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“TONI MORRISON: THE PIECES I AM”  My rating: B

120 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

It’s about time.

At age 87 writer/editor/educator Toni Morrison has won a Pulitzer and a Nobel Prize and her novels — Beloved, The Bluest Eye, Sula, Song of Solomon, Tar Baby and Jazz — can be rightly said to have made major contributions to American literature.

But there’s never been a major documentary about Morrison, an oversight director Timothy Greenfield-Sanders corrects with “Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am.”

Drawing upon a small army of big-name admirers –among them Oprah Winfrey, Walter Mosley, Russell Banks, Angela Davis, Fran Lebowitz  and her editor Robert Gottlieb — Greenfield-Sanders intersperses talking-head observations with vintage newsreels, family photos and Morrison’s own testimony (recorded in sessions going back to the ’70s) to create a panoramic history of her life and career.

We hear of her childhood in Loraine Ohio and get from the author an amazing story about her grandfather, who boasted of having read the Bible at a time when Negro literacy was illegal in some states. In another story she recalls how an obscenity scribbled on the sidewalk outside their house infuriated her mother.

Both incidents, she recalls, taught her that “Words have power.”

College, a failed marriage, two sons…and a job editing at a small publishing firm that was absorbed by book giant random house. Morrison edited other writers’ books while working on her own (usually in the hours before sunrise, while her children were still sleeping).

Early criticism of her work was, in retrospect, borderline racist. White critics admired her style but cautioned that as long as she insisted on writing “just” about the black experience she was doomed to the literary fringes.

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Jimmie Falls (at right)

“THE LAST BLACK MAN IN SAN FRANCISCO” My rating

121 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Less a conventional narrative than an extended tone poem, Joe Talbot’s “The Last Black Man in San Francisco” is bursting at the seams with color, movement and, quite often, stillness.

It dabbles in big contemporary issues (race, gentrification, crime, dead-end machismo, the changing urban landscape) but never makes a big statement, preferring just to sit back and soak it all up.

Most of all it’s the story of a friendship between two men — African American men — who share a dream against the odds.

In a sense, this is a love story about a man and a house.  Jimmie (Jimmie Fails) is quietly obsessed with a Victorian gingerbread home on one of San Francisco’s scenic streets. He has been told — and he absolutely believes — that this imposing structure was hand-built by his grandfather in the late 1940s.

The family somehow lost the property, but now Jimmie is determined to get it back.  He’s so committed to this project that he frequently sneaks onto the property when the current owners aren’t around to paint and make repairs.

Sharing his vision is his best friend Montgomery (Jonathan Majors). Montgomery is a fish monger by trade, a playwright by avocation.  (Neither of these guys is dumb, which makes their devotion to the cause all the more touching.)

Currently Jimmie is living with Montgomery and the latter’s blind grandpa (Danny Glover); a typical night at home usually involves an old noir movie with Montgomery providing a running commentary on the action so the old man can appreciate the visuals he can no longer see. Continue Reading »

Himash Patel

“YESTERDAY” My rating: B-

116 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

As gimmicks go, “Yesterday” has a killer.

A struggling Brit musician gets creamed in a roadway accident and wakes up to a world where no one has ever heard of the Beatles. He starts performing all those great songs (like the rest of us, he’s committed them to memory) and is hailed as a pop music genius. Only problem is the guilt he feels for getting rich and famous off the talents of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, who apparently never existed.

The big question here is whether “Yesterday” has anything to offer beyond its clever premise and its collection of gobsmackingly great Beatles tunes.

Kinda.

As written by Richard Curtis (“Love Actually,” “Pirate Radio”) and directed by Danny Boyle (possibly the most diversified filmmaker working today), “Yesterday” is an affable romantic comedy/fantasy with a nice star turn by  Himash Patel (a British TV actor making his big-screen debut). Patel not only embodies an in-over-his-head innocent but has the pipes to deliver in the musical sequences.

