Movie Review: The Good House

In one of her books of essays, Anne Lamott describes a young woman she knew who wound up in prison after a fatal DUI. In her AA group, the woman claimed she was not actually an alcoholic, just a social drinker with bad luck (Anne admits to having been the same way), but eventually, she was able to become more clear-sighted. No doubt, the protagonist of “The Good House,” based on the novel by Ann Leary and played by the always formidable Sigourney Weaver, would describe herself similarly, at least for most of the movie. Of course, many characters hint at or try more directly to correct this vision, but it would not be much of a film if Sigourney slapped her head and saw reason right away. Set in the coastal Massachusetts town of Windover, a town populated by stiff-upper-lipped WASPs, (and since I come from that stock myself), it was no shock to soon realize that under the facade of the picturesque landscape rested many, many problems for these pretty people. As in “Ordinary People” kind of problems, which if you ignore the updated technology, is strikingly close to “The Good House,” when it comes to the life lessons it ultimately imparts.

In the film, Sigourney plays a real estate agent with two adult daughters, two doting dogs, and a husband who left her for another man, and as a friend jokes, that would drive anyone to drink. But it’s likely her drinking began much earlier, and we learn early on (she breaks the fourth wall with a regularity I have not seen since “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off“) that in comparison to her deceased mother, she is not an alcoholic at all. In her field, though she makes sure to project confidence, she’s actually struggling to make ends meet, partly as the result of a former employee stealing her clients and leaving. Luckily, there appears a compensation in the form of grizzled Kevin Kline, the richest guy in town who owns a contracting business, a former high school flame, whose snappy repartee every time he meets Sigourney (including a midnight harbor dip while he’s fishing) clues even the most clueless viewer in right away that he is a Potential Love Interest (and future bed partner). Though Sigourney has completed rehab, these circumstances and the drama swirling around her social circle have caused her to well, backslid. We know where she needs to go, the question is how will she get there?

“The Good House,” mines familiar territory, but the two leads are a joy to watch together. I’ve been a fan of Kevin since “A Fish Called Wanda,” and Sigourney, since “Working Girl.” The movie has no deeper message to impart than, “It’s fine to ask for help,” but I was twenty-two before I learned this and Sigourney, it takes a bit longer, but she does get there.

Movie Review: Don’t Worry, Darling

Having been subjected to the trailer of “Don’t Worry, Darling,” approximately any time I went near my local theater, I confess with trepidation that after about a million viewings, I still didn’t entirely know what the “Victory Project” was going in, although I could make some educated guesses that mostly turned out to be correct. I was less accurate about the “big reveal,” and I went away from the movie with more questions than answers. Which is to say, I won’t give the major spoiler in this review, although I will make some comparisons to other movies that might give it away. (Or you may be smarter than me and have figured out the twist already.)

Though the Victory Project of the film appears in small scale on several occasions, in the wider scheme of things, lucky Alice (Florence Pugh) and Jack (Harry Styles) appear to be on top of the world when they move to a southern community near a desert expanse (here, unlike “The Black Phone,” the stark palms are entirely appropriate), with perfect climes, a heavily retro look, and plenty of stylishly dressed neighbors and colleagues of Harry’s at the project. The men depart promptly in the morning in candy colored cars after breakfast to the (presumable) office, leaving their wives free to gossip, house clean, and shop with their generous charge accounts. Still, being the kind of person who gets nervous when a store employee refers to me as “our guest,” my suspicions scaled up when a heavily tanned and gelled Chris Pine (as cult leader, I mean Victory head) appeared welcoming the couple to the “Victory family,” but then anyone who uses the term “changing the world,” in a non-ironic sense should be watched carefully. Harry and Florence are very much in the “honeymoon” phase and spend plenty of time enjoying each other, to the mild scandal of their next door neighbor.

Of course, cracks appear in the flawless facade early on. Why does Florence’s ex-friend Margaret issue cryptic warnings about how “We shouldn’t be here.”? Why do some of the eggs not have yolks or whites or any type of chicken by-product? Why does no one seem the least bit upset about an airplane crash Florence witnesses in the desert (and why aren’t there any newspapers or other media forms where Florence could get an update)? Soon Florence begins to suffer from hallucinations and believes her friend is right – though Harry just mostly wants the Big Promotion and a kid. Things get steadily more sinister, until it’s clear that Florence is being gaslit, and her life may well be at stake. While not as clever as “The Stepford Wives,” or “The Truman Show,” this is still a fun, suspenseful watch, and the set designers and wardrobe people should definitely get an Oscar nomination nod. And so should Florence.

Movie Review: See How They Run

Fun fact: My introduction to Agatha Christie occurred when my junior high teacher assigned us “And Then There Were None,” which featured a scene where a character hangs himself from a hook in his guest room ceiling, not exactly Great Literature but still a creepy read. Then if that wasn’t chilling enough, she let us watch a TV adaptation of “Four and Twenty Blackbirds,” also by Christie, which featured someone’s eyes being pecked out (at least I think that’s what happened after the bird swooped, and I shut my own eyes). Apparently, her goal was not just to expose us to the printed page but to scare the pants off us, as well. Like those two titles, the just-released “See How They Run,” is a line from a children’s nursery rhyme which sounds lovely when you sing it until you decide to actually listen to the lyrics. (Freud probably would have a good explanation for why so many nursery rhymes have dark roots.) The film is a murder mystery that features a cast of a play that’s also a murder mystery, and if you suspect that this means lots of wink wink, nudge, nudging at the concept of a murder mystery, you are correct. Very much so.

