Even if he doesn’t exactly go there in his cinema, Pablo Larraín often obliquely flirts with horror. The hints were there in the fanatical nature of the titular “Tony Manero” character, a dancer unnervingly obsessed with John Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever.” And they were all the more obvious in his gorgeous political satire “El Conde”—one of 2023’s boldest cinematic outings that imagined Pinochet as a 250-year-old vampire. To the careful eye, the director’s genre exploits elevated much of his ingenious, gradually heartbreaking psychodramas “Jackie” and “Spencer,” too, his pair of otherworldly films on the troubled lives of legendary 20^th century women.

Now with “Maria,” about the final days of the iconic American-Greek soprano Maria Callas, Larraín turns his “historic women” movies into a near-perfect trilogy, giving us a stunning conclusion to his series. Upon seeing “Maria” for the first time months ago at the Telluride Film Festival (and revisiting it several times thereafter), this critic pondered what made “Maria” not only the gentlest, but the best of the three. And the answer was perhaps always obvious—as an opera connoisseur, Larraín is proudly (and often, sentimentally) protective of one of the artform’s most groundbreaking singers throughout “Maria,” a feature that was prominent neither in “Jackie,” nor “Spencer.”

It’s not that the psycho-dramatic dreads we feel in those former two films aren’t a part of “Maria.” For everyone who’s ever feared losing a big part of what defines them, and for everyone who’s opened their hearts to something they love so widely and unrestrictedly, only to see various forms of cruelty sneak in, this generous and beautiful picture ought to be a gut-punch. But you can often sense that Larraín, among the most intuitive filmmakers working today, almost wants to shield Callas from the harmful grip of those cruelties. While her end is inevitable in the film—Callas died in 1977 at the young age of 53—you will be disarmed, even moved to tears, experiencing Larraín’s care for her in “Maria,” which is essentially a compassionate ghost story on the beloved things we lose, as they continue to deteriorate and slip through our fingers against our will.

In a queenly performance of poise and mystique, Angelina Jolie plays Callas with an ethereal presence, grasping the intense grief of the once-in-a-generation singer who’s been losing her voice. In the beginning, Jolie—through Ed Lachman’s glorious, high-contrast black-and-white lensing—looks straight at the camera, as her defiant Callas sings “Ave Maria” from Verdi’s Otello, perhaps both as a little prayer to her past, and as a reckoning with her present. The voice we hear (both in this scene, and in the several arias we’d get to hear later on) belongs to Callas for sure. (At least for the most past, as Larraín reportedly has mixed in drips of Jolie’s voice in there, too.) But that doesn’t mean Jolie isn’t doing her own singing—she is, as evidenced in the way that she stretches her facial muscles and engages her entire body in the process. But she is subtle in those signifiers, as one has to be while embodying Callas. The famed soprano was effortless in navigating her range and hitting some impossibly high notes—music simply and silkily poured out of her, an artistic flair stylishly internalized and portrayed by Jolie. 

A perceptive performer who can sometimes be a tad cold-to-the-touch, Jolie gives her career-best performance as she steers Callas’s ups and downs during the singer’s final days, almost all of it empathetically imagined by Larraín and screenwriter Steven Knight. She floats around her grand Paris apartment, an elegant and expansive space of gothic hues that envelopes Callas in a cocoon of claustrophobia. (Production Designer Guy Hendrix Dyas miraculously marries realism with wistfulness in his work.) She seeks the acceptance of her devoted staff, particularly Bruna (Alba Rohrwacher) and Ferruccio (Pierfrancesco Favino), who bring much warmth and humor into the movie. She turns inward and has conversations with her own self when on a cocktail of medications—chiefly, Mandrax, inventively personified by Kodi Smit-McPhee. Elsewhere, she fends off nosy press and entitled fans. Meanwhile, she remembers both the glamor and the pain that she felt through a thunderous, rewarding, and sometimes heartbreaking past, one that eventually launched her into a rocky romance with the Greek-Argentine tycoon Aristotle Onassis (the terrific Turkish actor Haluk Bilginer). And she does all that sporting Massimo Cantini Parrini’s breathtaking costumes, both exact replicas of her known pieces, and custom designs made for the movie.

