BATTLE AFTER BATTLE

What may be the best film of 2025 is, undoubtedly, the most important film of a very long time.

It is… all at the same time… concise, obscure, funny, terrifying, accurate, necessary, and fanciful. I could go on. The movie certainly does… for just under three hours.

I refer you to Director Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another and I hardly know where to start. Let me begin in the summer of 1955, immediately after my graduation from High School.

It was June and there was a review in TIME magazine of the film The Night of the Hunter where the reviewer wrote something to the effect that the movie was “a bit like using a .45 to kill a ladybug. One admires the marksmanship but deplores the waste of power.”

I have remembered that quote since reading it over 70 years ago, have referred to it more than once regarding any number of movies, and thought of it again when watching One Battle After Another. I thought of it… but quickly realized it really does not apply to this powerful and, potentially, important film.

“Potentially,” in that we have yet to see what the film audience will do with what they see at the nation’s movie theatres and streaming on Netflix. Will it awaken the imagination of the viewing audience? Cynically, I suspect that the potential of this film and its message will be wasted. The movie’s dismal failure at the box office is a strong indicator that I am right about that.

For purposes of this review, I shall put aside the politics of this motion picture. I believe it was Samuel Goldwyn who, nearly a hundred years ago, said something to the effect that “…messages are for Western Union.”  Ironic in that his grandson (Anthony Howard “Tony” Goldwyn) plays a powerful white supremacist in the movie whose significant role is all about “message.”

Onward. The movie is long… very long at 162 minutes. It does not matter. The time flies by. The performances are all … even the tiniest parts… visually and virtually terrific.

In no particular order, Chase Infiniti makes an amazing debut as the daughter of Leonardo DiCaprio and Teyana Taylor, both of whom shine as Ms. Infiniti’s parents. I have never before seen a Latin American sensei… nor can I imagine anyone better at playing such a part than Benicio del Toro does in this film. Regina Hall is powerful in her role, and Sean Penn, as US Army Colonel Steven J. Lockjaw, is assured an Oscar nomination for his performance in this motion picture. There are so many others… and director Anderson has herein proven the point that there are no small roles… as each of the actors in this movie play their parts beautifully and believably.

Director Paul Thomas Anderson wrote the screenplay for One Battle After Another, partially based on the 1990 novel Vineland by Thomas Pynchon and with a nod to the French film classic Battle of Algiers.

Anderson is a genius filmmaker and unlike the movie, Jay Kelly, which I had to watch twice because I could not believe it could possibly be as boring as it was on the first viewing, I will watch One Battle After Another at least one more time to understand it better and in appreciation for my favorite art form being realized so well.

There is no minimizing the restraint this observer exerted in this review by minimizing the content of this motion picture. It is a very political movie and its truths might sting, yet they are valid. As someone who often categorizes himself as a political animal, I felt it better to exercise restraint and to deal with other aspects of the movie with only a reference or two as to what the whole thing is really about.

One Battle After Another is about revolution. The film begins in Reagan’s 1984 America and ends in the present day. It refers constantly to racism in today’s America… those who experience it by being born something other than white, and those who will do whatever necessary to … at the very least… freeze the country in place with the hope of a regression into a whiter, more Christian country than the one we now have.

One Battle After Another is scary, in that it could provide a handbook… or, at least, a reminder of what oppressed people ought to do. It is equally frightening to see what little was accomplished in those battles of the past and what has/ or more properly, has not happened for those advocates of change.

Director Anderson went out of his way not to mention any current politicians, political parties, or movements on either the left or the right. Still, it is an all-too-real depiction of what, at the very least, we are flirting with in modern day America.

“Be careful,” the aging revolutionary Leonardo DiCaprio says at the end of the movie to his 16-year-old daughter as she is about to go out into the world.

Meant to bring a smile of recognition to the filmgoer and a reminder of the understanding that the battle goes on, is her reassuring response:

“I won’t.”

