This movie is incredibly corny, somewhat cheesily made… and I really loved it. Based on a true story, we meet Javed, a 16-year-old Pakistani boy in working-class Luton, England. He dreams of being a writer but his traditional dad pushes Javed to pursue a “respectable” career — doctor, lawyer, etc. Meanwhile, local skinhead racism also makes his life miserable. Javed feels so stifled in his small town — until he makes a new friend at school who introduces him to the music of Bruce Springsteen. Suddenly Javed’s eyes are open to a land of hope of dreams.
Oh, also, it’s 1987, right in my teenage wheelhouse, so the music and styles grabbed me immediately. (Level 42, for god’s sakes!) And of course I’m a total sucker for Springsteen. But ultimately this tale is for anyone who has found inspiration in art — that special secret connection when the images, words, sounds, craft — whatever! — speak directly to you, taking you out of your own world and showing you a different path. As teens we’re particularly open to this influence.
Viveik Kalra is excellent and very likable as Javed. He captures the character’s awkwardness and inner passion, his frustration and discovery, and the sweet ache of teen love. But even better is Kulvinder Ghir as his father. Ghir becomes the proud but beaten-down factory worker who wants his children to do better than he did, which sadly comes across as forcing his ways on them. This would be ripe for caricature but Ghir keeps it real, and it’s a truly affecting performance. And fans of Brit comedy will appreciate the casting of Rob Brydon in a small role wearing a crazy wig.
The prominent presence of xenophobia and racism adds an unfortunate level of modern relevance to the film. (Maybe Chris Christie can convince Trump to watch this movie? Maybe Morrissey will catch it on a plane? He and the Smiths are mentioned twice in positive terms, well before Moz’s anti-immigrant stance went public.) Blinded by the Light also shows the wonder of the immigrant experience: striving for a brighter future, staying proud of one’s culture while also assimilating into the new environment, occasionally creating a magical blend that benefits everyone. (Worth noting: Rather than having some white-imperialist dude strong-arming musical tastes on innocent Javed, it’s his Sikh pal Roops — as it was in real life — who lends him the Bruce tapes.)
Yes, there are flaws. It’s September 1987 and a sign in school says “Welcome to the Class of 1987.” (If that’s some crazy UK-only bookkeeping, do let me know.) Welcome signs again prove problematic later at Newark Airport — which looks like it was filmed in my apartment — where a banner proclaims, “Welcome to New York.” Uhhhh…. But there’s a genuine sense of joy here that is absolutely contagious. In that regard, it reminded me a bit of (500) Days of Summer except that one was all phony-baloney and slick. This is rough around the edges and left me with a huge smile on my face. And the soundtrack is pretty good too.
The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME] The Rolling Stones — “Stray Cat Blues” Brower — “My Father’s Name Was Cat” I Am the Polish Army — “Dead Cat” New York Dolls — “Courageous Cat Theme” Roky Erickson — “Leave My Kitten Alone” The Bee Gees — “Kitty Can” Bruce Springsteen — “Kitty’s Back” The Waitresses — “Pussy Strut” The Rubinoos — “Cats and Dogs” The Lovin’ Spoonful — “Nashville Cats” Roy Orbison — “Cat Called Domino” Muddy Waters — “Crosseyed Cat” Spiral Jetty — “My Cat Geoffrey”
Jack’s Aquarium podcast is proudly recorded in Hoboken, NJ.
I honestly thought I’d bought a ticket to a documentary; that’s how quickly I had read the description of this movie. Was caught off-guard when “Based on a true story” popped up on the screen. But hey, I can adjust.
I did correctly read that the story involved the real-life California Innocence Project (CIP), which — like the Loyola Project for the Innocent whose director is my old friend Adam Grant — works to free the wrongly imprisoned. These are just two of the innocence organizations worldwide that provide no-cost service for their clients, while striving to improve justice systems.
The case of football prospect Brian Banks was a little different — he was already out of jail and on parole. However, as a registered sex offender with an ankle monitor, Banks couldn’t go near a school or park — which ruined his legit shot at a pro football career, and he also found it incredibly difficult to find employment. Banks insisted he’d been falsely accused of rape, and that at age 16 he’d received bad legal counsel (including never submitting DNA evidence which would’ve exonerated him) and accepted a no-contest plea deal. With nowhere else to go, he turned to the CIP.
Aldis Hodge (City on a Hill) does a solid job as Banks, displaying mental anguish and despair, tempered by hope. He is less believable — wearing a wig — as the 16-year-old Banks. I think a bigger production would’ve cast a different actor to portray the young Brian.
Greg Kinnear, easily exuding good-guy-ness, is head of the CIP. Morgan Freeman, uncredited, lends the film gravitas as a prison counselor. Sherri Shepherd is OK as Banks’ mom; she gets her big speech in.
