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Q’orianka Kilcher

“TE ATA” My rating: B 

105 minutes | MPAA rating: PG

Knowing that it was made by Chickasaw Nations Productions and follows the life of a famous Native American storyteller, one might be excused for avoiding “Te Ata” as an earnest endeavor of the sort to make a cynic’s skin crawl.

In truth, this modestly-budgeted, high-impact true story is inspirational in most of the right ways.  A few so-so performances and a couple of clunky moments cannot blunt its emotional power.

The subject is Mary Frances Th0mpson (1895-1995), born in Indian Territory (eventually to become Oklahoma) to a Chickasaw father (Gil Birmingham) and a mother (Brigid Brannagh)  of German descent.

Raised in a thoroughly Anglicized environment — her uncle (Graham Greene) was governor of the territory and, later, the state —  young Mary Frances was only tangentially aware of her tribal culture, thanks mostly to her father’s retelling of traditional fables.

As a young woman Mary Frances (Q’orianka Kilcher) became the first Native American to attend the Oklahoma College for Women, where a drama instructor (Cindy Pickett) encouraged her to forego the usual recitations from Shakespeare in favor of  the girl’s own rich cultural heritage.

This led to a stint on the chautauqua circuit, where she adopted the stage name Te Ata (Bearer of the Dawn) and donned a traditional buckskin costume for performances that embraced native dances, song and storytelling.

After further studies at Carnegie-Mellon, and a brief and unfulfilling career as a Broadway actress, Mary Frances/Te Ata turned once again to tribal storytelling. Eventually she would become a household name and a visitor to Franklin Roosevelt’s White House.

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Kate Winslet, Idris Elba

“THE MOUNTAIN BETWEEN US”  My rating: C+

103 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

He’s a neurosurgeon desperate to get back to Baltimore for a big operation.

She’s a photojournalist desperate to get back east for her wedding.

With an incoming blizzard grounding commercial air traffic, they rent a charter plane to take them home.

Nope.

“The Mountain Between Us” is a survival tale/love story set in the Colorado Rockies and starring Idris Elba and Kate Winslet as Ben and Alex, total strangers who must work together to survive when their plane crashes on a remote mountain top.

As an outdoor adventure crammed with drop-dead scenery and a plethora of adversity (hungry mountain lion, freezing temperatures, starvation, a fall through cracking lake ice) this film from director Hany Abu-Assad (an Israeli making his Hollywood debut) works well enough.

As a romance, though, it’s iffy.  J. Mills Goodie’s screenplay (from Charles Martin’s novel) doesn’t really give us that much to work with, character-wise.  Elba and Winslet are charismatic performers capable of suggesting depth where there is relatively little, but the script is skimpy with details, and what there is is a bit hokey. For way too long the state of Ben’s marriage is dangled before us like a mystery carrot.

Speaking of way too long…the movie continues a good 15 minutes after it should have ended; many viewers will develop a case of ants in their pants.

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Ana de Armas, Ryan Gosling

“BLADE RUNNER 2049”  My rating: B 

163 minutes | MPAA rating: R

Making a sequel that will satisfy three generations of “Blade Runner”-obsessed geeks isn’t easy.

What’s surprising is how close director Denis Villeneuve and his screenwriters (Hampton Fancher, Michael Green) have come to pulling it off.

Of course this pronouncement is coming from a guy who admired the original 1982 “Blade Runner” (great film technology and a brilliant evocation of a dystopian future) but didn’t actually like it (one of Harrison Ford’s clumsiest performances…plus the movie should have been about Rutger Hauer’s Roy Batty, a vastly more interesting character).

“Blade Runner 2049” finds me reversing my original evaluation — I like it but don’t exactly admire it.

Explaining one’s reactions to this eye-popping, ear-shredding futurist epic (the running time is nearly three hours) is made considerably more difficult by Villeneuve’s request  — read to critics at advance screenings — that we not discuss the new film’s plot in our reviews.

Well, that’s kind of limiting.

But here goes.

Once again we have a film about the conflict between replicants — artificially engineered humanoid slaves who are born as adults with phony memories of childhood — and their human creators.

The film centers on “K” (it refers to the first letters of his serial number), a replicant played by Ryan Gosling. K, like Ford’s Deckard in the first film, is a blade runner who hunts down renegade replicants. (The character’s name may also refer to Josef K., the existentially-challenged hero of Kafka’s The Trial. Allegorical names are big here; the principal female characters are called Joi and Luv.)

