Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

After assuming command of the First Order, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) faces a threat to his power in the form of the still-alive Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid), who pledges him an empire to command if he eliminates Rey (Daisy Ridley), the Jedi-in-training with whom he shares a psychic bond. Though encouraged by Resistance leader General Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher), Rey continues to experience self-doubt. Meanwhile, her friends Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and Finn (John Boyega) learn of a mole in the First Order. Together, they seek to ferret out Palpatine while trying to stay one step ahead of Ren’s forces.

As the much-anticipated final film in the 42-year-old Skywalker Saga, Star Wars Episode IX had the unenviable task of appealing to fans while still finding enough novelty to justify its existence. Its predecessor, The Last Jedi, did plenty of the latter arguably at the expense of the former. The Rise of Skywalker, in contrast, appears an overcorrection: a give-them-what-they-want retreat into familiarity that still manages to entertain even if it doesn’t inspire.

First, the good: the film does many of the “Star Wars things” fairly well. Lightsaber duels, starfighter assaults, and planets with extreme climates are all accounted for. J.J. Abrams may lack the aesthetic flair of Rian Johnson or the imagination of George Lucas, but he is still a competent action director. Fast-paced and fluid, The Rise of Skywalker feels shorter than its 142-minute run-time.

While the film’s writing is, once again, a mixed bag, there are some compelling performances to be found here. Ridley shows impressive range as Rey discovers the full extent of her origins and seizes control of her fate. Driver, who spent most of the previous two films alternating between creepy monotones and rage tantrums, finally has the room to do more with Kylo’s characterization. Poe and Finn do a great job of amusingly trolling and chiding each other (though the former’s inspirational speeches continue to sound wooden and forced). Since Fisher died in 2016, Leia’s appearance is achieved through unused footage from The Force Awakens. Those fearing an awkward Livia Soprano-like hack job needn’t worry: it’s tastefully done, all things considered.

Unfortunately, not all of the old guard – or the new – receive such respectful treatment. McDiarmid’s Palpatine is full of the same wonderfully hammy menace fans have come to expect, but a returning Billy Dee Williams is given very little to work with. He’s less roguish Lando and more generic elder statesman. Resistance mechanic Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran) and First Order General Hux (Domhnall Gleeson) both see their screen time reduced and their presences diminished from previous outings. Meanwhile, new characters are introduced and shoehorned into their former roles without much development of their own. First Order General Pryde (Richard Grant) is clearly meant to evoke Grand Moff Tarkin and is implied to be a loyalist holdover from the Empire, but he’s forgettably one-note, and neither Poe’s former criminal associate Zorii (Keri Russell) nor Resistance ally Jannah (Naomi Ackie), an ex-Stormtrooper just like Finn, fare much better.

A greater letdown, however, is the extent to which The Rise of Skywalker relies on contrivance. Several characters presumed dead turn up alive under the flimsiest of pretexts. Locations and visual elements from the original trilogy suddenly take on new significance to justify their reappearance. Because the film risks so little and hews so closely to what has been done before, it never is able to deliver the level of pathos that a grand finale demands.

Though it plays it safe to an annoying degree, The Rise of Skywalker will probably see its reputation improve with age. After all, Return of the Jedi was similarly scorned at one point, and there are hardly any Ewoks this time. Original and daring it is not, The Rise of Skywalker nevertheless provides brisk, breezily satisfying entertainment and uplift.

Lubrano's Pizza & Italian Restaurant

Located at 2431 Eastchester Drive in High Point, Lubrano’s offers pizza and Italian cuisine for lunch and dinner Monday through Saturday. Food specials change regularly, and lunch specials are available on weekdays. Delivery and online ordering are supported.

Housed toward the end of a somewhat dodgy plaza, Lubrano’s looks like the classic, hasn’t changed in thirty years, good for a slice neighborhood pizza joint, the kind of place the locals swear makes the best ______ but first-timers think looks like a dump. There may be shades of truth in this description, but it does not fully do Lubrano’s justice. Get past the dated aesthetics, and you’ll find a higher-than-expected caliber of red sauce fare.

My wife and I stopped by around 12:30 on a Saturday to find Lubrano’s mostly empty. The lone server on duty was new to the job, but he handled himself well. Lubrano’s menu offers pizzas (regular and Sicilian), calzones, and strombolis as well as some promising-sounding chicken dishes, but we were craving pasta. Thus came an order of a fried calamari starter followed by a shared (no split plate charge) Merone’s combination (lasagna, eggplant, and manicotti with sauce and cheese).

The food came out quickly, and there were more hits than misses. The calamari was nicely breaded and neither tough nor greasy albeit fairly bland. A few squeezes of lemon, however, made a big difference. The entrée came with a side salad that was very basic and mostly greens. Complimentary bread, on the other hand, was a lot better: fresh, hot, and seemingly homemade. The tomato sauce (basil notes and no cloying sweetness) and manicotti filling were similarly above average. One thing that wasn’t well above average was the price: our app was $9 and our entrée was $15, and neither portion was small.

Lubrano’s may be a takeout rather than a dine-in option in the future, but no matter what the form, a return is in our future.

Dot & Pearl's Coffee & Pastries at The Market

Located at 141 West Lexington Avenue in High Point, The Market sells locally made soaps, kitchenware, décor, furniture, and home goods. Its middle room, Dot & Pearls, offers coffee drinks, cookies, cakes, and classic candies. Custom cakes and cake slice gift cards are available.

This establishment is nothing if not unique. The Market proper features shelf upon shelf of local knick-knacks, many of which are surprisingly affordable. Getting around the aisles (such as they are) can be interesting during a busy time, but the place oozes retro charm. The same visual appeal extends to Dot & Pearl’s, as the bakery has a number of delectable-looking cakes, cookies, and truffles (all homemade) on display. The one thing that you will not find displayed here (or, if I overlooked it, displayed clearly) is a menu/price list. That and the layout (there was more of a huddle around the display cases than an orderly queue) made ordering a bit chaotic though the staff remained perfectly pleasant.

