Tag: crime

The Queen of Hollywood Blvd.

  By

★★★
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”

This is definitely not your typical action heroine. For it’s Mary’s (Hochschild) 60th birthday when the events of this film unfold. She runs a long-running strip club on the titular location, when Duke (Smith) spoils the party, by demanding she hand over ownership of the establishment, to settle a loan taken out decades earlier. Mary isn’t having any of it, and when Duke’s lackie Punk Rock Charlie (Berkowitz) shows up to take over, she beats him up and leaves him for dead in the Bronson Caves – which, as the film helpfully tells us, was used as the Batcave for the Batman TV series. But Duke is ahead of her, and has kidnapped Mary’s son. To free him, he demands she do another job: kill an accountant who is being too talkative for Duke’s liking. 

Unfolding over the course of a single day, there are some interesting elements to this, yet it’s very definitely a mixed bag. Not least among the former: the director is Hochschild’s son, and also plays her son in the movie. She is probably the film’s strongest card; in virtually every scene, without a good performance, this could well have been unwatchable. She puts over a proud, fiercely independent character, who refuses to compromise her morality. We see this early, when she rescues underage Grace (Mulvoy-Ten) from the pimp trying to sell her. Yet she has no qualms about later using Grace to get to the accountant, because her son is simply more important to her. It makes for a fascinating character, one not often seen on-screen among women her age.

Less successful is… Well, a lot of the other stuff. The supporting characters, in particular, rarely rise above a series of clichés. [I’ll give an honourable pass to cult star Michael Parks, in his final role before passing away, even if he does look like death not very warmed up] The pacing is also off, especially at the end, where 45 seconds of action takes about 10 minutes to unfold, thanks to some extraordinary languid dialogue, plus Oblowitz’s love of slow-motion and the glaringly obvious. I mean, did we really need to have her friends cart a throne into the strip-club for Mary to sit on, purely to emphasize the title?

A number of other reviews have compared Oblowitz’s style to Nicolas Winding Refn, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s not a good thing. There are times when I had to suppress an urge to make a “hurry up” gesture towards the screen. Considering her son had been kidnapped, Mary’s lack of urgency seemed questionable, especially when it seemed to be for no other reason to allow Oblowitz his directorial flourishes. The strength of Mom’s performance renders the flashier elements superfluous, and they may even take away from it. Oh, not that it matters, but I strongly suspect the exterior of the club is actually “played” by legendary strip-club Mary’s in Portland, which at one time employed Courtney Love.

Dir: Orson Oblowitz
Star: Rosemary Hochschild, Ana Mulvoy Ten, Roger Guenveur Smith, Matthew Berkowitz

Queen of the South, season four + five

  By

Season 4: ★★★★
Season 5: ★★½
“There’s only one way to be safe in this business — be powerful enough that no one can touch you.”

I only just realized that I had not reviewed the fourth series of Queen of the South at the time of its broadcast. I’m not 100% sure why that slipped my mind; it may have been a reaction to the rather underwhelming nature of the third season. In some ways, the show did get back on track – it did, at least, stop trying to fake badly Arizona, largely relocating to New Orleans. This brought with it a new slate of rivals and enemies for Teresa Mendoza (Braga). This was a necessity, the show having sent the main antagonist from the early series, Camila Vargas, into exile at the end of season three.

The main replacement was likely Cecil Lafayette, a corrupt local judge who seemed to have his finger in every pie, as well as cooking up a few more of his own. He wants an ever-increasing slice of Teresa’s endeavours, as he comes to realize how large her empire is. There’s also Marcel Dumas, a well-established gang leader in New Orleans, who initially wants to co-operate with her. Their relationship becomes increasingly fractious over the first half of the series, and Judge Lafayette sees the opportunity to pit them against each other, while apparently acting as a mediator.

Meanwhile, inside Teresa’s organization, we see the first inklings of dissension in the ranks. Boaz, who had been running her operations South of the border in Sinalioa, is beginning to show dissatisfaction with Teresa’s approach. But there are new opportunities too. I guess, perhaps to replace Vargas, we get Oksana Volkova (Cherny), who is the public face of the Russian mob in New York, operating on behalf of her extremely reclusive boss, Kostya. She offers a potential pipeline into the lucrative East coast market, from Miami up the coast through Atlanta to the Big Apple, for Teresa and her product. However, there’s opposition to her expansion, in the form of an existing Cuban mob, under El Gordo.

