becomes obsessed with the victim’s widow, Seo-rae (Tang Wei), who might also be a suspect. Park and co-writer Jeong Seo-kyeong build a complex story involving Hae-jun’s long-distance marriage, and an interaction between the two main characters where it’s not quite clear which one of them is harboring the more unhealthy infatuation with the other. But while the tangled psychology might have been intriguing even with a fairly basic filmmaking approach, Park creates indelible images that heighten the tension, from the surveillance by Hae-jun that places him metaphorically in the same room with Seo-rae, to the editing by Park’s longtime collaborator Kim Sang-beom that can snap between timelines with brilliant juxtaposition. The film’s second half—which includes a shift that would involve some spoilers to explain—doesn’t quite maintain the same momentum, or fully pack the emotional punch that’s building up between Hae-jun and Seo-rae. Along the way, however, there’s the undeniable pleasure of watching a master figure out how material can be elevated by bold, sometimes hilarious, always unique choices. Available Oct. 28 at Broadway Centre Cinemas. (NR)
The Good Nurse ***1/2
In this based-on-a-true-story psychological drama, there’s a monster hiding where you hope to find care—and that’s true in both an individual and institutional form. In 2003 New Jersey, ICU nurse Amy (Jessica Chastain) befriends new co-worker Charlie Cullen (Eddie Redmayne), unaware that Charlie’s patients at his previous employment stops have a tendency to die unexpectedly. The close-connection-turned-suspicion between Amy and Charlie works thanks to two strong performances, particularly in an unnerving confrontation in a diner that turns on Amy’s genuine concern and affection for someone who has been kind to her. But while The Good Nurse gets plenty of mileage out of “your friend might be a murderer,” it gets even better once it becomes clear that the American health care system is even creepier. Between the stonewalling by ass-covering hospitals faced by two investigating police detectives (Noah Emmerich and Nnamdi Asomugha) and the desperation for health care that forces financially-strapped single mom Amy to work despite a life-threatening heart condition, there’s plenty of capricious, unfeeling villainy to go around. The chilly direction by Tobias Lindholm emphasizes how easy it is to function as a conscience-less agent of death in a place that proves less interested in saving lives than in saving itself. Available Oct. 26 via Netflix. (R)
Louis Armstrong’s Black & Blues **1/2
The title hints at a fairly specific focus for director Sacha Jenkins’ profile of legendary jazzman Louis Armstrong: connecting his career with his race, and how his personal feelings weren’t always reflected in his public persona. If only Jenkins had really seen that idea through. Structurally, it’s not exactly a cradle-to-grave biography, touching on his childhood in New Orleans mostly to note how his incarceration in a boys’ home allowed him to have music instruction, and otherwise bouncing through various points in his professional career. Jenkins has access to a treasure trove of material in Armstrong’s personal reel-to-reel tape recordings and journals, in addition to footage from talk shows and other public appearances, which allows for a deeper understanding of how the musician dealt with issues like performing in the Jim Crow-era American South. But Jenkins also can’t resist the kind of worshipful talking-head comments that are par for the course in “great artist” docs, recognizing his innovations as both trumpet player and vocalist in a way that feels completely disconnected from the more personal material—and that’s leaving aside how the film somehow finds time to address Armstrong’s obsession with taking laxatives. There are really two documentaries here—one a character study about a very particular challenge of Louis Armstrong’s life, the other a Wiki-doc—and it’s kind of a bummer every time Jenkins stops the first one in its tracks to noodle around with the other. Available Oct. 28 via AppleTV+. (NR)
Till ***
See feature review. Available Oct. 28 in theaters. (PG-13)
Wendell & Wild ***
It’s hard to think of a filmmaker so singularly visionary as Henry Selick who has so regularly been undercredited for his own movies, from “Tim Burton’s” The Nightmare Before Christmas to the prominent marketing of Jordan Peele for this latest stop-motion fantasy. Peel and Selick co-wrote the screenplay (based on an unpublished book by Selick) about an orphaned teen named Kat (Lyric Ross) at a Catholic boarding school who has the power to summon demons to the land of the living—which catches the attention of underworld-dwellers Wendell (Keegan-Michael Key) and Wild (Peele), who long to escape from their demonic daddy (Ving Rhames). The character content for the protagonist is kinda weak stuff, with Ross’s performance never really capturing anything unique in Kat’s anger and guilt over her parents’ death. What’s left is the imaginative detail built into this world, on a visual and storytelling level: Wendell & Wild finding that the supernatural Rogaine they apply to Dad’s scalp can raise the dead, but is also a narcotic; a creepy pull-string teddy bear that facilitates summonings; the afterlife of the damned as deadly amusement park. Best of all are the character designs, which resist the homogeneity of CGI faces to create weirdly unsettling original looks, like the zombie priest with the bashed-in noggin and undertaker’s makeup. Even if the story doesn’t connect on an emotional level, a movie that dazzles from start to finish practically defines a “visionary” like Selick. Available Oct. 28 via Netflix. (PG-13)