For our first visit, my wife and I picked up a coffee drink and a cake slice apiece. Dot & Pearl’s sells FosterHobbs beans, which generally bodes well for the quality of their coffee offerings. However, the iced vanilla latte that I ordered barely had any vanilla flavoring. The cakes fared better though neither can compete with Amoroso’s offerings. The lemon berry cake had a good balance between tart and sweet, yet it was dry.  The hot chocolate cake, on the other hand, was satisfyingly gooey and chocolatey although it bore little flavor resemblance to its namesake drink.

I wouldn’t write off Dot & Pearl’s entirely, and the cake selection is commendable, but greater consistency can be found elsewhere.

The Institute

In the woods of Maine, researchers and staff at the secret Institute subject children who have been abducted for their telekinetic or telepathic potential to experiments designed to unlock their abilities. Luke Ellis, a twelve-year-old genius from Minnesota, is among the abductees. Though frightened and bullied by cruel orderlies and indifferent doctors, he bonds with fellow captive Kalisha and wins over staffer Maureen while trying to furtively learn as much as he can about his situation.

Stephen King has been writing so prolifically for so long that he’s achieved symbiosis with some of the creators that he has influenced. He famously covered telekinesis in Carrie and (less famously) took on a gifted child trying to outmaneuver a sinister organization in Firestarter, traces of both of which can be found in the Duffer Brothers’ Stranger Things. The Institute, in turn, has elements that will be quite recognizable to fans of the Netflix hit, right down to the helpful cop with the checkered past (though Tim is both blander and less grumpy than Hopper). Unlike his previous acts of self-plagiarism, however, The Institute does not read like a pale imitation. Timely and taut, it does the classic Stephen King things (fire-forged friendships, strong sense of place, tragic deaths, etc.) well while avoiding the author’s more self-indulgent tendencies.

As a protagonist, Luke is an interesting choice. He isn’t particularly gifted among the gifted (at first), and this lack of dazzle allows for him to act as a quasi-audience surrogate. But he is damn smart and tenacious, both of which give him a fighting chance despite the enormity of The Institute’s operations. He’s contrasted with the worldlier Sha, the more rebellious Nicky, and the younger though more powerful Avery, the latter of which he becomes fiercely protective of. The attention paid to character reminds us that these are kids, not experimentation fodder, which makes the Institute seem all the more heinous. And yet, for all the organization’s terrible (and terrifying) methods and nebulous reach, King floats the possibility that they may be acting out of a sincere belief in a noble purpose.

In recent years, King’s work has sometimes suffered from a clumsy, heavy-handed treatment of theme (see Sleeping Beauties). The Institute, which was not written with detention camps in mind, still reads very much as a critique of U.S. border policy without ideologically bludgeoning its audience. King also avoids another recurring pitfall: unduly emphasizing a supernatural element that is ill-explained. Here, the mechanics and purpose of the Institute’s test are held back to sustain interest and tension, but when the time is right, we are told as much as we need to know to make sense of the proceedings. King has written plenty of doorstoppers, but The Institute reads as if none of its 500-plus pages are wasted.

Suspenseful and engaging with well-conceived characters, The Institute will appeal to King fans, Stranger Things fans, or anyone who simply wants to be on edge for a few hours.

Cakes by B's Blue House Bakery

Located at 113 East Main Street in Jamestown, Blue House Bakery offers coffee drinks, baked goods, and ice cream. Offerings rotate regularly, and made-to-order custom cakes are available.

Blessed with a personal touch and lacking the boisterous atmosphere of many a java den, this azure establishment beside Potent Potables may be the most inviting coffeeshop/bakery in the area. The owner, Bridgid, is both a kind person and a skilled baker: I’ve tried mini-pies, cupcakes, cookies, and more, and most have been hits. The Apple Delight, an apple streusel/cinnamon roll mashup, is especially good when warm. The selection of coffee drinks is small, but the weekly specials (which recently included a gingerbread white mocha) are usually promising. The ambiance also helps to set Blue House apart. Not only is the building deceptively spacious, but its rooms are quiet, comfortable, and homey.

Admittedly, the location and the dearth of competition score Blue House some points by default, but even if it were located in Greensboro instead of Jamestown, it would be a winning choice for a coffee or a baked good.

FosterHobbs Coffee

Located at 205 Neal Place in High Point, FosterHobbs coffee sells coffee by the cup as well as beans roasted in-house. It is open from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Saturday and closed on Sunday.

The best way to think of FosterHobbs is not as a coffee shop but as a local roastery that serves coffee. Don’t come here expecting to snag a table for hours on end while nursing a macchiato. Seating is limited here, and your beverage choices are hot or iced.

That said, if you are looking to buy beans or just want a cup of better-than-average coffee, FosterHobbs is definitely worth your time. The owners, Mike and Pam, are knowledgeable and passionate about coffee, and Pam is also very friendly. She will customize a cup of coffee to your liking and can fill you in on the characteristics of a given roast.

There are plenty of coffeeshops in the area, but there are no roasteries that are as discerning yet approachable as this one.

Blaze Pizza

Located at 4522 West Wendover Avenue in the Wendover Commons shopping center Greensboro, Blaze Pizza offers made-to-order pizzas. Keto and vegan options (including cauliflower crust) are available as is online ordering.

Like Pieology, Blaze is all about flexibility and speed. You pick your size (11 inch or 14 inch) and then customize the dough, sauce, cheese, meats, and vegetables or choose from eight or so favorites. Everything gets thrown into an uber-hot (“fast fire’d”) oven and comes out in under five minutes. In theory, this would make for an efficient way to quickly churn out crowd-pleasing food. In practice, however, it is chaos incarnate.

My wife and I ordered online for in-store pick-up and arrived to find a line of others who had done the same. Most got their pizzas quickly, but one customer had been waiting for a half hour. Our delay wasn’t nearly that long, thankfully, but there was a noticeable gap between the receipt of our first pizza and the receipt of our second. A roving manager expressed concern and made a good-faith effort to make sure everyone left happy, but his was not an easy task. In fact, the same could be said of the entire crew. Everyone we observed seemed to be working hard pounding out dough knots, lifting pizzas in and out of ovens, calling out orders, etc. And despite all this hustle and bustle, Blaze still struggled to keep pace with demand.