After the weakness of season three, this was a strong return to form. It got back to the basics, of Teresa Mendoza seeking to expand her empire and consolidate her power, despite opposition from existing players. The violence which almost inevitably flows from such a struggle was present in copious quantities, with at least one shocking and unexpected death (well, we only expected it about two seconds before it happened!). In Judge Lafayette, well portrayed by David Andrews,  there was a solid villain, whose cunning, along with his local connections and allies, proved a tough nut for Teresa and her cartel to go up against.

Probably my only complaint was our heroine not quite getting as deeply involved in the action as previously. Outside of an assault on the base of some mercenaries sent to kill her, there hardly seemed to be any significant firearms use for Teresa. Perhaps that was an indication that she was beginning to seek an exit strategy, moving into more legitimate businesses, and away from those where killing is a standard technique of operations. The news that the fifth series would be the show’s swansong, seemed to support this theory.

To start at the end of it, however, the grade for this season loses a full star simply on the basis of its chosen ending. While skirting around spoilers, we utterly called almost every aspect, down to the specific beach-side location of the final scenes, as early as end of the previous episode. Maybe we’ve just seen too many telenovelas in which this particular plot twist has been done to death. There was a real lack of any sense of karmic balance, considering the number of dead bodies Teresa had left in her wake. We also kept hoping, right up until the final credits rolled, that we would get closure for Camila Vargas. If the actress playing her, Veronica Falcón, just wanted to leave the series after #3, the character deserved a far better send-off. Meanwhile, Teresa Mendosa barely appeared in the final episode, which instead focused on long-time sidekick, Pote (Madera).

Up until that point, however, the season had not been terrible. It was fairly broad in scope, mostly hopping between New Orleans and New York, though with a side-trip to “Berlin” [quotes used advisedly, since unlike the Maltese excursion in series three, I’m fairly sure the production did not go to Germany, instead throwing in a couple of bits of stock footage and faking the rest]. As expected, Teresa was seeking to diversify into legal business, in particular property development. Though she quickly found out that “legitimate” did not necessarily mean those involved could be trusted. Still, no problem there, that methods from her usual field of work can’t solve.

Particularly effective was her ongoing dealings with the Russian mob. I will admit, I did wonder for a while whether their supposed leader even existed, since Oksana was the only person who ever seemed to talk to Kostya. There were a number of tense moments, as Teresa tries to convince the Russian to turn on her boss, because the Mexican offers a better long-term future. While Oksana was not up to the level of Camila Vargas, she did offer a good foil. She possessed an impenetrable air, reminding me of the famous Churchill quote about Russia being “a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” You just never knew what she was planning.

And so, it all ends – not with a bang, but in a considerably more peaceful way than I expected.  I think that. perhaps, after so long, writers tend to fall in love with their characters a bit too much. I’ve lost count of the number of shows, from Buffy through Dexter to Game of Thrones, which have had trouble creating a satisfactory ending, and we can now add Queen to that list. Its departure does still leave a gap on television. In terms of truly bad-ass heroines, prepared to go to any ends to reach their goals, Teresa Mendoza is without parallel. Now, let’s get a US remake of Rosario Tijeras…

Star: Alice Braga, Hemky Madera, Peter Gadiot, Vera Cherny

Pocket Full of Game

  By

★★
“Game, in only the loosest sense.”

Porsha (Nunez) – and before you ask, yes, that’s how it’s spelled in the credits – is a small-time hustler, operating in the dodgier neighbourhoods of New York. When getting away from her latest escapade, she bumps into the crew of Fresh (Garcia) and his pals, who are similarly engaged, having just robbed a drug dealer. Due to flakiness on the part of one of the team, they’re looking for a new member, and Porsha successfully convinces Fresh that she is a good fit for the role. However, the rest of the gang are less convinced, and force Porsha to prove her loyalty by committing cold-blooded murder. That does her head in, and she holes up in Atlanta for a bit. Returning, she finds Fresh and her former associated have moved on, and attempts to pull off a job on her own, to get back in their graces. It doesn’t go well, shall we say, and Porsha finds herself on Rikers Island, facing a double-homicide charge.

