★½
“Credit where credit is due…”
When the best part of a movie is the opening credits, we have a problem. That’s the case here, with an 007-influenced montage that feels as if it cost more than the entire rest of the film to put together. However, by that point, the movie was already on thin ice, because the volume of the music was roughly three times that of dialogue in the pre-credit scene. Lunging repeatedly for the button on the remote is always a red flag for any indie movie, and proved accurate here. The same goes for the gratuitous name-checking of much better black heroines, such as Christie Love and Cleopatra Jones. They just draw attention to the deficiencies here – not that they are hard to see.
The unusually named heroine (Lamb) is a former stripper turned insurance fraud investigator, and unwillingly accepts a case to look into the disappearance of 16-year-old girl, Ny’Kia (Elizabeth). She had become part of the retinue of former gangster turned pastor, Caleb Truth (Chandler, who looks like you ordered Snoop Dogg on wish.com). He is supposedly a reformed character, and speaks all his lines in rhyme. This is an affectation which grows steadily more annoying, every time he speaks. It seems it may even have irritated the makers, because that thread – which I’d have thought would have been the main plot – is ended, alongside Truth’s doggerel rapping, with relatively little trouble by Ebony, when there’s still half an hour to go.
The remaining time is largely filled by Ebony’s romantic entanglements. She’s a highly predatory cougar, which seems something of a double standard, considering the way she goes after Caleb Truth, for activities that aren’t really that different. There are also far too many unconvincing FaceTime conversations, though at least these are largely free of the audio issues which infect many of the face-to-face scenes. There is one which does work, between Ebony and former husband, police detective Wayne (Stevenson), both expressing regret over their shared past. Both actors are convincing, and it offers a rare moment of emotion which feels genuine here. It helps it’s understated and quiet, standing in sharp contrast to the shrill yelling and show-boating which permeates just about every other moment.
I can see where the makers were trying to go. It’s just that they managed to ignore all the elements which made black heroines of the seventies so memorable. Here’s a clue, it wasn’t flirty chat-chat with younger men over the telephone. Not to say the likes of Foxy Brown weren’t sexual creatures: it just never felt it was their main raison d’etre. Here, it feels like… well, Ebony may have left the strip-club, but the strip-club never left Ebony. Her crime-fighting trails in, a long way behind and seeming little more then an afterthought. Any time this feels like it might be achieving its ends, something happens – such as Ebony’s boss appearing, an early contender for worst actor of the year – and it all comes crashing back to earth.
Dir: Jamezz Hampton
Star: Michelle l Lamb, Andrew Chandler, Ryan Elizabeth, Joel Stevenson


Brown is definitely among Netflix’s golden girls. After breaking out with an ensemble role in Stranger Things, she has taken an action turn, starring in
This is a sequel to
Maya Stern (Keegan) is having a rough patch. A former helicopter pilot in the military, she was sent home and discharged under murky circumstances. While she was away, her sister was killed in what looks like a botched burglary, and not long after her return, husband Joe is also shot and killed in front of Maya, when they are walking in the park. But is everything what it seems? Because when checking the nanny-cam monitoring her young daughter, Maya sees a shocking site: her supposedly dead husband visiting the house. This kicks Maya into an unrelenting search for the truth, which will send her down a rabbit-hole and uncover a lot of sordid secrets, dating back decades.
I guess, if you want to watch a woman crawling along a series of ducts for an hour and a half, this is the film for you. I’m afraid it’s just not a particular fetish I share, so the appeal of this is largely lost to me. Lisa (Weiss) lost her daughter in a tragic accident and has been plagued by guilt ever since. She wants to end it all, and to that end, is lying in the middle of the road, when she is convinced to accept a lift from passing drive, Adam (Franzén). Except, he turns out to be a roaming serial killer, who knocks her out. This is where it gets weird, since she recovers consciousness to find herself in a twisty little maze of passages, all alike.
★★★★
This is far from the first time we’ve covered films, series or documentaries about Griselda Blanco, the drug boss who ruled Miami with a lead fist in the eighties. There was Colombia narconovela
It’s kinda inspiring, weirdly. Early on, the series can be seen a twisted version of the American dream, where an immigrant can come to America, pull themselves up by their bootstraps, and anyone can achieve success if they work hard. The reality is, Blanco didn’t arrive in Miami seeking asylum from domestic abuse, but fleeing increased law-enforcement heat for drug trafficking in New York. Not exactly what Vergara
In terms of production value, this is definitely several slices above the other efforts, even if Los Angeles stood in entirely for Miami (the latter no longer resembling what it was at the time). Of particular note is the make-up work on Vergara. It must have been a challenge, because events unfold over a significant number of years: your lead is, obviously, more or less fixed at a point in time. Initially, there’s little of note, but it gradually builds up, in a way that’s so subtle you might not notice. Until, by the end, you suddenly realize the character no longer looks like the actress. Though still rather prettier than the real Griselda.
This feels a little like a Dutch cross between the stories of Joan of Arc and William Wallace. It’s a couple of centuries later than either, taking place (as the non-Dutch title states!) in the 16th century. The Spanish armies of the Catholic King Philip II were sweeping across Europe, reaching as far North as the Netherlands. Some cities capitulated; others resisted. Among the latter was Haarlem (to use the Dutch spelling), where legend states a woman called Kenau Simonsdochter Hasselaer led an army of 300 women in defense of the city. The more prosaic reality is that she may have helped in fortifying the defense, though the amount of reliable historical data about her is scant in the extreme.
In various places, the title for this is “a Lady”or “the Lady” fighter: I’m going with what’s firmly stated on the opening credits of the print, ungrammatical as that may be. It’s a Filipino product, but unlike the New World Pictures of the early seventies, is an entirely domestic production. Though in many ways, it feels almost like a Taiwanese chop-socky flick, taking place in a rural village, beset by bandits. Into town strolls wandering martial arts master Ming (Ortega), who agrees to teach the locals his self-defense skills, albeit only following a stern warning about what will happen if they use them for revenge or gain.
Not to be confused, in the slightest bit, with
The first