In honoring her journey, Larraín contrasts the film’s Paris scenes of gorgeous colors and locales with Maria’s black-and-white remembrances—not only trying to get to know La Callas but also hoping to infuse anyone who might be watching with the kind of affection he clearly feels for the diva. Dare to open your heart to his quest, and you might just feel that tenderness in a deep sense, even if you aren’t an opera connoisseur. And that’s perhaps the grandest miracle of this film—like Callas herself aimed to do, “Maria” brings opera to the masses, not as a gimmick or high-minded endeavor, but as an act of generosity and understanding that art belongs to everyone who wants to appreciate it. In that, as Larraín purposely and studiously braids in arias into his narrative—full songs for the most part, and not frustratingly chopped up snippets—and gives you a taste of everything from Bellini to Puccini to Donizetti, you’ll feel like you’ve had a full musical meal, with a hunger for a second helping.

Will you get to know Callas by the end of “Maria”? Or will she remain as a complete mystery? Rest assured that’s hardly the point of Larraín’s cinematic ode. The reward is the beautiful and heart-swelling two hours you’ll have the privilege of spending with La Callas, alongside a director who wants nothing more than to share his immense love for her. 

In theaters now, on Netflix December 11th.

“Can I get a Chee Hoo?”

It’s a question that the demigod Maui tunefully poses to the titular princess in “Moana 2.” But this seemingly simple request is steeped in cultural tradition, notable in narrative context and, given its catchy hook, likely to become Disney’s next inescapable earworm.

The charismatic composition — performed with gusto by Dwayne Johnson — is indeed worth shouting about, especially on the heels of the beloved numbers of the 2016 movie, which were written by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Mark Mancina and Opetaia Foa‘i. “The first one was great to introduce this culture to the world, and I’m very proud of what we achieved,” said Foa‘i.

“The songs of a second movie have got to be either as good as the first movie or better,” said Mancina, who co-wrote the sequel‘s songs with Foa‘i, Abigail Barlow and Emily Bear. “If they don’t have integrity, kids can tell: This is just a money grab.”

The animated adventure picks up three years after the events of the first movie: Moana, now a seasoned “wayfinder,” respected community leader and an older sister, answers a call from her ancestors to venture further than ever before, all to try to secure her island’s future well-being.

“This time, the story also is all about that aspect of growth of trying to plan where you’re going and wanting to stay the exact course, but really understanding that life will throw curve balls and challenges your way, and you can lean on your crew to help you through it,” said returning actor Auli’i Cravalho, who voices Moana.

A standout song, “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?” is performed more than halfway into the movie, when Moana is deeply discouraged about facing Nalo, the god of storms.

“In the first movie, Maui met Moana when he was at his lowest and most vulnerable, and she empowered him and helped him reach his full potential,” said David Derrick Jr., one of the sequel’s three directors. “We wanted Maui to return that favor to Moana, but in the most entertaining way possible.”

“Can I Get a Chee Hoo?” is an upbeat, percussion-driven track with shades of a rock anthem that also offers a retro instrumental solo (a blend of a jazz flute and various synths, delivered by Maui via fire conch). It was the last song written for the movie, replacing another number that didn’t quite reflect where Moana was in that moment, or how much Maui cares for her.

“Everything we were doing was either too cheesy or abstract, or it sounded like a s— motivational speech that we were copying from YouTube,” said Bear. “How do we make this cool and not cringy, and still authentic to this character and his friendship with Moana?

“When I’m at my lowest and I feel like nothing anyone will say to me will make me feel better, I don’t need a motivational speech, I need a dose of reality,” Bear continued. With this song, “Maui essentially tells Moana, ‘Stop doubting yourself, because the enemy you’re up against doesn’t doubt you. He wouldn’t waste his time trying to stop you if they didn’t think you were capable of beating him.’”