Barney Rosenzweig

DY-NO-MITE

 A House of Dynamite, has arrived at Netflix, courtesy of director Kathryn Bigelow (Academy Award winner for The Hurt Locker) and it is… as one might well expect from this talented director… a well-made thriller; a  “whodunit” in the world of apocalyptic tales… a mystery in that no one in our nation’s defense system is able to discern which one of our ever-increasing list of enemies has precipitated this doomsday scenario.

The metaphor that explains the title is spoken near the end of the film “… everyone acts as if it is safe living in a house of dynamite simply because it hasn’t exploded yet.”

Do we need another film that explores that theme? I am gonna guess yes since I cannot remember when I last felt a sense of security about our interactions with other nations.

Everyone is good in the movie but I would single out Idris Elba who plays the President of the United States for his performance. In fairness to his fellow actors, Elba’s character is given the broadest range as we see him as a true politician and a loving husband before he gets the awful news of an imminent atomic attack.

And how is that possible? How is it that the President of the United States of America is among the last to learn of all that is going on? That is where filmmaker Bigelow challenges her audience. With hardly any warning that the timeline has changed and that the part of the story now seen on screen takes place hours before its predecessor, the director artfully moves her story along.

There is nothing so mundane as a message on the screen, or a clock on the wall. The decision to so subtly introduce an achronological narrative may prove confusing to some… many might even say “most” … but in retrospect there are clues along the way that this is how this powerful story is to be presented. Bigalow demands as well as commands your attention. Whatever the complaints… I have also heard folks questioning the film’s ending… the movie does work. It serves as an important reminder that while we are not truly safe in our house of dynamite, we can be secure in the knowledge that Ms. Bigelow’s Oscar nomination for direction of a motion picture is all but guaranteed.

Another current motion picture now streaming on Netflix is something else altogether. The film is Jay Kelly, starring George Clooney and Adam Sandler. I watched it twice. Not because I liked it, but because I could not believe… given all the hype I had heard about the film… that the movie could be such a bore.

Had I unwittingly dozed through some critical parts? Did I somehow miss an underlying subtle theme? Having just turned 88 years of age it is, I think, understandable that I might wonder about such possibilities.

As a fella who enjoys writing commentaries about films and such, I was also concerned about my built-in bias. I had avoided the movie for as long as I felt I could, simply because Adam Sandler was in it.

(A moment is herein provided for readers to take a pause and think of performers they simply cannot stand to watch.)

My first was Dorothy Malone. Trust me, you would have had to have been around in the 1940s and 50s to appreciate that reference. Next for me was Karen Black in the1970s. Twenty-some years later, after two decades sans any noted bias, Adam Sandler made his debut on Saturday Night Live and I stopped watching the late-night series until he was fired in 1995.

Having pretty much avoided anything in which Sandler appeared for almost thirty years, it was not easy for me to contemplate watching a movie in which he co-starred with anyone… not even George Clooney… but I persevered. And you know, Sandler wasn’t half bad. I understand he received some rave reviews (probably from folks who were grateful he did not play his usual juvenile idiot). Whatever the reason, this sub-standard movie is not his fault. While being generous, I will not blame George Clooney either. Who then gets the dubious credit for this mediocrity?

Noah Baumbach and Emily Mortimer wrote the screenplay and Baumbach was also its “director.”

Baumbach spent 132 minutes exploring his lead character’s angst as if Fellini had never made 8 ½, or Birdman had not already picked up four Academy Awards for a similar theme. It would appear Baumbach would be surprised to learn of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, or Bergman’s Wild Strawberries, or even Shakespeare’s King Lear.

Of course, it is perfectly appropriate to explore or even merely revisit a theme such as this, but one would hope that a fresh look at the subject of a man looking back over the wreckage of his life would be able to add something… anything… to the basic idea.

Filmmaker Baumbach? He drones for 132 minutes. And me? Other than the unregainable loss of those 264 minutes was the disbelief that so much energy had been invested in such tripe that I watched it again to see what I missed in that first screening.

Nothing.

Betty Comden and Adolph Green would say it best in Wonderful Town, “…what a waste of money and time.”

