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Minion Monster Mash

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Minions & Monsters

by Hope Madden

There are six films now in the Minion-verse. Most of these are Gru movies, but honestly, without the minions, where would the Despicable Me features be?

Still, without a single, clear antagonist, the 2015 standalone film Minions felt adrift. Cute and goofy but pointless. To avoid the same trouble this go-round, Minions & Monsters pins the adventure on one creative little dude: James.

Centuries ago, when an early tribe of Minions searched the earth for a villain to assist, James drew pictures. These pictures told funny stories that entertained exactly one other Minion: Henry. (Henry, James and all other Minions are voiced by co-writer/co-director Pierre Coffin.)

The Minions’ quest to find their villain leads them eventually to 1920s Hollywood. Here is where Coffin unveils a love for classic moviemaking. Sure, every film in this franchise charms with hidden sight gags and funny Easter eggs. But Minions & Monsters drips with them. There’s a classic movie reference in nearly every frame of the film, beginning in the intro, where a tour guide (Allison Janney) explains to bored tourists the very important role James and Henry played in saving Hollywood and, indeed, the world.

Janney is not the only Oscar winner lending her voice, either. Christoph Waltz is Max, the harried director who discovers James, and Jeff Bridges plays twin studio heads Frank and Elwood. Plus, Jesse Eisenberg (no slouch!) voices Dort, an unlikely yet somehow perfect Minion ally.

With James in the hero seat, Minions & Monsters follows a more tightly scripted chaos. James decides to conjure some monsters so he can make a creature feature and conquer Hollywood. (If you think Goomi, the first monster conjured, sounds weirdly like Eric Cartman, there’s a reason for that. South Park co-creator and Cartman vocalist Trey Parker lends his voice to the wee green Cthulu cub.)

Characteristic of the franchise, the film is goofball anarchy. Minions & Monsters is quickly paced, brightly colored, silly, good-natured fun. The sheer amount of story sometimes causes the movie to drag. This is not helped by Janney’s lengthy first act exposition. But as a mash note to filmmaking and a goofy, family-friendly adventure, it’s a delightful reason to sit in the air conditioning this weekend with your kids.

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Comfortably Numb

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by Hope Madden

Touch Me

About a decade ago, filmmaker Amat Escalante made a movie about sexual frustration, bad decisions and tentacle sex. The Untamed grounded the fantasy in a profoundly ordinary and relatable human drama, limiting the absurdity and amplifying the horror.

Addison Heimann leans far more absurd with his tentacle sex horror Touch Me, a potent drug metaphor that speaks to a modern malaise.

In a lengthy and surprisingly effective opening monologue, Joey (Olivia Taylor Dudley, exceptional) explains her situation to her psychiatrist. A weirdly good-looking alien in a tracksuit (Lou Taylor Pucci) came to save the planet from climate change and convinced Joey to have cross-species intercourse. His touch made her mind go quiet for the first time in her life, but she fled because she nearly died.

Still the lure of a quiet mind proves too much and soon Joey and her best friend Craig (Jordan Gavaris) cave into temptation and find themselves hooked.

Which doesn’t sound funny, but Heimann’s delightfully accepting glimpse at modern slackerism paired with Pucci’s wide-eyed narcissism and hip hop moves keep things light despite a lot of truly dark turns. At its core, Touch Me is about deeply damaged people struggling to face a reality that cannot make them happy and the incessant temptation of hard drugs to silence that anxiety.

For that reason, the silliness sometimes seems tone deaf. That, or the dramatic turns seem maudlin. But only briefly, mainly because of the commitment of Heimann’s small but talented cast.

Dudley and Gavaris affect a believable co-dependence, their banter a familiar and humorous cadence of self-loathing and support. Dudley is particularly impressive in a role that holds the metaphor, horror and silliness together. And Pucci hits a perfect tone for oblivious track-suited narcissist.

The writing does not always serve the actors as well as they serve it. There are holes in logic that Touch Me laughs off by pointing them out—a fun tactic, but not a solution. And the whole feels slight given the deeper ideas sewn throughout. But the film is an enjoyable, sloppy, relatable mess with insight and fun to spare.

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Dressed to Impress

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Couture

by Hope Madden

Fashion Week in Paris—the only word in that phrase I entirely understand is “in”. Well, I know what a week is, but in Alice Winocour’s drama Couture, Angelina Jolie plays Maxine, an indie horror director with zero interest in fashion who’s tasked with creating a short film to introduce the diva hullabaloo.

