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‘Late Night with the Devil’ movie review: David Dastamalchian steals the spotlight in this diabolically clever horror-satire

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‘Late Night with the Devil’ movie review: David Dastamalchian steals the spotlight in this diabolically clever horror-satire

A still from ‘Late Night with the Devil’

Over a year since its first premiere, Late Night with the Devil has finally emerged as a biting satire and a cautionary tale wrapped in the trappings of a Halloween horror special. Directed by Australian duo Colin and Cameron Cairnes, the film presents a deviously sinister narrative set against the backdrop of a 1970s talk show, delivering both nostalgia for the era and a fresh take on the plagues of mainstream media.

David Dastmalchian shines as the hapless Delroy, channeling equal parts charm and desperation. Once a rising star in the late-night circuit, the talk show host finds himself grappling with declining ratings and personal tragedy. Beneath Delroy’s slick smile lies a darkness that threatens to consume him whole. As the night unfolds and the studio descends into chaos, Delroy’s Faustian bargain becomes increasingly clear, serving as a prophetic admonition for the pitfalls of ambition in the cutthroat world of showbiz.

Late Night with the Devil (English)

Director: Colin and Cameron Cairnes

Cast: David Dastmalchian, Laura Gordon, Ian Bliss, Fayssal Bazzi, Ingrid Torelli, Rhys Auteri, Georgina Haig, and Josh Quong Tart

Run-time: 93 minutes

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Storyline: In 1977, a live television broadcast goes horribly wrong, unleashing evil into the nation’s living rooms

The Cairnes brothers’ meticulous attention to detail is evident in every frame, as they skillfully recreate the aesthetic of a ‘70s studio. From the vintage celluloid wash of period-appropriate equipment to the pitch-perfect performances that straddle the line between camp and sincerity, the film transports us back in time, immersing us in the bygone era of live TV.

The Australian filmmakers demonstrate a keen eye for parody, infusing every dialogue with sly wit and biting humor that all hint at a brewing tragedy about to unfold. The writing revels in its own absurdity while never losing sight of its thematic underpinnings. Through Delroy’s increasingly desperate attempts to salvage his show à la Network’s Howard Beale, the film skewers the shallowness of celebrity culture and the relentless pursuit of ratings at any cost. It’s a deliciously wicked send-up of an industry built on smoke and mirrors, where reasoning is often sacrificed on the altar of entertainment.

David Dastamalchian as Jack Delroy in a still from ‘Late Night with the Devil’

David Dastamalchian as Jack Delroy in a still from ‘Late Night with the Devil’

Delroy’s interactions with the eclectic cast of characters — including the creepy Lilly (played with frightening eccentricity by Ingrid Torelli), the charming psychic Christou (a scene-stealing turn by Fayssal Bazi), and a curmudgeonly skeptic Carmichael (played by Ian Bliss) whose sole purpose seems to remind us as the audience of how stupid we are from the get-go — is disconcerting to watch, each interaction provoking an uncomfortable wriggle in our seats in anticipation for the climactic tipping-point.

Without a doubt, the pièce de résistance of the film, much to the glee of horror aficionados, is its delightful medley of homage to genre classics. From John Carpenter’s gleefully grotesque embrace of practical body-horror to loving tributes honoring Linda Blair’s iconic, hair-raising transformation, the Cairnes’ love affair with the genre dances across the screen with a flair that’s uniquely their own.

While Late Night with the Devil is undeniably a horror film, it transcends genre conventions with the Cairnes brothers expertly balancing moments of tension and humour, keeping us hooked from start to finish. With its tongue planted firmly in cheek, the film delivers (nervous) laughs aplenty amidst the screams, serving as a wickedly entertaining romp through the darker corners of the entertainment industry. Though the film may lack some genuine surprises, its real strength lies in its sardonic observations on the industry and some chilling, atmospheric storytelling.

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Late Night with the Devil is a devilishly clever satire that serves to expose the dangers of unchecked ambition and the seduction of sensationalism in the media. It’s a reminder that lurking within the neon glows of our living rooms (or perhaps just among the Jimmy’s) are the most malevolent monsters we willingly welcome.