That bit of calamity aside, however, the food was better than expected. We went with 11-inch meat lovers and hot links pies as well as a two-pack of dough knots. The knots were legitimately some of the best I’ve ever had: just the right proportion of chewy and crunchy with plenty of flavor. The pizza wasn’t world-beating, but it was satisfying. The ingredients were tasty, and while the crust was nothing special, it was at least evenly cooked.

For those seeking hot, fresh pizza in a hurry, Blaze could be the answer if you catch them during a slower time. But if you’re in for a wait regardless, go a few miles down Wendover and try Uncle Maddios.

The Irishman

From a nursing home, an elderly Frank Sheeran (Robert DeNiro) recounts his involvement in the American underworld. A World War II veteran and truck driver, Sheeran begins selling stolen wares to the Philadelphia mob before graduating to arson and finally “painting houses” or murder-for-hire. As his star rises, he abandons his first marriage, becomes more active in his local union, and befriends two very powerful figures: Scranton mafia boss Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci) and Teamsters president Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino). Though allied at first, Hoffa and the mob have a falling out, which puts Sheeran uncomfortably in the middle. Years later, predeceased or abandoned by everyone once close to him, he divulges the missing labor leader’s fate.

The first Scorsese-DeNiro-Pesci film in nearly a quarter-century (and the first Scorsese-Pacino pairing ever), The Irishman should have been the kind of film that studios salivate over, but instead, its production was nearly as long and tortured as the story it depicts. First, there are plenty who are skeptical of Sheeran’s account, which came to light when his lawyer, Charles Brandt published it as the book I Heard You Paint Houses in 2004, the year after Sheeran died. Next, it took a considerable amount of cajoling to bring Pesci out of retirement. And then, no studio wanted to foot the bill for the special effects needed to digitally de-age the leading trio of septuagenarian actors. Thus, what would have been a leading Oscar contender in bygone days became a delayed Netflix release.

This ignominy aside, however, The Irishman is a thing of beauty to behold aesthetically, dramatically, and narratively. Scorsese’s eye for period detail remains very much intact as he and his collaborators recreate the look and feel of the Kennedy and Nixon eras. The soundtrack is thoughtfully curated as well, but in place of Goodfellas’ Eric Clapton-backed murder montage or Casino’s operatics, The Irishman’s pivotal moment – the drive to pick up an unsuspecting Hoffa on the day of his final meeting – is marked by silence.

The choice to go quiet instead of loud is a mark of maturity, and it’s one that extends to the film’s themes. Previous gangster fare has a tendency to glamorize its subjects no matter how vicious it ultimately reveals them to be, and Scorsese’s films have been no exception. Henry Hill may have fallen from grace by the end of Goodfellas, but that he was able to thumb his nose at being a solid citizen says something about the lofty perch he once occupied. Sheeran, however, is denied even this fleeting sense of nostalgic grandeur. By the end of The Irishman, he is in failing health and truly alone. One can take issue with how little screen time women have in the film – Anna Paquin, as Sheeran’s disapproving daughter says maybe a dozen lines – but they nevertheless serve as a powerful rebuke to the idea that Sheeran’s way of life was for some family-affirming greater good.

Given the cold nuance of the film’s approach, a cast best known for showy performances (to put it lightly, in Pacino’s case during the past two decades) would seem a strange fit, but Scorsese evidently commands enough respect to get the most out of his performers, and in turn, they remind audiences of what they were capable of before they reached the point of self-caricature. DeNiro, who is of average height, captures the much-taller Sheeran’s shambling movements, his soldier’s stoicism, and the hints of anguish that peek through the veneer all quite believably. As the charismatic yet belligerent Hoffa, Pacino gets to do his fair share of yelling, but the performance is far from one-note. He captures the man’s vanity and bigotry as well as his amiability toward children and belief in the righteousness of his cause. Perhaps the biggest surprise here is Pesci, best known for playing corrosive, diminutive psychopaths who immeasurably complicate the lead gangsters’ lives. Instead, he plays Bufalino as shrewd and calculating, a man whose quietly whispered request could have ten times the impact of one of Tommy Devito or Nicky Santoro’s worst outbursts. Ironically, the specter of Pesci’s past roles shows up here in the form of Anthony “Tony Pro” Provezano, a short-but-volatile mobster whose prison contretemps with Hoffa fuels much of the second-half conflict. Tony Pro is played without an impeccable accent by the Englishman Stephen Graham in a turn that calls to mind his Boardwalk Empire work (as a young Al Capone) minus any hint of likeability.

For all these strengths, however, The Irishman does have several noticeable faults. For starters, it is very long, even by the standards of gangster epics. The three-and-a-half-hour runtime and leisurely pacing demand patience, and even the committed will find themselves wondering if Thelma Schoonmaker (Scorsese’s longtime editor) couldn’t have trimmed fifteen minutes or so. The much-discussed de-aging technology is also a miss albeit not a catastrophic one. DeNiro never looks any younger than his mid-40s even when Sheeran is supposed to be, and it is difficult to buy Pacino seeming even that young.

A gripping exploration of the mythology of midcentury American power and the corruption that underpinned it told through the eyes of a bloody-handed fixer, The Irishman is a slow but masterfully executed assault on the very idea of innocence. If this is the last time that Scorsese gets to work with any of these leads, then the film, like a rival cab company that Sheeran sees to, is going out with a bang.

Black Powder Smokehouse

Located at 302 East Main Street in Jamestown, Black Powder Smokehouse serves BBQ for breakfast and lunch with dinner service scheduled to resume in the near future. Catering is available, and there are plans to add online ordering and live music.

A complete overhaul of an old gas station, this highly anticipated BBQ joint opened two weeks ago to much fanfare. How much fanfare? Black Powder was open for lunch and dinner during that time but sold out well before dinner every day. And while that is undoubtedly a source of consternation for many would-be patrons, the level of demand usually says something about the food quality.

It is, thankfully, not all hype. Black Powder has some of the best smoked meats in the Triad though enjoying them involves more than a little bit of luck. To wit: the restaurant opened at 11 a.m. this past Saturday, and my wife and I arrived just a few minutes thereafter to find a line to the door. Said line only grew longer as noon grew closer. Standing and waiting to order is a fact of life here.

