The latest entry in a genre one wishes weren’t so burgeoning is HBO‘s Surviving Ohio State, following in the sadly necessary footsteps of documentaries about sexual abuse in the athletic departments at Michigan State (Athlete A and At the Heart of Gold) and Penn State (Happy Valley).

When Surviving Ohio State was announced, anticipation hinged on the participation of producer George Clooney and the possibility that exploring the abuses of Dr. Richard Strauss and alleged negligence by authority figures at Ohio State might topple Jim Jordan, Ohio Congressman and Trump lapdog.

If your interest in Surviving Ohio State revolves entirely around Jim Jordan-related schadenfreude, you can probably skip it. Jordan, who refused to participate in the documentary for self-evident reasons, comes across as heartless and negligent, but the doc lacks any sort of smoking gun likely to dissuade his dedicated constituents, who have known about all of these allegations for each of the last three times they’ve voted for him. 

Jordan, unfortunately, also proves to be a distraction to the filmmakers, especially in the documentary’s second half. Caught up in the they-said/he-said-in-previous-statements disagreements, director Eva Orner largely fails to explore the institutional side of the scandal. I shouldn’t come away from a documentary like this fixated on the name of a single assistant wrestling coach (one who was not and has not been accused of anything criminal) and completely unable to name the Ohio State president, athletic director and key administrators under whose watch these abuses occurred. 

For the first half of its 108-minute running time, Surviving Ohio State is, as its title suggests, a compelling examination of the survivors of abuse and the mechanisms through which large-scale abuse can occur at a major university.

Per a 2019 independent investigation, from 1978 to 1998 Dr. Richard Strauss abused at least 177 male students at Ohio State. Strauss had particularly close ties to a number of Buckeyes sports programs, including fencing, hockey and the wrestling team, coached by Russ Hellickson, with two-time NCAA champ Jordan as his primary assistant. The accusations from athletes involved Strauss’ inappropriate examinations, his tendency to take regular, extended showers in several athletic locker rooms, and grooming behavior escalating ultimately into rape. For some of that time, Strauss worked at the Student Health Center and thus had access to the entire student body, and although he was relieved of certain of those duties after complaints, he retired from Ohio State entirely on his own terms.

A group of wrestlers from the mid-90s are Orner’s primary points of entry, and this group of survivors proves crucial to both the strongest aspects of the documentary and the distraction that leaves it less effective than it could be.

At least a half dozen of those wrestlers tell their stories to the camera, accompanied by filler re-enactments — a shower head spurting water, the hallway leading to a medical examination room — that add very little. The stories themselves are candid and graphic, the haunted men today contrasted with vintage footage of wrestling matches and the various athletes in their high-achieving youth. 

Well aware of skepticism from online trolls who have wondered how veterans of a combat sport could allow this sort of “victimization,” the men talk about the surprise and shame that led them not to respond in the moment and to remain silent about the incidents for decades. It’s the film’s way of setting up the psychology of male survivors and, perhaps more than that, of explaining why the OSU scandal hasn’t received the instant attention and sympathy that greeted revelations from generations of female gymnasts about Michigan State and United States national team doctor Larry Nassar.

The truth is that Jordan’s involvement has contributed to what visibility the Ohio State situation has had. All of the wrestlers present in this documentary have made it clear that Strauss’ behavior wasn’t a secret, and that the coaches all knew about the inappropriate showers and concerns about the examinations, taking little action in Hellickson’s case and no action in Jordan’s case. Jordan has belligerently and vehemently denied that he knew anything at all, which makes him at best an oblivious caretaker of young men.

The wrestlers, plus at least one referee with a story of his own, are completely persuasive, and Orner is able to give a sense of pervasive rumors about Strauss’ creepiness. But that’s been the story since these allegations against Strauss came out back in 2018 — and other than one small, thoroughly speculative detail about Jordan’s actions well after the scandal broke, no new information is provided and no dots connected regarding Jordan or Hellickson or anything else.

The frustration of Surviving Ohio State is how fixated it becomes on Hellickson and Jordan and unnamed figures at the university — Hellickson and the board of trustees, like Jordan, declined to provide any response — without that smoking gun or that key piece of dot-connecting. 

Given how potent the survivor interviews are and how negligible the details are on the systemic failures, Surviving Ohio State would have been better with more focus on the former and less unsubstantiated insinuation — however persuasive — about the latter. 

The documentary is extremely effective at giving voice to those survivors and providing context and understanding for their silence — and that’s extremely important, especially alongside those documentaries about what happened at Penn State and Michigan State. It may not be as sensational and buzzy as bringing down a major university or a sitting congressman, but since Surviving Ohio State won’t do either thing, it’s worth praising the potency of what it does well.

