Is it black enough?

 AMERICAN FICTION (2023)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I've frequently said that satire, at its most definitive, can convey humanity through the situations that are being mocked or exaggerated. The beauty of debuting director Cord Jefferson's "American Fiction" is that what it satirizes is not only possible, it is happening. In fact, it has already happened and we are not necessarily the better for not recognizing it. 

Professor of English literature, Thelonious "Monk" Ellison (Jeffrey Wright), is up in arms over many things. For one, his class is facing hyperbole from one student who objects to the title of a book on the American South literature course he's teaching ("You are going to encounter some archaic thoughts, coarse language..."). This opening scene alone dictates the long-standing problem with universities in general, especially when you consider the book this film is based on ("Erasure") was written in 2001. Students often cry foul and have their sensibilities offended, and this is just one white female student who leaves the class in tears. But let's get back to the movie. Monk is told by the college faculty to take a leave of absence and reluctantly spend time with his family in Boston where he also has to attend a literary seminar with a sparse audience. The ball is not in his court.

Monk has a very loving mother who has Alzheimer's; a sister, Lisa (Tracee Ellis Ross), who is a doctor, and a brother (Sterling-K-Brown), a plastic surgeon who had a divorce from his wife because she found him in bed with a man. Lisa understands Monk and only wishes he was living closer to deal with family health issues - one that his sister suffers from after dying from a sudden heart attack. Monk has his departed sister cremated and now has to find assisted living for his ailing mother. This costs more money than Monk makes since his latest book may not have found a buyer - what to do? Inspired and rather annoyed by the success of the best-selling book "We's Lives In Da Ghetto" by writer Sintara Golden (Issa Rae), Monk opts to write a typically stereotypical melodrama with coarse language, to be sure, and archaic thoughts that inflate violent situations called "My Pafology" which later has a title change that starts with the letter F, not Ph. The manuscript not only gets sold but becomes an instant nationwide hit and Monk uses an alias, painting himself as some sort of wanted convict! 

"American Fiction" is fascinating in its complex portrait of family, and it makes no difference whether we are talking about a black family or not - the film firmly establishes any family as family. They have their universal problems of sickness, acceptance of some family members over others, romance, marriage, etc. It was crucial for director Jefferson to make that leap, which shouldn't in 2023 be considered such a leap. Jeffrey Wright, an unsung character actor who first exploded with fireworks in his portrayal of the artist Basquiat in the late 90's, effectively and with solid understatement shows a man who cannot comprehend this day and age. How can such a phenomenal writer who is not considered "black enough" contend with writing exploitation and showing black men as anything but regular people? (I still wonder what "not black enough" means, a phrase repeated frequently for the last 20 years or so). How can his new girlfriend actually buy that book that he can't admit to writing? How can he judge books as a juror when "My Pafology" is not only up for literary awards, it may actually win?

"American Fiction" is smooth, confident and never aims to be over-the-top. It has a harmonious balance between exaggeration, derisive humor and heavy drama. Writer-director Cord Jefferson deftly handles it with expert finesse, as if he has been a veteran director and has just made his magnum opus. I have seen films that have the rhythms of jazz and "American Fiction" is one that plays like a bittersweet jazz piece, one we need to hear more often.      

Murky Peruvian treasure tale

 CABO BLANCO (1980)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Well, here we go again when discussing a movie's seemingly obvious virtues falling short of its overall impact. "Cabo Blanco" has got the rugged features of Charles Bronson as a barkeeper, Jason Robards as a former Nazi, Fernando Rey as a chief of police, and Dominique Sanda as some sort of femme fatale. Plus, the added bonus of a distinguished action film director like J. Lee Thompson (his best is still "Guns of Navarone") should have made this film stand out from the pack. No, not really, yet "Cabo Blanco" is diverting enough as a curiosity and not much more than that.

An explosion takes place off the island of Cabo Blanco where some sea explorers are investigating the remains of a ship known as the Brittany - one man is killed. This Brittany ship means a lot to the ex-Nazi, Gunther Beckdorff (Robards), who is living on some palatial home on a hill overseeing all the fishermen who live modestly on the island. Sanda is Marie, some mysterious French-accented woman with no passport who knows Gunther and he is aware of her as well. These two both know that shipwreck holds an untold fortune at stake, allegedly gold. Somehow so does hotel owner and barkeeper Giff (Charles Bronson, a more tender tough guy role before he became a one-man army killing machine in the 80's Cannon pictures), who might have some inside information on that Brittany ship. Or maybe not. 

