Michael Fargo

A beautifully filmed adaptation of the Taich Yamada novel "Strangers," the intimacy and tendernss Andrew Haigh captures in this film is a rare thing. The film can put a receptive viewer in a suspended state of mournfulness and loss that is universal. It's a rare accomplishment for a filmmaker, here aided by the magnificent performances of his cast, Andrew Svcott, Paul Mescal, Jaimie Bell and the notable (though predictable) lovely performance by Claire Foy.

Finely observed details take on weight and a growing mystery that leads to...for me...a trite ending that isn't worthy of what we've watched. There is some obligation in a screenplay's adaptation that leaves little room wholesale change. But what works on a book's page may not work in a film. I wanted a greater resolution than what was offered, and that may be the result of how profound the 85% of the film achieved. And then it wasn't.

The history of the over-representation of LGBT Americans working as civil servants in the seat of power while publically being reviled. It's a story that deserves telling. "Fellow Traverlers" constantly veers it's focus to what homosexuals do sexually and not how they live their lives wthout exposing their sexual preference. The sexual acts depicted are so blunt and tinged with a dominance that appears predatory. The fear these individuals lived with seems like a passing throught rather than what must have been a crippling dread.

The integration of gay African Americans and their compounded challenges seems much more in line with how painful acceptance was, if only marginally achieved.

Yes, there is paranoia and fear, but in many sexual episodes portrayed no real fear infuses them. If someone's worried about their landlord hearing what's going on, what follows is anything but quiet. The San Francisco scenes seem like outakes from Al Pachino's "Cruising," and without any context seem like an excuse for the filmmaker to shock.

Midway through the series we need more of how these public servants managed to keep their jobs despite--what were at the time--criminal acts. Time would be better spent reading "Secret City: The Hidden History of Gay Washington" by James Kirchick. So far, I find "Fellow Travelers" focus on depicting sex acts, well, a litle trashy.

However you've found your way to seeing a filmed version of a live performance of "Akram Khan's Giselle," the rewards are many. The performances are at the highest level where every ounce of their energy is required (the second act is performed entirely en pointe which is a staggering achievement.

Khan's choreography is a melding of classic ballet, modern dance and kathrank, one of India's classic dance forms.

The final pas de deux between Albrecht and the dead Giselle can reduce you to tears.

Purists may cry foul, but the conception stands on it's own with only suggestions of the original dramaturgy. But there's nothing in Khan's version that's any more or less clear in the original.

In less than 10 minutes, this Manage to reinforce every cliche and trope about gay men that sinks any hope of something original and meaningful ever crossing the mind of anyone involved. That's okay if you want to portray a class of people as obsessed with being young and horny--and beautiful--every waking moment. It's like a Doris Day pastiche except everyone is gay. Neil Patrick Harris needs to rethink this career. He's an embarassment to watch. I'm not suggesting every entertainment further gay liberation. But at least don't be yet another problem by making the watcher want to flee the company of any gay man...particularly a group of them. This was just short of being vile.

Welcome a challenge? This is it. Leave it to Soderbergh to upset the fantasty (and fantastical) offerings by the major studios. Like a good book you just can't put down, the complications the plotting offers I found thrilling. I had zero expections and only began watching this due to the star laden cast and it's director. The complexity of the story is a delight and offered with a wry humor. The cast (which couldn't have possibly known where all this was headed) keeps you so involved, I just surrendered and jumped in to go along for a very rewarding ride. I won't say it's to everyone's taste, particularly if you need things laid out for you in a familiar way. Once the opening credits pass, there's a steep dive into an unfamiliar world where magic (of all things) unknowingly rules half the characters, and the weight of karama pushes the other half to a crime in Washington Square that is witnessed by both sets of the families involved and no one but the viewer knows nothing is as it seems. Once law enforcement gets its hands on what's happened (they were also unknowing witnesses) the reveals hidden from us keep coming, making us as foolish looking as the characters. I found this smashing entertainment.

If you've followed the career of Jinx Mnsoon and were always left with wanting to know more, this may be as close to her as any of us ever have a chance to get.

Devastatingly funny, wicked, irreverant, uncensored, and long enough to showcase her many (considerable) talents, she exhudes the confidence of a seasoned--spicy--performer. The songs are varied enough and smart enough to show off her vocal talents, and the commentary is both on the LGBTQ+ community as well as a considerable dose of her life, choices, mistakes and triumphs in that tellingly sly way that we admire.