There are a number of concerns here, of varying levels. The biggest problem is that this is 126 minutes long, and doesn’t have anything like the content to justify such a running tine. Every other scene is unnecessary, or runs to excessive length, and this causes significant issues with pacing. The script frequently seems to forget about its own threads; for example, after one robbery, a survivor vows to take revenge on Porsha, Fresh and their associates, for their actions. This only happens at the very end, and the cinematic amnesia becomes increasingly aggravating as the movie diverts instead into another pointless shit-hop montage, or irrelevant flashback to Porsha’s childhood. Another difficulty is, the resources aren’t able to handle some of the demands of the script: it is extremely obvious that the court-room required by it, isn’t anything like the real thing. The same goes for the prison, and the film only ever reaches close to convincing, or even comfortable, when it’s operating on the streets.

On the positive side, Nunez’s performance is solid enough to work, though a lot of the cast may be better suited for supporting roles than lead ones.  There were also just enough scenes that worked to keep me from hitting the off-button. In particular, the sequence where she’s made to kill, is surprisingly shocking, even in a film that clearly has no qualms about casual violence (and whose morality is about as far from “crime doesn’t pay” as could be imagined – indeed, this seems to be a world where it’s the only employment available). The problem is, the ratio of these scenes to the those which are deficient, for one or more of the reasons explained above, is about 1:10. This is apparently based on a novel, and the trailer for the book [yes, that’s apparently a thing] calls it “A hood soap opera.” I can’t argue with that – though it’s not such a positive thing, as the makers seem to think.

Dir: Deborah Cardona
Star: Katherine Nunez, Carlos Garcia, David L Holley, Joey Ortiz

The Bag Girls

  By

★★
“From bag to worse.”

Firstly, the cast names listed below are copied verbatim from the movie. I can only presume that “Megan Thee Stallion” was unavailable, but seeing those names pop up in the opening credits does make it difficult to take a film seriously. It’s like you’re watching little children playing dress-up, and a whole level of recursive nonsense, with the actors playing roles, apparently playing roles in the their “real” lives. In other news: kids, get off my damn lawn.

The core pair here are Nola (Ms. The Doll) and Dee (Ms. The Boss. Or Maybe Ms. Love the Boss? Who knows). The former is a stripper, the latter her best friend, who catches her husband cheating, only to be punted to the kerb in favour of the mistress. To extract revenge. the pair recruit Daisy (James) and Crystal (Mi’chelle) and rob the husband. Discovering that crime represents an easier source of income than, say, working for a living, they continue their efforts, gradually working their way up to bigger scores. Eventually, they get a tip-off about a big drug-buy about to go down, but are under strict instructions to take only the cash, and leave the dope. Naturally, Daisy doesn’t listen, and the Cuban owners of the drugs are very keen to retrieve their product.

There’s nothing here you haven’t seen in better films. The film-makers even have their characters openly acknowledge some of the most obvious inspirations at one point or other. This is either extremely brave or perilously reckless, since low-budget movies probably don’t want to be encouraging comparisons with their big siblings:
– What the fuck you think this is, Set It Off, Part II?
– Bitch, this ain’t no motherfucking movie.
Well, actually – yes, it is. Even the title of the film is a result of them referring to each other during their robberies, by designer handbag brands: “We can call each other code names like colors, like Ms. Pink, Ms. Yellow, like they did in Reservoir Dogs, the Quentin Tarantino movie.” I don’t know whether or not to be amused that the writer felt the need to explain who made Reservoir Dogs. But I am amused that the reaction to the suggestion is “Fuck Quentin Tarantino!” Truly a sentiment all right-thinking people can get behind, and I’m not ashamed to say that line was worth an extra half-star.

There’s not much sense of progression here, and far too much time spent on the trappings of lifestyle e.g. a Vegas trip that looks like nothing so much as a bad rap music video, rather than giving the characters or the scenario real substance. There’s the inevitable tension between the members of the gang, before the equally inevitable shootout with the Cubans. What there is not, is any sense of plausibility; I don’t know about you, but I’m fairly sure that, unlike Dee’s husband, I’d recognize my own wife if she tried to rob me, mask or not. Hopefully, I’ll never get to test that theory.

Dir: Wil Lewis
Star: Crystal the Doll, LA Love the Boss, Samantha “3D Na’Tee” James, Carmen Mi’chelle

Senora Acero: Season two

  By

★★★½
“Sex ‘n’ drugs ‘n’ cartels rule.”

There are more famous narconovelas, such as La Reina Del Sur, but you can’t argue with the success of Senora Acero. Surviving for five seasons and a startling 387 episodes in the cut-throat world of Mexican television is no mean feat. Admittedly, there were hardly any characters who lasted the entirety of the show. But such is the nature of organized crime, especially in a show like this. Compared to the first season, it seems like the second helping significantly ramps up the action quotient. It feels like a single episode could not pass, without a car-chase, shoot-out, or at least guns being pointed at each other.

