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At a Cannes Film Festival of big swings and faceplants, real life takes a back seat

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At a Cannes Film Festival of big swings and faceplants, real life takes a back seat

“Is it too real for ya?” snarls the Gang of Four-soundalike punk band Fontaines D.C. over a thrumming bass line on the soundtrack to “Bird” as we cruise the streets of Gravesend, Kent, east of London. How’s this for too real? Piloting an e-scooter is the shirtless, much-tatted Bug, played by Barry Keoghan, last seen in “Saltburn” wearing significantly less. Hanging onto him is 12-year-old Bailey (Nykiya Adams), his daughter from a previous relationship (something of a stretch, age-wise, but sure).

Ever the optimist, Bug is planning to sell the hallucinogenic slime he skims off the back of a toad he’s imported from Colorado to fund his imminent wedding to a fling of three months. And despite having an elaborate, curling centipede inked on his face and neck, he’s crestfallen that Bailey would let a friend cut off her locks before the big day. She’s entering surly adolescence like a hot comet and not thrilled to have a new stepmother.

It’s all in keeping with the studied miserablism of British director and Cannes darling Andrea Arnold (“American Honey”). Every interior in “Bird” is more squalid than the last; every door seems designed to be busted down by a violent boyfriend.

Nykiya Adams in the movie “Bird.”

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(Atsushi Nishijima)

Is it too real for ya?

Actually, no, not really. And that’s before Arnold introduces us to Bailey’s creepy Boo Radley-ish friend, the mysterious title character (Franz Rogowski of “Passages,” deepening his brand of bug-eyed strangeness), who, in a long-telegraphed moment of protective vengeance, sprouts huge CGI wings that were already painfully suggested.

“Bird” is part of what might be described as Cannes’ reality problem. Or so it seems — it’s only the halfway mark — as we ping-pong between screenings of revered directors leaping off the deep end, their former penchants for verisimilitude tossed aside. Emerging from the raves for George Miller’s “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga” came the admission, shared by many, that it just wasn’t convincing physically: too lacquered and digitally finessed, the grungy tactility of “The Road Warrior” long gone. Any hope of Francis Ford Coppola reproducing the warmth of his best films was dashed by the sprawling “Megalopolis,” a Rome-as-New-York urban fantasia that, for all its delightful looniness, could have used some subway grit.

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Maybe realness is overrated. It’s tempting (but too easy) to impose a coordinated aesthetic on any one edition of a film festival, the early responders hoping to collate their scattered experience of seeing multiple movies a day into a larger sense of coherence. Still, this was restless work. Many of Cannes’ first-week offerings felt like products of the pandemic and, as such, exuded an air of desperation.

A man and a woman listen to a suggestion.

Richard Gere and Uma Thurman in the movie “Oh, Canada.”

(Festival de Cannes)

Paul Schrader’s flashback-heavy “Oh, Canada” — sluggish even at 95 minutes — is expressly about notions of reputational realness unraveling. A Hollywood lion in a fascinating winter, the always-watchable Richard Gere plays Leonard Fife, a celebrated Errol Morris-like lefty documentarian, who, though suffering through the final stages of cancer, agrees to a filmed interrogation by some of his most devoted students. Already you anticipate that some of these interviews aren’t going to go Leonard’s way as Schrader’s métier, the language of self-excoriating doubt, finds voice.

Was he a draft dodger who fled to Canada on principle to escape military service? Was he a faithful family man? No points for guessing correctly on those two. Meanwhile, a deeper truth emerges, more about the inexorable march of time than integrity. Gere, reuniting with Schrader for their first collaboration since the exuberant strut of 1980’s “American Gigolo,” is a fragile, vulnerable presence here, playing up Leonard’s thickened voice and dimmed virility. “I have a Genie and a Gemini!” he sputters, clinging to his awards while the rest of his life tips into fabrication.

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Please, Yorgos Lanthimos, show us how it’s done: If we’re going to have a Cannes overrun with fantasy, let one come from the maker of “Poor Things” and “The Lobster.” The Greek director has chosen an unfortunate moment to do a faceplant. “Kinds of Kindness,” though it gets its audience pumped with opening credits set to Eurythmics’ snaky, pounding “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This),” slackens into a tiresome trio of subpar mini-films lacking the emotive weirdness that Lanthimos usually serves on tap.

Three adults hug in bed.

From left, Margaret Qualley, Jesse Plemons and Willem Dafoe in the movie “Kinds of Kindness.”