Josh Homme sips a Modelo the other night as he sits amid the vibey greenery behind Brain Dead Studios on Fairfax Avenue. Inside the movie theater, a small crowd including several of Homme’s friends and family members is watching “Alive in the Catacombs,” a black-and-white short film that documents an acoustic gig Homme’s rock band, Queens of the Stone Age, played last July in the Paris Catacombs, where the remains of an estimated 6 million people are stored beneath the streets of the French capital. Back here on the patio, the 52-year-old singer and guitarist is musing about how audiences are likely to react.

“I’m so proud of the film because it’s either ‘I hate it’ or ‘Holy s—, that was intense,’” he says. “It’s nothing in between.”

The inspiration for “Alive in the Catacombs,” which comes accompanied by a behind-the-scenes documentary (and a five-song EP due Friday), stretches back two decades to a trip to Paris when a long line stymied Homme’s attempt to visit the historical site. Yet he sees a certain poetry in the fact that the show — with radically stripped-down renditions of tunes like “Villains of Circumstance” and “Suture Up Your Future” — came together only as he found himself in a health crisis that forced Queens to postpone the remaining dates of its 2024 tour. With Homme having recovered from cancer, the band will return to the road this week for its first shows in nearly a year.

How arduous was it to convince the Parisian officials to let you shoot in the catacombs?
It was a f— nightmare. There’s a national attitude that’s pervasive in France where you ask a question and the first reaction is, “Ask him over there.” The runaround, as we would call it. We received the runaround for many years.

Are you attracted to spooky spots in general?
I love when music is scary. I recall hearing the Doors as a young boy and being like, “Whoa.” And they’re so consistently terrifying — I’ve always been obsessed with that. My vision of Queens, when it’s perfect, is: There’s a hill with the sun behind it, and this crippled army of minstrels comes over the horizon. The townspeople go, “S—, grab the kids.” When we sound like that, we’re at our best.

What’s a place in L.A. that might be comparable to the catacombs?
There are some Steinbeck-y hobo hotels. And in the right light the Hollywood Forever cemetery has a certain ominous beauty. But that feels too simple. I grew up working on a tree farm, and there’s something about the uniformity of a tree farm that I find terrifying. Further out, the oil fields of Kern County are like dinosaur relics — scabs on the surface of the earth.

Seems reasonable to ask why someone in such perilous physical shape would want to spend time in a place defined by death.
Having worked on this for the better part of 20 years, the chances that when it finally occurs, I would be dealing with the very issue that is why it exists — I mean, the chances are almost zero. That plays into my romantic side, and I don’t see the value in running hypotheticals about why it’s happening. I’d rather hold it close and say, “I’m supposed to be here,” accept that and feel empowered by it. There were a lot of people who love me that were saying I shouldn’t do this. And I respect that. But it does ignore the point — like, how many signs do you need?

I saw the behind-the-scenes film —
I watched it once, and I can never watch it again. I see how medicated I was. I know that vulnerable is the way to go, but I don’t do a lot of sorting through things in hindsight — it makes me uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable with the documentary.

Why put it out?
Because that’s what this is. I was uncomfortable in the catacombs too.

You don’t play guitar in the movie. Did it feel natural for you to sing without holding one?
It didn’t in earlier years, but now it’s as natural as anything else. I’m sort of slowly falling out of love with the guitar. I’ll just use any instrument. I don’t play them all well, but it doesn’t really matter — it’s whatever will get the idea across.

Who were some of your models for the kind of singing you’re doing?
I’ve always loved [Jim] Morrison and his poetry. Sometimes the music isn’t great in the Doors, but it’s all in support of someone that I do believe is a true poet. The words are the strongest part of that band.

Your crooning made me want to hear you do an album of standards.
I was talking about this with my old man today. He’s like, “You’re not gonna retire,” and I was like, “Oh, yes, I am — I’m going to Melvyn’s in Palm Springs to be like [sings], ‘Fly me to the moon…’”

You grew up in Palm Desert. This might be an underappreciated aspect of your lineage.
KDES 104.7, baby. The DJ would be like, “Are you by the pool? Well, you should be.” Very Robert Evans.

Are there Queens songs you knew wouldn’t work in the catacombs?
We didn’t think of it that way. The people in there, they didn’t choose to be there, so what would they want to hear? I chose things about family, acceptance, the difficulties in life and the way you feel the moment they’re revealed — and the way you feel the moment they’re over. My first thought was: How do I emotionally get on my knees and do the very best I can to present something that these people have been longing for? It felt very religious.

Do you believe in God?
I believe in God, but God is everything I can’t understand.

Do you think there’s an afterlife?
I believe there’s a return to something. Is it like, “Oh my God, Rodney Dangerfield!”? That’s not what I believe. But the energy that keeps you and I alive, it can’t simply disappear. You must just go home to the big ball somewhere.

Queens of the Stone Age: Michael Shuman, from left, Troy Van Leeuwen, Josh Homme, Dean Fertita and Jon Theodore.