Maui reminds Moana of who she is in the new song “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?”

(Disney)

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Maui musically lifts Moana up by reminding her of who she is, applauding her innate greatness and then challenging her to do the same for herself. How? “With a rallying cry of epic proportions,” said Barlow.

This specific phrase — already exclaimed often by Maui throughout the first film — is a fa’aumu or an expression of emotion in Samoan culture, and it holds great significance throughout Pacific Island communities at large.

“I think how it’s represented in the film reflects how it’s actually used today,” said Grant Muāgututi’a, a Samoan linguist and dialect coach who worked on the movie. “It’s like your heart’s showing. The most common contemporary use is to show support at a special occasion — a performance, a football game, a wedding or a funeral.”

“It’s such an important celebratory cheer, like our version of ‘hip hip hooray,’” added Cravalho. “As soon as fireworks go off on New Year’s Eve, you can hear Chee Hoos all across the island. It’s almost like a call-and-response. Any time there’s a graduation and there is a Pacific Islander who steps up onstage, you can bet we are Chee Hoo-ing the loudest.”

The “Moana 2” song adopts this Pacific Islander greeting as a life ethos, similar to how “Hakuna Matata” frames a Swahili translation as a personal motto in “The Lion King.” “We wanted to make sure that nothing we do is too silly,” said Mancina, who worked on both songs, “but that it’s still really fun.”

Adapting the culturally significant phrase for an anticipated Disney movie initially made co-director Dana Ledoux Miller nervous.

“It’s something I take very seriously and have had a lot of conversations about, mostly because I wanted to make sure that, in using it, it was a celebration and used in a positive way,” she said. “Knowing that it would mean a lot to a lot of people, we didn’t want to get it wrong. It was exciting to be able to move with that mindfulness through this collaboration and create something that’s so fun. I feel so proud of the care that we took in this.”

In order to get it all right, “Moana 2” directors Derrick and Ledoux Miller — both of whom are of Samoan descent — and Jason Hand created the film with numerous culturally authentic elements, thanks to the movie’s Oceanic Cultural Trust, a group of 13 experts in anthropology, history, movement, canoes and navigation, linguistics and various cultural practices.

“I think that, by showing more moments where we lean into the specificity of culture, the audience leans in too, because it grounds our story in a real way,” said Derrick. To him, a song like “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?” is proof that “being specific with culture doesn’t have to be a weighty moment. It can be uplighting and fun and joyous.”

“It’s awesome to be part of all these brilliant minds, working together to make the movie as resonant and respectful as possible,” added Muāgututi’a, a member of the Oceanic Cultural Trust. “When things like ‘Chee Hoo’ are shared in a way that’s accurate and inclusive, it’s less appropriation and more appreciation. It’s all love.”

The trust consulted on many key moments that illustrate Moana’s culture as well as her character‘s growth: her participation in a kava ceremony for a new title, the further progression of her wayfinding abilities and her pivotal performance of a haka, a ceremonial dance and chant. “I’ve never done a haka before, so I was so into it,” said Cravalho of filming the scene. “I put my whole chest into it and it felt so good!”

The “Moana 2” Oceanic Cultural Trust consulted on many aspects of the film, including a fun dance battle.

(Disney)

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And in “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?,” Moana is shown performing siva afi, or fire-knife dancing. “It’s something that you only see men do,” said animation reference choreographer Tiana Nonosina Liufau. “When I was physically doing it [as a model for the film’s animators], I really felt so empowered. So to think about Moana doing it in this moment when she’s feeling down, and especially that you don’t usually see women doing it, I think she leaves that song feeling a lot of power.”

“We were obsessed with getting that right,” said Hand of replicating Liufau’s physicality for the fire-dancing sequence. “Those moves all mean something, so it’s really important to do it properly. Our animators really paid close attention to all that work that she did.”