Barney Rosenzweig

REFLECTION

 

There is something a little intimidating about sitting down to compose a review on a rather large/potentially important motion picture that has received little or no “buzz” from other movie commentators or even much of a nod from the ubiquitous gang at “Rotten Tomatoes.”

The motion picture Nuremberg is such an event. Even with an all-too-ready concession that the movie fails in ways that I could only wish it did not, there is still an abundance of terrific stuff built into this effort to qualify this historical drama as one of (if not) the best movies of the year.

In today’s world of filmed entertainment, perhaps this film would have been a better presentation as a six-to-eight-hour mini-series. There is certainly enough story for that and I, for one, felt the two and a half hours of the film’s running time simply flew by.

Director James Vanderbilt’s work was solid and often inspired. I found that I could only wish that screenwriter Vanderbilt’s efforts were as worthy as those of his alter ego behind the camera.

The script was good in so many ways, but only occasionally did it approach greatness and too often was too thin … too convenient… too much of the time.

Russell Crowe as Hermann Goring gives a perfect performance… one, for which, I am sure, he will be recognized by his peers. Rami Malek, as US Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley, is almost always interesting (Bohemian Rhapsody, Mr. Robot), but in some ways miscast in this role. Michael Shannon gives his usual solid performance of an American stoic, and Leo Woodall has a nice scene toward the movie’s end.

The mini-knock on Vanderbilt’s screenplay should be qualified because although much of this historical monument was given short shrift, the writer did not miss many opportunities at giving today’s audience the chance to make comparisons of the politics of mid-20^th century fascism and what is currently going on in the 2020s.

In many ways, Nuremberg is an old-fashioned movie. It is professionalism personified by every craft involved in the making of such a motion picture. It reminded me of a time when more than one of these movies came along on an annual basis.

Sadly, that is not so true these days.

And, as the calendar on my word processor reminds me, these days of 2025 are soon ending.

As of now, the only other movie I can reference with reverence is Blue Moon, the setting of which brings me to the world of theatre. In no particular order, the best of what I have seen in the world of entertainment include three tiny surprises on Broadway: the very campy, Oh, Mary, the very surprising to me, Dead Outlaw, and the incredibly brilliant, Maybe Happy Ending. Lest it go unmentioned, I must also reference the incredible staging of The Picture of Dorian Gray, which included the Tony Award winning performance of Ms. Sarah Snook.

Television… mostly in the series format… is what continued to float my boat. The Diplomat’s latest season, the vintage classic Gilmore Girls, Landman… and here I must pause to say that this year there has been no better writer of dialogue than Taylor Sheridan and no better actor at delivering a line than Billy Bob Thornton. In Landman, these two come together and it is a wow.

The Studio on Apple TV is toward the bottom of my best of 2025 list but it did make the cut… as did season four of The Morning Show although it was a drop off from the previous season number three. Perhaps seeing some very familiar scenes of the industry I write about in my upcoming autobiography, Before and After Cagney & Lacey; Memoir of a Hollywood Career from Mailroom to TV Maven was an influence.

Finalizing that book could also have led to my getting very hung up on a few other vintage shows during the year, namely Younger, Bunheads and Homeland… which I could watch and praise with equal enthusiasm every single year.

Some favorable comments, with a caveat or two, will be forthcoming in the NewYear about A House of Dynamite from director Kathryn Bigelow along with such highly touted Best Motion Picture entries as One Battle After Another, Hamnet, Sinners, Marty Supreme, and Bugonia.

Finally, near the top of the year’s best was the limited series, Adolescence. Every actor was perfect and the direction was nothing short of brilliant. Exceedingly rare anytime but particularly so in the year 2025.

Happy Holidays to all with a look-forward to 2026.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

 

 

GOOD THINGS (SOMETIMES) COME IN SMALL PACKAGES

          

It is the small movies that often give the reviewer the most trouble. There is concern that… just perhaps… no one else will “get” this movie the way the self-anointed film expert might, that by virtue of being part of this elite calling, and having chosen to place one’s commentary on paper and the internet, that somehow the critic is filled with insights and sensibilities that mere mortals in the theatre audience do not possess.