We meet our hero, warehouse worker Jack Malik (Patel), on the verge of giving up his dream of ever becoming a successful musician. He has a manager — actually, it’s his childhood friend Ellie (Lily James) — but the only gigs coming his way are kiddie parties and open mic nights at various seedy pubs. He does get to play in a regional tent at a big rock festival, but most of his audience consists of a handful of friends who come to all his shows.

No sooner has he told Ellie that he’s packing it in than the lights go out all over the world for about 12 seconds.  That’s enough time for the bicycle-riding Jack to collide with a bus.

In the accident’s aftermath, though, weird things happen.  He drops references to the Beatles (one of the film’s cleverer aspects is that it shows how many phrases from the Fab Four’s lyrics have become common parlance…sort of like quotes from Shakespeare) and is bewildered when nobody seems to know what he’s talking about.

When he plays “Yesterday” for some pals they are blown away and want to know why he’s been hiding such a great tune.

A trip to Google confirms Jack’s worst fears.  A search for “The Beatles” turns up only entomological websites. (One of the film’s running gags is that over time Jack discovers that other aspects of his old reality have vanished.  For instance, there is no Coca-Cola, only Pepsi, and nobody has ever heard of cigarettes; one assumes that public health has improved immeasurably.)

The film’s strongest moments come early on as Jack discovers his situation and finds himself being propelled into worldwide notoriety. He tours with Ed Sheeran (playing himself quite effectively) and even “debuts” “Back in the U.S.S.R.” at a Moscow concert.

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Daisy Ridley

“OPHELIA” My rating B-

107 minutes  | MPAA rating: PG-13

Think of Claire McCarthy’s “Ophelia” as Shakespeare-lite  custom made for younger audiences…especially audiences of young women.

Like Tom Stoppard’s “Rosencranz and Guildenstern Are Dead,”  Semi Chellas’ screenplay retells  “Hamlet” from the perspective of one of the tragedy’s minor characters.

That it stars Daisy Ridley, the lead performer in the most recent iterations of the “Star Wars” universe, only adds to its marketability.

We begin with Ophelia’s childhood in the Danish court at Elsinore. As the daughter of the King’s adviser Polonius, little red-headed Ophelia views the castle as a sort of private playground…she’s particularly fond of the unladylike pastime of swimming in a nearby pond.  Ophelia is not allowed to study with her brother Laertes — she’s a girl, after all — but you can’t keep a smart gal from learning on the sly.

As she tells us in voiceover, she is a willful person who follows her heart and speaks her mind.

A decade later she has grown into a beauty who captures the eye of Queen Gertrude (Naomi Watts) and becomes a lady-in-waiting; this despite the disapproval of the other ladies, who object to Ophelia’s plebeian roots.  But, hey, Gertrude likes having someone around who isn’t afraid to speak up.  She also likes having Ophelia read her to sleep from a volume of Medieval porn.

On one of his rare visits home from university, Prince Hamlet (George McKay) notices the all-grown-up Ophelia and  falls hard before returning to his studies.

Meanwhile, skullduggery is afoot.  The King’s brother Claudius (Clive Owen in questionable Prince Valiant wig) is making a play for Queen Gertrude.  Ophelia eavesdrops on their illicit romance and, when the King dies suddenly and Claudius and Gertrude wed, she informs Hamlet of her misgivings.

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Luciano Pavarotti

“PAVAROTTI” My rating: B+ 

114 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

One needn’t be an opera fan to be swept up in Ron Howard’s “Pavarotti,” a sympathetic but never sycophantic documentary about the man (1935-2007) widely regarded as the greatest tenor ever.

Sure, the film’s two hours are crammed with great music, but perhaps even more importantly, “Pavarotti” provides an indelible study of an outsized personality who, at his best, showered joy on just about everyone he encountered.

Through liberal use of archival footage and photos, Howard’s film describes Pavarotti’s rise, fueled by that incredible voice (he could  hit a high C that would raise the hair on the back of your neck).