(Andreas Neumann)

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Last time you and I spoke, you told me you you’d learned to pursue your art with less of the reckless abandon of your youth. I wondered how that figured into your decision to call off shows last year after Paris.
By the time we walked down the steps into the catacombs, we all knew in the band that it was over. The morning we were supposed to play Venice [a few days before the Paris gig], I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I was like, “Take me to the hospital.” But I realized there was nothing that could happen for me there. I said, “Bathroom?” and I had them pull the car up and we left.

Does that seem irresponsible in retrospect?
No, because they didn’t know what was going on and they didn’t have the ability to know. I was like, “I made a mistake — I should have just kept going.” We went to the next show in Milan because Paris was so close. You work on something for all these years, and now you can almost see it. You’re gonna turn around because it’s hard? You can’t go two more hours? My old man says, “Quitting on yourself is hardest the first time, and it’s easy every time after that.”

Whoa.
Is that wrong? That’s the guy that brought me up, and he’s proud to be here tonight. So did I make a mistake or not? I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d walked away.

You’ve been reluctant to get too specific about your illness.
It doesn’t matter. Who cares? It was hard and it was dangerous. Big f— deal.

Queens is about to get back onstage.
We’re gonna finish what we started. I thought I was gonna be out of commission for 18 months or two years — that’s what I was told.

How’d you take that?
I wasn’t looking for high-fives. But it ended up being seven months. I’ve changed so many things, and I feel so good.

Are you writing songs?
Lots. The great part about these physically or mentally dangerous situations is that now I feel super-alive and ready to go. I spent a lot of months bedridden, and now that I’m not, I’m very much like a rodeo bull. Not the rider — the bull. When you open that gate, I will destroy.

Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick bring their vivid screen presence and expert timing to The Best You Can, elevating this low-key, Tribeca-premiering dramedy. With strong performances and a fresh premise about an unexpected friendship in middle age, but far too many creaky comic tropes, the uneven film is always watchable but never pops off the screen in a gripping way.

It’s the second feature written and directed by Michael J. Weithorn, a co-creator of The King of Queens and a veteran writer on other sitcoms. It’s simply descriptive and not a disparagement to say that with its often strained plot and quick-hit sitcom timing, the film is most likely to appeal to an undemanding audience and an older demographic.

Sedgwick plays Cynthia, whose brilliant husband, Warren (Judd Hirsch, reliably on point), once on the staff of the Watergate committee, is now 83 and sliding into dementia. At the start she appears overly chatty and hyper, a character trying too hard for comic effect — especially when she first meets Stan, a security guard.

Bacon slides easily into the role of Stan, but his character is also introduced as a comic cliché. In the most blatant of the sitcom-style tropes, Stan has a prostate problem and while patrolling neighborhoods at night uses shrubbery as a makeshift urinal. When the alarm in Cynthia’s house goes off and calls him to the scene, he urgently asks to use her bathroom — and what a coincidence, she is the perfect person to treat his problem, as she announces with fluttery, over-the-top enthusiasm.  

The forced comedy calms down a bit when they also begin a friendship, often through text messages, which the actors deliver in voiceover. Cynthia tells Stan about grappling with her husband’s situation, and he confides in her about his fraught relationship with his daughter, Sammi (Brittany O’Grady), a struggling singer-songwriter who lacks confidence. The text technique works more gracefully than in most films, but again lame stabs at humor intrude. As they get to know each other, Cynthia asks if Stan is in touch with his ex-wife, and he texts back, “Only by voodoo doll.” Yikes.

As the friendship between Stan and Cynthia develops, it has some touching moments. Sedgwick lets us see how much Cynthia still loves and is devoted to her husband, and also how lonely his condition has made her. And Bacon is so vibrant as the intelligent, sharp-witted Stan that he makes you wish Weithorn’s screenplay had done more to fill in the character’s backstory. How did this guy turn out to be such an underachiever and such an awkward father?

Wisely, the film acknowledges but doesn’t overplay the inevitable romantic overtones the friendship takes on. And Bacon and Sedgwick never let their status as a well-known married couple in real life intrude on their character’s delicate, tentative relationship. Each gets a long, emotional monologue near the end that they deliver with smooth naturalism. It’s easy to imagine how much more pedestrian the film would have been with lesser actors in those roles.

Weithorn gets strong performances from the supporting cast, notably O’Grady, whose brief musical scenes as Sammi are solid additions to the film. The father-daughter relationship may be the film’s most believable, as we see that Stan means well and tries to encourage her but says all the wrong things.

Olivia Luccardi plays Stan’s younger sometime-hookup, whose sexting with him is played for some effective laughs. Ray Romano appears in a brief cameo in a video call as a doctor friend of Cynthia’s who advises her on Warren’s condition. And Meera Rohit Kumbhani, as Warren’s caregiver, has one of the film’s stronger more unexpected twists when it turns out she has recorded the memories he is still able to recapture.

If only the film had risen to that level of surprise and emotional poignancy more often, with more of the wistfulness that comes to infuse Cynthia and Stan’s friendship and with humor that was less eye-rolling.