Well, produced and filmed, written within a inch of her life I hope we'll have as much more as she cares to share.

I'm hardly a "Royal Expert." However, I'm reasonably good at recognizing sincerity as well as jealousy and envy. The controversy around this film seems to be the result of jealousy and envy. I'll call it the "Wicked Step-sister" syndrome and most of it is manufactured by the system of the Royal Roto who compete for positive coverage in the notoriously sensationalized British tabloids where senior Royal's press offices compete to stay "on top" while denigrating fellow family members. If there was ever a situation the cried out for revision, it's the Royal Roto. Wasn't Princess Diana's experience enough to illustrate that?

The Duke & Duchess of Sussex here try to squeeze in their "side" of being trashed by this system. Reading fellow commentaries here, you'd think they were vying for worst people in the World, by simply stating their perception of a system where they were very unhappy and chose to find a better way to live their lives of service to the Monarchy. Each is distinctly a personality type that finds the stuffy system they were in (one there by birth, the other there by naivete...but both head over heels in love with one another). Harry is clearly a rascal; it's his chief appeal. Megan Markle-perhaps cursed with both brains and beauty-a survivor of racism and sexism with a resume (actress and activist) the rankles those crowned and anointed by the very system she rose above.

Whether their choice of presenting their case was wise or only made them targets is arguable. But they certainly didn't hide either their personality, talent or lifestyle under a bushel in this documentary. I found them charming, but I understand how others might see it as gilding an already bejeweled lily. In either case no one can fault them for not being candid or direct.

What matters is only the consequence it has on their family relationships, since their dilemma has zero effect on the many of us who comment here. I hope they can mend their disputes. Life is short. And already during the making of the film two of the principals were lost to them. The "sport" of tearing down one another, encouraged by the Palace personnel and the tabloids is really shameful and primitive in it's delight of fostering tragedy.

This slick, though candid and self-aware, production of the rise of a manifestly talented woman to "super" stardom, is generous with home footage as well as documentary and musical performances. Her childhood is presented so well with the struggles of a body-type to overcome societal mocking and the damage that should have dimmed her charm and talent. It's a great movie for parents to show their children who may be struggling with similar issues. As well, it's a familiar story of the difficulty in rising through the ranks of those who "make it" and those who give up on having a career in the music industry.

Some of the more vulnerable personal relationships that everyone has are included. But the charm of the subject of this documentary invites everyone to get over themselves and not be boxed in by societal norms. It's in the faces of Lizzo's audiences that we see her success: from concerts or award competions everyone is touched by this woman's accomplishments and talent and by cheering her on, they're also cheering themselves on their own journey.

A modern morality story set in 1850's Ireland, the manipulation of religion to defend against life's strife makes a strikingly watchable person's "story" into a cautionary Gothic tale that transcends the genre.

The film doesn't ask us to take this as something literal. It's a construct. And it kept me in the moment not trying to predict what was ahead. A lot of the film reminded me of Céline Sciamma's "Portrait of a Woman on Fire" where modern themes-fairly frank ones-are set in a period which never would have allowed their mention.

Here, the biological pull of human reproduction gets slammed up against religious superstition, making the viewer reexamine what it means to parent a child, both its responsibilities and how that can be perverted by outside forces.

Both the director and the cast distinguish themselves, although I did find the sexual scenes lingering a little too long. They were necessary, but took me out of the film due to their length.

For me Frances Pugh is a gift to her profession.

Glória Pires, as Lota de Macedo Soares, dominates this film to such a degree, we wonder why it's focus is the poet Elizabeth Bishop, brittlely acted by Miranda Otto. I suppose you could argue, "That's how it was both in life and their relationship," but as a viewer, our interest begs to know more about Soares.

This is a beautiful film about very talented, privileged people. An icey, supposedly repressed Bishop finds herself in the hot house of the Brazilian estate of Soares. Their torrid relationship is the subject of the film. We forget how dangerous same sex relationships were at the time, and film doesn't try to recreate that peril. And that makes some of the dynamics that plague the relationship a question. Why is Bishop able to sail above disastrous break-up; why is Soares destroyed.

What is fascinating is the liberation that the Soares estate, Petrópolis, provides. It's an Eden-like setting where the relationship flourishes. But we want more than "extraordinary people" have the same challenges in relationships as we, the ordinary. When Pulitzer Prises or major architectural commissions are awarded, the changes in dymanics that it brings aren't really explored. And I think these extraordinaryly talented people deserve a deeper, perhaps darker, film given the times they lived in and pressures it brought.

