Tag: USA

Barracuda

  By

★★
“Nice car. Shame about the film.”

Struggling artist Summer (Oldham) takes on a temporary job as a phone-sex operator to make ends meet. It gives her a very jaundiced view of men, having had to plunge into the worst and most sordid depths of their fantasies. After realizing that some pose a more direct threat, and funded by hush money from one of her customers, she buys the car of the title. and takes their information, along with the tapes she has recorded of them, on a little road-trip across the South and West of America. She’s heading towards her sister (Hinchley), bringing the perverts to justice as she goes, and seeking closure for her own past.

Technically, this is actually pretty good. It looks crisp, and even as someone whose interest in cars is limited to viewings of The Grand Tour, the Barracuda is an awesome vehicle. [I guess the movie’s budget didn’t stretch to licensing the Heart song. It would have been appropriate, with lyrics such as: “If the real thing don’t do the trick/You better make up something quick/You gonna burn, burn, burn, burn, burn to the wick/Oooo, Barracuda,”] However, the script and overall attitude is an endless series of misfires and jarring shifts in tone. Overall, it’s less empowering than self-indulgent and man-hating wish-fulfillment.

Oldham – who co-wrote and co-directed this, as well as starring in it – appears to be working through some issues. May I suggest therapy, rather than film-making? Because this kind of half-baked nonsense seems unlikely to help anyone. The script has holes you could drive the Barracuda through. Apparently, phone-sex lines require customers to provide their real names and home addresses to the operators; while the cops stand poised, ready to sweep immediately into action on receipt of an anonymous cassette. I could probably have got past most of this, if the film had fully embraced its inner darkness. Instead, we get abysmal efforts at “humour” – quotes used advisedly – such as someone smashing a cake into their own face. To quote the master of sarcasm, Edmund Blackadder: “I thank God I wore my corset, because I think my sides have split.”

The relentless parade of male caricatures quickly gets old, too, and don’t get me started on the feeble efforts at political commentary, or the surprisingly (for a film so proudly “woke”) casual racism. Of course, I stand diametrically opposed to the basic concept here. I fully endorse fantasy of any kind, however dark or sordid they may seem. Acting on them is entirely another thing, of course. But that’s not something which is an issue for the vast majority of men. Instead, they offer a safe escape-valve, and are something which should be encouraged rather than, as here, meriting punishment. That’s basically thoughtcrime – though I guess that’s par for the course these days. Rarely have I been so irritated by a film. Fortunately, it’s not one capable of leaving any permanent impression.

Dir: Christy Oldham, Shane Woodson
Star: Christy Oldham, Pippa Hinchley, Kaden Grave

Pussy Kills

  By

★★
“Coughs up a hairball.”

Despite a startling cover, this isn’t as sleazy as it seems. Indeed, even the title appears to be erring on the side of restraint, having apparently avoided the more obvious (and arguably, accurate) one of Killer Pussy. While the heroine certainly has an… interesting choice of costume, that’s as far as the film wants to go. It’s an odd approach: a sleeve like that sets up certain sets of expectations, which the movie has no apparent interest in matching. It’s not as if anyone of a sensitive nature is going to have got past the cover, so it seems odd to exercise such self-discipline when it comes to the content.

Anyway, it’s the story of Susie (Maya), whose parents were killed in a gang-related incident. Although both she and the cops know who was responsible, there isn’t enough evidence for the police to do anything. As a result, Susie begins her own surveillance operation, just before Halloween, only for the subjects to spot her. She is captured and raped by the gang, causing her already fragile sanity to crack. She manages to escape, and takes on the alternate persona of Pussy, her “sexy pussycat” Halloween costume. Wearing it, she tracks down the members of the gang who raped her, as well as their associates, and offs them in a variety of ways. She begins with some enthusiastic axe-work, then graduates to strangulation with a shoe-lace, and so on. But neither the gang nor the cops are enthusiastic about the corpses left in Pussy’s wake.

