Buzz Blog

The Convert **
A little past the half-way point in co-writer/director Lee Tamahori’s period drama, Guy Pearce—as Thomas Munro, a lay minister recently-arrived to serve a British colony in 1830 New Zealand—gets one of those monologues that you just know was underlined in yellow highlighter as the reason an actor takes a part. His character dynamic, and his status as the “convert” of the film’s title, should be the engine that drives this narrative, even as it comes to focus on Munro’s involvement in the conflict between two Māori tribes, and his understanding that they both face a much greater threat from the coming surge of colonialism. But there’s something thin and uninvolving about the story, which also touches on stuff like the colonists’ anti-indigenous (and anti-Catholic) bigotry and the outcast status of a local midwife (Jacqueline McKenzie) in a way that feels superficial. Tamahori has spent much of the past three decades since his breakout feature Once Were Warriors on mainstream Hollywood action films, and he’s certainly adept at staging his action sequences despite the fact that digital blood sprays still look ridiculous. It simply feels like this is a movie built around the idea that its going to be rich in subtext and character development, while Pearce’s performance never quite pulls together the man Munro is and the man he tells us in that monologue that he was into something substantial. Available July 12 in theaters. (NR)

Dandelion **
If there’s anything that might provide a greater appreciation for the “people bonding over creating music” formula of John Carney (Once, Sing Street), it’s seeing that formula muddied by turning it into impressionistic drama. That’s what writer/director Nicole Riegel does in this tale of Dandelion, a Black aspiring singer/songwriter from Cincinnati who responds to a seeming dead-end point in her career by impulsively driving to South Dakota for a music competition at a biker rally. There she meets Casey (Thomas Doherty), a fellow musician, and the two connect quickly while collaborating on original songs (written by The National’s Aaron and Bryce Dessner). And just as quickly, they’re squabbling over Casey’s complicated family situation, and the tempestuous trajectory of their relationship moves too rapidly for it to make a connection. It doesn’t help that Riegel often opts for Terrence Malick-style scenes of disembodied voices sharing emotional thoughts while hands brush blades of grass, or the lovers are reduced to caressed ears. In theory, this should be a tale of Dandelion discovering her own creative voice, and there are a couple of effective scenes conveying the frustration of trying to find a song. It’s just too messy and unfocused at trying to grasp where Dandelion is on any given step of that journey, while Riegel is busy fussing around trying to make To the Once-der. Available July 12 in theaters. (R)

Fly Me to the Moon ***
It’s entirely possible I’m over-rating this just because the kind of breezy, mass-appeal, non-franchise storytelling on display here is so rare anymore, but for now I’ll just appreciate its simple pleasures. Set in 1968 – 1969, it follows a successful Madison Avenue ad exec named Kelly Jones (Scarlett Johansson) who’s recruited by a secretive government figure (Woody Harrelson) to boost the public-relations image of NASA—which was facing decreased public enthusiasm for funding space missions—in the run-up to the planned Apollo 11 moon landing. Jones’ presence runs against the no-nonsense sensibilities of Kennedy Space Center launch director Cole Davis (Channing Tatum), and their contentious flirtation provides a reminder that the big screen is 100 percent the place for attractive, charismatic people being attractive and charismatic to one another. Director Greg Berlanti navigates deftly between the lighter material involving Jones’ aggressive marketing campaign and the historical reality of NASA’s darker moments, but gets a little lost when the third act ends up focusing on a staged moon landing as a back-up plan in case Apollo 11 goes south (though Jim Rash is a delight as the fussy commercial director overseeing the project). It’s much more effective as a light-hearted look at the intersection between spin and sincerity, served up smoothly with a dose of star power. Available July 12 in theaters. (PG-13)

Longlegs **1/2
You’re doing something right when a full-tilt crazy Nicolas Cage performance isn’t the most unsettling thing in your movie, but writer Osgood Perkins fails director Osgood Perkins at matching a tone of bone-deep dread to an effective story. Maika Monroe plays FBI agent Lee Harker, whose apparently low-level psychic abilities are put to work on a decades-long serial killer case involving murder-suicides and mysterious notes left by someone called Longlegs (Cage). As a filmmaker, Perkins’ instincts are almost always impeccable, from the precision of his compositions to the nerve-wracking sound design to the judicious use of jump scares. Longlegs is well on its way to joining tales like The Silence of the Lambs and Seven at evoking a sense of being in the presence of genuine evil—until Perkins becomes too concerned with underlining that evil, and turning his third act into a massive exposition dump that tangles up supernatural elements with simple, awful human frailty. Monroe’s performance, meanwhile, which could have been part of a potent tale of religious trauma, ends up feeling frustratingly blank, and perhaps a too-deliberate attempt to provide counterpoint to Cage’s sing-song villainy. There are so many individual pieces here that could have built a dark horror classic, and they’re undercut by the decision to try to explain the inexplicable. Available July 12 in theaters. (R)

Robot Dreams ****
Pop culture has unfortunately narrowed the definition for what is considered a “love story,” but writer/director Pablo Berger’s dialogue-free adaptation of Sara Varon’s 2016 graphic novel applies a wonderfully unexpected sophistication to that concept, in addition to its more superficial pleasures. In a vaguely Zootopia-like version of mid-1980s New York City populated by anthropomorphic animals, a lonely Dog sends away for a mail-order Robot as a companion. Then the friendship that the two form is threatened by a forced separation, beginning a year-long odyssey. Berger gets wonderfully playful with the details of his setting—for example, choosing a Bonzo-like chimpanzee to represent this timeline’s version of Ronald Reagan—in addition to the multiple fantasy sequences hinted at by the title, most notably a Busby Berkeley-esque dance sequence in the Land of Oz. But beyond the picture-book aesthetics and fun little in-jokes about the story’s time and place, there’s a depth of emotion here, both in the idea of how we come to be connected with someone, and how we can choose to move on when those connections are broken. It’s one of those rare stories with the maturity to understand that love stories aren’t only about who we end up kissing in the final reel, but who leaves a mark on the person we become. Available July 12 at Broadway Centre Cinemas. (PG)

Touch **1/2
At the risk of artistic expression, we may be approaching a time when some sort of governing body will be required to assess whether a story really needs to be set during the COVID pandemic. This one opens in March 2020, as septuagenarian Icelandic widower Kristofer Hannesson (Egill Ólafsson) responds to the prospect of an impending dementia diagnosis by booking a trip to London to deal with “unfinished business.” That trip revolves around his youth as a radical student (Palmi Kormákur) in 1969 London, when Kristofer quit school to work in a Japanese restaurant, and fall in love with Miko (Kôki), the daughter of the restaurant’s owner. The narrative in writer/director Baltasar Kormákur’s adaptation of Olaf Olafsson’s novel flips back and forth between 2020 and 1969, and finds some effective melodrama both in young love and in Kristofer’s modern-day quest. But while it’s certainly possible to see the setting (and the story’s title) as a thematic nod to making personal connections before the opportunity is denied to you, given that Kristofer is already facing a deadline in terms of his own personal health, adding the ticking clock towards COVID lockdown feels like a hat on a hat—and that’s saying nothing of how the legacy of the Hiroshima bombing adds yet another layer of tragedy to the mix. The simple, relatable idea of making peace with past heartache gets jumbled up with a lot of extraneous exposition, and the realization that a deadly virus does little to up the stakes. Available July 12 in theaters. (R)