Yes, the NC-17 rating is undeserved, no, this is not a biography but an essay on women's sexualization in the media and popular culture; yes, it's well-made but unpleasant (and why wouldn't it be given the subject matter); yes, Ana de Armas is stunning in her recreation of a legendary personality; and, finally, avoid it if you're looking for enlightenment on who Marilyn Monroe was in her private life; however, the pressure on her to be one-dimensional and easy to dismiss was real and devasting.

I did find the sexual act between the President and Marilyn Monroe tawdry and overly drawn. However, her "summons" and treatment by he Secret Service had some basis in another President's misconduct; therefore, there was "truth" in how she was treated if tastelessly presented. I'm sure there are many women who felt/feel used in this manner...if not in this particular relationship.

Interesting that so many reviews point to "left-wing" propaganda when only one of the episodes in this well-made anthology focuses on the Alt-Right's use of the Internet to spread their...propoganda. The other episodes don't involve politics, but shows actual cases of the use/misuse of the World Wide Web for criminal behavior that is difficult to investigate for smaller law enforcement agencies, and overwhelms larger agenies because it's so extensive. The point that the platform of the Internet which is so intertwined with modern living is also a place where dark--even deadly--forces lurk is very well illustrated. (Note: the cries of "bias" in reviews here never cite one exxample of what they feel is a misrepresentation.)

Initially, I skipped watching this since I assumed it would be the same formula of nasty competitors clawing their way to some grand prize.

But that's not what this is.

Initially 13 dancers--of a certain body type--are assembled to perform as concert back-up's for Lizzo's upcoming festival. There's room for 10 dancers, but there is no guarantee any will make the cut to perform as professionals in (likely) a high-priced venue.

What unfolds is a group of very supportive "amateur" (the individuals in the group not only run a gamut of ages but also experience; all have submitted audition tapes that clearly open the door to a venue to feature their talent). Lizzo has a message: Body image is an individual expression of who you are. Take it or leave it, but don't demean it. This sets the stage for a variety of individual challenges to each performer on where they are in their journey of accepting their bodies, ignoring the negative societal norms (as well as various injuries either physical of psychic) and join the celebration that is Lizzo.

The series literally soars in mood despite the difficult challenges of being a dancer in a professional setting. Hungry for acceptance and a stage to perform on, the cast embraces one another and sets the hurdles as each individual's internal challenges. These are athletes whose stamina is untested despite their obvious talents and internal demons. Never stooping to the negative, Lizzo's charm lifts everyone to do their best...even those of us watching. Our own prejudices melt away and we see these very appealing people work their tails "on" (as Lizzo frequently calls it).

It's a slickly and visually appealing production that moves perhaps a little too quickly to its culmination towards the final performance which I personally found thrilling. Hard work pays off. Self-acceptance is often a tricky to achieve, but watching these woman accomplish what they do is worth our time to watch. And Lizzo is the perfect person to lead all of us towards a joyful resolution.

Okay. Stephen Spielberg, today's highest-grossing living director worldwide, made a musical. His "West Side Story" had a $100 million dollar budget. Watching it you wonder, "Where did the money go?" Most "big" films today have a considerable CGI budget, but did it all go to creating rubble? While there's a honey-colored nostalgic light over most of the film, it's also oversaturated in color to highlight the reds, which also does odd things to skin color, and, yes, this is movie about skin color.

While it may sound like a good idea to bring in Tony Kushner to brush up the book, it really wasn't necessary. The whole idea of the sins of redevelopment being added really takes too much exposition to pull off successfully, although having the setting being where Lincoln Center arose was clever, since Leonard Bernstein opened it with the New York Philharmonic. But what did all that additional material really do to illuminate an already clearly defined book by Arthur Laurents. There was some nonsense about bringing back Laurents "original intent" but that's just silly. All Kushner did was add unnecessary running time where musical numbers are attenuated to give Kushner more time to expound on what we already knew or didn't really need, e.g., an elaborate back story to Tony's trouble with the law.