If only Catwoman had been like this. Well, if only this had had the budget of Catwoman, then it might have helped. At least, it might not have been a case where all the violence seems to occur just off-screen, accompanied by sprays of digital blood. You want to see vengeful savagery done properly? I Spit on Your Grave 3. There’s precious little sense of escalation or progress here, so for a good 45 minutes, it’s just one uninteresting kill after another. It may have started life as a web series, which may explain this over-episodic approach.

Still,  you’re clearly doing something wrong, when even Maya’s undeniably appealing butt begins to lose its charms… [Eventually… Probably after murder seven or so] Things do get slightly more interesting down the stretch, with the gang kidnapping Susie’s husband (Jia). There’s actually some drive to the narrative, rather than it being not much more than a loosely connected series of murders, intercut with shots of its leading lady’s booty. But even to reach that point, you also have to sit through the garish early going, where Black appears to be swapping lens filters on almost every shot, turning those scenes into a lurid, kaleidoscopic nightmare. When a director has to apply so much style, that’s usually an indication they have little or no confidence in the substance of their work. In this case, such concerns are largely justified.

Dir: Gabriel Black
Star: Lina Maya, Izzy Martinez, Kraig Million, Dave Jia

Blow a Kiss

  By

★★½
“Too little, too late.”

You could skip the first 30-45 minutes of this, and it really would not affect your enjoyment level significantly. It seems to be one of those cases where the director is far more in love with the dialogue and characters than they deserves, and so we have to sit through far too much flapping of jaws by the latter, delivering the former in inane and uninteresting conversation, before we get to the meat of the story. Which is, as follows.

Homeless, failed ballerina Joy Malone (Berkshire), who just lost custody of her child, is drowning her sorrows in a dive bar, when she encounters local meth dealer, Samantha (Tutor), who offers her a way out of her dire straits. For Sam is in a war with another dealer, Marcus Mitchell (Martinez), and needs a replacement killer after having recently discovered – in the bar’s bathroom – that one of her gang was actually working for the opposition. Sam offers to pay Joy all the money she needs to get her kid back. All she has to do is kill Mitchell. Of course, it’s never as easy as that.

I’ve not heard of Mauser, but turns out he’s a prolific film-maker, whose site lists Kiss as his 37th (!) feature. That’s impressive, almost regardless of quality. And it’s possible this might have appealed more if I’d seen the previous 36. For instance, I suspect the presence of a psychotic killer in a giant bunny costume here, is a nod to his Serial Rabbit franchise, which has reached five movies. [Who knew?] On its own, though, there wasn’t enough to sustain my interest. For example, while I’m always down for an all-girl gang, we first meet the one here in an extended interrogation sequence, trying to extract Mitchell’s location from one of his henchmen. I suspect this is trying to be Tarantino-esque. It is – only in that it’s incredibly annoying and self-indulgent.

Just when I was close to giving up on this entirely as a flick which didn’t require a microscope to detect any entertainment value… Joy and Sam connect, and the rest of the film is actually not too bad, for a low-budget romp. There are a couple of ways I thought this might go: the striking red hair of both Sam and Joy seemed so consciously similar, I expected some kind of impersonation twist. Instead, it’s just Joy having to make her way up against Mitchell – at least until the truth is revealed.

Avoiding spoilers for that last section, means I can’t say too much about the finale, which is probably the best, and certainly the most energetic (read: least chatty), part of proceedings. I did also like the way what appears to be a police interview of Joy in the wake of everything, turns out to be… not quite that. However, you need just too much patience to get to the decent stuff, and I certainly wouldn’t blame anyone who cut and ran after the first half-hour.

Dir: Brett William Mauser
Star: Dane Berkshire, Cassandra Tutor, Karen Roberge, Ernest Martinez

Life Blood

  By

★★½
“Still a better love story than Twilight“

There’s a fascinating idea at the core here. Namely, that vampires were created by God, in order to mitigate mankind’s sin by preying on the most evil examples of humanity. They’re effectively angelic enforcers. The potential in this is great. The execution, however… Well, it largely comes down to two such vampire/angels sitting around a gas station for the majority of the running time. This isn’t the only aspect which is poorly considered. It starts in 1969, when lesbian couple Brooke (Lahiri) and Rhea (Monk) are at a New Year’s party. Brooke kills a rapist, stabbing him (literally) 87 times, and the pair then flee. In the desert, they are visited by God (model Angela Lindvall), who makes Rhea into one of her enforcers.