Late Night with the Devil is currently running in theatres.

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Movie Reviews

'Sanju Weds Geetha II' movie review: No saving grace in sequel to hit romantic drama

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'Sanju Weds Geetha II' movie review: No saving grace in sequel to hit romantic drama
‘Sanju Weds Geetha II’ (‘SWG II’) revolves around Geetha, the daughter of an industrialist, who falls in love with Sanju, a salesperson. Despite her father’s opposition, they get married. Geetha is diagnosed with lung cancer and needs a lung transplant.
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Film offers 'Hard Truths' about why some people are happy — and others are miserable

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Film offers 'Hard Truths' about why some people are happy — and others are miserable

Marianne Jean-Baptiste, left, and Michele Austin play sisters in Hard Truths.

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In the many beautifully observed working-class dramedies he’s made over the past five decades, the British writer and director Mike Leigh has returned again and again to one simple yet endlessly resonant question: Why are some people happy, while others are not? Why does Nicola, the sullen 20-something in Leigh’s 1990 film, Life Is Sweet, seem incapable of even a moment’s peace or pleasure? By contrast, how does Poppy, the upbeat heroine of Leigh’s 2008 comedy, Happy-Go-Lucky, manage to greet every misfortune with a smile?

Leigh’s new movie, Hard Truths, could have been titled Unhappy-Go-Lucky. It follows a middle-aged North London misanthrope named Pansy, who’s played, in the single greatest performance I saw in 2024, by Marianne Jean-Baptiste.

You might know Jean-Baptiste from Leigh’s wonderful 1996 film, Secrets & Lies, in which she played a shy, unassuming London optometrist seeking out her birth mother. But there’s nothing unassuming about Pansy, who leads a life of seething, unrelenting misery. She spends most of her time indoors, barking orders and insults at her solemn husband, Curtley, and their 22-year-old son, Moses.

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Pansy keeps a spotless home, but the blank walls and sparse furnishings are noticeably devoid of warmth, cheer or personality. When she isn’t cleaning, she’s trying to catch up on sleep, complaining about aches, pains and exhaustion. Sometimes she goes out to shop or run errands, only to wind up picking fights with the people she meets: a dentist, a salesperson, a stranger in a parking lot.

Back at home, she unloads on Curtley and Moses about all the indignities she’s been subjected to and the general idiocy of the world around her. Pansy has an insult comedian’s ferocious wit and killer timing. While you wouldn’t necessarily want to bump into her on the street, she makes for mesmerizing, even captivating on-screen company.

Leigh is often described as a Dickensian filmmaker, and for good reason; he’s a committed realist with a gift for comic exaggeration. Like nearly all Leigh’s films, Hard Truths emerged from a rigorous months-long workshop process, in which the director worked closely with his actors to create their characters from scratch. As a result, Jean-Baptiste’s performance, electrifying as it is, is also steeped in emotional complexity; the more time we spend with Pansy, the more we see that her rage against the world arises from deep loneliness and pain.

Leigh has little use for plot; he builds his stories from the details and detritus of everyday life, drifting from one character to the next. Tuwaine Barrett is quietly heartbreaking as Pansy’s son, Moses, who isolates himself and spends his time either playing video games or going on long neighborhood walks. Pansy’s husband, Curtley, is harder to parse; he’s played by the terrific David Webber, with a passivity that’s both sympathetic and infuriating.

The most significant supporting character is Pansy’s younger sister, Chantelle, played by the luminous Michele Austin, another Secrets & Lies alumn. Chantelle could scarcely be more different from her sister: She’s a joyous, contented woman with two adult daughters of her own, and she does everything she can to break through to Pansy. In the movie’s most affecting scene, Chantelle drags her sister to a cemetery to pay their respects to their mother, whose sudden death five years ago, we sense, is at the core of Pansy’s unhappiness.

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At the same time, Leigh doesn’t fill in every blank; he’s too honest a filmmaker to offer up easy explanations for why people feel the way they feel. His attitude toward Pansy — and toward all the prickly, outspoken, altogether marvelous characters he’s given us — is best expressed in that graveside scene, when Chantelle wraps her sister in a tight hug and tells her, with equal parts exasperation and affection: “I don’t understand you, but I love you.”