The purpose may have been to brush over the central problem with "West Side Story" in any version: the Tony/Maria conundrum. They're boring. They're drips. What's compelling about "West Side Story" is the tension and the colorful life in the barrio that swirls around them. That's what draws people to this story, and it's very difficult to go from a mambo in "Dance at the Gym" to an operatic/pop song like "Maria" without disappointing the audience. Plus, apparently when making a movie of "West Side Story" you have to cram the camera about 6 inches from Tony and/or Maria's face to emphasize their infatuation with one another. The close-ups in this version are trite and very tiresome. The action scenes take on a brutality which, sadly, is what our culture is fascinated with.

Some other choices, like timing the gathering of dried laundry to the music are very distracting, particularly for a master film maker like Spielberg. $100 million and we get dancing laundry. Spielberg abandons the wide screen sharply focused formal compositions of the 1961 film for a rotting, debris filled, very crowded frame. It's the most obvious change between the 1961 version and Spielberg's. There's still the problem of credibility where City gangs and their threatening swagger will pull off a perfectly executed pirouette and we aren't tempted to giggle. "West Side Story" belongs on a stage, it's bluntly theatrical and putting it in the streets of New York City would be like filming "Swan Lake" outdoors on a lake bank.

The musical is as timely and fresh as when it opened in 1958. Had Spielberg spent his money on adapting something like the 2020 Broadway revival (which was a combination of live stage performance and film maybe something new that added to the revivals of "West Side Story," great. For me, because it's retro and often a shot for shot duplicate of the 1961 film, it was redundant...well, you do get to hear the magnificent score in Dolby Atmos sound, and if that's worth your while, head for an IMAX.

I'm always a little reticent when sitting down to a Jane Campion movie because form and content can often be (for me) at odds in her imagery. Clearly, she's one of the major talents in the industry, but I always feel battered and bruised being hit with "the point" she's trying to make.

With "The Power of the Dog," I believe she's backed-off any message and created not only her best film, but one of the best films of the year. However strenuous she is with her cast, their work is often equal to or the best performances they've given. (I'm not sure an actor doesn't need to bathe for a week to know how to play a person who doesn't bathe regularly, but if that's what it takes to wind up with these performances, good.)

I doubt that anyone reading this hasn't already known what the subtext is about. The reveal of why Phil Burbank is the way he is doesn't come as any particular surprise. The "gasp" for the audience comes much, much later in the film. And Campion wisely, I think, makes it subtle and mysterious rather than her usual blunt frankness.

Visually, as usual from this director, her work is stunning. The landscapes from New Zealand are just different enough that we feel slightly unfamiliar with where we are: Is it time that's changed the landscape or are we not in what is so familiar as the American West. Set in the mid-1920's, Western expansion is complete, the railroads have opened access and the financial barons have moved into what we know as the Wild West. The color palette of the film is all browns, "the West" is dead and over. Whether the pandemic is the reason Campion chose New Zealand or just the practicalities of the production being shot in her neck of the woods, it was a brilliant choice for this particular story where something is "off" with all the principal characters.

We're presented with their pain first, and then slowly stripping away why they are each so ill-at-ease with themselves and others isn't the usual subject of a Western, and those looking to anything traditional will be unsatisfied. The novel by Thomas Savage is a postmodern work, and Campion does a superb job of bringing to the screen. Kodi Smit-McPhee's otherworldly performance as the son who is the undoing of Benedict Cumberbatch's venomous Phil Burbank was a risk because with Cumberbatch's dynamic portrayal (which nearly jumps of the screen because it's so vivid) Smit-McPhee's style is much more introverted and nearly fades from our awareness...until it doesn't.

And can Kirsten Dunst do anything wrong as an actress? Ever? As the darkness of the Burbank mansion enshrouds her, she realizes she's drowning in a conflict that's beyond her control. The pain of her struggle and the alarm she feels is equal to-though less showy-than Cumberbatch's convincing, very disturbing performance. For my money, he gives a performance for the ages. As does the rest of the cast. And Campion can take credit for coaxing it out of her actors.

While the film's running time can be questioned, I was never anything but fascinated by the imagery on the screen. Literally every blade of grass, every sinuous muscle of horse or man, the drape of a costume, the dust stirred by cattle all flow together to tell a story of pain and revenge...and of secrets so devastating they must remain buried. Early on, the characters are locked into an impasse. Most of the film comprises the insult and injury inflicted until a resolution can be found. For valid reasons, Campion handles the denouement in haste. It's over before we realize what's happened, and it's a device that will bring criticism. We don't get to "enjoy" what just happened or see the character's being set free. But in a story where so much lies below the surface, to dwell on things better left unsaid was the right choice.