In the  years since the events of the original film there have been major societal upheavals:  A “great blackout” that destroyed most digital records; the bankruptcy of the Tyrell Corporation which invented replicants; and the rise of mad scientist Niander Wallace (Jared Leto, as irritatingly weird as ever), who has perfected technology to ensure that his new generation of replicants obey their human masters.

But there are still some aging Tyrell-era replicants hiding out in Earth’s less-hospitable neighborhoods, and it is K’s job to track them down and eliminate them.

In his off hours the silently suffering K takes much abuse from his human neighbors, who contemptuously refer to him as a “skin job.”  At least he has a wife at home…well, sort of.  What he is has is Joi (Ana de Armas), a computer-generated hologram who can change her clothing and hair instantaneously to match K’s mood.  She loves him; sexual congress,  though, seems beyond her technology.

No wonder K seems so sad.

Running throughout Fancher and Green’s screenplay are hints that man’s inventions — holograms, replicants — are at least as “human” as their creators, struggling against their programming to express emotional needs and intellectual curiosity.

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Steve Carell, Emma Stone

“THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES”  My rating: B+

121 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

Those going to “The Battle of the Sexes” expecting 0nly a bit of lightweight nostalgia had best gird their loins. There’s more going on here than a re-creation of a oddball moment in our cultural history.

Yes, this retelling of the famous 1973 tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs has its share of humor and historic earmarks. (Those costumes. Those hairstyles.)

But you’ll leave Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris’ film (they were the pair behind “Little Miss Sunshine”) struck by how relevant its issues remain, by the anger percolating just beneath the surface, and for its implicit warning that  the bad old days may be making a comeback.

Simon Beaufort’s script wastes little time in setting up the basic conflict.  In 1970 nine of the best female tennis players rebelled against the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association over the disparity between prize money awarded men and women.

Outraged, the reigning women’s champion, Billie Jean King (Emma Stone), and tennis journalist Gladys Heldman (Sarah Silverman) corner USLTA head Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman) in his exclusive men’s club.

Told they cannot be there, Heldman shoots back: “Why? Because I’m a woman? Or because I’m Jewish?”

Right there “Battle of the Sexes” draws its line.  Progress versus the reactionary status quo.

The upshot is the creation of the all-women Virginia Slims tennis circuit.

In a parallel plot line we eavesdrop on former tennis champ Billy Riggs (Steve Carell), now immersed in post-career boredom.

Riggs fritters away his days at a make-work job at his father-in-law’s business; at night he hangs with his drinking buddies, taking bets that he can beat anyone at tennis while tethered to two large dogs  or substituting a frying pan for his raquet.

His high-society wife (Elisabeth Shue) makes him attend Gamblers Anonymous meetings, which he breaks up by declaring that the problem isn’t that these people gamble, but that they’re bad gamblers. Winners don’t need support groups.

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Anastasia Shevtsova

“POLINA” My rating: B-

108 minutes | No MPAA rating

On the surface, “Polina” appears to be a fairly typical dance film, one that follows an aspiring ballerina from childhood through rigorous training to triumph on the stage.

Except that’s not really what it’s about.

Valerie Muller and Angelin Preljoca’s film begins in Moscow where young Polina (played as a child by Veronica Zhovnytska) begins serious ballet training under the demanding Bojinski (Aleksey Guskov), who frequently berates her for allowing her emotions (there are troubles at home) to interfere with her technique.

Young Polina takes his words to heart, so much so that in class she radiates a sullen stoicism.  Only when she’s walking home alone does this little girl allow herself to caper in the snow with childlike enthusiasm.

As an adolescent (now played by Anastasia Shevtsova) she’s good enough to be accepted by the prestigious Bolshoi Ballet. But emotionally she’s a closed book.  What is she thinking? What does she really want?

Polina gives herself (with only limited enthusiasm) to a fellow dancer, a French lad (Niels Schneider) interning with the Bolshoi. When he returns to France she follows, joining a regional company presided over by Liria (Juliette Binoche), a choreographer who complains that while Polina may be technically perfect, she exhibits no passion.

This then, is the heart of “Polina”: When will our heroine overcome her emotional blockages and open up to the expressive possibilities of dance? (Hint: the film ends with a knockout modern dance piece choreographed by co-director Preljocaj.)

The problem with all this, of course, is that an emotionally blocked character isn’t very interesting.