They probably called it something different that I should know, but at least there was a character I could grasp.

Maxine is out of her element, under pressure from the event organizers, struggling to communicate with her Stateside 15-year-old, and told by her doctor that she needs to see a specialist immediately.

Meanwhile, Ada (Anyler Anei) is this year’s “new face.” She’ll star in Maxine’s short film and be the first model on the runway. But she’s never modeled before. She’s an 18-year-old South Sudanese refugee living in Kenya and studying pharmacy. Like Maxine, Ada is in over her head.

Winocour, who writes as well as directs, braids these two stories with a third strand. Ella Rumpf is a make-up artist and observer, someone who runs almost undetected in all the Fashion Week circles.

What the three tales have in common, what Winocour explores without exploring, is what each woman keeps to herself. Choosing Fashion Week for this exploration seems fitting. Models are stand-ins, lovely images to hang an idea or a frock on, but not humans. No emotions, no turmoil, no war-torn country to preoccupy them. At least, that’s the role the industry requires them to perform.

Jolie’s gently understated stoicism offers the film an emotional center while Anei’s sweetly awkward vulnerability keeps it tender. Although Winocour’s transitions from one tale to the next are almost magical in their grace, the third storyline with Rumpf feels underdeveloped and a little heavy handed.

Wincour can’t bring the story full circle. The fashion industry still seems superficial and unnecessary by film’s end, which leaves the film feeling less powerful than what the individual heroines deserve.

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Fight the Pain Away

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Supergirl

by George Wolf

Look, Kara Zor-El (Milly Alcock) isn’t some goody-goody like her cousin Superman, okay? She’s a hard partying rock chick rockin’ a Blondie t-shirt and a wiseass attitude on her 23rd birthday, so F-you! She’s not about go and join young Ruthye’s (Eve Ridley) quest to avenge her parents’ death at the cold-blooded hands of space villain Krem (Matthias Schoenaerts).

But then Krem shoots Krypto full of a slow-acting poison, and suddenly Kara’s got 72 hours to find Krem, get the antidote, and save her beloved dog from back home.

There’s also a sex trafficking ring to bust up, so add Fury Road to John Wick, Star Wars, Alien, multiple Westerns and various other inspirations you may spot. And while at this point, finding an entirely original stylistic angle for your superhero film may be damn near impossible, this familiarity is one of the things keeping a pretty satisfying adventure from reaching the stratosphere.

Director Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya, Lars and the Real Girl, The Finest Hours) overcomes some occasionally wonky CGI to craft several winning sequences of action, backstory and world building, but often undercuts the growing momentum by bailing out too soon. The surprising dive into the demise of Krypton adds narrative heft, but dropping it between the grimness of The Dark Knight and the giddy excess of Birds of Prey keeps any distinct tone elusive.

Through all of it, Alcock (House of the Dragon) keeps our titular hero wonderfully grounded. Writer Ana Nogueira’s debut screenplay may be filled with familiar themes of grief, destiny, revenge and female rage, but Kara has specific reasons to be wounded. Alcock makes sure we appreciate the character arc that turns Kara’s defense mechanisms into Supergirl’s defense of truth, justice, and…you know.

Alcock finds a way to make us care about the girl, whether hunting down Krem (Schoenaerts is a wonderful, facially-studded psycho), fighting alongside Lobo (Jason Mamoa, gleefully hamming it up) or feeling sweetly big sisterly to the resourceful Ruthye.

And more importantly, Alcock’s scenes with David Corenswet’s Superman cement the film’s biggest win: giving Kara the agency for her hero to stand as more than just a sidekick. This girl’s truth is separate from her famous cousin. Supergirl makes no apologies for making that clear, with an uneven but ultimately effective introduction.

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I Can’t Live Without My Radio

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Lucky Strike

by George Wolf

The song that plays over the closing credits of Lucky Strike couldn’t be a more appropriate choice. Co-written by Rod Lurie, who also co-wrote and co-directed the movie, the theme is passionate and well meaning. It is also overwrought and heavy handed.

So again, perfect for this film.

By all accounts, Lurie (The Outpost), co-director Todor Kotzev, co-writer Marc Frydman and their fellow producers have gone to great lengths to ensure this film gets the thumbs up from WWII historians. From the jeeps to the artillery, the terrain and beyond, the clear aim of the production was to create an authentic bridge between recorded history and battlefield reality.