It's striking that the most often repeated criticism of the series--and its alleged "agenda"--is that the writers choosing to write about same sex characters and the problems they encounter dares to be about same sex characters and the problems they encounter. What? I didn't know a series about high schoolers had to primarily reflect the problems of heterosexuals (which, by the way, well represented here).

It's a delightful and daring--and often very funny--series. Also, an ever so generous step towards freeing its characters and its audience from unhealthy attitudes about sexual matters and depictions of them.

Glowing in it's production values, the soundtrack is as vital and as well performed/assembled as any of the characters. Clever? Just watch the school's production of "Romeo and Juliet" at the end of season 2.

There's a reason for an 8-hour documentary about the recording of The Beatles final release. Back when, there was such a ruckus and hurled allegations from all quarters: the band members, the critics, the (mostly) stoned fans and interested parties. Today, all of that seems like manufactured craziness, but Peter Jackson recreated what may have happened, offering a correction of what people erroneously believed as a clash of inflating egos and tantrums caused by (1) Yoko Ono's presence and (2) the pulling apart of the group by domesticity. In fact, Jackson lets us witness the growth of 4 talented people ready to move on with their drive towards solo careers. The group was just too confining, the mind-meld between McCartney and Lennon too dominant for Harrison and Starkey. Seeing McCartney and Lennon create--almost wordlessly--is riveting, and watching Harrison's resentment over being ignored or dismissed, painful. But there's a tight deadline for the project. Starkey is under contract to begin a movie at month's end, and the planned project includes an album, a TV special, a film plus a live performance in just 3 weeks. So time puts enormous pressure on getting the work done.

The Beatles were a phenomenon unlike anything seen before primarily due to a growing interconnectedness of media that spread news (or rumor) with lighting speed. Reporting the most mundane morsel of what was going on with the group was its own industry. And, in the absence of any fact, the media could always make something up. Critics who were becoming a separate discipline, lying in wait to topple the successful, so they could gain respect and access...and influence. And The Beatles were a primary target for the mill. "Let It Be" was poorly received by the critics which today seems laughable. Take a dart and throw it at the eclectic track list, and you'd score an example of brilliance in both live recording, performing or writing. Sometimes all three. Phil Spector's odd postproduction edits only added to the critical fodder. Today, those additions make little difference. And, as McCartney remarks in the course of the film, Yoko Ono's presence--and any objection to it--also is inconsequential. It's too bad she didn't have the awareness of what her constant presence would give to her detractors.

I wouldn't urge anyone to see this film due to its length. Writing songs and rehearsing them is a repetitious process. You'll either be fascinated or bored stiff. But the restoration alone is a gift; the amount of time we get to spend watching the recording process of geniuses of the 20th Century is a privilege. The music still thrills and influences. Whether you want to stick around and watch how it was created, under self-imposed dire pressure is a personal choice.

Part 3 is the most accessible for the casual viewer. It contains things like a young Heather McCarthy upon hearing Yoko Ono's, unique wordless, guttural singing deciding to mimic her. We also get to move out of the claustrophobic confines of the yet-to-be-completed Apple studios and hear a relatively unrehearsed, rough shod performance (some used on the album). And the surprised inhabitants and passersby on Seville Row astonishment to hear The Beatles finally performing again. The constabulary are less impressed.

It can be argued that the Beatles changed society. Whether you want to say they simply led what was already underway or did it single-handedly is an open question. So, Peter Jackson with "The Beatles: Get Back" did a service by correcting a record. Yes, there were struggles and resentments inside the group. But the real culprit in their split was their maturing talent and a need to express beyond the four as a group. At the time, the break up was devasting to the public and apparently to the group itself; but watching the film today, we can celebrate that they were released to not only express themselves but to give even more to their legacy.

I hope this is the final attempt to bring Herbert's science fiction classic to the screen. It would be easy to dismiss this if the talent behind it weren't so impressive. And there is a lot to be impressed by in the film. But it is so static, it could be a submission to a Folio Society special edition of the book for illustrations. Oh, there's people in motion, but often we don't really understand who they are, why they are where they are; or, if they do something, why it matters. The screenplay's dialog is jarring. And Hans Zimmer's thunderous imaginative score fills in for the justifying classy visuals. I wound up looking forward to how Timothée Chalamet's hair was going to appear from scene to scene since the dialog was absolutely no help in explaining whatever else was going on. The characters speak in long expository speeches that even if it wasn't indecipherable, it wouldn't help us care about any of the characters.