However, Rhea insists Brooke gets the same treatment. You’d think God, with all that infallibility and omniscience might figure out giving such power to someone who just stabbed someone (I repeat, literally) 87 times, might not be a good idea. But, whatevs. The pair then lie dormant in the desert sands for forty years, because… Er, I dunno. Reasons? Eventually surfacing, Brooke revels in her new found abilities and quickly turns them to murderous ends, while Rhea tries to restrain her lover, being more in the “with great power comes great responsibility” camp. God, meanwhile, is apparently otherwise engaged, probably writing a monograph on free will.

After Brooke has offed her first victim, an unfortunately passing hitch-hiker, they hijack a camper and hole up in the gas station mentioned. This is necessary in order to avoid daylight, which in this version, still has that unfortunate effect on vampires; quite why God didn’t address that in her wisdom is also unexplained. There, they are eventually located by local police officer, Sheriff Tillman (cult legend Napier), who has followed the trail of mayhem. Rhea is going to have to decide whether to stand with Brooke, or go against her.

It gets some of the little things right, and has an off-the-wall sensibility that’s kinda endearing, and rather trashy. For instance the Sherriff’s favourite TV show is Chicks Chasing Chickens, which is exactly what it sounds like, and is the most amusing fake TV show since Ow! My Balls! God turning up in an seethrough nightie from Victoria’s Secret was also… interesting. Lahiri seems to be having fun with her role too, all lip-gloss and gleeful violence.

Unfortunately, Lahiri is flat-out terrible – with the emphasis on “flat” – and the plot doesn’t have a clue what to do with itself for the middle hour [It may be relevant in terms of the apparent lack of plot direction, the original title was the inexplicable Pearblossom, then became Murder World before settling on the eventual title]. The two leads lurk around the gas-station, bickering with each other and the cashier (Renna, who could be a low-rent version of Sean Astin), while occasionally offing people who show up. It’s far short of enough, and leaves almost all that potential, sadly unfulfilled.

Dir: Ron Carlson
Star: Sophie Monk, Anya Lahiri, Charles Napier, Patrick Renna

Recovery

  By

★½
“PTSD might be preferable.”

Dear god, this is tedious. It takes forever for anything to happen, and when it does, the impact is less than overwhelming. Ronnie Price (Pearson, occupying territory somewhere between Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted and Michelle Rodriguez) is a former GI, suffering from PTSD after three tours in the Middle East, who took to “self-medicating” herself with heroin in an attempt to deal with what she went through. This doesn’t do too much for her anger issues, and after one brush with the police, she’s made to choose between prison and a spell in a remote, women-only rehab facility. Reluctantly, she chooses the latter, though it’s not long before her PTSD flashbacks kick in, and threaten to make her stay a brief one.

Before she can be expelled and handed back to the authorities, a blizzard conveniently settles in to the area, cutting the remarkably understaffed clinic off. Then, some of the other residents start turning up dead, and Ronnie’s history of violent rages makes her the prime suspect for the attending physicians, Dr. Barnes (Quattrocki) and Taylor (Starr). With no help from the outside, she’s going to have to prove her innocence, and also use her military skills to protect the rest of the patients from the real killer.

Some credit is probably due – presuming this was a deliberate choice, at least – to both director and lead actress, for making the heroine thoroughly unlikable. When we first meet, Ronnie she’s not a nice person at all, with no apparent interest in getting clean, and only there at all because it seems easier than the alternative of jail. The main problem is, Ronnie never seems to develop from that point. There’s no sense of her coming to terms with her situation and resolving to be a better person, or rising above her issues to acts of heroism and valour.