(Atsushi Nishijima / Searchlight Pictures)

It’s not the actors’ fault, many of whom take on triple duty in three brittle, gruesome tales about, sequentially, murderous micromanagement, cannibalistic survival and obsessive cultdom. The cast launches gamely into the flat-toned violence: Jesse Plemons, Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Hong Chau and a particularly committed Margaret Qualley (who hopefully filed for worker’s comp). The weak link, however, is the script by Lanthimos and Efthimis Filippou, who, despite the hope they’d steer back to their darkly suggestive “Dogtooth” days, can’t seem to link their customary meanness to any kind of profundity.

Lanthimos has never made a movie this gratuitously brutal (brace for a fried thumb served on a dinner plate), nor has he made one this dumbly obvious, relying on that ominous, pinging piano note from “Eyes Wide Shut” and a frisky cast to sock it over. He’s clearing his throat. It’s more a collection of memes than a sustained piece of thinking.

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One filmmaker, though, has nailed the free-floating dreaminess that Cannes seems to be lost in, the Zambia-born Rungano Nyoni, whose confidence summoning a mood clarifies in the exquisitely haunting “On Becoming a Guinea Fowl.” (Playing in the Un Certain Regard section, her drama runs circles around several others in the official competition.) It begins in the middle of the night — a sequence you’ll never want to end — as Shula (Susan Chardy), driving home from a party, pulls over. There’s a dead body on the road. Turns out it’s her uncle Fred. A garrulous, drunk cousin, Nsansa (Elizabeth Chisela), shows up, lending her some unwanted company.

The movie then eases into the rituals of mourning: mounting a funeral, cooking for the bereaved, grieving performatively, so much of it conducted in a state of shock. Nyoni’s debut, the surreal 2017 comic satire “I Am Not a Witch,” poked a sharp stick in the eye of African mysticism, drafting a solemn girl into unwanted witchery while other women remained tethered to traditional roles. Here, the connection is cooler and more disturbing. As Shula steps into rooms flooded with water, the film pivots to a trance-like menace, echoed by Lucrecia Dalt’s scraping experimental synth score.

We also learn more about guinea fowl than ever imagined, including how the plump species warns the rest of the herd of danger. Shula, lost in her stubbornly vague half-memories, can’t quite shake free of her uncle’s past. And when a final showdown arrives — several women and girls chirping out an animalistic warning — the hair on the back of your neck pricks up.

Suddenly, Cannes was too real after all.

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Movie Reviews

‘Deep Water’ Review: Renny Harlin’s Double-Dip Disaster Movie — Plane Crash + Shark Thriller — Has His Signature Schlock Touch

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‘Deep Water’ Review: Renny Harlin’s Double-Dip Disaster Movie — Plane Crash + Shark Thriller —  Has His Signature Schlock Touch

When a once-successful director finds himself stranded in a wilderness of misguided projects and indifferent audience response, he may try to reignite inspiration by going back to the ingredients of an iconic hit. If he can replicate the perfect storm of elements that made the earlier film work, maybe the new movie will put him back on top.

This kind of thing happens often enough — examples range from William Friedkin shooting for a West Coast “French Connection” with “To Live and Die in L.A.” to John McTiernan making “Die Hard with a Vengeance.” But we’re in a far more degraded realm of return-to-glory-days syndrome when it’s Renny Harlin out to recapture the low-trash spark of “Deep Blue Sea,” his well-liked exploitation action thriller. Talk about a 1999 movie that wasn’t about the brave new movie future!

It was about killer sharks (with enhanced intelligence!) eating people, and about a scientific experiment — something to do with curing Alzheimer’s — that was there to fill up the space between chompings. But “Deep Blue Sea,” whose big star was Thomas Jane, went down as a summer sleeper (it bit its way to $73 million domestic), and the nostalgic fondness that a lot of people have for it surely fed into why we’re now getting “Deep Water” (opening May 1), Harlin’s most lavishly scaled production in quite some time.

In the 1970s, disaster films had titles that described exactly what they were. “The Towering Inferno” was about a towering inferno, “Earthquake” was about an earthquake, and then there were films like “Meteor” and “Avalanche” and “The Swarm” and “The Hindenburg” and “City on Fire.” In that spirit, “Deep Water,” which is very much a neo-’70s disaster film. should have been called “Airplane Crash into a Sea of Jaws.” As it stands, the word in the film’s generic title that echoes that earlier Harlin movie is more than a bit ironic, since “deep” is just the word to describe what Renny Harlin’s movies are not. They are shallow. They are dramatically flat. They do not have interesting characters even on a schlock B-movie level. As a director, he has a sixth sense for how to reduce actors to walking slabs of pulp.