While Shevtsova is obviously a lovely young woman and an accomplished dancer, her acting chops appear limited.  In any case it’s hard to read what’s going on behind her character’s blank exterior, and that makes “Polina” itself more an exercise in technique than in feeling.

| Rober W. Butler

Mart Avandi, Liisa Koppel

“THE FENCER”  My rating: B-

99 minutes | No MPAA rating

Given the recent flap over NFL players taking the knee during the playing of the national anthem, we probably shouldn’t be surprised at how often filmmakers turn to the nexus of sports and politics/social issues (“Chariots of Fire,” “42,” “Race,” etc.)

The latest film to examine that tension is Klaus Haro’s “The Fencer,” an Estonian production set during the bad old days of Stalinist purges.

Endel (Mart Avandi) comes to a tiny Estonian burg in the early 1950s to teach physical ed at the local elementary school. He’s quiet and keeps to himself,  and admits he has no affinity for children. Moreover, he’s a big-city guy, having spent the last few years in Leningrad, and is bored to death with provincial life.

This all seems highly suspicion to the principal (Hendrick Toompere), a doctrinaire Marxist who resents what he sees as Endel’s elitist background.  He does everything he can to sink the new coach’s athletic programs, including giving all the school’s ski equipment to a local military base.

Endel responds by pulling his epee out of storage, fashioning swords out of marsh reeds, and launching a Saturday morning fencing class.

In doing so he’s taking a great risk. Not just because it makes the principal even madder, but because Endel is living a dangerous lie.

During the war, while Estonia was occupied by the Nazis,  he and his classmates were drafted into the German army.  They were unwilling soldiers; Endel eventually escaped and hid out in the woods until the end of hostilities.

But by Stalin’s crazed reasoning he and  his fellow draftees are traitors.  Under an assumed name Endel has been able to pursue his passion for fencing, winning several titles, but now the secret police are on his trail.  A stay in a forced labor camp seems inevitable. That’s why he’s trying to find anonymity out in the sticks.

 

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Nicholas Hoult as author J.D. Salinger

“REBEL IN THE RYE” My rating: B- 

106 minutes | MPAA rating: PG-13

“Rebel in the Rye,” the new biopic about reclusive author J.D. Salinger, isn’t bad.

Nor is it particularly inspired.

As an overview of Salinger’s early life, his years of frustration and his emergence as a major American voice with Catcher in the Rye, it lays out the facts competently. Director Danny Strong, making his feature debut after a stint with TV’s “Empire,” puts on a decent show with a limited budget.

And former Brit child actor (“About a Boy”) Nicholas Hoult demonstrates  acting chops that could carry him into more leading man roles.

Strong’s screenplay begins with the PTSD-suffering author in a mental institution in the late 1940s, then flashes back a decade to his college years.

At Columbia Jerry Salinger falls under the influence of writing professor Whit Burnett (Kevin Spacey), who sees terrific potential in his student despite the kid’s self-indulgence and an unwillingness to take suggestions from anyone. At the same time  Jerry launches a romance with Oona O’Neill (Zoey Deutch), estranged daughter of acclaimed playwright Eugene O’Neill (and future wife of Charlie Chaplin).

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Colin Firth, Taron Egerton

“KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE” My rating: B- 

141 minutes | MPAA rating: R

For a movie that isn’t actually about anything, “Kingsman: The Golden Circle” is ridiculously diverting.

Those who saw the original “Kingsman: The Secret Service” a few years back will be treated to more of the same, only on steroids.  This sequel is bigger, faster, noisier and funnier than the original.

Plus, this time around writer/director Matthew Vaughn shows a surer hand at balancing the movie’s over-the-top violence with a refined comic sensibility.

Things begin with our hero Eggsy (Taron Egerton) trying to juggle his duties as a member of the super-secret Kingsman security apparatus against his romance with Tilde (Hanna Alström), an honest-to-God Swedish princess.  For a former car thief with a taste for a white rapper wardrobe (sweats, ball caps), Eggsy has come a long way in a brief time.

But it all comes crashing down when the entire Kingsman operation is destroyed in one fell swoop.  The only survivors are Eggsy (who was having dinner with the King of Sweden when it all happened) and the bald, tech-savvy Merlin (Mark Strong).