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Movie Review: Almodóvar Ponders Death and the Lives Preceding it from “The Room Next Door”

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Movie Review:  Almodóvar Ponders Death and the Lives Preceding it from “The Room Next Door”

In his mid ’70s, it’s only natural that the great Spanish filmmaker Pedro Almodóvar should turn his attentions to reflecting on lives lived, and questions of how one wants life to end with his latest film.

But in boiling down and adapting the Sigrid Nunez novel “What Are You Going Through” into “The Room Next Door,” Almodóvar has conjured up the blithe, arid banalities of Woody Allen at his most pretentious. He squanders two Oscar winners and an Emmy winner in a drab, lifeless story in which characters recite passages from poetry and James Joyce from memory and watch Buster Keaton’s silent classic “Seven Chances” as they ponder a planned suicide and melodramatic strings drone on in the score.

All that’s missing are a few mentions of “Mahler”and you’d have yourself a companion piece to any one of a dozen later Allen films, the ones without a laugh or a light moment to recommend them.

Julianne Moore plays Ingrid, a busy, best-selling author of “fictionalized” biographies and non-fiction who learns of an old friend’s cancerous decline from a mutual acquaintance who comes to a book signing.

Martha (Tilda Swinton) was once a combat correspondant. Now she’s in a New York hospital, longing to go home. As booked-up Ingrid — not a “close” friend — sets aside bigger and bigger chunks of her days to take Martha’s calls and visit her once she comes home to her roomy Manhattan flat to recover from her latest treatment, they reminisce over their careers — especially Martha’s.

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They talk about “New York in the ’80s,” Martha’s daughter, flashing back to the troubled Vietnam vet father the child never knew and joke about a “shared lover,” and chuckle as they compare “enthusiastic” notes.

Martha also lets on as to how she’s prepped herself for “the end,” and how her “experimental treatment…survival feels almost disappointing.”

When things take a turn, Ingrid is who Martha confides in. She figures that her life of fame won through risk in war zones means “I deserve a good death.” Ingrid’s involvement drifts towards “the ask.” Martha wants to take a “suicide pill.” She wants to do it in Woodstock, in a posher-than-posh AirBnB. And she wants Ingrid in “The Room Next Door” when she does it — for companionship, and for dealing with the legal complexity of what comes after.

Whatever life there was in the Nunez novel seems bleached out of this meandering, claustrophobic melodrama that that Ingrid finds herself trapped in. That “shared lover” (John Turturro) is still in her life, a friend she can confide in and get advice from.

But this extraordinary situation barely takes on the gravitas demanded. Some anecdotes do nothing to illuminate character or this predicament. And the comic possibilities — this is like asking a casual acquaintance of long standing to oh, babysit, dogsit, help you move, co-sign a loan or the like.

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Why didn’t Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld ever get around to assisted suicide as an “inconvenience?”

Moore is too good an actress to not let us feel the gut-punch of this turn of events. Swinton, who takes on a cadaverous in the later acts, easily fits our mental picture of a famous female war reporter — flinty, a little butch, blunt about her success and her failings and pragmatic about her goals.

Ingrid’s last goal is to die with dignity, with a writer she trusts perhaps taking an interest in her journals and by extension, her life story. That’s cynical, but letting Ingrid (and the viewer) figure that out had all sorts of dramatic possibilities.

It’s all perfectly high-minded and polished, but all of this could have been treated with more spark than comes across here. The epilogue that comes after a disappointing third act feels like both a stunt and one last let down that a legendary filmmaker delivers in adapting a novel he was either too serious about, or that he didn’t take seriously enough.

Rating: PG-13, suicide, profanity

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Cast: Julianne Moore, Tilda Swinton, Alessandro Nivola and John Turturro

Credits: Scripted and directed by Pedro Almodóvar, based on a novel by Sigrid Nunez. A Sony Pictures Classics release.

Running time: 1:43

About Roger Moore

Movie Critic, formerly with McClatchy-Tribune News Service, Orlando Sentinel, published in Spin Magazine, The World and now published here, Orlando Magazine, Autoweek Magazine

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