Mr. Malcolm’s List Synopsis: When she fails to meet an item on his list of requirements for a bride, Julia Thistlewaite (Zawe Ashton) is jilted by London’s most eligible bachelor, Mr. Malcolm (Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù). Feeling humiliated and determined to exact revenge, she convinces her friend Selina Dalton (Freida Pinto) to play the role of his ideal match. Soon, Mr. Malcolm wonders whether he’s found the perfect woman…or the perfect hoax. Based on a 2009 novel and 2019 short film.
In 1800s London, the scrupulous bachelor Mr. Malcolm lives with an air of mystery. Despite his illustrious status, Malcolm continues abandoning countless romantic courtships as he searches for someone who meets his list of distinguished qualifications. His controversial list soon aspires a scorned heiress to get revenge via her working-class friend in the period romantic comedy Mr. Malcolm’s List.
The posh costumes and well-tempered nature of period films can often feel like an acquired cinematic taste. Writing some of these features off as awards bait or half-baked Jane Austin rip-offs can be easy for some viewers at first glance. However, the inspired period iterations exemplify the fascinating and surprisingly relevant human facets buried beneath an era defined by chivalry and traditional customs.
Mr. Malcolm’s List fits that billing remarkably well. The film imbues vitality into a familiar tale of romantic complications, showcasing a crowdpleasing romantic comedy drawn with poise and craft.
Under the guidance of director Emma Holly Jones and screenwriter Suzanne Allain in their feature-length debuts, Mr. Malcolm’s List discovers a magnetic voice amongst its crowded subgenre. The duo balances each other’s strengths as a well-matched team – with Jones’ evocative yet subdued imagery serving as the perfect canvas for Allain’s biting screenplay. Allain’s set-up certainly leans towards familiar romantic comedy shenanigans, and while the film packs a few amusing moments of pratfall hijinks, much of its comedic strengths rest on Allain’s deft comedic touch.
Allain has a blast digging into the character’s socialite setting, spinning a complex web of gossip and rumors that eventually engulfs the character’s verging relationships. Several gags pointed at the nonsensical whims of elites and the era’s rigid social/gender standards conjure hearty laughs while also pointedly placing the period under a reflective microscope. I give Allain credit for being able to make a socially-conscious comedy that never takes itself too seriously.
Mr. Malcolm’s List still possesses a sizable heart underneath its observational lens. Jones and Allain repurpose familiar romantic comedy mechanics in their own inspired light, gradually allowing the character’s emotional ties to boil inside the pressure cooker of their composed setting. The patient character-building extracts more meaningful connections than your typical onscreen romance as the film forgoes the cliche speeches and maudlin melodrama that’s often denied the subgenre. Even if viewers eventually see where the relationships are going, Jones and Allain ensure authentic character evolutions at every turn.
The charismatic cast helps in elevating the familiar narrative proceedings. Frieda Pinto extracts natural personability and dramatic gravitas as the friend thrust into an unlikely romance with an enigmatic elite. She also shares terrific chemistry with Sope Dirisu, who brings Malcolm to life through his debonair presence and reserved disposition. Additionally, Zawe Ashton, Oliver Jackson Cohen, and Theo James embed bright comedic energy as they wrap themselves into the unlikely romance.
The vibrant humanity and astute comedic energy illuminating under the surface of Mr. Malcolm’s List creates a refreshing breath of fresh air for audiences. Here is a film that adeptly plays to its strengths while enriching its time-honored tenants. I hope audiences give the film a chance amidst the busy summer movie season.
An American research station in Antarctica solely unravels as a mysterious “thing” arrives in John Carpenter’s The Thing. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to see Carpenter’s most acclaimed work until a recent 40th-anniversary screening. I do know the movie possesses a polarizing existence, debuting with apathetic reactions in 1982 before receiving positive reappraisals from modern critics.
Watching The Thing in a dimly-lit theater conjured an unforgettable first-time viewing experience. From the cold opening onward, the film sets the stage for a piercingly chilly descent into the unraveling human condition.