The less than academic commentator might also fear that a plethora of research will have to be done in order to “explain” to the reader just why this tiny movie works and for what reasons it might be important that attention must be paid… especially to something so small.

The tiny movie to which this column refers features one of America’s great wits, a man who, along with his collaborator of a quarter century, formed a partnership that became… arguably the most prolific songwriting team of all time. It is said as a compliment, but in fact is something akin to understatement, that this very same All-American partnership is the US equivalent of the internationally renowned team of Gilbert and Sullivan.

One could easily speculate that the bulk of Frank Sinatra’s fame and fortune would be garnered singing songs written by this pair… songs such as I Didn’t Know What Time it Was, Isn’t it Romantic, My Funny Valentine, The Lady is a Tramp, Dancing on the Ceiling, Glad to Be Unhappy, Where or When, It Never Entered My Mind, Little Girl Blue, Manhattan, My Romance. And that is just Sinatra. There was, of course, also Ella and Tony Bennett. There is the very real danger of filling this entire film review with nothing but song titles.

And then there is the fear of the whole thing being just a little inside baseball as the set up for the movie that is one particular night… one awful night… in the life of Lorenz Hart. For it is on this night that Mr. Hart’s erstwhile partner, Richard Rodgers, with whom he wrote more than 500 songs and 28 stage musicals, is having the world premiere of his latest musical… his first with a new partner… a circumstance made necessary, according to Mr. Rodgers, because of Mr. Hart’s alcoholism.

Mr. Rodgers’ new partner is Oscar Hammerstein II and the premiere, just down the street from the bar at Sardi’s where this little movie takes place, is, of course, Oklahoma! Note the exclamation point.

There is no equivalency of setting or circumstance that any self-professed theatre buff could possibly come up with that would resonate with more raw emotion, more mixed feelings.

The title of the movie is Blue Moon… also a song by Rodgers & Hart… and it stars Andrew Scott (who played the Hot Priest in the sensational Fleabag, Tom Ripley in the recent limited series, Ripley, and he also played every single cast member of the most recent edition of Uncle Vanya both on stage and film); Scott’s co-star is Ethan Hawke (Dead Poets Society) who essays the literary half of the famous duo. Margaret Qualley makes (what was for me, at least) an impressive debut as the object of Hart’s affection, while the always solid Bobby Cannavale reluctantly keeps Mr. Hart’s glass filled at the Sardi’s bar.

I took the liberty of removing Mr. Hawke’s top billing as it fit my sentence structure better since he played Lorenz Hart, who was in life billed in second position to Richard Rodgers. Still, make no mistake about it, this is Mr. Hawke’s movie. If no one else gets an Academy Award nomination for this film, I can assure you that Ethan Hawke will get his. Richard Linklater, who also helmed the impressive Hit Man, and who directed Blue Moon, could be busy at Oscar time as well. This was the first screenplay for Robert Kaplow, who authored the novel Me and Orson Welles, and I feel comfortable in saying he is another who will not go gently into that Oscar evening.

Hollywood made its bones on pretty people saying pretty things in pretty places. Blue Moon isn’t that… rather it is very bright people revealing very poignant and intellectually stimulating things in a most provocative environment. Consider yourselves lucky to be able to join the party at a theatre near you or on Amazon, Apple TV, or Fandango at home.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

A MIXED BAG

Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys bring their acting creds to Netflix in the limited series, The Beast In Me. It is a semi mystery… but mostly it is a suspense thriller (there is a difference). Claire Danes schlepps most of the water in this which, in less talented hands, would be a dreary eight hours.

Ms. Danes is simply one of the best acting talents in the business and everyone associated with this thing owes her a debt of gratitude. She not only makes the show worth watching… she is, in fact, virtually the ONLY reason to watch.