What happened? Well, an international drug lord named Poppy (Julianne Moore) and her Golden Circle gang are clearing the deck prior to a big push for world domination.  A nostalgia freak, Poppy lives in seclusion in the Cambodian jungle in her own private theme park…imagine Disneyland’s Main Street U.S.A. redone with a “Happy Days” theme.

She’s even kidnapped Elton John (playing himself) so that he can perform her favorite hits at will. (This year’s best bit of celebrity casting.)

Seeking allies, Eggsy and Merlin travel to Kentucky where they encounter the Statesmen, their Yank counterparts, a band of American free agents posing as a distilling concern.  These cowboys — literally…we’re talking Stetsons, boots and electric bullwhips capable of slicing steel — have names like Champagne (Jeff Bridges), Tequila (Channing Tatum), Whiskey (Pedro Pascal) and Ginger (Halle Berry).

Oh yes…the Statesmen have been providing shelter to an amnesiac who has suffered a rather nasty bullet wound in the noggin.  He is, of course, Harry Hart aka Galahad (Colin Firth), Eggsy’s mentor and a fatality (or so we thought) in the first film. (I’m not giving anything away here…Firth is all over the ads.)

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Dominique Abel, Emmanuelle Riva, Fiona Gordon…atop the Eiffel Tower

“LOST IN PARIS” My rating: B+ 

83 minutes | No MPAA rating

Imagine “Amelie” made by Buster Keaton.

That’ll provide an idea of the disarming blend of charm and goofiness on display in “Lost in Paris.”

Made by the husband-and-wife team of Dominque Abel and Fiona Gordon (he’s from Belgium, she’s Australian), this wacky but thoroughly satisfying comedy is part vaudeville routine, part silent movie, and all pretty wonderful.

Fiona (Gordon) is a Canadian librarian who looks like a cartoon character. Her face is long, her neck even longer. She’s like a red-headed Olive Oyl who peers at the world through glasses so big they dwarf her face.

Early in “Lost in Paris” Fiona receives a message from her beloved Aunt Marta, who years earlier fled snowy Canada for the life of a dancer in Paris. Now, reports Marta (the late, great Emmanuelle Riva), the social workers want to relocate her from her apartment to a retirement home.  They say she’s losing it.

To rescue her auntie Fiona must get entirely out of her comfort zone, flying to France and negotiating the city  beneath a gigantic red backpack topped with a Canadian flag. She just misses Marta, who in an effort to keep her freedom has taken to living on the street.

Worse, Fiona is separated from her backpack, losing her money, passport, clothing and cell phone. Suddenly she’s homeless as well.

 

 

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Jake Gyllenhaal

“STRONGER” My rating: A- 

116 minutes | MPAA rating: R

“Stronger” is the story of Jeff Bauman, who lost both legs in the Boston Marathon bombing. The subject matter alone is enough to give potential moviegoers pause.

Is this going to be a weepy? A jingoistic flag-waver? Is it gonna be, oh God, inspirational?

There are plenty of arguments for steering clear of “Stronger.”  Ignore them.

For in adapting Bauman’s memoir writer John Pollen and director David Gordon Green have given us what may be the year’s most potent drama, a masterful blend of personal narrative and social observation.

It’s a film about despair, resilience, family and romance.  Yes, it’s deeply emotional, but less in a crassly manipulative Hollywood way than in the sense that it nails so many truths about the human condition.

You’ll cry.  In fact, anyone who can sit through “Stronger” without tearing up at least three times had best stop wasting their money on movie tickets and start saving for a bass boat.

But it’s a cleansing cry, not an exploitative one.

In the film’s first 10 minutes we’re introduced to Jeff (Jake Gyllenhaal, quite possibly Oscar bound), a “chicken roaster at Costco” and a classic example of blue-collar Boston. He’s a drinker and a sports idiot, traits he shares with his boisterous, brawling, low-credit-score uncles and cousins. He’s kind of unreliable, which is why his girl Erin (“Orphan Black’s” Tatiana Maslany) has broken up with him yet again.

Jeff decides he can win back Erin by passing on  a Sox game to cheer her on as she runs the Boston Marathon. He’s at the finish line holding a hand-made congratulatory sign when the bomb goes off.

Almost immediately director Green demonstrates how to ease into an uncomfortable issue with grace and taste.  We don’t see the immediate bloody results of the blast.  But we’re with Erin in a bar when the TV news shows a photo of the seriously wounded Jeff being carried away by a man in a cowboy hat. (We won’t actually see a re-enactment of the event until flashbacks in the movie’s third act.)

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