At least you will be standing and waiting in style. The restaurant is handsomely appointed with a sleek bar area and a few long tables alongside more conventional seating. If the aesthetics don’t strike you as inviting, the wonderful smoky smell certainly will.

Black Powder’s compact menu is similarly appealing. The meats, available in quarter, half, pound, or sandwich portions, include pulled pork, chopped chicken, brisket, turkey breast, smoked salmon, and a rotating selection of sausages. Ribs and chicken quarters and halves round out the roster. They are joined by sides such as slaw (red or white), gouda mac n cheese, molasses baked beans, braised collard greens, Carolina caviar, pimento hushpuppies, and hot boiled peanuts (?!), all available in small or large portions.

Assuming the line doesn’t deter you, co-owner (a big, bearded guy from BBQ Pitmaster central casting) is an amiable presence at the carving station, and his staff are equally personable despite the constant influx of customers. Given the sheer volume, food wait times could be a whole lot worse.

For our early lunch visit, my wife and I split a quarter-pound each of pulled pork, brisket, and sausage, which we paired with gouda mac, white slaw, and pimento puppies. The plate looked amazing, a welcome relief to anyone who’s ever winced after glimpsing pre-sauced pork at Stamey’s. While the sides were smallish, we were able to cobble together a filling lunch for two for about $20, which was practically a steal.

The food was worth every penny and then some. The pork was a touch dry, but that was easily remedied by an application of one of the three sauces (Eastern, Western, and the far-superior BP Signature) available. The brisket – smoky and tender and fatty without being greasy – was outrageously good. We ended up with andouille as that day’s sausage, and it delivered both a spicy kick and a firm bite. The slaw was satisfyingly creamy and offered hints of carraway (?), and the pimento puppies were like the golden child of a hushpuppy and a jalapeno popper. The gouda mac delivered in the flavor department though it was rather thick.

Whether or not Black Powder Smokehouse becomes your new favorite Jamestown eatery/barbeque restaurant/converted gas station (apologies, Lindley Filling) or a colossal disappointment depends largely on the luck of the draw. Get in while the wait is manageable (ten-fifteen minutes) and the meats are in-stock, and it’s excellent. But catch them at the wrong time, and you may walk away jaded (if not also hungry).

Rixster Grill

Located at 3815 Tinsley Drive in High Point, Rixster Grill serves bar food from 11 to late seven days a week. There are occasional events and live music as well as a foosball table.

Rixster Grill is your standard-issue neighborhood sports bar, but it’s a pretty solid representation thereof. The abundance of TVs make it a comfortable spot to take in a game while filling up on apps/wings/burgers/sandwiches until the final whistle.

My wife and I stopped in for lunch on a Saturday and found the place mostly empty. Annette, the lone server, proved friendly and welcoming. We started with fried mushrooms (no bargain at $7.25) and went with a black & blue burger (a better deal at $8.95 with a side included) and a firebird sandwich ($8.50 and ditto) respectively. The food came out hot with very little wait. I can’t speak to busier times, but service during our visit was impressively efficient.

The food, on the other hand, was decidedly uneven. The mushrooms were battered nicely, but they were begging for a more flavorful beer batter. The burger, requested medium, was served well-done and was very, very salty. On the other hand, the sides were money: mixed vegetables were surprisingly fresh and flavorful while waffle fries were perfectly crispy. The firebird (hot sauce-coated fried chicken breast topped with ham, provolone, lettuce, tomato, and ranch on a Kaiser bun) was not easy to eat – make sure you have plenty of napkins – but it delivered on flavor.

All told, Rixster is worth a visit for a quick bite or a gameday meetup, but the food is too inconsistent to make it a regular meal option.

Odeh's Mediterranean Kitchen

Located at 3805 Tinsley Drive in High Point, Odeh’s Mediterranean Kitchen serves Mediterranean/Middle Eastern fare for lunch and dinner every day except Sunday. Food specials change regularly, and vegan, gluten-free, and halal options are available.

Moving from Greensboro to High Point in May put several Mediterranean favorites out of easy reach. Nazareth and Sarah’s Kabob Shop went from being a short hop down West Market to good twenty-plus minutes away. Fortunately, Odeh’s (a mere nine minutes) opened over the summer to fill the void. But there is far more to this place than mere convenience. Odeh’s food is some of the best Mediterranean in the Triad.

Tucked into the tangle of shops between Tinsley and Eastchester, Odeh’s is easy to overlook despite clear signage. About the worst that can be said for it, aside from its nondescript location, is that it is small and sparsely adorned. However, this is a nonfactor for takeout orders, and everything else about the place merits praise.

The menu here has everything you would expect and a few things that you would not. Tabouleh, hummus, stuffed grape leaves (homemade), shwarma, kababs, and gyros are all accounted for as are plenty of options (mozzarella sticks, jalapeno poppers, a fish platter) for when a fried craving hits. Specials have included everything from baked chicken to spanakopita to a prime rib sandwich. No matter what you opt for, be sure to save room for dessert: knafeh and baklava cheesecake are among the offerings.

With this many options, decisions can be difficult. Thankfully, counter staff are patient and kind, even as you gawk at the menu indecisively. Odeh’s kitchen is speedy and efficient, too: from placing a takeout order to out the door didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it might.

I opted for a mixed shwarma platter, a fried fish platter, and an order of stuffed grape leaves, and there wasn’t a dud among them. The shwarma portion wasn’t as plentiful as I’ve seen elsewhere, but the tender, tasty meats more than made up for it. The fish was flaky and well-seasoned, and the grape leaves are among the best I’ve had outside of Chapel Hill. While there is plenty of the menu left to explore, it is also comforting to know that I could repeat this order with zero regrets.

Though hardly the only eatery of its type in the area, Odeh’s ability to put out delicious food quickly at reasonable prices makes it a must-try.