And on the note, Lucky Strike hits the mark. An authentic feel for the characters being developed proves a much harder target.

Scott Eastwood takes the lead as Capt. John Castle, who in December 1944 is ordered by his superior (Colin Hanks in a brief cameo) to oversee the blockade of a road in the Ardennes forest often used by German soldiers.

Castle and his team come under heavy fire, eventually leaving John and his invaluable radio “Lassie” – which will become even more valued later on – alone behind enemy lines.

Based on true events from the legendary Battle of the Bulge, the film becomes one man’s journey of commitment and survival, as Castle sets out on the 30km trek to safety in Elsenborn, Belgium.

As correct as all the details may be, the writing and direction never miss the opportunity to overplay a hand. Despite some tense and well orchestrated one-shot action sequences, much of the dialog lacks nuance, the editing and reaction shots continually aim for the back row, a third act twist isn’t hard to see coming, and there’s even the inclusion of an actual pale horse (apparently ridden by subtlety).

Eastwood shoulders a big load but doesn’t show the family gift of understatement, and cannot elevate any of this material. Only the great Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor, as a grieving mother in some touching bookend scenes with Eastwood, can give the film a fleeting layer of humanity.

Lucky Strike needed more of that. There’s plenty to respect here on a technical and historical level, but any true emotional connection is lost in the wilderness.

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Coven in the Woods

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Camp

by Hope Madden

A sapphic coming-of-age summer camp horror, those words are not untrue. They are inaccurate. Whatever expectations you may have coming into writer/director Avalon Fast’s Camp, they’re wrong. Which is not necessarily bad.

Prizing atmosphere over genre, Fast’s loose narrative and structure benefit the floating grief that keeps Emily (Zola Grimmer) only partly present in any situation. It’s rooted in an adolescent tragedy and exacerbated by an incident in her early twenties. She’s disconnected, vacant, and her concerned father suggests she take a counselor position at a summer camp for troubled kids.

But Fast clarifies from Camp’s opening sequence that this is not going to be a slasher. Even when Emily falls in with a close-knit group of likewise disaffected young women—her own coven, if you will—the filmmaker shrugs off any comfortable comparison. The Craft? Practical Magic?

No, grief, guilt, shame, and the disconcertingly untethered existence of modern young adulthood don’t fit so neatly into a single box. Fast wanderingly explores ideas connected with nature and female camaraderie, with acceptance and rejection, with the search for peace. But a typical witch film this is not.

In a little attic space above a cabin in a Christian Youth Camp, five damaged young women cling to each other. They bond, drink, hallucinate, cast spells, make sacrifices, and feel comfort. But unlike The Craft, which condemned a dark use of the feminine power of nature, Camp is nonjudgmental.

Instead, Fast is interested in these broken young women and their hazy search for something to make them feel whole. The pace is slow, the imagery hypnotic, occasionally surreal. The film aches. It mourns. It embraces a vivid if ill-defined reality in which there is no clear path to happiness or wholeness.

Self-discovery is the key, and Emily’s is all melancholy magic. Cinematographer Eily Sprugman captures Emily’s heady freedom and earthy nightmare with gorgeous color. Fast’s languid pace, though sometimes tiresome, mainly delivers a groggy magic that feels like a dark dream.

Grimmer’s naturalistic performance grounds the wonder with honesty and heartbreak. There’s a real sadness at the heart of Camp that, along with an intriguingly messy morality, will keep you thinking about it long after it’s over.

Fright Club

Fright Club: Parenting Disasters in Horror

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There are loads of bad parents in horror. Jack Torrence is no doll. Margaret White’s a bit much. In bad parent horror, we empathize with the offspring. But there’s something perhaps more unsettling when you empathize with the parents who are genuinely trying but something—sometimes just one bad decision—ends in unspeakable disaster. It’s those dumbasses that we salute today!

And thanks again to FeedSpot for including us on their latest list of Best Horror Podcasts: https://podcast.feedspot.com/midwest_horror_podcasts/

5. Splice (2009)

This creature feature Frankenstein mad science mash up goes places you may not expect. Director Vincenzo Natali (Cube) investigates science as commerce, the maternal instinct or lack thereof, sexual politics, nature and nurture and more in this body horror.