It describes how he became a phenomenon in the U.S. giving recitals in small towns (William Jewell College in Liberty MO hosted the tenor on several occasions), how he teamed up with manager Herbert Breslin (often described as the most ruthless man in opera), who promoted his client from mere singer to world-recognized figure. (“A nice guy needs a bastard,” one talking head observes.)

Indeed, Pavarotti appears to have been a genuinely nice man, which is not to say he was perfect.

We learn that he was capable of bad moods and could be demanding. He traveled with a huge entourage — not out of ego (he appears to have been disarmingly modest) but because he hated being alone on the road.

That in part explains the joy he felt as one of the Three Tenors, sharing the stage with Placido Domingo and Jose Carreras for innumerable concerts and recordings.

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Moe Berg

“THE SPY BEHIND HOME PLATE” My rating: B

141 minutes | No MPAA rating

Morris “Moe” Berg was an unlikely professional athlete any way you look at it.

He went to Harvard (one of the few Jews admitted in the 1920s), spoke a dozen languages (apparently he self-taught himself Japanese on a boat ride across the Pacific) and was a catcher for several Major League teams.

True, Berg’s batting average was mediocre (less because of his batting than because of his glacial base running), but he was a very good defensive player and was often utilized by his managers as a bullpen catcher who nurtured, encouraged and brought out the best in young pitchers.

On top of that he was a fairly notorious ladies’ man.

All of which would have been enough for most of us.  But in the years before and during World War II Berg was a secret agent for the OSS, the precursor of the CIA.

On a goodwill trip of American All Star players to Japan he risked his neck by making home movies of ports and military installations in and around Tokyo, earning the gratitude of the U.S. intelligence community.

On another mission he dodged bullets with American troops liberating Italy so he could locate and relocate Italian scientists who had worked on German military projects.

And at the height of the conflict he was sent to a technical conference in Switzerland to observe a German scientist believed to be working on the Nazis’ atomic bomb.  Berg’s orders were to determine if the scientist was indeed involved in nuclear research and if such was the case, to assassinate the man. Had it come to that Berg undoubtedly would have been charged with murder by the Swiss authorities…providing he survived retaliation by the scientist’s bodyguards.

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Sienna Miller

“AMERICAN WOMAN” My rating: B+ 

111 minutes | MPAA rating: R

People can change.

That’s the hopeful message at the core of the often brutally grim “American Woman,” a film that casts American-born, Brit-reared beauty Sienna Miller as a working-class American floozie transformed by tragedy.

Written by Brad Ingelsby and directed by Jake Scott (son of director Ridley Scott), “American Woman” (a terribly meaningless title, BTW) offers an unconventional narrative covering 16 years in one woman’s life, leaping months or even years between scenes and often eschewing big dramatic moments for tiny glimpses of  everyday existence.

If you’re looking to compare it to another movie, Bruce Beresford’s “Tender Mercies” comes to mind. As antecedents go, that’s a pretty great one.

At the movie’s outset we meet Debra (Miller), a thirtysomething grocery store clerk living in small-town Pennsylvania with her  daughter Bridget (Sky Ferreira) and Bridget’s baby boy, Jesse.  Teen pregnancy seems to run in the family.

Debra, it quickly becomes apparent, is a good-time girl who in short skirt and go-go boots is a regular at the local honkytonk.  She is having a shameless affair with a married man, and though she seems a smart-mouthed tough cookie, she’s soft enough to entertain the notion that someday he’ll leave his wife.

This sort of behavior doesn’t sit well with her sister Katherine (Christina Hendricks), who lives across the street with her burly, decent-as-the-day-is-long husband Terry (Will Sasso). Nor does Debra’s mother Peggy (Amy Madigan) much approve of her daughter’s lifestyle. The two are always at each other’s throats.