"Cabo Blanco" is quite entertaining in terms of rich atmosphere (the interior look of the bar is perfectly realized; the deep blue sea is enticing), an enveloping Jerry Goldsmith score that speaks high adventure and some decent performances. The plot hanging between four major characters (just barely a reminder of "Casablanca") is truncated and oscillates between murky details and curiously underwritten motivations (you'll quickly forget the presence of Simon MacCorkindale as a spy). Dominique Sanda's Marie is toothless at best with scant mystery or allure and her purpose, other than seeking the man she presumably loved who was also looking for treasure, is the only real mystery. Robards' Gunther is depicted as appropriately seedy yet he meets a rather anticlimactic finish. Fernando Rey is a colorful delight and Bronson, looking a little modern for a 1940's setting, registers with ample charisma. It is hardly a "Casablanca" but, then again, so few movies are.  

The Wolf is not the savior this time

 WHITE FANG 2: 

MYTH OF THE WHITE WOLF (1994)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Filmed adaptations of Jack London's classic novel, "White Fang," have relatively focused more on the human characters than the wolf hybrid known as White Fang. The 1991 film adaptation, which realistically evoked the brutal winters of the Yukon, showed some of the rough treatment White Fang endured by humans who only used him for dog fights and not much else. One young prospector, Jack Conroy (Ethan Hawke), kept the wolf as his hunting guide and the shift in perspective became obvious - the movie focused largely on Jack's adventures. "White Fang 2" is not based on any Jack London novels since a sequel was never written and squarely focuses on the human characters leaving our favorite iconic wolf's paw prints on the snow as opposed to on the screen. Still, for a Saturday matinee adventure that will keep kids and some young adults quiet for an hour and a half, it will do.

Ethan Hawke does an unbilled cameo turn as Jack Conroy, writing a letter from San Francisco to another young prospector, his friend Henry Casey (Scott Bairstow), and entrusting him with the log cabin, White Fang who loves to run around and, of course, the gold mine. Naturally, other prospectors have their eyes on the gold yet White Fang and Henry's rifle keeps them at bay. When Henry decides to go to town and collect some dough for the gold dust, his raft falls into the dangerous rapids and he's separated from White Fang. A young Native American woman named Lily, from the Haida tribe, is told to find the wolf who can supposedly shapeshift into a human and vice versa - Lily's father informs her of this since he dreamt it. Lily finds the wolf in the water, then happens to see an exhausted Henry emerge from the water. She believes he's the wolf who will free the caribou from the villainous miners so the tribe can free themselves from starvation. 

While watching "White Fang 2" unfold, I found there was not a single moment one couldn't anticipate. Everything is told like a clockwork, run-of-the-mill western, the likes of which nobody has seen since perhaps the 1950's. It is all so perfectly innocent and harmless that you wonder if this was some sort of undiscovered youth-centric adventure movie from back in the day. As soon as one sees Alfred Molina as a preacher, well, you just know he's not really a preacher. The whole business of the mine and the wall of rocks separating the caribou from the Native Haida tribe is straight out of either Lone Ranger or Davy Crockett, not Jack London. And there is precious little time devoted to everyone's favorite half-dog, half-wolf canine who sometimes frolics with a purely white-as-snow wolf (those scenes evoke a certain wonder about wolves that the movie could've used more of).

So if you want to see White Fang in action, it is only in spurts. Bairstow's boyish Henry Casey remains the hero and the savior of the Haida people (though one must also give credit to Charmaine Craig's Lily and her trusty bow and arrow). I might have preferred if this was Lily's story along with White Fang's - what if Jack entrusted the title canine to the Haida people? Lily is seemingly the heroine of the piece since she saves Henry's neck twice but then she's also the damsel in distress in a frantic wagon chase. It is all perfectly silly and not half as memorable as the 1991 film, but its breathtaking scenery and the details of the life of the Haida tribe in the snowcapped mountains of Alaska make for watchable entertainment.   

Wolves see humans as gods

 WHITE FANG (1991)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

You can't go wrong with turning Jack London's fiercely (and justifiably) violent and human story, "White Fang," into a decent cinematic effort. This 1991 adaptation has the tropes of wilderness life in a log cabin and the customary dog fighting but it is not told from the wolf's point-of-view. There is a new character created out of whole cloth known as Jack Conroy (Ethan Hawke) and therein lies the limitations of London's anti-violence text in favor of a young man's journey into continuing his late father's dreams. 

Not to say that "White Fang" is not fine, richly scenic entertainment - it is - but its only partially in keeping with the roughly hewn themes of Jack London's book. Here, Jack Conroy has come to the brutal cold winter season in the Yukon territory to stake his father's claim in the Gold Rush. He desperately needs help to get there and insists on traveling with two prospectors, Clarence "Skunker" Thurston (Seymour Cassel) and Alex Larson (Klaus Maria Brandauer), both of whom are carrying a coffin! Yes, the coffin holds a corpse and they all travel with sled dogs to bury the coffin at a remote site through the dangerous territory. Unfortunately, snarling ravenous wolves are on their tail. There's also James Remar himself, the villain du jour during the 80's and 90's of cinematic offerings, as the vicious Beauty Smith who buys and uses White Fang, the half-wolf/half dog, in illegal dog fights. White Fang runs into Jack twice and Jack recognizes him as an older wolf dog when he only glanced at the animal as a former pup for two minutes (how, I can't say).