According to Hand, Johnson “got goosebumps when he first heard” “Can I Get a Chee Hoo?” In the recording booth, Bear encouraged the actor to imagine he was singing directly to his daughter: “If you saw her in this position, how would you want to deliver this message to her? It’d be full of heart.”

With “Moana 2” now in theaters, “We’re probably going to see a lot of young kids shouting ‘Chee Hoo’ all over the place,” said Foa‘i with a laugh. For Moana actor Cravalho, that’s a thrilling thought.

“I’ve had a decade with this character, and the impact she continues to have is almost overwhelming for me,” she said. “It’s truly so important to see a young woman be the hero of her own story, and I feel great pride that our specificities get shared with the masses because Disney puts them on a larger platform. So to people who are not of Pacific Island descent but still find themselves in this character or other characters in this film, I say thank you.”

Moana goees on an adventure with a new crew in “Moana 2.”

(Disney)

David Gordon Green is capable of tackling just about any story and doing it in his own distinct manner. His career has gone in so many directions, to be sure. So, when he was making a family film again with Nutcrackers, I was open to pretty much any type of family flick. As such, it’s a bit of a disappointment for the movie to be totally cute and inoffensive, but little more than that. It’s amusing, sure, but should be more amusing. Plus, it’s just not quite as funny as you want it to be.

Nutcrackers has charm and a good heart, no doubt about that. It just never builds on the goodwill to become something memorable. There’s a clear hope to become an eventual holiday staple, being rewatched over and over again by families. However, by playing it so safe, it falls short of that mark by a bit. The film threatens at times to become more, but ultimately is unable to get to that point and fully win you over.

Straight-laced Mike (Ben Stiller) has come from Chicago to the farm where his recently deceased sister and brother-in-law used to live in order to sign some paperwork. When he arrives in the small town, he finds out that he’s essentially become the temporary guardian of his now orphaned nephews. Moreover, the quartet of moppet young men are pretty much feral. Mike is initially no match for Justice (Homer Janson), Simon (Arlo Janson), Steve Jr. (Ulysses Janson), and Samuel (Atlas Janson). In fact, they’re actively torturing him.

As you might expect, both sides thaw. While a social worker (Linda Cardellini) attempts to find the boys a new home, some bonding occurs. Of course, Mike wants his old life back, while leads to tension when his nephews feel like he doesn’t want them. Some very funny moments result, but the climix obviously is going to be a heartfelt attempt to get you to roll a tear.

Ben Stiller isn’t asked to do anything he hasn’t done before, which is a shame. He’s good in the role, without question, but he has more to offer than this. He’s allowed to be funny and be serious, and he’s aces in a scene where he tells the story of Rambo as a bedtime tale, but it’s a case where you’re waiting for a next level that never comes. The quartet of Arlo Janson, Atlas Janson, Homer Janson, and Ulysses Janson are fine, provided you’re alright with cute kid performances. A sequence where they ask Mike to teach them sex ed has them at their funniest. Linda Cardellini doesn’t get much to do, unfortunately, but she’s a warm presence. Supporting players here include Ari Graynor, Tim Heidecker, Toby Huss, and more, but it’s mostly about Stiller and the boys, who can amuse and make you smile, albeit not quite enough.

Director David Gordon Green has a personal stake in this picture, but it never comes across in the final product. Now, the screenplay by Leland Douglas is just so generic that Green can’t do too much with it, but it’s still a shame. The aforementioned moments are comedy highlights, though you wish that Nutcrackers was funnier. The ending is cliched but effective, though you wish that the drama of it all was a bit more consistent. In the end, you just wish for a bit more all around.

Nutcrackers is perfectly fine, and there’s nothing wrong with that, but David Gordon Green and Ben Stiller’s presence had me hoping for more. As a Hulu release you can watch with family this holiday weekend, you can do a lot worse. The thing is, you can do better, and I just can’t fully let that slide. So, consider this ever so close to a recommendation, even though I’m not quite there…

SCORE: ★★1/2

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