The wtf! of it all works because of the undeniable talent of its leads, Sarah Polley and Adrien Brody. What they’re doing in this is hard to know, but they elevate a B-horror script to something weirdly compelling. Polley’s big eyed, emotionless performance offers a fascinating conundrum that makes every wild turn make sense. Sort of.

4. Antichrist (2009)

Lars von Trier’s foray into horror follows a couple down a deep and dark rabbit hole of grief. Von Trier’s films have often fixated on punishing viewers and female protagonists alike, but in this film the nameless woman (played fearlessly by Charlotte Gainsbourg) wields most of the punishment – whether upon her mate (Willem Dafoe) or herself.

Consumed by grief, a mother allows her husband—also grieving—to become her psychotherapist as they retreat to their isolated cabin deep in the woods where they will try to overcome the horror of losing their only child.

They won’t succeed.

3. Speak No Evil (2022)

Christian Tafdrup’s Speak No Evil, a terribly polite tale of Danes and Dutchmen that veers slowly but relentlessly toward something sinister. Speak No Evil quickly becomes a sociological experiment that questions our tendency to act against our own instincts, side with the cool kids, and lose who we are.

Tafdrup’s script, co-written with Mads Tafdrup, is sneaky in the way it treads on social anxiety, etiquette, politeness. You see how easily gaslighting alters the trajectory of a conversation, the course of action. Speak No Evil is a grim trip, but there is no question that it’s well made.

2. Mother! (2017)

Between writer/director Darren Aronofsky’s disorienting camera and his cast’s impeccable performances, he ratchets up tension in a way that is beyond uncomfortable. This is all clearly leading somewhere very wrong and the film develops the atmosphere of a nightmare quickly, descending further and further with each scene.

Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Ed Harris and Michelle Pfieffer are indescribably brilliant. Like most of the filmmaker’s work, mother! will not be for everyone. But if you’re up for an allegorical descent into hell, meticulously crafted and deftly told, and if you like your metaphors heavy and your climaxes absurd, this mother! is for you.

1. Coffee Table (2022)

On Shudder, Prime, Tubi, AMC+

A remarkably well written script fleshed out by a stunning ensemble becomes utter torture as you want so badly for some other outcome. Co-writer/director Caye Casas ties threads, builds anxiety, plunges the depths of “what’s the worst that could happen?” and leaves you shaken.

David Pareja and Estefania de los Santos craft indelible, believable, beautifully flawed characters so convincing that their experience becomes painful for you. Casas salts the wounds with dark comedy, but the tenderness and tragedy collaborate toward something far more crushingly human.

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Running to Stand Still

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Find Your Friends

by Hope Madden

I love Shudder. Truth is, Shudder is the only station I know how to find on our TV. I mean it. How I look forward to each new Shudder original! Happily, most of them live up to the excitement.

But every once in a while, you get a Find Your Friends.

Five unreasonably attractive and clearly alcoholic twentysomething besties wreak havoc on their livers and look good doing it. And screw the a’holes at this yacht party because these party bitches are headed to Joshua Tree to a better party followed by some desert tripping. Hell yeah!

I rarely stop watching a movie once I start it because it’s my job to finish the movie. I had to remind myself of this during Find Your Friends no fewer than four times before we even got to Joshua Tree.

We spend time with Amber (Helena Howard), Lavinia (Bella Thorne), Zosia (Zión Moreno), Lola (Chloe Cherry), and Maddy (Sophia Ali) twerking, doing shots, slapping each other’s asses, taking Molly, smoking joints, taking ‘shrooms, more shots, making out with strangers, driving wasted, saying “pussy” hundreds of times, talking incessantly about dick, and living as if we don’t exist in a country where you get away with rape but go to prison for defending yourself.

But that’s sort of writer/director Izabel Pakzad’s point, I suppose. That humans aggressively oblivious to their own safety still deserve safety, which is true. And that young women are often so frequently coerced and misused that they bond over it, joke about it, numb themselves to it. Also valid.

And that no women live in Joshua Tree at all. Only pick-up truck driving rapists and rifle carrying misogynists. This seems less accurate.

The heavy handedness of the film’s story and the one-dimensionality of its characters make it hard for Pakzad to build any momentum. There really is a story of female rage swimming beneath the sea of alcohol, but the story is so slight and the film so long and the climax so abrupt and the final shot so unearned that the message is tough to get behind.

Hope Madden and George Wolf … get it?