Yet there’s no denying that Renny Harlin, in his utilitarian action-hack way, has some chops. “Deep Water” starts out by introducing the main players on an intercontinental flight from Los Angeles to Shanghai. Aaron Eckhart, with his likable downcast valor, is the First Officer, a stalwart fellow who’s a bit of a ne’er-do-well (that’s why he’s never become a captain); he’s suffering from an oblique family trauma we can kind of suss out. Ben Kingsley is the captain, a jaded overseer on the verge of retirement who is introduced singing “Fly Me to the Moon” in a karaoke bar, where he somehow imagines that his crooning is going to have a seductive effect on the flight attendants seated at a table. (The truth is that he looks rather frighting in his sand-brown goatee.)

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We’re also introduced to the passengers, who are real Jane and Johnny one-notes, though we do take special notice of Dan (Angus Sampson), a long-haired slovenly bellicose chain smoker whose bulky red plastic suitcase the camera tracks onto the plane. For a while, we think it must have a bomb in it. It doesn’t, but it does contain something that randomly ignites, setting a fire in the cargo pod, which becomes an explosion, which ricochets into the cabin, at which point a hole gets blown in the side, one of the engines catches fire, and this thing is going down.

It doesn’t take excessive skill to make a plane crash scary, but Harlin executes this one with stylish flamboyance, as bodies get sucked out of the plane and flying wine bottles turn into shrapnel. Our heroes want to try landing at an airport in Guam, but that plan goes out the window, as they barely manage to ground the plane in the middle of the ocean.

There were 257 passengers aboard, all but about 30 of whom are now dead. The plane is in pieces, the main two chunks being the cockpit and the fuselage, both of which have been reduced to floating canisters with wires popping out of the sides. The plane’s pieces are now, in effect, life rafts (though there are some actual oversize yellow inflatable rafts aboard that will come into play). If the proper distress signal was set off (there’s some question about whether that happened), they should be rescued in a matter of hours. But until then…sharks!

They are mako sharks, which to my movie-trained eyes don’t look all that different from the great white shark in “Jaws,” as they flop their giant razor-toothed mouths aboard the rafts. “Jaws” was scary because it was about anticipation and sudden fear and the power of suggestion. “Deep Water,” on the other hand, has little in the way of suggestion, which is why it’s more gory than scary. Harlin stages the shark attacks in an overt here-ya-go way, with the one consistent suspense issue being whether the shark will consume a victim whole or bite off his or her limb or simply leave them with a nasty gash (which happens quite often).

Meanwhile, two bros (one American, one Chinese) start off as enemies but get over that, the scurrilous Dan continues to assert what a dick he is by smoking and snapping at everyone, and Eckhart’s character bonds with Cora (Molly Belle Wright), the now-orphaned young girl aboard, which triggers a reappraisal of his own domestic situation. Human drama! Not. (Or, at least, not very much.) Yet there’s a way in which it matters not, since even back in the ’70s the “human drama” of disaster films was just the frame on which to hang the sensationalist fantasy of death porn and survival. “Deep Water” isn’t terrible for what it is, but what it is is disaster product.

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Jada Pinkett Smith asks court to make Will Smith’s former friend pay her $49,000 legal bills

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Jada Pinkett Smith asks court to make Will Smith’s former friend pay her ,000 legal bills

Jada Pinkett Smith is asking a judge to make Bilaal Salaam cover the $49,000 in legal fees she racked up fighting claims he made in a December lawsuit.

According to a motion filed April 20 and obtained by The Times, Pinkett Smith is asking that Salaam pay $49,181.23, consisting of “reasonable attorneys’ fees incurred” in connection with Pinkett Smith’s successful special motion to strike Salaam’s complaint, “plus further fees and costs associated with this motion.”

Salaam — Will Smith’s former best friend of 40 years who also goes by Brother Bilaal — filed a lawsuit against the “Bad Moms” actor in December, alleging emotional distress and seeking $3 million in damages.

Salaam claimed that in September 2021, he attended a private birthday party for Will Smith at the Regency Calabasas Commons. According to his lawsuit, he was in the lobby of the movie theater when Pinkett Smith approached him with about seven members of her entourage and threatened him. Salaam’s suit claims that Pinkett Smith told him he would “end up missing or catch a bullet” if he kept “telling her personal business.” She also allegedly pressured him to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

In November 2023, Salaam appeared on the “Unwine With Tasha K” podcast and alleged that he walked into Duane Martin’s dressing room and saw Will Smith having a sexual encounter with the “All of Us” actor. He also made claims about Pinkett Smith’s sexual habits.

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Pinkett Smith swiftly responded during an appearance on “The Breakfast Club” and said that Salaam started the rumors as part of a broader “money shakedown” and that his claims were “ridiculous and nonsense.”

“It’s not true and we’re going to take care of it,” she said. “We’re about to take legal action.”

Salaam beat Pinkett Smith to the courthouse and sued her in December, but Pinkett Smith asked the judge to toss the case in February.