Instead, it feels as if the audience is supposed to empathize with Robbie, simply because she’s being falsely accused of murder. She can’t even be sure of her own innocence, due to the blackouts. She certainly still isn’t a nice person, and there is hardly anyone else in the film capable of eliciting any empathy from the audience: Dr. Barnes perhaps comes the closest, though she too has her problems. After being largely a dull, druggie drama for the first hour (how many group therapy sessions do we need to see?), it shifts genres for the final third, and becomes a slasher film.

Unfortunately, Liang seems to have no experience of, or expertise with, the horror genre. This would explain why the last act descends into little more than a series of uninspired cliches, Ronnie and the women creeping around the poorly-lit corridors of the hospital and doing battle. I did find slight interest in the realistically brutal approach to the violence: when the “heroine” [quotes used advisedly] administers a beatdown, it feels like the kind of thing a borderline psychotic ex-soldier might do. But as a whole, the cover is a far better film, than the film actually is.

Dir: John Liang
Star: Stephanie Pearson, Hope Quattrocki, Liz Fenning, Mike Starr

The Odds

  By

★★
“Odds against.”

A woman (Butler) agrees to take part in a contest. live-streamed for betting purposes, where 20 players are put through a series of tests, designed to push them to the physical and mental breaking point, with the (literally) last person standing getting a million dollars. Her only associate is the Game Master (Fuertes), who oversees the challenges and relays the results from the other location to her. Initially, it seems like he is on her side, cheerleading and encouraging her. But the further into the event she proceeds, the more questionable his actions become, to the point where she begins to doubt everything he tells her.

It’s a not-exactly subtle metaphor for abusive relationships: once you’ve realized this, the impact is like being repeatedly whacked across the nose with a newspaper. I get it. I GET IT. I GET IT!!! Which is why it starts off with the man being super-nice and friendly, only to become completely controlling, and potentially “gaslighting” the woman with false information, playing his own game of manipulation in an effort to keep her obeying him. All far too obvious: a pity, since a straightforward rendition without the undertones, could have been perfectly fine. The unnamed woman is apparently taking part to make up for past transgressions involving her child, which is plenty to have driven the story, yet this aspect is largely forgotten as we move on.

The structure of the game doesn’t make sense either. After the five preliminary rounds (involving fire, rats, drilling, drowning and de-digitification, should you want to know), it turns into a game of Russian Roulette. Whose outcome is entirely determined by luck, rather than being any particular measure of endurance. Might as well have watched the heroine playing a slot-machine for a bit. Even the film eventually seems to realize the limited interest of repeatedly watching someone pulling a trigger and it going click. For it opts to skip through the rounds with increasing speed, in order to reach the final denouement, where everything you’ve learned might or might not be wrong.

This is clearly one of those films which were written to be cheap, with two speaking roles and a single location. I don’t fault it for that: it’s wise for any film-maker to build something which fits the available resources, and the main thing is that both leads here are decent. Butler, in particular, has an intensity about her which goes a long way to making you understand why someone might sign on for something like this. But my level of interest was far from consistent. It started off high enough, lured in by the interesting concept. However, it dropped off due to the unimaginative nature of the challenges. Things perked up for a bit when I realized the metaphor aspect. At least until I realized it was going to grind the whole thing into the ground, which also made it too easy to predict what would happen next. That’s where enthusiasm settled, and I’m willing to bet you can find more effective uses for your viewing time.

Dir: Bob Giordano
Star: Abbi Butler, James J. Fuertes

Birds of Prey (film)

  By

★★½
“For flock’s sake…”

Or, to give this its full, rather misguided name: Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn). I am not convinced that films are improved by giving them gimmick titles including made-up words. It smacks rather of desperation on the part of the makers. Though this is… alright. It did not actively annoy me in quite the same way Captain Marvel did, but it is still disappointing. Robbie’s Harley Quinn was easily the best thing about Suicide Squad. She’s also the best thing about this, but it feels at a considerably lower level. All the edges seem to have been filed off, with Robbie (who produced this and came up with the idea) apparently intent on making her much more of a heroic figure than the barely-restrained psychopath I was hoping to see.