Rhys, who has shown his considerable acting chops in one of TV’s great classics (The Americans) can find little to do besides look creepy but credible. The rest of the acting ensemble do their best with this material, but the bravas all go to Ms. Danes, whose multiple gifts come through even when the show is not Homeland.

Peacock’s All Her Fault features Sarah Snook, another actress with such solid credentials as Broadway’s The Picture of Dorian Gray and the HBO series, Succession.

I didn’t care for this limited series…  and then I did… and then, once again, I didn’t. Snook is sorta one-note and although that note is a reasonably powerful one, it is… after all… but one note. The police work, characterized by actor Michael Pena, was interesting and almost all by itself made the eight-episode series work.

Parts of the limited series captured me… more than once after I was sure I had become permanently estranged from just whatever it was that was… or was not… going on. Overall, there was a  sense of relief over the simple fact that I didn’t know… and would likely never meet… either screen writer Megan Gallagher or novelist Andrea Mara. One or both have about the lowest opinion of men that I have ever seen projected on any screen anywhere. Michael Pena’s idealistic cop, good as it is, cannot balance out the incompetence and malevolence of the lead actors playing the husbands in this heavy-handed version of a sexist melodrama. Ladies, if you hate your husbands and need even a little bit of a confirmation of the validity of your feelings… this show is for you.

The Roses is a new motion picture, currently in a theatre presumably near you. It stars Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch and is a remake of War of The Roses which starred Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner way back in the 20^th century. My crowd seemed to like this updated version better… and from a plausibility and believability perspective, I sort of agree. Sort of. Frankly, I could not get past the nagging feeling that the 1989 version was really the superior movie.

The best of the bunch was a DVD from Criterion that was the Thanksgiving screening for my grandson. His mother and I insist that at every family gathering which includes viewing entertainment at least one classic must be included… whether he wants it or not. This year it was the Preston Sturges film from 1941, Sullivan’s Travels, starring Joel McCrea and Veronica Lake. Good stuff, and the good news is you do not have to wait for a special occasion to watch it.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

TO BE FRANK

The latest version of Mary Shelley’s 19^th century novel Frankenstein has finally been brought to the screen by Academy Award winner Guillermo del Toro Gomez. I picked the adverb with an abundance of forethought. Director Gomez has said that he has waited almost all of his life to bring this story to the cinema and, there is little question, he should be the perfect guy to do so.

Pan’s Labyrinth, The Shape of Water, Hellboy, and Pinocchio were worthy precursors to the gothic film which viewers… as well as del Toro himself… might well suspect would spring from the mind’s eye of this gifted picture maker.

Was it worth the wait? Frankly, the answer is no. The first half is a bore and so much so that the second half… which is much better… cannot fully compensate for what went before.

What went wrong? Hard to know. Have we seen the filmization of this story too many times? Could be. In fairness, it is not as easy a thing to pull off as one might expect. Horror movie buffs are rebuffed by the empathic character that is the monster. The result…?... It just isn’t… nor has it ever been… a true horror story.

Man’s inhumanity to man? But is the thing… the “monster”... technically human? And just maybe none of this esoterica matters anyway. No matter how massive the sets, how glorious and mysterious the cinematography or the underscore of music, maybe… we… the picture-going audience… have stayed too long at the fair.

Mary Shelley’s story has stood the test of time, is one of the great yarns of semi-modern literature, but (frankly) we have been there and done that… and what’s more, Director Yorgos Lanthimos pretty much put a nail in this coffin with his award winning 2023 motion picture, Poor Things starring Emma Stone as “the creature.” It just may be impossible… to top Yorgos’ send-up of the genre.

That said, not all have gotten the message. Still to come is The Bride, directed by Maggie Gylllenhaal, based on the filmic concept, The Bride of Frankenstein.

Recently… and need I add not seen by me?…. Lisa Frankenstein, where a teenage girl flips the genre by creating a “mate” and then there is The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster.

About these, “… frankly, I don’t give a damn” is a suitable cinematic closer.