The art direction (and the score) run off with the movie leaving us abandoned in a murky, clearly epic, story that a "White Savior" was going to rescue the Universe from greed and substance abuse. And we know how well that's worked out. The whole idea that Western culture is going "save" exotic Islam (or vice versa) is dated and more than a little offensive.

Villeneuve's previous films reveal an understanding of the beat and rhythms of story telling. Since that is missing from "Dune," you have to wonder if the project overwhelmed him. (It certainly is overwhelming to watch.) After the midway point (over an hour into the film) there seems to be an awareness of how stagnant--even trite--the film is: "Waaaa, I don't want to be a duke," "Waaaa, I don't to have special powers," and a pointless excursion into the dunes, things pick up, but they're leaden and very tired. "It's a trap!" Yea, it is. And from where Part I ends, we're going to have to a whole other hour of exposition to get us through Part II. Very discouraging.

Season 4 - The "Final" Season (well, we'll see about that) Do you know when a friend launches into some really disturbing-to them-dream they had and 30 minutes later, you're still trying to find the logic or...stay awake? Unfortunately, Season 4 has way too much of that. But since this is "Goliath" with Billy Bob Thornton, why not suffer the silly stuff and hope you get the goods. You do...get the goods. However this is a case for never giving Thornton the first episode of series to direct (nice try, but "Sling Blade" this ain't).

Although I had a lot of questions about why we're suddenly in Dashiell Hammett's dark and wet San Francisco (You keep waiting for Sydney Greenstreet to show up); why a significant law firm with an even more significant settlement of a major lawsuit over to (the always wonderful) Nina Arianda as sidekick Patty Solis-Papgian who brings on the notoriously unpredictable Thornton to wrangle the settlement amount; why Thornton is ensconced in an "iffy" Chinatown apartment; why Brittany (Tania Raymonde leaves her job in frigid Chicago and shows up just in time to do what she does (snoop around); why Thornton (as McBride, who's apparently lost half a lung recently) is always trudging up and down San Francisco's famous hills; why Thornton isn't incarcerated for his courtroom antics? Lots of initial questions.

Then, Jena Malone as a directing partner of a snazzy law firm and J. K. Simmons as the Evil Opiates Pharmaceutical emperor quickly sell a topical plot and an advancing case of Multiple Sclerosis while crazy Bruce Dern gives a strong (yet ambivalent) performance as...well, as maybe a friend, maybe a foe. The plot, the stylish side of San Francisco photographed with superb clarity (by Jeffrey Greely), make Season 4 binge worthy television. The dream stuff, however, irritates throughout. (You get used to it or suffer it so you can enjoy the good stuff.)

And the powers that be are convinced to give us one more season of this always watchable series, please bring along Jena Malone and J. K. Simmons (they can really aggravate Patty).

Filmmakers David Belton and Bjørn Johnson state they wanted to find a "new way" of dealing with what happened to the World on September 11, 2001. And seemingly, the material has been gone over endlessly, yet while we know--intimately--the details of that day, what is captured here is the impact it had on those who were either witnesses or survivors both then and now. And indeed it is a new way of looking both at the historical narrative as well as the personal impact of a seminal event in World History. The value of what's collected and expertly edited into this astonishing film will be just one more step in integrating what is both good and bad in ourselves and our lives, and how some certainly arose from the flames, the dust and the ashes of that day.

The first hour of "Respect" was difficult. It wasn't just that the material is challenging, the film is surprisingly poorly lit and lacks any imaginative use of the medium. We feel like we've seen all of this before (even if you ignore the earlier National Geographic's Genius production with Cynthia Erivo) the rise to stardom seems stale. In reality it was anything but. Aretha Franklin had a privileged upbringing if you contrast it with other great African American pop singers. So why was it so fraught? The film skates around the major issue: growing up in a racist society and the isolation that alone brings...even to the privileged.

But an hour into this 2 and a half hour film, things suddenly take off, and it coincides with Aretha Franklin's personal liberation in her artistry and opening a buttoned up Jennifer Hudson that the film finally begins to soar. It's absolutely elating when the sessions at Muscle Shoals begin. And "the issue" of racism begins to work its way into the film.