Joker

In crime-infested, poverty-stricken early 1980s Gotham, promotional clown and aspiring comedian Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) takes care of his sick mother, Penny (Frances Conroy), who is convinced that her former employer, the wealthy Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen), will come to their aid. Arthur, who suffers from a condition that causes him to laugh inappropriately, is similarly hopeful that he will one day appear as a guest on a popular late night show hosted by Murray Franklin (Robert DeNiro). After a series of misfortunes culminates in Arthur taking vengeance on a trio of tormentors, he begins to embrace all of the behaviors that had been alienating him from others.

From flamboyant gangster to giggling prankster to crazed criminal mastermind, the Joker has worn many guises throughout the character’s eighty-year history. This malleability makes a definitive backstory an impossibility, but Todd Phillips’ stab at one does successfully distill much of what makes the character tick. In particular, Joker runs with Alan Moore’s vision of a beleaguered chap driven completely mad by one (horrendously) bad day. However, the film also owes a considerable debt to Martin Scorsese as Arthur blends Travis Bickle’s (Taxi Driver) vigilante righteousness with Rupert Pupkin’s (The King of Comedy) delusional desperation (ironically, DeNiro, who played both parts, seems to occupy roughly the same role Jerry Lewis played in the latter).

For all of the film’s indebtedness, however, Phoenix turns in a singularly remarkable performance. Everything about Arthur radiates sickness: his uber-gaunt appearance and his heavy smoking habit are the physical counterparts to his laughing fits, his lack of social and (tragically, for a would-be comedian) comic awareness, and his general disregard for boundaries. The film does not glamorize him in the least, nor does it glorify him through victimhood. Rather, through Phoenix’s magnetism and lack of inhibition, it reminds us that the Arthurs of the world cannot simply be wished out of existence.

The rest of the film cannot match the power of its central performance, and it often does not seem like it is even trying to. Thomas Wayne (Batman’s famously murdered dad) is uncharitably reduced to a generic One Percenter while Zazie Beetz has a thankless role as a neighbor who catches Arthur’s eye. The film’s gritty, grimy aesthetics almost make viewers forget that Phillips is a comedy director, but the ironic soundtrack (Sinatra, Gary Glitter, and “Send in the Clowns”) serves as a reminder thereof (though Hildur Gudnadottir’s dark, string-heavy score is praiseworthy).

Upon release, Joker engendered a frankly ridiculous amount of backlash that saw the moral panics of old rise anew. Predictably, these fears amounted to naught, but in the process, the ensuing controversy turned an OK film featuring a great performance into a cultural moment, something that the Joker (one version, anyway) would likely find hilarious.

El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie

After being liberated from Aryan gang captivity by his dying former partner Walter White (Bryan Cranston), reluctant meth cook Jesse Pinkman (Aaron Paul) wants nothing more than to disappear and start a new life. Ed (Robert Forster, in his last role), a vacuum cleaner salesman/professional disappearer can make that happen, but Jesse will need to get his hands on more money first. Jesse’s deranged former captor Todd (Jesse Plemons) left behind a stash, but unfortunately, Jesse isn’t the only one in search of it.

Six years after wrapping up Breaking Bad, series creator Vince Gilligan brought back much of the old gang (the aforementioned, plus Jesse’s bumbling friends Badger and Skinny Pete as well as fan favorite troubleshooter Mike all make appearances) to explore the aftermath of Walter’s last stand. Given that spinoff series Better Call Saul has stepped into the void in the meantime, El Camino is less of a “must” and more of a “why not,” but it does provide a redemptive arc for a character that the series left in a very dark place.

Appropriately, El Camino is as much a triumph for Paul as its story is for Jesse. Freed from Cranston’s shadow, Paul delivers an impressively complex performance, relying on gesture and expression to capture Jesse’s haggard desperation while also portraying the same character’s cockier, younger self in flashback scenes. Speaking of flashbacks, Plemons is once again singularly unsettling as Todd: an unfailingly polite, friendly, murderous monster utterly without a conscience or any social awareness.

Amid these strong characterizations, the film’s antagonists – a pair of money-grubbing Aryan-connected petty thugs – are lacking in menace and gravitas. We see them as a nuisance rather than a menace, as if Gilligan has played his “more dangerous than they look card” one too many times before. Similarly, Jesse’s mad scramble for money and freedom carries great personal stakes but few broader implications. We never get the sense that his choices are going to cause planes to collide, for instance.

These movie-to-series comparisons are as unfair as they are inevitable, and though it is equally unfair to consider El Camino strictly on its own merits, it nevertheless makes for an entertaining two hours shot with the tense, stylish gusto one can expect from the franchise.

The Nickel Boys

In the 1960s, bright but troubled teen Elwood Curtis is sentenced to the Nickel Academy, a notorious Florida reform school where survival is not guaranteed. Amid the brutality of institutional life, he befriends the cynical Turner, who sees Elwood’s idealism as a source of trouble. But as conditions worsen, both boys find their outlooks – and their loyalties – put to the test.

Fresh off the alt-history heels of the Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead did a 180 to craft The Nickel Boys, a fictionalized take on the real-life Dozier School for Boys that reads as all too painfully real. A frank and unflinching look at institutional violence (beatings, rapes, and covered-up murders), the novel delivers shock without sensationalism. Whitehead’s straightforward approach and efficient prose create a matter-of-factness that lets the book’s horrors speak for themselves. At the same time, however, he also finds room to explore an ideological conflict between allies: Elwood, a steadfast believer in the power of truth and goodness and Turner, who is committed to doing what is necessary for survival. The complexity of their friendship builds toward an ending that would amount to a cheap twist in lesser hands but is played deftly here.

The Nickel Boys is not for the faint of stomach, and it takes a careful eye to catch everything going on beneath the surface gloss of casual violence, but for those up to the task, it is a book not easily forgotten.

Beyu Caffe

Located at 341 West Main Street in downtown Durham, Beyu Caffe offers coffee drinks, cocktails, and Southern-influenced food. It is open seven days a week from 8 to 8 (8 to 6 on Sundays) and offers breakfast all day. Formerly a regular jazz venue, Beyu still offers occasional live music.

Beyu is pronounced Be You, and that sense of individual character permeates this cool and comfortable spot. Conveniently located and reasonably spacious, Beyu offers a comfortable ambiance: lively without being loud.