It begins with Sara Aguilar (Soto), a.k.a. “Senora Acero”, the woman of steel, sitting in prison, where she has been stuck for five years, awaiting formal sentencing [Mexican justice moves slowly, it would appear]. After her son is attacked, she escapes prison in order to help him, but gets caught and ends up back in jail, having been sentenced to a punitive 25 years. This is in part due to the interference of her estranged sister, Berta, who is now the private secretary to the Mexican President, and wields her influence maliciously to punish her sibling. But her best friend, Aracely (Litzy), finds the key to getting Sara’s sentence revoked, and her out of jail.

Life doesn’t exactly become much easier thereafter, as there’s still a state of near-war between the two main drug gangs. There’s the Jalisco cartel, led by Miguel Quintanilla, and Acasio “El Teca” Martínez, of the Tijuana cartel. Sara ends up taking the Jalisco side, stoked largely by her hatred of El Teca, and his chief henchman, “El Indio”, with whom Sara crossed paths in season one.  However, that only fuels the fire as Martinez has long held a burning obsession with Sara. His guiding principal appears to be that if he can’t have Sara, nobody can. Sara has no problems using that obsession against him, but it’s a very dangerous game, especially when El Teca realizes he is being manipulated by her.

It also seems to delve significantly deeper into the relationship between the cartels and ‘legitimate’ business and political interests; quotes used advisedly. In this case, the corruption goes right up to the top, with the Mexican president very much in bed with the leader of one group of drug traffickers. Evidence of this connection is a powerful tool, though for obvious reasons, highly dangerous to anyone who possesses it. There is also the head of a major pharmaceutical company, who is using his company’s resources for less legal product; he thinks he can come up with a new drug that will give the high without the dangerous side effects.

The international aspect is well represented too, with another strong female character in Colombian drug lord (drug lady?) Briceida Montero, who seems fairly obviously inspired by Griselda Blanco, about whom we have written previously. There is an effort to involve Chinese traffickers at one point, though this doesn’t go far. On the other side, the DEA are involved. Though their gringo boss is most notable for Chris turning to me and expressing a fervent hope that, as I continue to learn Spanish, I do not sound like him when I speak the language. Mind you, she’s not exactly impressed with the gangster slang used by the likes of El Teca either. I’m clearly going to have to find posher series from which to pick up my diction…

The show does have one particularly memorable supporting character – though not in a good way. Marta Mónica Restrepo, a.k.a. ‘La Tuti’, is a sometime small scale drug dealer, sometime psychic, and always a slut, who also collects dolls. She ends up getting involved with… just about every male character who crosses her path, which makes her subsequent pregnancy resemble a daytime talk-show episode. Manipulative and fickle, she is easily our most “love to hate” character. Not just in the show, or narconovelas generally, but perhaps the history of our TV viewing. I suspect it’s entirely deliberate, so much credit to the writers, and actress Ana Lucía Domínguez, for making it so.

There’s another aspect we found more genuinely enjoyable. El Teca finds himself a doppelganger, in the form of an immigrant worker from Colombia. Also kidnapping the man’s wife and daughter for leverage, his double is used to fool both the authorities in the Jalisco cartel. While the technical aspects for the depiction of El Teca and his twin are primitive – it’s mostly shooting from behind the shoulder, with an obvious stand-in – the characters are so utterly different, it’s often difficult to believe the same actor is playing both parts. Again, credit where it’s due, to José Luis Reséndez, for bringing both men to life with his performance.

It is, however, Sara Aguilar’s show, and she is the Sun around which all the other bodies revolve, in their elliptical subplots (some of which I could have done without, such as that about one character’s dreams of musical stardom). Much like Teresa Mendoza in Queen of the South, it’s Sara’s fierce loyalty to those on her side which is her most defining characteristic. She’ll got through hell for them, including her son, even after he has been turned into a junkie by her enemies. Needless to say, that’s an act which will not go unpunished. The ending proves quite satisfactory in this area, although also has the kind of cliffhanger, with Sara apparently badly wounded, that will only be resolved in series three.