Much of The Thing’s appeals harken to the film’s slow-burn approach. Unlike modern film’s overactive plotting structures, Carpenter unwinds his tensions at a glacier pace. His patient framing and deliberate long-takes ground viewers in an atmosphere of uneasy malaise. I also can’t praise Ennio Morricone enough for his minimalist score. Every lingering keystroke and haunting pause set the mood in a magnetic fusion between Carpenter synth and classical aesthetics.
An opening shootout shrouded in mystery develops a sense of intrigue that unravels throughout. As an average dog transforms into a grotesque monster, the American crew soon descends into paranoia driven by the creature and the crew’s array of personalities. Who can anyone trust when “the thing” transforms into realistic recreations of its inhabitants?
The interpersonal tensions become just as fascinating as the onscreen horrors. Most horror films assemble a motley crew of archetype characters – an eclectic ensemble that primarily exists as cannon fodder for our sinister foes. Screenwriter Bill Lancaster defines the horror contrivances with refreshing poise and depth. Lancaster writes a lean narrative that forgoes traditional exposition in favor of expressive character building. Each crew member comes to life as distinctive everymen, showcasing a balance of personality and insular dimension as captivating enigmas onscreen.
A skilled veteran cast fully enriches the array of personalities. Wilford Brimley showcases astute intellect that transforms into chaotic mania as an observant scientist; David Clennon and Keith David are fittingly sharp as militaristic survivors, and a slew of other entrancing personalities serve their part in the ensemble piece.
Centered around the madness, Kurt Russell reminds viewers why he shined as a movie star in his heyday. Kurt Russell emanates cool. He stands tall as a transfixing cool magnet – quipping biting one-liners and swaggering speeches with a verve that few modern stars could match. Under the cast’s versatile abilities, The Thing offers a fascinating ensemble of lived-in personas to follow.
Ultimately, The Thing stands the test of time as a horror vehicle for a reason. Carpenter and special effects team conjure some truly demented creature designs – a blend of contorted body parts and bloodied images that sinks into viewers’ nightmares. Aesthetically, few imagine scenes with Carpenter’s striking visual panache. Wintery nights illuminated by the glaring red-blue flare tints, shadowy interior corridors, and the setting’s desolate isolation all come to life under the director’s atmospheric eye. The patience and craftsmanship Carpenter imbues in every setpiece further increase the unease, gradually building his claustrophobic setting until it explodes with paranoia and lingering distrust.
The gradual loss of humanity driven by mania and compromising circumstances is familiar stomping grounds for horror movies. With The Thing, Carpenter’s relentless nihilism streak offers one of the more thoughtful interpretations of the conceit. As the crew succumbs to the rising tensions of their situations, Carpenter showcases an array of composed personalities consumed by their most animalistic desires. The age-old scenario also poses striking relevance to the film’s 80’s origins (The Cold War) and our challenging modern times.
Watching The Thing for the first time felt like a milestone viewing experience. Drawn with remarkable composure and craft, the film sows into dark crevices as an unrelenting sci-fi horror showcase. It’s stood the test of time for 40 years, and I am sure we will be talking about it again in another 40.
The Princess Synopsis:When a strong-willed princess (Joey King) refuses to wed a cruel sociopath (Dominic Cooper), she is kidnapped and locked in a remote tower. With her scorned, vindictive suitor intent on taking her father’s throne, the princess must protect her family and save the kingdom.
Tell me if you’ve heard this one before. A young princess is kept prisoner by a maniacal madman. However, this princess is no damsel in distress. Armed with years of training against an army of chauvinist knights, she undertakes a deadly, Die Hard-esque crusade to free her family and kingdom in The Princess.
Reinventing classic fairy tale archetypes with a modernist lens isn’t unheard of in Hollywood. It’s one of those popularized trends that studios have tried and often failed at enacting with their slate of lukewarm features (Cinderella, Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters, and The Huntsman: Winter’s Warare a few notable flops). With The Princess, director Le-Van Kiet crafts a spirited, blood-soaked actioner that reenergizes its familiar formula.
Several classical revamps vie for their own tonal identity without fully dedicating themselves to their different approach. The Princess thankfully possesses complete self-awareness of the lean-and-mean genre exercise it wants to embody. Like a relic from the 80s and 90s action hero heyday, the film showcases a relentless onslaught of choreographed duals and high-flying stunts through its own frenetic, wild-child sensibility.