The main problem, however, is over-stuffing of storylines, with so many threads being weaved in, that they all inevitably suffer as a result. Let’s enumerate them. There’s Harley, who breaks up with the Joker, only to discover his protection was the only thing which had been keeping her safe. Detective Renee Montoya (Perez), whose case-load includes investigating crossbow vigilante killings, mob boss Roman Sionis (McGregor) and Harley herself. Sionis’s singer-turned-driver Dinah Lance, a.k.a. Black Canary (Jurnee Smollett-Bell), who… Well, I’m really not sure what purpose she serves here. The crossbow killer is Helena Bertinelli, a.k.a. Huntress (Winstead), seeking vengeance for the death of her family. And Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco), a young pickpocket who steals and eats a diamond containing coded information sought by Sionis.

None of these are adequately developed, even Harley’s. Her story is adequately and brightly sketched out in an animated opening sequence, and then gets scant service as the script tries to keep all its balls, sorry, ovaries in the air. For the feminist leanings are probably the most painful aspect. As depicted here, the “emancipation” of the title seems less about building women up, than tearing men down. Virtually without exception, every male character is more or less a bastard, from the obvious ones like Sionis’s sidekick with a fondness for face-peeling through to Montoya’s former partner who stole credit for her work. Even the kindly store-owner turns out to be happy to sell Harley out. Is this emancipation? To steal from The Princess Bride: “You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means.” 

Along those lines I was initially prepared to criticize Margot for pre-release statements, like it being “hugely important to find a female director for this.” However, that snippet is a bit misleading, since the full quote in context goes on, “…if possible. But at the end of the day — male, female — the best director gets the job and Cathy was the best director.” I’m fine with that. Though it has to be said, I’m not sure what made Yan the best, given her only feature before this was Dead Pigs, a comedy-drama about an incident where 16,000 deceased porcines were found in a Chinese river. But the direction here is serviceable enough: it doesn’t get in the way of Margot Robbie, which may be what the star  wanted all along.

The action is a bit of a mixed bag. There are a couple of very good brawls for Harley, most notably one in a police evidence warehouse (even if the cops seem curiously unwilling to draw and use their firearms. What is this, the United Kingdom?) where Robbie and her stunt doubles get to showcase some stellar moves. But the final fight has much the same problem as the plot in general. In trying to make sure each of the four fighting leads get their chance to shine (Cassandra basically cowers in a corner for the duration of it), the climax basically succeeds in selling all of them short. There is quite a nice “funhouse” atmosphere there, since it takes place in an abandoned amusement park, though it feels like some of the potential wasn’t fully developed.

It does seem to draw some inspiration from Leon, in the relationship between Harley and Cassandra, which is not dissimilar to the one between Leon and Matilda. In both, the adult is forced to tap into a previously unknown nurturing side after a  young girl is dropped into their care, though they are hardly the ideal parent. But probably the most obvious nod is at the end, where Cassandra pulls a very similar “ring trick” to the one which takes care of Stansfield at the end of Leon. As soon as she said it, I figured out what Cassandra meant, before Harley did. However, this maternal element does play into the softening of Harley, one of the disappointing aspects. Given the freedom of an R-rating. I’d have expected a bit more in the way of mature content than a potty mouth and some intermittently brutal violence. At times, it feels more like Robbie is cosplaying Harley, rather than playing her.

Robbie’s avowed aim was to make a “girl gang” pic, perhaps inspired by things like Switchblade Sisters, Faster Pussycat or the pinky violence genre. But what she didn’t bring from them, is that those all had strong leadership. There was no doubt that Tura Satana or Meiko Kaji were the stars: the films accordingly orbited around them and their fabulous screen presence. Her previous movies have shown us, Robbie can deliver that, which makes it all the more of a shame that she abdicated the throne here. Sadly, this ends up closer to an episode from the last series of Doctor Who, with its “very flat team structure.” Or to borrow from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, an anarcho-syndicalist commune where Harley and her pals take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week. Maybe the title, with its supposed heroine relegated to the tenth and eleventh words, was accurate after all.