The director is Tom Shadyac, who previously gave us such classics as Ace Ventura, Eddie Murphy’s Nutty Professor, and Bruce Almighty. Kudos to him for stretching here on a drama, but unfortunately Shadyac is a little out of his depth. The film looks and feels like an old-school TV movie, albeit a pretty good one. The true story is certainly compelling, and thankfully there is acknowledgment of what can happen when a victim isn’t believed. If you’re unaware of innocence organizations and the crucial work they do, this isn’t a bad introduction.
The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME] JD McPherson — “Bloodhound Rock” Camper Van Beethoven — “The Day That Lassie Went to the Moon” The Genuine Diamelles — “Underdog” Prince Buster & the Maytals — “Jamaica Ska (Dog War)” The Sonics — “Walkin’ the Dog” 2nd Grade — “I’m an Old Dog” The Byrds — “Old Blue” Wild Beasts — “A Dog’s Life” Devo — “Dogs of Democracy” Adult Mom — “Paws” Iron & Wine — “Wolves (Song of Shepherd’s Dog)” The B-52’s — “Quiche Lorraine” Luke Rathborne — “Dog Years” halfsour — “Day Dogs”
Jack’s Aquarium podcast is proudly recorded in Hoboken, NJ.
Jeff Goldblum and old-timey mental hospitals? This really seemed up my alley. We meet young, sad, inexpressive Andy who works in a hockey rink run by his grandpa oh wait the movie says it’s his dad. It is the early 1950s and the world is grey and brown, or at least the director’s color palette is. Andy’s life is one of routine — driving the Zamboni, sharpening skates, wandering the rink’s dark back rooms, etc. — though he occasionally betrays an interest in… shhh… ladies.
Tye Sheridan, 23, plays Andy, and I was very impressed with him all the way back in 2013’s Mud, and he was also solid as the lead in Ready Player One. Here, he has the perfect mid-century face for the role. We learn that Andy’s mom is gone and won’t see him, and later we learn that she’s in a… shhh… mental hospital.
The dad dies and what is Andy gonna do now? Luckily Jeff Goldblum shows up. He is Dr. Wally and he treated Andy’s mom at the hospital. Wally is the anti-Andy — he’s loose and jokey and charming and he loves the ladies. Basically he is Jeff Goldblum turned down to about a 4. Wally offers Andy a job, traveling around with him, photographing patients. What is Wally doing to these patients? Electroshock therapy and lobotomies, that’s what!
We have the makings of a coming-of-age/road movie/buddy picture, but because it’s an “art film” it’s not really any of those. They drive from town to town to these sad hospital wards, Wally does his thing, followed by the exploding FLASH of Andy’s Polaroid Land camera. At night Wally drinks and fools around with ladies and has crippling drunken bouts of guilt about what he’s doing to these poor patients, as we slowly learn that Wally’s methods are being replaced by more “humane” procedures. Andy just watches.
The movie feels like a poem, and there is much arresting imagery, but unfortunately the script doesn’t have very much to say. Which is not the worse thing in the world, except then there’s a contrivance in the plot that hurtles us toward a conclusion which I didn’t buy at all. The film really gets away from director Rick Alverson and I became eager for it to end. I noticed that Alverson was one of three co-writers; I feel this movie would’ve benefited from just one person behind the wheel.
after the latest two, in El Paso, TX, and Dayton, OH
The Fall — “Fiery Jack” [ALTERNATE THEME] Basic Bitches — “Mass Shootings and Donald Trump” The Selecter — “Murder” Head Cheerleader — “Murderers” The Insomniacs — “Help! Murder! Police!” The Police — “Murder by Numbers” Bruce Springsteen — “Murder Incorporated” Another Sunny Day — “You Should All Be Murdered” The Clash — “Somebody Got Murdered” Camera Obscura — “Away With Murder” The Old 97’s — “El Paso” Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young — “Ohio” The Boomtown Rats — “I Don’t Like Mondays”
Jack’s Aquarium podcast is proudly recorded in Hoboken, NJ.
I feel like I’m in an unhealthy long-term relationship with Quentin Tarantino. We got off to an excellent start, but now he disappoints me time and again, and yet always manages to lure me back. Every now and then, he surprises me with a delightful bed-and-breakfast long weekend (um, wait, I think I’m taking this analogy too far) that makes me forget all the bad times. Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood is that Poconos getaway. Which is to say, I freaking loved it.
There was a two-second scene in the trailer, of DiCaprio dancing with 60s ladies on a TV soundstage, that absolutely cracked me up and got me very excited to see this film. That exact moment isn’t even in the movie — oh you’re a cheeky monkey, Quentin! I settled in at my local cineplex and there was a couple behind me gabbing throughout the coming attractions. I gave them the benefit of the doubt that they would observe “silencio” when the actual movie started but they kept chattering away like a pair of goddamn mynah birds. I stood up, grumbled, and moved several rows ahead to bathe in the glorious light of the big screen. (Pro tip: It’s bigger when you’re closer.)
