4/5 stars

In It Was Just An Accident, women in Iran can choose to appear and work in public without headscarves, and wear Western-style bridal dresses in the open. Modern bookshops do brisk business, and – perhaps most strikingly – paroled dissidents can rebuild their lives without hassle from the authorities.

In contrast to his previous films, the twice imprisoned Jafar Panahi – who is now allowed to work and travel freely after having his convictions overturned by Iranian courts – seems to have set It Was Just An Accident somewhere in an imagined, brighter future, when authoritarianism and religious dogma have receded into the distance.

As suppressed anguish takes over, however, the film turns into one dark nightmare. Could past traumas be so easily forgotten – and how should those who suffered confront or make peace with their tormentors in a land of relative freedom?

Filmed in Iran without official approval, It Was Just an Accident offers masterfully scripted, highly contemplative drama about the after-effects of political tyranny on the individual.

In between, Panahi has also laced his movie with dollops of jet-black, Beckett-like comedy, with the characters name-checking Beckett’s play Waiting for Godot in one scene.

George Wendt, who will be famous as long as television is remembered as Norm from “Cheers,” died Tuesday. He passed in Los Angeles, where he lived, though the cities to which he is spiritually tied are Boston, where the show was set, and Chicago, where he was born and entered show business by way of Second City, and which he unofficially represented throughout his life, and which claimed him as one of its own. One of his last Facebook posts, earlier this month, as a Chicagoan educated by Jesuits, was, “pope leo XIV is a sout’ sider my friendts. his cassock size is 4XIV.”

Entering stage right, as the assembled cast shouted his name, Norm would launch his heavyset frame across the set to a corner stool where a glass of beer — draft, never bottled — would appear as he arrived. He was the quintessence of Regular Guy, a big friendly dog of a person, with some of the sadness that big, friendly dogs can carry.

“Cheers,” which ran for 11 seasons from 1982 to 1993 — Wendt appeared in every one of its 275 episodes — was a show about going where everybody knows your name but also, as in life and fiction, a place for people who had nowhere better to be, or nowhere else to go. Though Norm was nominally an accountant, and then a house painter, his real job was to sit and fence with John Ratzenberger‘s font-of-bad-information postman Cliff Clavin — they were one of the medium’s great double acts — and drink beer, and then another. His unpaid tab filled a binder. (“I never met a beer I didn’t drink,” quoth Norm, though there was never any suggestion of alcoholism, or even of drunkenness.)

But as a person with work troubles and a marriage that could get the better of him — Wendt’s own wife, Bernadette Birkett, supplied the voice for the off-screen Vera — he was also the vehicle for some of the show’s more dramatic, thoughtful passages. (That his service to the series was essential was borne out by six Emmy nominations.) Unlike some other “Cheers” regulars, there was no caricature in his character. His woes, and his pleasures, were everyday, and he played Norm straight, seriously, without affectation, so that one felt that the Wendt one might meet on the street would not be substantially different from the person onscreen.

Like many actors so completely identified with a part, Wendt, who spent six years with Second City, worked more than one might have imagined; there were dozens of appearances on the small and big screen across the years, including his own short-lived “The George Wendt Show,” which took off on public radio’s “Car Talk.”

After “Cheers,” he’s perhaps most associated with the recurring, Chicago-set “Saturday Night Live” sketch “Bill Swerski’s Superfans.” But he also did theater, including turns on Broadway as Edna Turnblad in “Hairspray,” as Yvan in Yasmina Reza’s “Art” and as Santa in the musical adaptation of “Elf.” There was “Twelve Angry Men,” with Richard Thomas in Washington, D.C., and he was Willy Loman in “Death of a Salesman” in Waterloo, Canada. In Bruce Graham’s “Funnyman,” at Chicago’s Northlight Theatre in 2015, he played a comic cast in a serious play, breaking out of typecasting.