Dir: Cathy Yan
Star: Margot Robbie, Ewan McGregor, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosie Perez

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The Hunt

  By

★★★★
“Don’t believe the political hype.”

This was a genuine and pleasant surprise. The original release was pushed back due to some severe controversy: not many films get Tweeted about by the President of the United States, who stated this was “made in order to inflame and cause chaos.” Needless to say, the studio ended up riding that publicity when the movie eventually came out. The current pandemic ended up trumping that (pun intended), so the film hit the home markets, just a week after its theatrical release. To my surprise, it’s considerably more nuanced than the “Red State vs. Blue State” concept I expected. And Gilpin has clearly put her GLOW training to good use, becoming quite the thirty-something bad-ass here.

It is, at its heart, another variant on The Most Dangerous Game, with a dozen people being kidnapped from their everyday lives, and taken somewhere that looks much like Arkansas, to be hunted by the rich for sport. The film is very good in the earlier stages at disconcerting the viewer by shifting their focus: you’ll settle in with one character, only for them to be wiped out in brutal fashion. Gilpin’s character, Crystal Creasey, isn’t even seen until more than 25 minutes in. But she makes up for her late arrival in no uncertain style, quickly establishing that the people behind the hunt, led by Athena (Swank), might have made a mistake by selecting Crystal as their entertainment.

What I found interesting is how even-handed this is. Yes, it’s about the elite hunting common people, and on its surface, i.e. the trailer, could be seen as Democrats hunting Republicans. But they’re hardly depicted as heroic, and indeed, it turns out, there’s considerably more to this. The whole thing started as an off-colour joke by Athena that got out, causing the wrath of #CancelCulture, as propagated through social media and conspiracy circles. She then decided, if we’re going to be blamed for something we didn’t do – why not do it anyway, and targets those who were her harshest critics on social media? Neither side gets out unscathed: not the liberals with their virtue signalling and hypocrisy, nor the conservatives with their paranoia and self-deceit. Yes, it is certainly guilty of picking at the raw scab which is the divided state of the nation (something for which the media, in general, must take much of the blame).

But the horror movie as social commentary is something that has been around for at least fifty years, since Night of the Living Dead.  As I’ve previously made clear, I’m fine with that, providing the film works regardless. And you could safely ignore all the satirical aspects, and you’d still have something among the upper tier of movies inspired by The Most Dangerous Game. It all builds to a kitchen battle between Crystal and Athena, that for sheer savagery, is one of the best woman-on-woman brawls I’ve seen since Kill Bill, Volume 2. Providing you are not too blinkered in your political views, the payoff here should be worth putting them to one side for ninety minutes.

Dir: Craig Zobel
Star: Betty Gilpin, Ike Barinholtz, Amy Madigan, Emma Roberts

Ready or Not

  By

★★★
“Samara saves the day.”

When I settled in to view this, I didn’t realize it starred Weaving, who was the best thing about the very entertaining Guns Akimbo. She’s also the best thing about this, and it largely solidifies my opinion that she’s one to watch in the future. By the end of this, her character has gone through an absolute meat-grinder of punishment, and she is literally drenched in gore. It’s all a very slight work, a comedy-horror that skews heavily towards the first of its genres, and is little more than a disposable bit of fluff. But I’m a sucker for a spot of wedding-dress mayhem – see also Queen’s High and Bloody Mallory.

Weaving plays Grace, about to be married to Alex (Brody), a son from the rich Le Domas family, who made their money in cards, board games and sports teams. The wedding is taking place at their immense country mansion, with his family largely looking down their noses at Grace, believing her to be a gold-digger. Family tradition has new members pulling a card with a game on it, which they must then play. Except, Grace draws “Hide and Seek”. Which means she gets to hide, and quickly discovers that if found, she’ll be killed. This is the result of a pact with the devil made generations ago, the source of the Le Domas fortunes, which on occasion requires a sacrifice. Tonight being that occasion, and Grace being that sacrifice.