In the film, Saoirse Ronan plays a fresh-faced constable with a ubiquitous notepad who gets a break when she’s assigned to partner Scotland Yard veteran Sam Rockwell in investigating a Big Case by her superior who wants it to appear that he is a feminist of sorts. The setting is 1953 West End London where the play “The Mousetrap,” by Christie (based on a real-life case of child abuse) is enjoying success to the point where Hollywood producer Adrien Brody is visiting because he wants to make a film adaptation. Alas, he butts heads with the scriptwriter (a flamboyant David Oyelowo having a blast), not to mention ruffles a few other feathers of cast members while he’s at it. When Adrien turns up dead, it’s up to Saoirse and Sam to interrogate the players. Of course, there’s no shortage of suspects, including the lead actor (Harris Dickinson) who has a love child; the producer who is having an affair with his assistant; even the lowly usher gives his opinion on the matter. There’s even suspicion cast on one of the detectives by the other. It culminates in a dinner at Agatha Christie’s house (yes, really) in which all the characters assemble, the real murderer is revealed, and it’s up to our detective duo (with help from Agatha) to bring about justice.

The film has fun playing with the usual murder mystery tropes and making references you may or may not get. While not all of this is as amusing as it might have appeared on paper, it’s still an enjoyable watch which does not overstay its welcome and in the desert of unoriginality that is cinema currently, its effort is appreciated.

Movie Review: The Invitation

Perusing reviews of new movies a couple weeks ago, I was pleased to read one that announced that “The Invitation” was a “must-see.” The trailer had looked underwhelming, but perhaps I had misjudged it. Moreover, it was a “stylish” thriller, always a good sign.

Unfortunately, as I soon realized, I had the wrong “The Invitation.” But since there wasn’t much that looked appealing at my local multiplex this week, I decided to give it a go and see the just-released one.

In it, Nathalie Emmanuel (Game of Thrones) plays a young woman in a Big City who is a struggling artist with a catering job, a snarky best friend, and minimal financial resources and family support. (Yes, I’ve seen this movie before – literally three weeks ago, i.e. “Emily the Criminal.”) On her birthday, she takes home a swag bag from a party she worked which offers a free DNA mail-in test. Since Nathalie’s mother recently passed and she has no other known relatives, she takes it, and soon gets the results when extremely white Hugh Skinner’s photo pops up on her phone. When she meets him, he promptly invites her to England for a relative’s wedding, and as it turns out, he lives in a lavish estate with his extremely white extended family and staff (whose maids oddly wear numbers on their aprons). However, almost everyone is warm and welcoming, and it turns out that non-related Thomas Doherty is fascinated by Nathalie, despite a rough start. Soon they’re exchanging smoldering looks in the icehouse as fireworks explode on the lawn, but of course, all is not what it appears to be.

Indeed, Nathalie should have taken into account when she arrived the three warnings of every horror movie setting: minimal light, a forbidden room and complete lack of modern technology and vamoosed, but there would not be a movie otherwise, so soon the Big Secret is revealed and the film skids off the rails merrily and goes full camp. Indeed, it turns into several Stephen King movies simultaneously, as Nathalie finds herself a prisoner and must fight for her life. To be fair, Nathalie makes a badass heroine and gives it her all, even as the movie morphs from a horror to a comedy. But let’s just say, she won’t be returning to her old life anytime soon. Her future makes Aubrey Plaza’s credit card fraud in “Emily” look quite dull in comparison.

Movie Review: Gigi and Nate

This is slightly OT, but I really admire British actors for one reason. Which is: They almost always manage to play Gotcha with their true accents, and only after two hours plus as watching them pass as an American character on the big screen, do you check their bio online and marvel, “I didn’t know he was British!” It took me years, for example, before I realized Andrew Garfield was a Brit, since I first saw him “The Social Network,” and he seemed as American as the rest of the cast. Ditto Ed Westwick who starred in the TV show “Gossip Girls.” Anyway, the star of one of the sacrificial Labor Day cinematic lambs, “Gigi and Nate,” is Charlie Rowe, a British actor, (with the earnest charm of a young Jake Gyllenhaal) who does an excellent job with a role that requires the use of a wheelchair, and he does NOT get a scene where he goes full cripple and thrashes about howling at the unfairness of Fate. That alone helps make up for the rather familiar arc that healthy characters undergo when suddenly struck by illness that incapacitates them. And also, the co-star, a Capuchin monkey (likely played by several as she changes appearance noticeably) is darn adorable.

In the film, which is based on a true story, Charlie plays Nate Gibson, a college-bound young man enjoying himself with his buddies and family on the Fourth of July. After jumping from a quarry, he heads out to pick up fireworks and flirt with a cute townie before going out on a friend’s boat. Though he experiences severe head pain, he tries to shrug it off, as his family (headed by Jim Belushi and Marcia Gay Harden) sits down to say Grace before digging into their dinner. Alas – symbolism alert – the heavens open, and soon after they seek refuge inside, Charlie is found writhing on the floor of their home. His mother arranges to have him helicoptered to a decent hospital where after tests, he is diagnosed with meningitis and given the prediction that even if he survives, he will suffer cognitive and physical deficits. Fast forward four years later, and his mother arranges for Charlie, who is back home, paralyzed in a wheelchair and undergoing therapy, as well as severely depressed, to get a service animal.

Enter Gigi, the aforementioned monkey, who after a rough start, bonds with Charlie and motivates him to improve, even helping him back into a social life. But when the duo attends a party, they attract the attention of an animal rights activist who makes it her cause to change state laws that permit monkeys to be used as service animals. This sets the stage for a courtroom drama and the struggle to keep Gigi. Eventually, yes, there is a happy ending. If you like animal bonding movies, this is a film you will likely not escape tearing up from at least once. “Gigi and Nate,” like this year’s earlier, “Dog,” doesn’t just tug the heartstrings, but plays a whole dang symphony on them. So your eye leakage may vary, but then it might mean you just don’t possess a heart.