In his American debut, Kiet showcases himself as a sound craftsman. Kiet and his team work creatively to envision the cramped tower as a violent playground littered with murder tools and opportunistic traps. His camerawork proves to be equally adept – kinetically swinging alongside each sword thrust and blood splat while ensuring a steady visual composition. There are some noticeable budgetary restrictions here, but Kiet’s lively visceral pulse transforms the makeshift sets and cheap CGI into an endearing strength.
Part of what makes The Princess connect despite its breathless plotting is its star, Joey King. Wearing the grizzled grit and dramatic gravitas of a well-traveled warrior, King emanates movie star energy as the charismatic princess battling for her honor. She elevates material that feels relatively standard-issue, showcasing a radiating strength that enhances the film’s feminist lean. Co-star Dominic Cooper also has a blast playing the film’s whiney, self-absorbed antagonist.
While it works as a genre exercise, The Princess still displays room for improvement. I give props to screenwriters Jake Thorton and Ben Lustig for inventing a forward-thinking concept with room for satirical barbs. It is a fun twist to paint the feudal-era men as chauvinist buffoons that shouted over their more-competent female counterparts. That said, the script does not possess the wit or intelligence to take advantage of the concept. I wish the screenplay maintained the same personality and creative vitality of the visceral filmmaking on display.
Unevenness aside, The Princess offers a taunt bloodbath for fans of old-school actioners. I hope this is the first of several action star projects for Joey King.
Beavis And Butt-Head Do the Universe Synopsis: Blasting off on a NASA space mission in 1998, mischievous best pals Beavis and Butt-head time travel to the year 2022. As the NSA and U.S. government try to track them down, the clueless teens do their best to adjust to modern life.
The crass hijinks of Beavis and Butt-Head collide into our modern times with Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe. As an MTV kid, I grew up loving Beavis and Butt-Head for their sneering buffoonery and crass pratfalls. The duo always found hilarious ways to stumble into trouble and perplex people with their unsophisticated love of juvenile ideas.
It was not until I was older that I understood the true genius behind writer/director Mike Judge’s characters. At their best, Beavis and Butt-Head depict zeitgeist issues through the spectrum of two subjects with complete ambivalence to the world around them. The crass duo acts like a wrecking ball to cultural norms, bulldozing past people’s constant advocation in favor of their own simplistic and self-absorbed pursuits.
Following an 11-year absence for the duo, Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe finds Judge reviving his storied characters with winning results. The brisk 85-minute experience tackles our tech-obsessed and politically correct culture in a sharp satire of American buffoonery.
Judge, the mastermind behind timeless comedies like Office Space, King of the Hill, and Silicon Valley, remains a pointed voice in the genre. I’ve always loved how Judge marries opposing intellectual spectrums together in a way that satirizes the elites’ superiority complex and Beavis/Butt-Head’s overwhelming dullness. It’s a comedic style that allows audiences to bask equally in our leads’ hilariously simple-minded perspectives while poking fun at the self-righteous figureheads scolding them along the way.
Choosing a time travel narrative device is an ingenious platform for exposing Beavis and Butt-Head’s shenanigans into our current worldview. With Do The Universe, Screenwriters Lewis Morton and Guy Maxtone-Graham skewer dated ideologies on gender, technology, and privilege while adding a heaping of unsophisticated gags. The dissident approaches marry brilliantly together as the film aims at the arrogance and American Exceptionalism motivating both parties.
Unlike many other contemporary reboots, Do The Universe never forces self-referential barbs or cheeky tributes. Judge and company instead deliver a natural continuation of the series – one that understands the appeals of the original without constantly winking at the viewer. It’s also a joy to see Judge dawn the personas of Beavis and Butt-Head again, with the comedic stalwart seamlessly disappearing into the duo’s distinctive personalities (their signature laughs remain intact).
The final product isn’t quite a recreation of the character’s pop culture heyday. Judge’s perspectives as a screenwriter and director are sorely missing at times as Do the Universe endures some comedic inconsistencies. Thematically, this sequel’s more sporadic approach also pales in comparison to some of the duo’s best content.