This character extends to the menu as well, which features names to remember (Dope coffee specialties, a Chuck Berry Parfait) and fresh takes on familiar dishes (i.e. chicken wings and French toast subbing in for chicken and waffles). Hungry and tired, my wife and I opted for coffee drinks (Mexican coffee and a Carver’s Peanut Butter) and lunch items (Satchmo Po Boy and Shrimp and Grits). Everything was ordered at the register prior to seating, and service thankfully proved expeditious.

Both coffee drinks were excellent. The Mexican coffee added cinnamon, nutmeg, and chocolate to the standard brew and made for a bold and rich concoction. The Carver’s Peanut Butter combined espresso, peanut butter, steamed milk, and honey. If peanut butter in coffee causes you to raise an eyebrow, a few sips of this smooth and tasty blend will make a convert of you.

Unfortunately, the food wasn’t quite up to the same standard. The Shrimp and Grits used Italian sausage in place of Tasso ham, an odd choice but not a poor one. However, the shrimp were just short of overcooked, and the grits needed copious stirring to reach the right consistency. Thankfully, the flavor still delivered. Meanwhile, the Po Boy – actually, a pair of fried catfish sliders – featured nicely breaded fish, but the accompanying side salad sported dubious-looking lettuce.

Given the atmosphere and coffee quality, I would not hesitate to return to Beyu the next time I’m in Durham, but I might think twice about ordering lunch.

Kaddish.com

Larry is the loutish, atheist son of Orthodox Jewish parents. When his father dies in 1999, he is tasked with saying the Kaddish – a prayer for the dead – every day for a year. However, Larry refuses the call and instead secretly uses the Web site kaddish.com to contract with Chemi, an Israeli student, to pray in his stead. Twenty years later, Larry (now going by Shuli) has returned to his faith and is a rabbi teaching at a religious school. A chance encounter with a student fills him with dread over his earlier shirking of filial duty, and he embarks on a desperate quest to track down Chemi and reclaim his birthright.

Part satire and part affirmation of faith, Kaddish.com is an odd duck of a novel that captivates while falling short of its ambition. Nathan Englander remains a talented writer well-versed in Orthodox practices and culture, and as with his short story collections, he is able to navigate them with a deft blend of humor (Shuli, furtively browsing a school computer, is stunned by how fast technology has become since he abandoned it) and sincerity (the burning desire to right a wrong). But even those skills cannot mask the absurdity of Shuli’s obsessive odyssey, which is wife, speaking for the audience, rightly condemns.

Kaddish.com continues a long tradition of exploring intersections and divergences between what is Halakhic and what is by other measures right and tries to update it for the digital age. However, that is an issue that needs more than the book’s 200 pages allow.

This Storm

In the early 1940s, as America goes to war, LAPD and Army intelligence officer Dudley Smith senses an opportunity. The cunning and ruthless Irish cop conspires to smuggle drugs as well as Japanese and Mexican laborers into the U.S. in military vehicles. His scheming is aided by a Tong boss restaurateur, a high-ranking Mexican Sinarquista, and by Hideo Ashida, a closeted and conflicted Japanese-American LAPD chemist. To thwart Dudley, his more straight-laced but equally ambitious rival, LAPD captain Bill Parker, recruits forensic biologist/Navy officer Joan Conville to work alongside and keep tabs on Ashida. Though distrustful of one another at first, a series of discoveries brings them closer together and puts them – as well as Dudley and LAPD officer Elmer Jackson – in pursuit of a Communist-Fascist conspiracy and a cache of stolen gold.

            The second book in James Ellroy’s Second LA Quartet, This Storm is all but inaccessible without having read the first book (2014’s Perfidia) and requires a decent understanding of WW II-era history to boot. A sprawling, character-laden six-hundred-plus page exploration of Ellroy’s favorite subject (mid-century American corruption), This Storm will appeal to a narrow band of patient, strong-stomached readers, and even then, it will test their commitment.

            As with Ellroy’s previous oeuvre, This Storm breathlessly catalogues the violence and sleaze lurking behind the veneer of respectability. Not only do characters like Dudley eradicate the lines between cops and criminals, but politicians and entertainers (chiefly, the real-life Fletcher Bowron and Orson Welles) are painted as indulgent and corruptible. “Fifth column’s fifth column” pops up as a refrain, and it works to capture the greed and thuggery that unite partisans of widely differing political stripes.

            All of this is delivered in Ellroy’s rapid-fire staccato style, which is as much a curse as a blessing. On the one hand, it suits the subject matter well and keeps a long book from being unbearably longer. On the other hand, it stands in the way of characters developing their own voices (excerpts from the journal of police pal Kay Lake notwithstanding). This is a shame because Ellroy has finally diversified his protagonists. The familiar corrupt white cop battling a greater evil is still present here in the form of Elmer (a redneck running a prostitution ring who foreswears white supremacy and murder), but Joan (who plays Bill and Dudley against one another as she looks for a means to avenge her father) and Hideo (whose growing attraction to Dudley clashes with his growing sense of guilt from enabling him) allow for new stories to be told. And yet, they are only fleshed out as much as the plot demands them to be, which is often not nearly enough.

            This Storm takes its name from a fabricated quote by W.H. Auden. “This storm. This savaging disaster” is repeated by various characters within the book, and it’s tempting to see it as a description of the text (relentless and unyielding as it is) itself. However, another frequent phrase is actually a better fit. “It’s all one story,” Joan notes as her cases begin to converge. Here, too, Nazism, Communism, theft, and murder are all viciously intertwined, to the detriment of anything else worth focusing on.  

The Penny Path Cafe & Crepe Shop

Located at 104 East Martin Luther King Jr. Drive in downtown High Point, The Penny Path Café & Crepe Shop offers sweet and savory crepes and coffee drinks. The establishment is open Tuesday through Sunday.

Boasting an intriguing concept, colorful décor, and tasty food, The Penny Path could desperately benefit from a bigger location. This place is tiny, which wouldn’t be a problem if it were coffee-only. The scarcity of space, however, undercuts its appeal as a dine-in destination.