Besides the history of cinema, history itself has been of some more than casual interest for me even before taking it as my major as an undergraduate at the University of Southern California. Death by Lightning, a four-hour miniseries on Netflix, the story of the brief term in office of President James A. Garfield and his assassin Charles J. Guiteau, is well worth your attention.

I knew little about either of these true to life-characters, other than my parents having met at James A. Garfield High School in East Los Angeles and my more than superficial interest in the Stephen Sondheim musical, Assassins, which … among others… featured “Charlie” Guiteau.

Death by Lightning, see it. It is an informative and satisfying four hours.

I turned on Mindhunter, vintage 2017-2019, because of actress Anna Torv, the Australian beauty who J.J. Abrams first brought to my attention in his fabulous ABC series, Fringe. That was a long time ago, but Ms. Torv is still a fine actress … that is when you finally, get to see her. Listed as one of the three leads, Ms. Torv barely makes an appearance until late in the series. The two male leads, Jonathan Groff and Holt McCallany are fine but neither has the kind of star power it takes to navigate a series to anything resembling success.

I have yet to return to the Netflix series but I might. Ms. Torv’s role could get larger, the show might get a bit better, but time has sorta run out; Netflix canceled the psychological crime drama after two seasons (a total of 19 episodes).

Finally… I took a look at the latest (or, indicated in its title, last?) Mission Impossible-The Final Reckoning.  The movie runs for 169 minutes and for something like 130 of those not only was the mission impossible, but it was also not even understandable.

Somehow, in the waning moments of the movie, the whole thing came together.  I congratulated myself on making sense of much of the thing, despite feeling that before that moment of illumination, most of the film was being made up as it went along.

I am old enough to have watched Tom Cruise grow up on the screen. What a fantastic career. Is he finally getting a bit long in the tooth for the kind of derring-do required in this sort of motion picture?  I dunno. The whole thing is so unbelievable, so contrived, so convenient to whatever the screenwriter can imagine… why not have a 63-year-old do whatever the role requires? After all, they do warn you at the very outset… it’s…

IMPOSSIBLE.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

STAR BRIGHT

I took a brief leave of absence from my beautiful Island in South Florida to attend a 100th birthday party hosted by my long-time, very good pal, Joe Fuery, for his wife… Academy Award winning actress and director, Lee Grant.

I have known Joey and Lee since my early days in the Malibu(“movie”) Colony back in the late 1960s; we have been fast friends ever since.

Understand… Lee may be 100 but you would never guess it. She was on her feet throughout the entire party, greeting her guests (of which there were close to one for every one of her years), smiling, animated and enjoying the accolades and the company. There must be something to those weekly Yoga classes she continues to enthusiastically attend.

I want to honor Lee as some of her semi-contemporary fellow celebs who were in attendance did …. such as Michael Douglas, Blythe Danner, Joy Behar, Tony Shalhoub, Marlo Thomas, Sharon Gless, Forbes 50 over 50 recipient Dawn Lafreeda, Dinah Manoff, Ron Rifkin, and Brenda Vacarro to name those I know.

Not exactly the Taylor Swift crowd, but it was an extremely warm and loving one. Personally, I am looking forward to the 101st in 2026 but while waiting, I took in a few shows on Broadway.

Anyone who saw Kristin Chenoweth on Broadway as part of the original cast of Wicked would know that before them on that stage was an authentic Broadway star. A less successful Broadway revival of On the 20th Century would confirm Chenoweth’s stardom, in the unlikely event there were any doubters out there in the audience.

Ms. Chenoweth is now back on Broadway in the title role of The Queen of Versailles. She is taking no prisoners. It does notmatter, until you think on it later… like, maybe the next day… that the musical play itself is not worthy of her. What could be? The star simply sweeps you away in number after number with her voice, her comedic turns, and her own physicality. She can do it all and she does.

I saw the show in previews and will hold… sort of… to my policy of not reviewing shows that have yet to have their official premiere. 

By the time this review is read by you, opening night of The Queen of Versailles may well be part of Broadway history… and I suspect it will be that part of the historical record indicating an early closing… a show somehow misguided, unworthy of the effort it took for a lot of talented people to bring it all together.