Issues aside, Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe is still a delight in its vulgar pursuits. The politically incorrect duo continues to captivate and push boundaries, and I can’t wait to see what Judge and company have in store with the series’ TV reboot.
Beavis and Butt-Head Do the Universe is now available on Paramount+.
Back in their heyday, studio comedies used to populate theaters at a rampant rate. Studios would wisely spread crowdpleasing comedies throughout the yearly calendar, with most entries serving as welcomed counter-programming to the bombastic blockbusters and weighty awards-hopefuls populating multiplexes. It was a win-win formula for studios – a strategy that provided a consistent revenue stream due to comedies’ reasonable budgets and critic-proof reputation.
Growing up in the 2000s and 2010s, I still fondly remember seeing generational staples like 21 Jump Street and This is the End inside the buzzing atmosphere of a sold-out crowd. There’s nothing like the energy emanating from an audience during a winning comedy. The uproarious laughter and communal spirit genuinely represent the best of what the theatrical experience can deliver.
That’s not to say the genre was faultless. It seemed like each standout comedy would generate its own string of copycat imitators. Whether it was the raunchy wave of the late 1990s or the loose Apatow-inspired comedies in the early 2010s, studios created a slew of laugh-free, factory-assembled products that half-heartedly tried to meet viewers’ demands.
Fast-forward to modern times, studio comedies have essentially vanished from theaters. The advent of over-populated streaming services and the damaging ramifications of the COVID-19 pandemic leaves studio comedies in a new reality. A star-studded theatrical romp like The Lost City now feels like an unexpected oddity – as studios restrict most of their comedic output to unceremonious streaming releases. The last two years alone saw The Lovebirds, Vacation Friends, and Superintelligenceultimately cancel their theatrical plans in favor of streaming platforms.
With the recent releases of The Man from Toronto on Netflix, Father of the Bride on HBO Max, and Jerry and Marge Go Large on Paramount+, I wanted to analyze how current industry patterns are altering the studio comedy landscape. Whether these comedies were intended initially for theaters or not, they each contextualize how studios approach crafting comedies in our modern times. Is streaming affecting comedic films for better or for worse? Let’s take a look!
The Man from Toronto
The Man from Toronto Synopsis: The world’s deadliest assassin (Woody Harrelson) and New York’s biggest screw-up (Kevin Hart) are mistaken for each other at an Airbnb rental.
Tell me if you’ve heard this idea before. Two polar opposites find themselves forced to work through an unlikely situation. Despite their differences, the two eventually bond and learn about themselves through their partner’s unique perspective. The “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” approach permeates every frame of The Man from Toronto – a lazy, laugh-free comedy destined to serve as background noise for Netflix users.
Borrowing from a familiar concept isn’t necessarily bad, but the creative team’s uninspired execution makes the contrivances stand out even more. Screenwriters Robbie Fox and Chris Bremner struggle in their attempts to imbue an intriguing-enough premise with any distinctive wrinkles. Instead, they offer audiences a lame-duck romp through unfunny running gags and been-there-done-that pratfalls.
The Man from Toronto is as factory-assembled as it gets for a studio comedy. Stars Kevin Hart and Woody Harrelson lack chemistry and are in full-out coasting mode as the titular odd couple (Harrelson was a last-minute replacement for Jason Statham, and it shows). Studio Director Patrick Hughes creates tedious and shoddy action setpieces despite working with a $75 million budget. Worst of all, there is not a single joke or plot beat here that showcases an original thought.
Sony initially intended The Man from Toronto as a theatrical release, but their decision to dump the film on streaming is understandable in hindsight. Like several forgettable comedies before it, The Man from Toronto will likely collect plenty of data points for Netflix while most audiences half-watch or leave the film playing in the background. Cases like this embolden streamers to make the most basic, mass-appealing product possible. With negative reviews and abysmal box office results possessing little relevance, it’s easy to see why some streaming productions are content going through the motions.