Despite the tease at the end of the opening credits, with Sara wielding a large, automatic weapon, and quite a lot of heavily-armed arguments, she isn’t quite as personally involved as I might have hoped. Still, I guess delegation is a significant part of being a good leader, isn’t it? This was certainly enjoyed, and became a staple of morning entertainment for me, over several months. I think Chris was even getting into it more than she’d admit, as she drifted through and got ready for work. It may be a while before I have the stamina to start the next season, however. For there’s ninety-three episodes in that…

Creator: Roberto Stopello
Star:  Blanca Soto, Litzy, José Luis Reséndez, Lincoln Palomeque

Candy

  By

★★★
“Houston, we have a problem…”

You’ll probably understand why that cover picture got me to pause my casual scrolling through Amazon Prime. Well played, movie producers. Well played… Likely inevitably, the film didn’t quite live up to the advertising, mostly due to a significant lack of plot. The film barely runs 65 minutes, before we get to a sloth-like end-credit crawl, and there’s probably not enough story-line to fill a music video for one of the gangster rap songs which pepper the soundtrack. Yet, in terms of atmosphere and setting, it feels authentic. I can’t state with certainty it is, never having been a) to Houston, b) black, or c) involved in large-scale criminal enterprise. But in cinema, feeling authentic is a large part of what matters.

Candy (Adams) can check all three of those boxes, being in charge of an urban Texas group whose business is apparently equally involved in drugs, and robbing others in the same line of work. She’s rather hands-on: with three other women, including her cousin, Dody (Caliste), they go invading homes, and the residents usually come off very much the worse for it. Though sadly, those exploits aren’t the main focus of the film. Indeed, it’s kinda hard to say what is. Most of it seems occupied with a series of vignettes; narrative drive is very much secondary, though these episodes are good at portraying the two sides of a criminal life: both the glamour and the brutality.

For instance, there’s a scene where the women go into a convenience store and Candy shoots the breeze with the owner, an OG called Mr. Mack (played by rapper Bun B), who’s now retired from the game to become a shopkeeper. Though Cody does meet someone significant there, in terms of the film, it’s not very important. However, it’s just a nice exchange, and the film has a number of others. They’re rarely dull, and it generally avoids getting bogged down in cliche. Eventually, we do find out that corrupt cop Soso (Smith) is planning to take out Candy and her crew, as they prepare that mainstay of gang films: a big score. In this case, shipping tons of drugs to St. Louis.

It’s just a shame the plot hadn’t been there from the beginning. Perhaps I’m too used to my narconovelas, which go to the other extreme, arguably cramming in too much. But even the way in which the climax here is resolved, is rather unsatisfying, relying on what feels like a bit of a cheat, and being based on information withheld from the audience. It’s a shame, as the framework is in place for something better than most of these urban films I’ve seen, such as Jack Squad or the cinematic hell which was Hoodrats 2. On the basis of this, how Candy came to be where she was, for example, might have been a more interesting story than what she did once she got there.

Dir: Nahala Johnson
Star: Sheneka Adams, Gina Caliste, Kendrick Smith, Jessica Kylie

Bad Girl Mako

  By

★★½
“‘Slightly naughty young lady Mako’ – more accurate, less catchy.”

This was among the very last of the “pinky violence” films made by the Nikkatsu studio. Their popularity had been waning, and the company, under its president Takashi Itamochi, opted to move in a different direction. They began making what would be known as “roman porno”, leaving the action field open for their rivals at Toei, who picked up Meiko Kaji after her “defection” from Nikkatsu where she had made the Stray Cat Rock series.

I mention all the above, largely because it’s a hundred or so less words I have to write about this, which is one of the more forgettable of their “bad girl” films. While made competently enough, you sense that the heart of the director, making his feature debut, wasn’t particular in it, and title actress Natsu is a poor substitute for Kaji. It begins briskly enough, Mako and her girl gang pals beating up a guy at a bowling alley after he welches on a bet. While visiting a disco, she meets and pretends to fall for Hideo (Okazaki), in what’s really the set-up for a robbery. However, it turns out he has a gang of his own, and thus begins an escalating conflict.

Things are exacerbated by Mako’s brother, Tanabe (Fuji), being a member of the local Yakuza clan, the Yasuoka-Gumi – y’know, the real criminals in town. So for example, after Hideo gets a knife in his leg, he and his mates pay a visit to a Yasuoka-Gumi brothel, and liberate some of their workers. But Mako is also falling for Hideo, a relationship which might as well be wearing a neon sign flashing “doomed”, because he continues to incur the wrath of her brother and the Yakuza bosses. If you manage to predict that the film will end on a close-up of Mako’s face, until a single tear rolls down her cheek, give yourself two points.