Not because The Queen of Versailles is lame… it is not. But because it simply is a bad idea for a musical. An opera, maybe. But that is a vastly different genre with a lot of different requirements. This tale of American greed, excessive opulence,and Trumpian-like poor taste, is not… in my view… something American audiences want to see… either on the stage or in the mirror. 

And, yes, if the title sounds familiar, it is based on the documentary of the same name. It is a true story and I am sorry to say, all too much like the America in which we now live. You may stream this documentary on Amazon Prime, Roku, and other such venues.

Maybe Happy Ending is something else again. It is everything The Queen of Versailles is not. Very human (despite the lead characters being robots), very loving, very tasteful, and extremely hopeful. A real feel-good evening in the theatre which, for assorted reasons, I put off seeing for far too long. You might remember, or know, that Maybe Happy Ending won sixTonys earlier this year, including Best Musical. It was one of the few Broadway hits that I ignored at the time, so this was catch up and I am so grateful that I did just that. 

It is a wonderful concept, beautifully realized in the writing, and perfectly directed. There are moments where I was one of many in the Belasco Theatre audience where gasping was the only response imaginable. Not at the acting of the two perfectly charming leads… but at the way the thing on stage at that moment was written by Will Aronson and Hue Park and brought to life by director Michael Arden and musical supervisor Deborah Abramson. 

Do you like irony? Mr. Arden also directed The Queen of Versailles. Well, both explore the human condition and my “issue” with his latest choice is just that… his choice. Mr. Arden, again, did a very fine job… and Ms. Chenoweth might be happy to testify to that very fact. I just think it is not the kind of show that enough folks will pay Broadway prices to see. A note about that piece of box-office speculation: I take no pleasure in attempting to predict what people will or will not pay for as it has been demonstrably proven… more than once… that this is not one of the things I do best.

Then there is the revival of CHESS at New York’s Imperial Theatre. It is also in the final stages of previews, but I will go so far as to say I found it loud and long. Too loud by a lot, and way too long. And, yes, you former teenagers who are still young enough to remember such things… this is the Tim Rice rock musical with a new book and new music… I think… but can’t really testify to that in that there is absolutely nothing in those nearly three hours that one can hum. 

The good news? Aaron Tveit is one of the trio of leads. The Tony Award Winner for Best Actor in a Musical (Moulin Rouge!) first came to my attention via the unique limited TV series, Brain Dead… created by the same folks who brought us the terrific, The Good Wife and The Good Fight. If you like political satire, Brain Dead just might be for you… sadly it is pre-Trump but even back in the day there was plenty to make fun of in our nation’s capital. You can find the limited series on Apple TV.

Fans of the TV series, Glee, might well enjoy the female lead, Lea Michele’s turn in the “musical” (quotation marks are intentional). I liked her as Fanny Brice in the recent revival of Funny Girl, but not enough to put her in the same league with her predecessor in that role or with Kristin Chenoweth in anything.

A wrap up by way of the movies. Relay is a tight, little movie you can see in the theatre or on Apple TV or Amazon Prime. I will say no more except to counsel that you not read any reviews before you see it so as to avoid “spoilers.” Let the film surprise you.

F1:The Movie: is about Formula One racing. Something I knew nothing about before seeing this film and pretty much sums up my knowledge of this kind of activity even after spending over two and a half hours watching the thing. The surprise is that this really isn’t as bad as it may sound. Brad Pitt stars in the movie and he is an authentic/likeable movie star. Sometimes that is enough. This is one of those times.

Superman is a bloated, stupid waste of time that can be seen… if you are into self-flagellation… on HBO Max or maybe at a theatre near you. One nice note in the Superman flick is Rachel Brosnahan who plays Lois Lane. She is kinda marvelous and the movie’s only bright spot. You should remember her in the title role of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

As was once said by movie icon, Porky Pig… in any number of films better than this latest rendition of Superman…

“That’s all Folks!”

 

Barney Rosenzweig