"White Fang" has some truly marvelous, captivating scenic shots (all shot in Haines and Skagway, Alaska) - you want to be in that icy cold, inviting environment and have your own log cabin facing a lake. It certainly feels lived-in and lends to its wholly realistic setting, especially the harshness of the cold and the mountainous regions and ice. "White Fang" does swing unevenly between Jack and White Fang and Alex Larson, the latter who turns out to be an illiterate prospector who learns to read thanks to Jack. I would have preferred more scenes of White Fang and his survival against mean, violent men and his developing relationship and trust with Jack. Still, it is a solid adventure and a genteel enough family picture that all kids above the age of 8 can enjoy. The classic book is essential as well.   

New low in annals of comedy

DEUCE BIGALOW: MALE GIGOLO (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Original review from 2002

To describe "Deuce Bigalow" as childish, immature and an affront to all sensibilities is to lose sight of its intent. If it had succeeded in being all the above, it might have been a minor comedy hit. The problem with "Deuce Bigalow" is that it assumes tastelessness by its own virtue is funny. It is not.

Rob Schneider is Deuce, a fish tank cleaner who wants to score with some babelicious babes. He tries a female employee at a pet fish store but only in succeeds in getting a glimpse of her cleavage, unbeknownst to her. One fine day, while cleaning some gigolo's pool, he gets a job keeping watch of the gigolo's house and his prized fish. Deuce eventually finds himself in the enviable (or unenviable) position of being a gigolo, sometimes for a fee as low as ten dollars! The only major joke in this debacle is that he can barely afford a drink at a high-class bar with ten dollars. Hold the presses.

Meanwhile, we are subjected to jokes of rampant stupidity. Obesity, Tourette Syndrome, eating food in chlorine water, urinating in pools, cleaning feces in bathrooms are but a few samples of what passes for
humor. All these subjects could be funny if any humor was injected into them - they are not automatically funny by definition. I suspect many will determine the outcome of this movie within the first few minutes. What I didn't expect was to see a highly uncharismatic star like Schneider trying to one-up his mannerisms and incessant mugging. He is so grating that he gives new meaning to the phrase "a new low in the annals of comedy." To be fair, he has one solidly funny moment, just one. He has a moment where he gapes when he finds that the new love of his life has an artificial leg. This pretty much sums up the dreadful movie experience known as "Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo."

Dehumanizing class distinction

 SALTBURN (2023)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It is tempting to call the off-kilter, blackly humorous, sexually frank and deeply unsettling "Saltburn" a great movie. After all, it has a humongous final twist you don't see coming and it scoffs at the rich and powerful, showcasing them as nothing more than vain, cold-hearted people who just happen to possess a literal heartbeat. The latter may be the film's deep flaw, however, as it doesn't give us much of a chance to see the humanity of the rich or those who come from working class origins either. Everyone is dehumanized and the filmmaker chooses a dehumanizing approach. 

"Saltburn" begins as a fish-out-of-water semi-comedy of manners as we are introduced to new Oxford student, Oliver Quick (Barry Keoghan, exceptional in every way), who is mocked for his student jacket as he begins a semester at the most prestigious of U.K.'s universities. Oliver has a hard time fitting in and is angrily shouted at by another student whom Oliver refuses to ask a math question! Sure glad I am not that smart because I would not have lasted beyond a day at Oxford. Oliver is deeply smitten with a popular student, Felix (Jacob Elordi), and through apparent sheer intervention, they become friends as they drink merrily and spend time together. Oliver's father dies and Felix comforts him, little knowing the more troubling truths about this fish-out-of-water who came from Prescot, a small town close to Liverpool. 

Prescot is about as far removed from wealth as one can imagine, and Oliver is made to seem even more of a fish-out-of-water in terms of class distinction when he is invited to Felix's stately gated manor. Every room is the size of the most luxurious room you would find in an elegant hotel, and Oliver is quite taken by its size and scope. Felix lives with his parents, the loopy Sir James (Richard E. Grant) and the freewheeling candor of Lady Elspeth (Rosamund Pike, manifesting rather chillingly as a still life with a pulse). There's also Felix's sister, Venetia (an invigorating Alison Oliver), a nymphomaniac whom Oliver actually seduces. Between lavish parties and gratuitous karaoke, Oliver is not dismayed by the way the rich live - he's intoxicated by it and Felix and his family so much so that when it is time for him to exit the premises, he refuses. 