As well, the details laid out in the first hour also start to make more sense and finally give us an understanding of all that came along with Aretha Franklin's singular talent. Addressing the damage of growing up in a broken marriage, having a psychotically controlling father, the early loss of an idealized mother, suffering childhood sexual abuse, all begins to build into--under the film's terms--a crisis of spirit that we can relate to. And Jennifer Hudson not only exceeds at portraying Franklin's magnificent artistry, she also expertly conveys her suffering.

The transition from the end of the film into the final credits is also worthy of the two women this film honors: Aretha Franklin and Jennifer Hudson.

First, there is he declaration that no one has ever been convicted of the crime of killing a four-year-old child. That is repeated at the beginning and of each episode. Then follows 13 years (plus) of archival news footage and interviews laying out a more complicated than usual conflict within clans of a small French village. We're left feeling all avenues have been explored and due to the length of time that has passed, the consequences of various players in the drama (and it's quite a drama), we accept that the likelihood of ever knowing who, what and where the crime occurred seems oddly justified. In short it's a huge mess. The filmmaker's frequently return to a portrait of the victim to keep bringing us back to the innocent victim, who often gets lost in the drama that unfolds.

It's rare that so much news footage exists around a crime of ordinary--even banal--people. But the circumstances and the pathos created by the victim(s) electrified not just a nation but also the tabloid press which pushed the narrative in (often) the wrong direction. And the byzantine legal system in France would have to back-track, and any particular iron that was hot had cooled, and new targets of the public and the investigation would be concocted.

This is a sad, haunting series with very vivid players both in the courts, the tabloid press, and the family...which likely hides the perpetrator(s). And the motive (envy or jealousy or retaliation) hints at a desperately troubled--and petty--mind.

If there's any fault it's the number of leads and interviewers. But that is the heart of this particular case: too many cooks stirring and sensationalizing a heartbreaking situation, and we would have felt betrayed by the filmmakers for withholding any of it.

The inherent problems of bringing a work written for the stage to the screen are manifest here. Focusing on the World's most significant conflict, there's a very delicate line that filmmaker's have to walk to keep the audience in their seats so they'll listen-hopefully-to whatever the "other" side has to say, and we can all come out of the theater enlightened. This isn't a recreation of history, although the "back channel" depicted happened. This is a fiction that is balanced on the head of a pin so that both sides are wrong...and right. And to do that-remove the passion of both sides-you're left with what? Something lesser than the urgency of the problem the World faces.

Dialog on the stage is very different than what a screenplay needs. Moving this material required a full rewrite or you're left distracted by the question, "Do people really talk like that?" The best example is Toril Grandal's portrayal as the cook for the party who've been assembled. Both the actress and the role's conception come from a long tradition of comic French maids in the theater. It's embarrassing to watch but given the way the role is written and directed, the actress is left with little choice. On the stage, the distance a theater offers it may play better, but on a movie screen it's a disaster.

The one actor who is able to make this material seem less offensive and not a stereotyped construct is Salim Dau, as PLO's Ahmed Qurei. He walks away with the film, communicating the pain of the Palestinian experience with searing pathos.

Ruth Wilson too seems to find a quiet dignity as the person who brings the parties together and simply hopes peace will be the outcome. But everyone else screams, gesticulates, reaches for every trite stereotype at hand.

There's a brief newsreel that ends the film of the actual participants speaking and shaking hands. Those are the only honest moments in the film. And we're thrown back into reality of all that was lost as a result of these negotiations, and all that is still left to do. If the playwright/screenwriter wanted us to believe that it's outside World actors (the U. S. A., Moscow, and others) that are "the problem" and we just need to let the injured parties take a long walk in the snowy Norwegian Woods, we've since seen proof of how misguided that turned out to be.

For this specific material, a filmed stage production might have been the better choice.

I don't know who gave Barry Jenkins the project of filming Colson Whitehead's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, "The Underground Railroad," but thank you. Not only does this series do it's subject matter justice, it also elevates the form of episodic television series out of it's often sensational form and puts it squarely into an that of an art form. Each episode could be a stand-alone feature length film. And Jenkins has said that he needed a "long form" to tell this story because the "hard" scenes are so disturbing, they overwhelm the "soft" parts of the film. Watching the end result, I'm not sure he entirely succeeds in putting enough between the manifestations of horror of the subject matter, but he certainly pulls out all the stops in an effort to do so. From location scouting, to costume design, to cinematography, all pulled together by a soundtrack that is not just the score by Nicholas Britall, but a soundscape that includes insects, industrial, animal and natural sounds like trees rustling or wind moaning, it all fused together perfectly..