We were connected on Facebook, where he regularly liked posts having to do with music and musicians; he was a fan, and sometimes a friend, of alternative and underground groups, and tributes to him from that quarter are quickly appearing. (When asked, he would often cite L.A.’s X, the Blasters and Los Lobos as among his favorites.) One of his own last posts was in memoriam of David Thomas, leader of the avant-garde Pere Ubu, twinned with “kindred spirit” Chicago Bears defensive tackle Steve McMichael, who died the same day.

Once, after he messaged me to compliment an appreciation — like this — I’d written about Tommy Smothers, I took the opportunity to ask, “Do I correctly remember seeing you at Raji’s a million years ago, probably for the Continental Drifters?” Raji’s, legendary within a small circle, was a dive club in a building long since gone on Hollywood Boulevard east of Vine Street; it wasn’t the Roxy, say, or other celebrity-friendly spots around town — or for that matter, anything like “Cheers,” except in that it served as a clubhouse for the regulars.

“Yep,” he replied. “Tough to get out like I used to, but please say hi if you see me around.” Sadly, I never did, and never will.

Director: Eric Aronson
Writer: Eric Aronson
Stars: Paul Guilfoyle, Taylor Gray, Alexandra Templer

Synopsis: To stage a masterpiece of a heist, you need time, friends, and balls. Steve has two of the three

Art thieves are complicated criminals. On the one hand, they seem to have a sense of art history and the value of the medium. On the other hand, they seem nuts because they are taking something that is catalogued and has no other like it on Earth and thus, nearly impossible to move without someone noticing. It takes a certain type of thief to be modestly successful at art theft. Which is not what you think when you meet the crew in Any Day Now.

Writer and director Eric Aronson’s script doesn’t give us much confidence that the crew of art thieves led by Marty (Paul Guilfoyle) could rob a liquor store, much less a guarded museum. At one point, a member of the crew is brought in to intimidate a drug dealer and in a confusing move with a shotgun, seemingly blows his own testicles off. It’s unclear whether it was intentional or not. Much of Aronson’s script evolves that way as we are stuck with point of view character Steve (Taylor Gray), who knows next to nothing about what is happening.

This is both a benefit and a detriment to Aronson’s script. The idea that we’re always on our back foot when it comes to Marty and his schemes is refreshing. This way of revealing things as they become necessary makes sure that the audience shouldn’t be ahead of the action in predicting the outcome of any one plot point. It’s an intriguing way to keep the audience interested.

It’s too bad the other main plot is such a dud. We have seen the lovelorn guy many times before. We’ve seen the girl of his dreams who doesn’t know how he feels and doesn’t understand her own self worth, many times before. We’ve seen the doormat guy who worries about losing his best friend since childhood even though that friend is an incredibly crappy adult. These plot points drag down the more interesting characters and plots.

Marty is a fascinating character. His charm is in his mystery, though, so he never would have worked as the focal character of this film. There is a scene that perfectly encapsulates how he is willing to save Steve from his pushover relationship with friend and roommate Danny (Armando Rivera) while also reminding Steve that he’s a pushover for Marty now. As Steve and Danny’s band play Massachusetts anthem, “Roadrunner” by Johnathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, Marty makes his way to the stage and stares down Danny until he gets the microphone from Danny. Marty then begins to croon the Boston standard, “Dirty Water” by The Standells. He gets the band into it and the crowd into it and completely takes over the space that Danny once held in the crowd’s hearts and minds. It’s a scene that evolves the two overbearing relationships in Steve’s life without forcing the issue with unnecessary dialogue.

The scene is all the more rich for Paul Guilfoyle’s bruiser charisma. Guilfoyle has been a character actor for a long time and he can give us all we need to know about a character with only a word and a gesture. His presence is felt in every scene he’s in not because he’s speaking, but because he’s thinking. Marty is always thinking and Guilfoyle makes this plain with every look he gives. It’s a masterfully subtle performance that conveys everything dangerous and enticing about Marty.

For the most part, Any Day Now is an enjoyable film. It’s not the best of heist movies, or relationship dramas for that matter, but it has characters and instances that make it intriguing to watch. It’s hard not to want to know what is going to happen when the mystery is held back so well. It’s worth tracking down for Paul Guilfoyle’s performance and for the intrigue of the heist plot.

Grade: C