I’ve written two recent reviews in which I referred to the movies as “love letters” to [insert topic here] but I have to go for the threepeat: This is a love letter to Hollywood and the good old days of TV and moviemaking. It’s 1969 with fading actor Leonardo DiCaprio and his personal stuntman buddy Brad Pitt. Hell, I’d watch that show! The sun is always shining and it’s another fabulous day in the greater Los Angeles area. Tarantino walks us through spot-on homages to old shows and flicks and sets, peppering the soundtrack with vintage commercial sound bites. Also in here is an extended salute to spaghetti westerns (see title).
Brad Pitt is looking a bit weathered and it suits him nicely. Very Redford. His character lazily smiles his way through life, perhaps with a skeleton in the closet but who cares because he’s damn handsome. DiCaprio as Rick Dalton works even harder — coughing, sulking, stuttering, sputtering, being an upper-case STAR when he needs to — it’s a terrific performance. Margot Robbie is perfection as Sharon Tate (oh did I forget to mention the Manson family is in this) — sexy, carefree, confident. The film is loaded with great mini portrayals: Al Pacino! Bruce Dern, Kurt Russell, Tim Olyphant, Margaret Qualley (who was fab as the daughter on The Leftovers), Mr. Blonde, Dakota Fanning, Bruce Willis’s daughter, even Lena freakin’ Dunham does an awesome job. Until later, I forgot Luke Perry was in this — he is unrecognizable and it’s a wonderful send-off.
A big concept here is the passing of the old guard, represented by Leo and Brad, to the new world, as played here by the burn-it-all-down Manson family. But you can bet your bippy our cagey vets won’t go down without a fight.
I sat there for 2 hours, 40 minutes with a huge smile on my face, and likely would’ve felt the same if it was twice as long. It’s a kinder, gentler Tarantino until it isn’t, and I frickin’ loved that aspect too. This is his best movie since Inglourious Basterds and perhaps his best ever. All is forgiven, Quentin; bring on the Untitled Star Trek Project!
The trailer looked cute — Marc Maron working in a pawn shop. Was playing at the artsy theater in Asbury Park, so I could beat the traffic before a concert, chat with the friendly ticket booth guy, sit in some air conditioning, and enjoy another chocolate covered graham cracker. Nice way to spend a couple of summer-day hours.
Movie begins. The very, very funny Mike O’Brien on the screen — from SNL and the creator of the brilliant show A.P. Bio! This film might be even better than expected!
Except it looked cheap. Like, filmed on a flip phone or something. OK, OK, it’s a “small” movie. We’re in Birmingham, Alabama and Marc Maron runs a pawn shop. Maron doesn’t really “read” southern; they explain that he’s from New Mexico. OK, whatever. His young coworker Jon Bass — who was hilarious in the sadly one-season-only Big Time in Hollywood, FL — also doesn’t seem particularly southern. Hmmm.
Dependably funny Michaela Watkins and I-think-I’ve-seen-her-before Jillian Bell aren’t supposed to be southern; they are a couple visiting because Jillian’s grandpa died and left her… a sword. So we have a movie set in the deep South with four non-southern leads. That’s maybe a bit problematic.
But first that sword. We have a high-concept comedy here. A letter from the deceased Alzheimer’s-afflicted gramps indicates that this Union sword was surrendered to the Confederacy — there is vague paperwork backing the claim — and it all proves that… the South won the war! And because the Internet is filled with conspiracy freaks — including Dan Bakkedahl, so delightfully cruel as Roger Furlong on Veep — they might be able to make a tidy bundle by selling this sword. With help from a pawn shop.
There’s a subplot with a maybe-still-strung out woman played by director/co-writer Lynn Shelton, former lover of Marc Maron, but how can he ever trust her again?
There is also bluesy guitar and I immediately worried, “No, please, they didn’t let Marc Maron do the music.” They did. I feel like a lot of favors were cashed in in the making of this movie.
We do get a decent amount of laughs — I’d credit O’Brien, listed as the co-writer — but the movie is just not very good. Too much plot, too many leaps of logic, and this vague anti-South feel that seemed kind of offensive to me. Especially playing in a little art cinema, where you’re preaching to the converted.
If you really love Maron, watch this when it goes to streaming. But if you’re like me and fast-forward through his WTF intros, you can skip this too.
EPISODE #341: MAMA’S LITTLE BABY LOVES SHORTENIN’ WORDS (NUTHIN’ BUT a G THANG)
The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME] Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers — “Jammin’ Me” Tracy Chapman — “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” Reigning Sound — “Lyin’ Girl” Public Enemy — “Can’t Do Nuttin’ For Ya Man” The Pastels — “Comin’ Through” Woods — “Mornin’ Time” Suzanne Lavine — “Hangin’ Around” T-Bone Walker — “Evenin'” Wondermints — “Runnin’ Thru the Nite” The RocknRoll Hi-Fives — “Livin’ the Lost Boy Life” The Wrens — “Darlin’ Darlin'” soundbite from The Wire — “Omar Comin’!” Pianosaurus — “Thriftshoppin'” The Coctails — “Walkin’ Down the Street” Ben Vaughn — “Lookin’ for a 7-11”
Jack’s Aquarium podcast is proudly recorded in Hoboken, NJ.
Jack Silbert, curator