It’s a rare moment of artistry in what is, by and large, a rather pedestrian production. From our viewpoint, it needed to concentrate more on Mako, and less on the tit-for-tat shenanigans between Tanabe and Hideo. While she kicks off that storyline, she then largely gets sidelined for much of the picture, until the deaths of various characters (of both sexes) bring her back into play for the final 15-20 minutes. In her absence, the film doesn’t have much to offer, except for low-level thugs snarling at each other, though some of the seventies style on view, in both music and fashion, is not unamusing.

I saw a review of this which said it was, “Obviously a political allegory about the tragic end of the Japanese student movement in the 60s.” Ah. That explains a lot. It being a topic about which I know precious little and care considerably less, would likely go a long way towards determining why this one left me largely underwhelmed.

Dir: Koretsugu Kurahara
Star: Junko Natsu. Jiro Okazaki, Tatsuya Fuji, Joe Shishido

68 Kill

  By

★★★½
“Reverse sexism?”

Is it possible for an action heroine film to still be chauvinist? While that criticism was frequently levelled at Sucker Punch, this is probably the closest I’ve seen to that apparent paradox. For the concept here is that the undeniably strong trio of women depicted here, use that strength largely to manipulate and take advantage of the “hero”, septic tank operative Chip (Gubler). First is his current girlfriend, the hyper-violent Liza (McCord) who, when not abusing Chip both physically and verbally, works as an escort. She comes up with the idea of robbing one of her clients of $68,000 in cash she knows is in his house, and drags Chip along. They get the money, but leave two bodies behind, and pick up Violet (Boe) at the scene of the crime.

Appalled by the murders, Chip bails with the money and Violet in the trunk of the car. However, it’s not long before she has talked her way into the passenger’s seat. It’s then they encounter Monica (Vand), a gas-station clerk who realizes what’s going on and puts into action a plan to rob the pair of their ill-gotten gains. Liza is also in hot pursuit, both of the loot and her boyfriend, along with her psychopathic brother, to whom she intended to sell Violet for his amusement. If there’s a philosophy here, it’s expressed in crude terms, by Chip’s workmate: “Pussy used in the wrong way will fuck a man up.” This film is largely a 95-minute illustration of “the wrong way”, and how it fucks Chip up.

Despite a cynical, almost red-pilled attitude, I still enjoyed this for the most part. It’s brutal, foul-mouthed, and doesn’t feel any need to apologize for being either [though in comparison, it’s surprisingly chaste as far as nudity goes, with even its sex scenes shot decorously]. All the characters have an over-the-top excess which works in the context of the film. McCord in particular plays as a complete loose cannon, who might kiss you, kill you, or both, in the space of any given conversation with her. The same goes for Monica, though any sugar to be found there is at the “may contain traces of…” level. If there’s a sympathetic character to be found here, it’s likely Violet – though I was never sure how entirely I could believe what she said.

Chip, meanwhile, spends 95% of the film being the patsy to the three women, as his life, remarkably, manages to get considerably worse than dealing with raw sewage for a living. Probably inevitably, the worm turns, in a bloody trailer-park finale, and a fitting ending indicates that Chip may at least have learned a valuable life lesson from the mayhem. Getting there requires him to interact with a trio who could have strayed in from a remake of Faster Pussycat. Even if they are not the central characters, this is undeniably a enjoyable slice of grindhouse fun which fits in well here, and can only be appreciated as such.

Dir: Trent Haaga
Star: Matthew Gray Gubler, AnnaLynne McCord, Alisha Boe, Sheila Vand

Wheels Up, by Jeanine Kitchel

  By

Literary rating: ★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆

The blurb I read, which got my attention, compared this to Queen of the South, and the debt is rather too obvious, with the novel falling short of the TV series. Layla Navarro has grown up as part of the Culiacan cartel in Mexico, and when its leader, her uncle “El Patrón” is captured by authorities, she has to step into the breach. However, there are a number of factions within the cartel who are unimpressed at the thought of being led by a woman, and have their own plans. When she discovers that one of the leading members, Don Guillermo Muñoz, is trafficking in young girls, she vows not to let it stand. But before she can take action, the plane she’s on is forced to land in the Mexican jungle. Along with Clay, her loyal Canadian pot-dealer ally, Layla has to avoid those seeking to finish the job, and strike back at Guillermo.