According to the motion filed this week, the former “Red Table Talk” host argues Salaam should pay her hefty legal bills because she “prevailed on her anti-SLAPP motion” and the court struck all allegations relating to media statements “that formed the basis for Plaintiff’s three causes of action, as well as additional allegations regarding a cease-and-desist letter.”

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‘Michael’ Review: A Perfect Puzzle With Major Missing Pieces

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‘Michael’ Review: A Perfect Puzzle With Major Missing Pieces
Lionsgate

SPOILER NOTICE:

The following movie review does not contains direct spoilers for the film Michael, however general information in regards to the plot, characters, key climax points, biographical information and themes explored in the film will be heavily discussed. Please read at your own discretion, or after seeing the film in theaters.

There have been, so far, four films that aim to depict some portion of the beautifully tragic life of late pop music pioneer Michael Jackson, otherwise known to the world as The King Of Pop.

You’ve got The Jacksons: An American Dream, the near-perfect 1992 ABC miniseries that gave MJ, his brothers and verbally abusive father Joe Jackson equal screen time in order to make for a proper origin story. Then there’s Man in the Mirror: The Michael Jackson Story, an abysmal 2004 VH1 TV movie that acts as a spiritual sequel yet truly should’ve never been made. Almost a decade ago we got Michael Jackson: Searching for Neverland, the 2017 Lifetime Network attempt to cover his final years of life, told from the perspective of two bodyguards employed by him for merely two-and-a-half years.

Today (April 24), the world finally gets to see Michael. The 2026 true-to-form biopic boasts the biggest budget compared to the previous three projects, distribution handled by the renowned Lionsgate Films, a director’s chair occupied by Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, Brooklyn’s Finest) and MJ’s own nephew, Jaafar Jackson, starring in the titular role alongside a glowing supporting cast that includes Colman Domingo (Rustin), Nia Long (Love Jones), Miles Teller (Divergent) and Larenz Tate (Menace II Society) just to name a few. Not to mention, it’s got full backing from The Jacksons family and 100% musical clearance to assure his biggest hits are heard on the big screen.

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With all that said, you might be expecting a masterpiece that borrows the best aspects from the original and rights the wrongs of the last two. Unfortunately, that’s not the case when it comes to Michael. Thankfully though, there’s so much more to love about this film in addition to a very strong potential for more.

Yes folks, we may very well be getting the first-ever sequel to a biopic sometime in the near future.

RELATED: You, Me & Tuscany Review – Sappy, Sweet, C+ Rom-Com

Before we get ahead of ourselves by discussing a potential sequel, let’s first start off with what you get out of Michael. The film covers Joe’s formation of The Jackson 5 in 1966 and ends with MJ’s iconic 1988 Wembley Stadium stop on the Bad Tour. The filler in-between covers their Chitlin’ Circuit days, the Motown era, run-ins with Gladys Knight and The Pips, finding his voice with Off The Wall, the epic creation of Thriller, the Motown 25 NBC special and the infamous Pepsi burning incident. Each of these scenes are done with great detail and a passion from all involved to get it as close to the real-life moments. However, what’s missing stands out like a sore thumb.

Both Rebbie and Janet are nowhere to be found — they each requested their likeness not be depicted — and neither is MJ’s longtime muse, Diana Ross. It was reported that actress Kat Graham was actually casted in the part, only to later have her scenes cut completely due to legalities. Off The Wall also gets painted as his solo debut of sorts, completely ignoring the four successful solo albums that preceded it when he was just a preteen. Also, while it’s perfectly clear who the movie is about based on the title, it does feel a bit off to see the closest people in his life demoted to barely-speaking supporting characters, save for Domingo’s powerful portrayal as mean ol’ Joe, Long as the ever-caring Mrs. Katherine and longtime bodyguard Bill Bray played by KeiLyn Durrel Jones.

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On the positive side, Michael ultimately does more good than confusion. Jaafar is simply captivating when it comes to embodying his late superstar uncle, nailing everything from those easily-recognizable voice inflections to the classic dance moves. The film ends in 1988, right before MJ invests in Neverland Ranch, so don’t expect the heavy topic of his acquitted child sexual abuse allegations from 1993 and 2003 to be brought up either — well, yet anyway.

If in fact a “Jackson” sequel is in the works, we can only hope his full story is told with care, respect and most importantly the truth. Other important aspects we’d hope to see be depicted include an honest look at his vitiligo journey, the toll he suffered mentally as a result of the trials, the marriage, the kids, the dichotomy of balancing unprecedented riches against a substantial amount of debt and, yes, the prescription drug abuse that ultimately ended his life.

Overall, for everything Michael lacks there is something just as good to love about the film, and the potential for a sequel gives us hope that the best is still yet to come.

Watch the trailer for Michael below, and see for yourselves how The King Of Pop’s story began as his latest biopic hits theaters starting today:

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