"Saltburn" is a compelling story though too often it feels like a demented freak show, daring us to look at the screen when we rather not. I am no prude to sexually deviant behavior but Oliver licking a bathtub after Felix has masturbated is not quite my cup of tea. Same with Oliver's seduction of Venetia which is colored by crimson lewdness and I will leave it at that. These sexually frank moments are just that, frank but hardly colored by any true eroticism. The goal here is to shock and writer-director Emerald Fennell does just that. You want to look away but you can't help but look - that is some kind of special gift this anything-goes director is willing to pursue.

Yet despite all the open sexuality and the sublime performances that teeter on the edge of theatricality, I was less than shocked by "Saltburn" overall. The characters are keenly-drawn personalities and they stick with you yet precious little humanity is divulged. Oliver is a little loony himself as he tries to have sex with everyone, male or female yet we are never sure of his motives, at least not till the end. He is a liar and a potential sociopath yet I never gleaned much more than that from him. Felix seems like the most normal of the bunch, a party animal as it were who can have his feelings hurt. 

While watching "Saltburn," it is superficially obvious that Fennell wants to present the rich as boring, bland, uptight people yet that is such a dull cliche at this point - there is no one to gravitate to or remotely care about. Felix's parents live a solitary life and have little regard for anyone or anything that impinges it. Same with Oliver, a young man who lies about his own family and craves Felix. The movie draws you in rather creepily yet distances us at the same time. You want to rub salt on the wounds you feel while watching this knuckle sandwich of a movie, instead of rubbing the salt on the wounds of the characters.  

Time-traveling Slashery goofiness

 TOTALLY KILLER (2023)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Youtube horror movie reviewer Cody Leach got it right - there is a subgenre of slasher horror that mashes good-natured sci-fi and fantasy and whatever else. "Totally Killer" is totally that kind of spirited, goofy, pop-cultured carnival mashup of a movie - a suspenseful time-traveling "Back to the Future" mashup with slasher tendencies of the "Scream" variety. Thankfully, those tendencies are kept to a minimum. 

The Sweet Sixteen Killer might be back in Vernon, a small town where not much happens. This killer wears a smiling Max Headroom-type mask complete with an arched eyebrow and, back in 1987, had stabbed three different high-school girls sixteen times on Halloween night. The latest victim in 2023 is not a high-school teen girl but rather a protective mother (Julie Bowen) of a high-school teen girl who has problems of her own, Jamie Hughes (Kiernan Shipka). Mom is attacked and killed by the supposed Sweet Sixteen Killer. Jamie can't hold back her tears and her father tries his best to soothe the loss. For a singular moment, I was reminded a little of Scott Derrickson's "The Black Phone" as the overcast tones gave off something unsettling in the air, not to mention the fractured relationship between Jamie and her parents. Pretty soon, though, the movie dives right in to Something Goofy This Way Comes as we see an amusement park that looks abandoned and unkempt yet still in working condition. Jamie is introduced to the park's one photo booth that is actually a time machine by her genius friend, Amelia (Kelcey Mawema). That's right, Amelia is a science wiz and no doubt that this invention would nag her a top prize at the science fair. When the killer comes calling for blood at the amusement park, Jamie hides in the phone booth and inadvertently activates it traveling back to 1987!  

Once she arrives in 1987, culture shock hits Jamie like a tidal wave of a most un-woke era. The high-school kids are mean and use words like "fat" and some unprintable sexual scatalogical language. Her future mother Pam (Olivia Holt) is actually mean and bullish as well (yep, a reference to "Mean Girls" figures here) and can't begin to comprehend Jamie's wagging-finger-of-shame at these un-PC high-schoolers. These kids are rough and play dodgeball fast and loose causing Jamie to have a bloody nose (oh, poor baby). Ultimately, the 1980's is hard living and DNA is still nonexistent so fingering the killer with evidence will be complicated. Jamie aims to protect her future mother and the other three girls from getting killed but can she convince them she's from the future? Can she also convince Amelia's mother? 

"Totally Killer" is a tasty confection to be sure full of refreshing surprises both comedic and horrific. The killer, an expert in karate, is truly a malevolent villain - his grinning mask is probably just as frightening as Ghostface from the "Scream" movies and the whodunit mystery resolution left me shocked. What truly stands out in all this tongue-in-cheek splendor is Kiernan Shipka who goes from dour teenager to an engaging young woman who has found herself in the dreary 80's decade - she may not appreciate the lewdness of the teenagers but she manages to help them find their humanity, including Pam. She makes them care and who would've guessed that we would find life lessons in a less gory, slightly elevated and highly entertaining slasher flick. Jamie changes history almost as often as Marty McFly did in "Back to the Future." This unusual movie almost made me want to go back in time to the 1980's. Almost.