This isn’t the book’s fault, but I am unable to take anyone called “Guillermo” seriously, after watching What We Do in the Shadows. But even outside of that, I didn’t find this particularly effective. In contrast to Queen of the South, where Teresa had to claw her way up the entire ladder after losing her protection, Layla is already on the second-from-top rung. On that basis, her lack of resources seems pretty questionable, and the behaviour by the top tier of cartel members doesn’t seem to make much logical sense. For example, Layla seems way too hands-on, for someone supposedly in charge of operations. I doubt you’d see Pablo Escobar flying about with two tons of cocaine. Does no-one in the cartel delegate? Other issues included the clunky switching from Spanish to English, sometimes in the middle of sentences, and an ending which comes much too soon after Layla’s final confrontation with Guillermo, leaving an excess of loose ends. 

There are some positives. Kitchel does a good job of creating a sense of location; it appears she lives in the Yucatan peninsula where much of the activity takes place, and that aspect is nailed well enough. The problem is, I’m not sure she has ever come closer to a genuine cartel member than watching Queen of the South [Clay, in particular, seems suspiciously close to King George in the show]. Admittedly, neither have I. Well, my lawyer advises me to say so, anyway: I have… stories. However, I can still tell when a fictional character is acting as it feels they organically ought to, rather than in ways necessary for the plot, and there’s too much of the latter here. The resulting contrivance reaches its peak, when Layla turns out to be a top-notch mariachi singer, conveniently allow her to infiltrate the fiesta being attended by Guillermo. You will understand how hard I rolled my eyes at that revelation, effectively killing my interest in the series where it stood.

Author: Jeanine Kitchel
Publisher: Self-published, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
1 of 2 in the Wheels Up Yucatan series.

Braid

  By

★★½
“Uncomfortably numb”

For most films. I’ve usually got a fairly good idea of what is likely to be the final review grade, inside about 30 minutes. It may drift half a star up or down, but it’s relatively rare for there to be more variation than that. This would be one such case, which started off as underwhelming, went through a brief surge of “Oh, yeah – I get it!” in the middle, before returning to the mediocrity from whence it came. At various points, this could have been anywhere between ★½ and (although briefly) ★★★★. Well done, I guess?

It’s the story of two young women who are drug dealers: Petula (Waterhouse) and Tilda (Hay), though the former’s name is pronounced as “PET-chu-la” rather than “Pe-CHU-la. Which irritated me, for some reason. Anyway, a police raid leaves them eighty grand in the hole to their supplier. To fix this little issue, they resolve to visit and rob a strange little friend from their childhood, Daphne (Brewer). After the death of her parents, this thoroughly weird girl lives in a decrepit old mansion where there is, apparently, a safe full of cash, hidden somewhere on the property. Finding it will require Tilda and Petula to play along with Daphne’s very strange games of “Let’s pretend”. These are carried forward from their childhood days together, and the dealers will have to become Daphne’s child and a visiting doctor respectively.

As things progress, we gradually discover more about the trio’s earlier relationship. During that time, Daphne fell from a tree-house, perhaps a factor in her current idiosyncrasies, shall we say. But it also slowly becomes apparent that her guests may not be entirely stable either, especially after a cop (Cohen) comes calling at the house in search of them. The question of who is using who becomes increasingly blurred, and Daphne’s unbreakable house rules also start to look very ominous:  everyone must play, no outsiders are allowed, and nobody leaves. This is a world in which everything is uncertain, both for the characters and the viewer, and the dilapidated nature of the property reflects its owner’s grip on sanity.

At its worst, this is self-indulgent nonsense, in near-perpetual danger of vanishing up its own tree-house. At its best – probably the sequence backed by “Largo al factotum” from The Barber of Seville – it showcases some gorgeous cinematography and captures a glimpse into what experiencing being insane might feel like. The balance, unfortunately, is tilted toward the former, and it doesn’t help that there’s hardly a sympathetic angle to be found for any of the characters. I get the feeling there’s some deep symbolism intended here, such as each of the women being intended to represent aspects of a single personality, i.e. id, ego and superego. There may in reality be three girls, one or even none: perhaps the entire world in a fabrication of Daphne’s young mind after her accident. I don’t know. But, guess what? I find it kinda hard to care either.

Dir: Mitzi Peirone
Star: Madeline Brewer,  Imogen Waterhouse, Sarah Hay, Scott Cohen