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Bill Murray, Chloë Sevigny and Adam Driver

“THE DEAD DON’T DIE” My rating: C+

104 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The world really doesn’t need another zombie movie.

On the other hand, the world can always use another Jim Jarmusch movie.

Except, I guess, when it’s a zombie movie.

The latest from the idiosyncratic Jarmusch,  “The Dead Don’t Die,” has been written and played for chuckles.  It adds nothing to the zombie genre (unless you count the last-reel appearance of an alien spaceship) but allows a huge cast of players (Carol Kane and Iggy Pop, for instance, as a couple of the voracious corpses)  to have fun riffing on the whole walking dead phenomenon.

In sleepy Centerville the sheriff, Cliff Robertson (Bill Murray), and his deputy, Ronnie Peterson (Adam Driver), spend most of their time drinking coffee and keeping tabs on a forest-dwelling hermit (Tom Waits).

They mediate disputes among the citizenry, folk like a MAGA hat-wearing farmer (Steve Buscemi) and a black handyman (Danny Glover).

All the while,  Deputy Ronnie is oblivious to the fact that his co-worker, Deputy Mindy (Chloe Savigny), has a huge crush on him.

The two lawmen are a sort gun-toting Mutt & Jeff who face each new revelation of horrors with deadpan drollery.

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Mindy Kaling, Emma Thompson

“LATE NIGHT” My rating: C+

112 minutes | MPAA rating: R

The funniest moments in Nisha Ganatra’s “Late Night” depict the consternation of a bunch of Ivy League-educated white-guy TV joke writers upon earning that they have to share their workplace with a woman.

A woman of color.

A woman who is as nice as they are jaded.

“Late Night” was written by (and stars) comedy phenom Mindy Kaling, who knows what it’s like to be the only minority woman in the joint. While in interviews Kaling has taken pains to point out that she personally was never treated as badly as her character is, her depiction of life in a male-dominated writers’ room roils with sexual conflict and class consciousness.

In other words, on certain topics the film is as timely as hell.

Alas, in other important areas it feels tired, cliched and passe.

The ever-watchable Emma Thompson stars as Katherine Newbury, long-time host of a late-night TV talk show.  Early on she’s paid a visit by a network bigwig (Amy Ryan) who almost gleefully informs her that she’s being replaced with someone hipper, funnier and more willing to push the envelope.

Faced with a career that is circling the drain,  Katherine makes a rare appearance in her show’s writers’ room to stir up the troops. She doesn’t really know these guys and in fact  has banned them from the set.  Unwilling to learn their names, she assigns each of them a number.

Perhaps some diversity would help. How about a woman writer?

Enter Molly (Kaling), an aspiring comic who works in a chemical plant and only gets a job interview because the same conglomerate that owns her factory also owns the network.  Against all odds — and with absolutely no professional resume —  she’s hired.

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Blythe Danner, John Lithgow

“THE TOMORROW MAN” My rating: 

94 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

Not even the dynamic duo of John Lithgow and Blythe Danner can save “The Tomorrow Man,” a film so determined not to be your typical geriatric love story that it goes way too far in the other direction.

Ed Hemsler (Lithgow) lives in small-town America (it looks like Iowa) and is, to put it mildly, eccentric.

“I just want to be ready,” Ed tells his grown son in a telephone call, and we soon realize what that means.

Ed is a prepper. He has a secret room filled with survival supplies and he watches TV news constantly, looking for signs that it’s time to bunker down.  He’s arrogant, believing that the rest of us are self-deluding nincompoops. He keeps his house spotlessly clean. (Of course, he also imagines that the lady newscaster speaks to him directly.)

Ed isn’t a total loon. He can pass for more-or-less normal on his trips to the store to pick up bottled water, canned tuna and other essentials.

That’s where he spots Ronnie (Danner), a fellow septuagenarian who seems as timorous as Ed is self-assured.  Basically he stalks her (Ed knows his way around the Internet), planning out “accidental” meetings.

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