Joy Ride: Girls Quip

Jeremy BeckReviews
Sabria Wu, Ashley Park, Sherry Cola, and Stephanie Hsu in Joy Ride

During one of the more outlandish moments in Everything Everywhere All at Once, Stephanie Hsu watches in horror as an adversary attempts to plug a curiously shaped office plaque into his anus. Now in Joy Ride, the new road-trip comedy from Adele Lim, Hsu has transitioned from observer to participant; at one point, circumstances conspire such that she must shove eight plastic baggies filled with cocaine up her own ass.

The sight of a newly minted Oscar nominee frantically thrusting narcotics inside her asshole operates both as its own joke and as the setup for a subsequent, cleverly delayed punch line. (Remember, whenever a character says that the occurrence of a certain event makes her horny, you can be damn sure that event will take place—and in the most compromising scenario possible.) It also encapsulates the movie’s maximalist approach to comedy. Every orifice gets its own moment in Joy Ride, as do K-pop enthusiasts, martial-arts soap operas, Cardi B, projectile vomit, vaginal tattoos, and former NBA All-Star Baron Davis. It’s a lot, and it isn’t ashamed of its own muchness. Read More

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From the Vault: The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, 20 Years Later

Jeremy BeckReviews
Sean Connery in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

[EDITOR’S NOTE: In 2003, long before MovieManifesto.com existed, I spent my summer as a 20-year-old college kid writing as many movie reviews as I could. My goal was to compile them all into a website, possibly hosted by Tripod or Geocities, which would surely impress all of the women in my dorm. That never happened—neither the compiling nor the impressing—but the reviews still exist. So, now that I am a wildly successful critic actually have a website, I’ll be publishing those reviews on the respective date of each movie’s 20th anniversary. Against my better judgment, these pieces remain unedited from their original form. I apologize for the quality of the writing; I am less remorseful about the character of my 20-year-old opinions.]

Here is a movie that, when all’s said and done, fails to possess an identity. It is unsure whether it is an action blockbuster, a broad comedy, or a glib satire, and so it tries to be all of these at once and winds up being none of them. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (or LXG, as it has taken to calling itself) is a rambling, self-destructive journey that ultimately has no purpose. To be sure, it has its moments of genuine imagination, but most of the time it feels woefully uninspired, especially when saddled with such an insipid plot. This is a forgettable mishmash that pretends to be sly and entertaining but is, in reality, just plain dull. Read More

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From the Vault: Pirates of the Caribbean, 20 Years Later

Jeremy BeckReviews
Keira Knightley and Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean

[EDITOR’S NOTE: In 2003, long before MovieManifesto.com existed, I spent my summer as a 20-year-old college kid writing as many movie reviews as I could. My goal was to compile them all into a website, possibly hosted by Tripod or Geocities, which would surely impress all of the women in my dorm. That never happened—neither the compiling nor the impressing—but the reviews still exist. So, now that I am a wildly successful critic actually have a website, I’ll be publishing those reviews on the respective date of each movie’s 20th anniversary. Against my better judgment, these pieces remain unedited from their original form. I apologize for the quality of the writing; I am less remorseful about the character of my 20-year-old opinions.]

God damn this movie is fun. There exists in Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl an unadulterated joy of filmmaking so rarely found in the sullen cynicism of modern cinema. The film is crafted with skill and dexterity, fusing classically grand storytelling with a light-footed comedic grace. It is superbly acted, but even more, it is unapologetically cheerful, so that a genuine delight permeates each frame. This is a bold, effervescent picture, and it is an absolute pleasure to behold. Read More

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Past Lives: No Sublime Like the Present

Jeremy BeckReviews
Teo Yoo and Greta Lee in Past Lives

Late at night in a Manhattan bar, we see three people: an Asian woman seated in between two men (one white, the other Asian). They’re chatting amiably, but we can’t hear what they’re saying; instead, we listen to the observations of an unseen couple who speculate about the triad’s possible relationships. Perhaps two of them are married and the other man is her brother, they suggest, or maybe the white guy is an American tour guide. As they conjecture, the woman turns her head and looks directly into the camera, her eyes both inviting and comprehending of our attentions, as though she’s slyly caught us in the act.

This is the opening scene of Past Lives, the debut feature of writer-director Celine Song, and it immediately signals the film’s rare, delicate intimacy. When you buy a ticket for Past Lives, you end up not so much watching a movie as participating in an act of eavesdropping. Sure, you’re seeing actors pantomime a fictional story of love and loss, but you are also receiving an unauthorized glimpse into the inner worlds of two people—a secret chance to understand their desires and bear witness to their heartbreak. Read More

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Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny: Traders of a Lost Spark

Jeremy BeckReviews
Harrison Ford and Phoebe Waller-Bridge in Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny

The first thing you notice is the thing you don’t notice: The Paramount logo doesn’t dissolve into a real-life mountain, instead smoothly transitioning to the sterile placard for Lucasfilm Ltd. And so, before a frame has flickered on screen, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny has differentiated itself from its four predecessors. In some ways, this is a smart move. After all, it’s been 42 years since Harrison Ford outraced a giant boulder in Raiders of the Lost Ark and lodged a smash franchise into pop-culture lore in the process; undue fidelity to such a treasured past might brand this new effort as a pale imitator, like one of those moldy skeletons Indy brushes past on his way to fortune and glory. But not all departures from prior history are healthy, and the change that most harms Dial of Destiny takes place not in the script, but behind the camera: This is the first Indiana Jones adventure that wasn’t directed by Steven Spielberg.

This is perhaps unfair to James Mangold, one of an infinite number of filmmakers who is guilty of being less talented than Spielberg. No stranger to inheriting a beloved fictional character—he gave Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine a lovely and powerful send-off in Logan—Mangold approaches his assignment here with what might be called cautious reverence. John Williams’ famous “Raiders’ March” theme appears on the soundtrack, but only sparingly. Indy occasionally deploys his classic bullwhip, but his weapon of choice tends to be his fists. Cherished supporting characters reemerge—including John Rhys-Davies’ Sallah, plus another figure best left unspecified—but only for a scene or two. The chief villains are once again Nazis, but they (mostly) operate in secret rather than with swastika-emblazoned armbands. The result is that Mangold has made a new Indiana Jones movie both like and unlike the old Indiana Jones movies, tentatively perpetuating their legacy without being beholden to it. Read More

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