Fortunately that (and déclassé paper plates/plastic forks) is the only reason for complaint here. The staff are pleasant and were kind enough to let us come in a few minutes prior to the official opening time. The menu boasts plenty of options ranging from classic crepes (sugar, honey, Nutella, suzette) to more fanciful sweet (fruit cheesecake) and savory (pizza, red pepper) concoctions to the bold Kitchen Sink (a multi-cheese/spread/veggie behemoth). 

My wife and I went with the Mandarin Dreams (cream, mandarin oranges, Nutella, and shaved coconut) and the fruit cheesecake (cream, strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and honey with a chocolate drizzle). Both crepes were under $8, generously portioned and very, very good. The fruit cheesecake was sweet without being cloying, and the berries paired nicely with the chocolate and cream. I would not hesitate to reorder though the savory side of the menu merits exploration as well.

The twenty-person (or fewer) seating capacity combined with its popularity conspire to make frequenting The Penny Path a challenge, but if you are blessed with patience and/or stop by at an off hour, the crepes are worth it.

Furious Hours

Casey Cep’s first book is a true crime account with seemingly limitless amounts of intrigue. Divided into three sections, it focuses alternately on the Rev. Willie Maxwell, attorney Tom Radney, and Harper Lee and a series of crimes in 1970s Alabama that serves as a point of convergence. Maxwell, a rural black minister, acquires a sinister reputation after a succession of wives and other relatives die in mysterious “accidents” and he cashes in on multiple insurance policies. Never convicted, Maxwell is nonetheless the subject of ceaseless gossip up until he his gunned down at the funeral of one of his suspected victims. Radney, a politically connected liberal lawyer, represents Maxwell and helps him sue reluctant insurers. But after years of defending the sinister minister, he then becomes counsel for the reverend’s killer, Robert Burns. Lee, fame-averse and ambivalent about the smash success of To Kill a Mockingbird, travels from New York back to Alabama to get the story but finds tight-lipped locals and a disheartening amount of innuendo.

Blessed with lively prose, Furious Hours succeeds in mining its characters’ contradictions and complexities albeit sometimes at the expense of sustaining tension. Biographical detours into the pasts of Radney and Lee help frame them as tragic figures (Maxwell not so much), but in doing so, the book loses the central thread of the Burns trial. In Radney’s case, this fleshing-out shows the dichotomy between courtroom bully and a gracious gent run out of politics by Klan-aligned forces. In Lee’s case, it reveals a witty writer and skillful researcher embittered by taxes and a loss of privacy. The latter’s tale isn’t anything new to Lee devotees, but it still does her justice.

While Furious Hours will disappoint some by straying from Maxwell-related malfeasance and others by including Lee almost tangentially, the hybrid true crime/character sketch approach is, if nothing else, refreshing.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

By 1969, Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) is a former TV Western star turned failed film actor and alcoholic, reduced to taking villainous guest star roles that play on his former fame. He is supported by his best friend and erstwhile stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), a war veteran and alleged wife killer who works as Rick’s valet. When Rick learns that Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha) and Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie) have moved in next door, he begins plotting a comeback. Meanwhile, Cliff crosses paths with a young hippie woman (Margaret Qualley) whose “family” is staying out on an old movie ranch.

Excess has been a constant in Quentin Tarantino’s long and varied career, but the nature of that excess has changed considerably. In the 1990s, it was profanity and violence, but for the past decade, it has largely been character-building conversations. Whereas his previous outing, The Hateful Eight, was a tense though largely bloodless buildup to a gory final third, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is a loose, ambling, often comedic romp that saves its barbarity for a few scant, explosive moments toward the end.

A devotee of B-movies and genre entertainment, Tarantino could not have asked for more suitable subject matter, and from an aesthetic standpoint, he absolutely nails the setting. The cars, the clothes, and the music are obvious cues, but the film’s bright palette and even the title fonts all scream 1960s Hollywood. This makes the scenes that step outside of that bouncy, boozy milieu – a visit to the Manson Family-occupied Spahn Movie Ranch is singularly creepy – all the more jarring.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is also absolutely awash in trivia, in-jokes, and meta-references. Rick thumbs his nose at Italian-produced spaghetti westerns and their questionable production values, yet this movie owes a debt beyond its title to Sergio Leone. When Rick lands a guest starring spot on Lancer, who should appear as gunslinging series lead James Stacy but Timothy Olyphant, referencing his trigger-happy turns as Seth Bullock (Deadwood) and Raylan Givens (Justified). Kurt Russell (also the film’s narrator) and Zoe Bell show up as a husband and wife stunt coordinator team, a play on their opposing turns in Tarantino’s earlier Death Proof.

For the most part, the film is impeccably cast. DiCaprio can go from self-pitying to stone drunk to intensely determined at will, and though she isn’t given nearly as much material to work with, Robbie makes for a vivacious and (according to the slain actress’s sister) very convincing Tate. Newcomer child actress Julia Butters holds her own as a serious young thespian opposite Rick on Lancer while former child actress Dakota Fanning is unrecognizable – and unhinged – as Squeaky Fromme. The likes of Al Pacino, Bruce Dern, Luke Perry (in his final role) and others show up as well though the film is sorely missing a Samuel L. Jackson appearance, and Steven R. McQueen may have fared better as his namesake grandfather than Damian Lewis.

Stellar cast aside, some elements of characterization strike a false note. Bruce Lee (Mike Moh) is disrespectfully portrayed as a braggart while Tate’s friend/ex-boyfriend Jay Sebring (Emile Hirsch) comes across as an immature, opportunistic weasel despite being a Korean War vet and a very successful hair stylist. Perhaps the biggest question mark is Cliff, who is treated like a weird loser by nearly every character besides Rick despite being a very competent driver and fighter who looks like Brad Pitt.

Even more divisive, however, is the film’s ending, which focuses on an infamous August night on Cielo Drive. It is as gory as expected but definitely not in a way that is expected. Whether Tarantino is trying to write the history he would have wanted to see it happen or whether he is trying to make a statement about overt chaotic evil vs. entrenched yet concealed malevolence is anyone’s guess.

Some have speculated that Once Upon a Time in Hollywood is Tarantino’s reaction to a midlife crisis: a middle-aged white guy pushing back against notions of his own irrelevance. But one needn’t have any sympathy for Rick or Cliff or see in them any rectitude to find their misadventures, long and drawn out as they may be, thoroughly amusing.