Jerry and Marge Go Large Synopsis: Inspired by the remarkable true story of retiree Jerry Selbee (Bryan Cranston), who discovers a mathematical loophole in the Massachusetts lottery and, with the help of his wife Marge (Annette Bening), wins millions and uses the money to revive their small Michigan town.
An aging couple discovers a new spark in their life when exploiting a state lottery loophole in Jerry and Marge Go Large. While admittedly pleasant, Director David Frankel and Screenwriter Brad Copeland spin a breezy yet mundane comedy from their stranger-than-fiction true story.
Unlike The Man From Toronto, Jerry and Marge does provide a pulse of entertainment value. Bryan Cranston and Annette Bening share an agreeable rapport as the mundane titular couple, with Cranston, in particular, having a blast as a man uniquely bound by his pragmatic mindset. Frankel also ensures that Jerry and Marge maintains an innate wholesomeness throughout. The film openly celebrates Jerry and Marge as the duo turns an oddball hobby into a reclamation project for their local community.
Jerry and Marge ultimately limits itself through its innate folksiness. Frankel and Copeland coat their film in a heavy dose of saccharine sentimentality, a choice that makes the end product maintain the energy of a sitcom-esque endeavor. The film ends up suffocating under its pleasantness, vying so hard for feel-good sentimentality that feels artificial instead (I bet the film maintains little detail from its true story origins).
Honestly, Jerry and Marge is the type of disposable romp that’s perfect for streaming viewers. The end product is a painlessly cheery endeavor that will likely evaporate from most viewers’ memory banks. Still, that distinction is the ultimate backward compliment. The growth of streaming creates fewer standards for studios and viewers alike, as both sides of the viewing spectrum can seem too accepting of mediocre final products.
Jerry and Marge Go Large is now playing on Paramount+.
Father of the Bride
Father of the Bride Synopsis: A father (Andy Garcia) must come to grips with his daughter’s upcoming wedding and handle multiple relationships within his sprawling Cuban American family.
As a remake of a remake, Father of the Bride imbues a Latin lens in its time-honored tale of two families colliding during hectic wedding preparations. I can feel some readers groaning at the thought of another remake, but Father of the Bride delivers a refreshing throwback to the studio comedies of yesteryear.
Father of the Bride pays homage to its predecessors while defining its own comedic frequency. Director Matt Lopez and Screenwriter Gary Alazraki create a film embedded in their cultural footprint. The two conjure an affectionate romp chock-full of uproarious laughs and well-earned tugs at the heartstrings.
I give the duo props for leaning into the generational differences at the core of their narrative. Andy Garcia’s hard-wired patriarch is not a vapid villain, but rather a man driven by the rigid coding of growing up as a disenfranchised immigrant in a bygone era. Garcia’s aloof charms also serve as the perfect delivery for his central role, while the supporting cast infuses vibrant energy and lived-in chemistry in their roles.
Sure, Father of the Bride hits the genre’s traditionalist trademarks without much deviation. However, the film follows the studio comedy blueprint to perfection in a joyous and unapologetically sentimental experience. As much as I enjoyed the final product, I was left missing the unique pleasures of seeing a good comedy on the big screen. The sounds of synchronized laughter and the ora of positive audience energy offer an unforgettable big-screen experience when comedies come together.
Father of the Bride is now playing on HBO Max.
So what do these movies tell us about studio comedies today? Well, studio comedies are in desperate need of creative infusions. The lack of standards in several streaming outings communicates the complacency in several of these productions. If anything, streaming services should be more willing to embrace risks with their direct-to-consumer platforms, not the other way around!
I’d also argue that the trend of straight-to-streaming for most comedies enacts more harm than good. Even great streaming laugh fests, like Bad Tripand The King of Staten Island, failed to gain the same word-of-mouth traction they would have if experienced in theaters. Sadly, success stories like We’re the Millers that became box office phenoms based solely on positive buzz now feel like ancient history lessons.
I am okay with comedies having a significant presence on streaming. Heck, I would even say comedies fit better in the streaming model than several other genres – but that does not mean the genre should exist exclusively on streaming. I hope the success of Lost City and the upcoming releases of Bros and Happy Easter willhelp restore studio comedies to their theatrical heyday.