We're left seeing something lyrical and deeply felt that often uses little dialogue and very little exposition. It's not what we expect from a the miniseries form and certainly not what we expect on the subject matter of slavery in America. While nothing is homogenized for an audience who still lives with and denies the remnants of Slave economy and trade-or perhaps it's the consequence of moral failings of a Nation who expressed ideals that belie this practice-it's the lead character's drive and purpose to escape her fate that holds us. We understand Cora's drive, but also wonder where it comes from. She was born into slavery and knows nothing else. That she sees or imagines a better horizon without ever witnessing it, puts her in the Classical heroic form. We can attribute some of it to the fact her Mother abandoned her for a better life...or at least that's what she's told or assumes; but, the obstacles she faces that only seem to maker her more determined is nothing ordinary.

Her pursuer played by Joel Edgerton balances out the exceptionalism of Cora, played by the riveting Thuso Mbedu, is more familiar. The psychopath has been well-covered in the long form of a miniseries. But it's the persistence of the pursuit and how disruptive it is to the brief moments of peace and respite Cora finds that propels the action. He has the single drive that Cora has, but she and the viewer realize only one can have what they want. And it's less who wins-because no one with a single purpose ever does-than what Cora discovers on her journey. As she boards a fully realized railroad that here is literally underground, she's encouraged, "if you want to see what this nation is all about, you got to ride the rails. Just look outside as you speed through and you will see the true face of America." And that's really the purpose of the series: unveiling the consequence of the moral failing at the core of America. There is religious fervor, economic success, benevolence masking deceit, and the love inherent in living. In Cora's case, that's a very small token after all that's been taken from her. Yet, it's there.

There's also the natural beauty of the country itself. In two episodes, it's literally been set ablaze. The imagery of fire, what it promises and what it destroys, how it can light the way or consume us, is used throughout.

Those who demand adherence to literal history will not be satisfied. History is not even referenced other than the name of the State Cora is journeying through. And because it's a fantasy, I fear the brutality on display will be dismissed. But perhaps those so willing to deny the consequence of the moral scourge we're still living with as a result of the dehumanization of a race, won't be all that interested in this lush, bold and very admirable work.

I'm not sure that anyone who went to high school and took an American history class hasn't spent time considering the horror of being torn from the comfort of your life and family, chained and put on a ship, then sold and dehumanized to serve and be brutalized by slavery in the United States. If the filmmakers need to tell that story again--rather than exploit it--some thought needs to go into it. And in "Antebellum" there is some indication that this story has something different, telling a 3 "act" story of its central character Eden, enslaved and brutalized along with others on a plantation in the U.S. South. The filmmakers captured the brutalization and murders with conviction.

Unfortunately, the screenplay gives the considerable acting and production talent in this film nothing but platitudes to say, particularly in the second or middle "act" of the film. Janelle Monáe owns the camera whenever she appears. But the characters of a happy, exceptionally successful family ring so false with the cheerful adoring husband, the perfect child all decked out in an impossibly neat penthouse, and everyone sporting the highest fashion, trying to mimic what it means to be successful and "intellectual," as if conflict doesn't exist in family life or success (particularly in academia) isn't hard won and demanding. Any strength the entire film has is eradicated by how trite and superficial the "real" world of overcoming the economic limitations in a prejudiced society is depicted. Worse, the misuse of Gabourey Sidibe's considerable strengths imply that equality means you can demand how others treat you in the guise of rudeness and self-involvement and overt sexual exploitation. (Not cool, at all.)

While there was possibility in this material, "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter," used its premise to much greater and more pointed effect. Images from contemporary America are hastily and thoughtlessly grabbed and stuffed into the film. A statue of Robert E. Lee which in the news was concrete (or bronze) evidence of the egregious abuse of racism's scourge in contemporary America, and militias which almost over-turned the U.S. Constitution are used in the film like cardboard cutouts.

The final frames of the film which point to a good portion of America's obsession with reenacting its Civil War as if the wrong side won, is marketed by the economic system to suggest "The South will rise again" is wildly offensive--particularly when the filmmakers likely had the opposite idea in mind. The whole effort of the film becomes as sadistic and pornographic as those who revere the enslavement of a race of people.