The Mecca Restaurant

Located at 13 East Martin Street in downtown Raleigh, The Mecca Restaurant offers Southern food for breakfast and lunch daily and dinner every day except Sunday. There is a full bar, and private dining is available.

Calling a restaurant “The Mecca” sounds like the height of hipster pretention, but this place is very much the opposite. Founded by Greek immigrants in 1930, The Mecca is as old-school as old-school gets with classic décor, a comfortably familiar menu, and competent execution all-around.

While there are definitely more chic and comfortable places to dine, The Mecca oozes nostalgia. Red stools along a long counter, a black and white checkered floor, and heavy wooden booths give the look of a place untouched by time. The menu is equally immune to faddishness, offering Southern favorites (fried chicken, fried fish, and chopped BBQ), a few nods to the founders’ heritage (a Greek salad and Zorba’s beef tips), and the eyebrow-raising Garry Dorn burger (a veal cutlet sandwich).

Hungry from wandering around GalaxyCon, my wife and I bypassed sandwiches in favor of platters: fried fish and BBQ, respectively. Both came with a hushpuppy, slaw, and two sides (mac n cheese for both of us, butter beans for her, and fried okra for me). While neither dish was attractively plated, both tasted considerably better than they looked. After decades, The Mecca has making this kind of food down to a science. Both the fish and the okra were fried to a golden brown sans greasiness, the slaw was creamy, and the BBQ was not dried out. Admittedly, vinegar-based is not my preferred style, but The Mecca’s was as good as a rendition of that type as I’ve had anywhere.

For three quarters of the meal, service was courteous, prompt, and attentive. However, we made the mistake of ordering a blackberry cobbler after The Mecca got busier, and the dessert took so long to reach us that they ended up comping it. At under $3, it still would have been worthwhile, and much of The Mecca’s menu is similarly value-conscious. Both lunch dishes were under $10 apiece, and while the fried fish contained a disappointingly small amount of fish, there was still enough on the plate for a filling meal.

The Mecca is the kind of time-displaced icon that everyone should try at least once, but for those who are willing to trade innovation for simplicity, it’s more than just a novelty act.

Blue Zucchini & Co.

Located at 1506 North Main Street in High Point, Blue Zucchini offers burgers, salads, and sandwiches for lunch and dinner. Food specials change daily.

Though its name may call to mind artsy vegan food, Blue Zucchini’s closest analog is probably Greensboro’s Iron Hen (minus its much-maligned owner) in that it supplies comforting American eats in a quaint and quirky albeit somewhat crowded space. That isn’t to say that there aren’t vegetarian options here – there definitely are – but rather that one should recalibrate expectations accordingly.

And what should one expect? Go during lunchtime on a weekday, and expect a brief wait for a table. Expect to gawk at the desserts positioned conveniently near the register. Expect to gawk at the brightly colored interior and either nod in approval or find it a bit much. Expect to be torn between at least two different sandwiches (and, possibly, at least two different sides) when perusing the menu.

These expectations dispensed with, my wife and I opted for a fried green tomato starter, a West L.A. (turkey, bacon, avocado, cheese, chipotle mayo, lettuce, and tomato on sourdough) and a Low Rider (roast beef, cherry peppers, Havarti, and horseradish mayo on a baguette), with cups of black bean soup on the side. Fried green tomatoes are one of our litmus test dishes, and Blue Zucchini’s rendition (with pimento and balsamic) proved to be a mixed bag. The tomatoes were both thickly sliced and thickly battered and were nice and crisp. However, they were also quite dry. Thanks to odd plating, only the two slices in the middle had any pimento (sandwiched between them). Fortunately, the sandwiches were less confounding. Gooey melted cheese and a nice kick from the horseradish mayo made the Low Rider a winner. The black bean soup’s addition of salsa and sour cream kept it from being one-note. Prompt service and reasonable pricing ($9.75 and $8.95, sides included) made for more points in Blue Zucchini’s favor.

It remains to be seen whether or not Blue Zucchini handles dinner entrees as well as it does sandwiches, but it has all the makings of a solid lunch spot – albeit not one worth more than a fifteen-minute wait.

Rascals Tavern

Located at 2270 Golden Gate Drive in the Golden Gate Shopping Center in Greensboro, Rascals Tavern serves upscale pub fare for lunch and dinner Tuesday through Sunday. There is a full bar, limited outdoor seating, and a brunch on Sundays.

The brainchild of owner/chef Jessica Borgione, Rascals Tavern is an inspired blend of old and new. The name and the ambiance (low lighting and lots of wood) recall an earlier era, but the menu offers modern twists on many familiar dishes. It’s a concept that holds a lot of appeal though the execution isn’t seamless.

My wife and I visited for Sunday brunch and found Rascals to be not quite full yet plenty lively. We were able to snag a table though there seemed to be plenty of room around the bar. While Rascals lunch and dinner menus offered quite a few tantalizing options – this is one of the few places in the area to offer Scotch eggs – the brunch menu was considerably more compact. Fortunately, it didn’t lack for appeal. Benedicts, hashes, and biscuits n gravy represented the savory side while French toast and blueberry pancakes accounted for the sweets.

We opted for a beef hash and a fried green tomato benedict, respectively. Both dishes were generously portioned and looked great. The benedict combined the expected poached egg and hollandaise with a fried green tomato, greens, Italian salami…and a blueberry reduction, of all things. The last component seemed puzzling, but it proved to be a saving grace as it balanced the saltiness of the salami quite well. The dish was a perfect blend of creamy, crunchy, salty, and sweet. The hash featured well-seasoned beef and crisp potatoes. Though tasty, it was rather dry, and attempts to remedy that led to a ten-minute wait for a small cup of ranch. Our poor server was hustling nonstop from table to table during that time, and at least at the time of our visit, Rascals appeared to be seriously understaffed.

That aside, service up to that point was fine, pricing isn’t too much of a reach ($12 and $10 for our two dishes), and food quality is a definite strength. I don’t get out to northeastern Greensboro much, but Rascals has enough character to make it worth another visit.