The main problem here is, the family are so inept as to pose no credible threat whatsoever. They may have the benefit of numbers, and operate on home-turf as well. Yet they are, in fact, more of a danger to each other or their (rapidly diminishing number of) servants than to Grace. In their defense, it’s not often that their sponsor demands blood, so it’s not as if they’re experienced at ritual murder. Still, is a basic degree of competence too much to ask? Instead, they spend much of the night bumbling around and/or bickering with each other, and it’s not as funny as it thinks. I will exempt Aunt Helene (Nicky Guadagni) from this, who has both an appropriately brutal approach and a nice line in deadpan familial snark. e.g. on being greeted by a disliked relative, she responds with, “Brown-haired niece. You continue to exist.”

I get the feeling there is some class criticism going on here, albeit at a lower level than, say, Knives Out, so that can safely be ignored. For it’s the Samara show, and whenever we are watching Grace’s beautiful wedding-dress disintegrate into a blood-drenched mess, it’s an unexpected delight, especially since Alex is next to useless. I’m not sure I’ve seen such a character arc, going from victim to bad-ass so completely, since Evil Dead II. I also did enjoy the ending, which looked like it was going to zig, before zagging in no uncertain terms. While it would have been nice to see Grace administering the startlingly messy coup de grace, I’m okay with settling for what we get.

Dir: Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett
Star: Samara Weaving, Adam Brody, Mark O’Brien, Henry Czerny

The Kitchen

  By

★★½
“Rather over-baked”

Regardless of its flaws, this does at least show that comic-book adaptations needn’t involve superheroes and Thanos snaps. This is instead a crime story, beginning towards the end of the seventies in Hell’s Kitchen, a working-class area of New York. Following a failed armed robbery, the husbands of Kathy (McCarthy), Ruby (Haddish) and Claire (Moss) are sent to jail, leaving the wives to fend for themselves. To make ends meet, the trio begin to move in on the territory of local boss Little Jackie, who has been taking money from local businesses, without delivering the promised protection. When Jackie goes after them, he is killed by the women’s ally, Gabriel (Gleeson), who begins a relationship with Claire. But the husbands’ return to Hell’s Kitchen looms on the horizon, as the women’s growing power also brings them unwelcome attention – both from the authorities and the Mafia who dominate the city.

More than slightly reminiscent of Widows, this is considerably less plausible. The area at the time was controlled by the Westies, a powerful Irish-American group, and the film gives you little or no reason to believe why they’d roll over and let a bunch of amateurs – and women at that – muscle in and take over. In reality, I strongly suspect they’d be squashed like bugs at the first collection of protection money. One woman leading a crew might be possible (see Dangerous Lady for a good example); tripling down, as the movie does, stretches credibility to breaking point. It doesn’t help that there is only one decent character arc between them. That belongs to Claire, who goes from abused wife and perpetual victim, to the group’s enforcer under the tutelage of Gabriel. One of the film’s best scenes has him giving a lesson on dismembering a body to dispose of it. Kathy can’t watch at all, and Ruby is similarly appalled; Claire is entirely fascinated. It’s clear something has been awakened inside. And her incarcerated husband isn’t going to like it much.

It’s a shame she is largely relegated to the sidelines, being the most interesting of the trio – as well as the one most suited to this site, as the poster suggests. Instead, it’s mostly the blandly uninteresting Kathy who takes centre-stage. Even Ruby would have been an improvement, her black heritage adding an element of racial tension, with her husband’s family reluctant to accept her into their bosom. We’re also asked to accept them as heroines without explanation, ignoring the inherently scummy nature of the protection racket which they operate. But they’re nice about it, so that’s okay! Then again, I’ve never bought into the “They’re just taking care of their family” excuse, especially when, as here, efforts to get gainful, legal employment are all but absent. Berloff seems to be aiming for a Scorsese-like approach, down to the use of contemporary pop songs as a commentary on proceedings. While there are worse auteurs to ape, you’ll likely be left with little more than a desire to go watch Goodfellas.

Dir: Andrea Berloff
Star: Melissa McCarthy, Tiffany Haddish, Elisabeth Moss, Domhnall Gleeson