Mare of Easttown

 

In a small town in eastern Pennsylvania, Mare Sheehan (Kate Winslet) is a former high school basketball star turned police detective. Following her son’s suicide, she is locked in a custody battle over her grandson with the baby’s ex-addict mother, and she is plagued by being unable to find a friend’s daughter after a mysterious disappearance. When another teen girl turns up dead, Mare is reluctantly partnered with a county detective, Colin Zabel (Evan Peters). With a list of suspects that includes the girl’s former boyfriend, his jealous new girlfriend, and a priest with a dark past, the two detectives will need to learn to work together in a hurry.

 

Created by Pennsylvania native Brad Ingelsby and directed by Craig Zobel, Mare of Easttown (HBO) plays like a Keystone State miniseries version of Mystic River, and that’s hardly a bad thing. Deftly written and powerfully acted with a strong sense of place and character, Mare of Easttown uses the mystery at its center to pull viewers into an exploration of addiction, loss, and the difficulty of forgiveness.

 

A disheveled, downtrodden, oft-vaping Winslet is excellent in the title role. Mare is a tenacious and skilled investigator, but she also displays a detestable side as she struggles to keep her family close and piece her life back together. In Winslet’s hands, she’s believable and magnetic, and the actress also nails a Philadelphia-area accent (evident in “phone” and “home”). Jean Smart gives a humorous supporting turn as Mare’s acerbic mom while Angourie Rice is solid as her troubled daughter. Peters, often cast in weirdo or comic relief roles, is more down to earth here, but he’s far from dull. The same cannot be said for Guy Pearce, however. He’s also given a break from his usual sinister/creepy casting, but his underwritten nice-guy literature professor makes for a bland, one-note romantic interest for Mare.

 

The hard-bitten Easttown of the screen is a considerably bleaker place than the actual township that shares its name, and the show’s litany of tragedies can feel exhausting at times, but Mare of Easttown is a well-crafted slice of small-town anguish.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things

 

A young woman (Jessie Buckley) takes a road trip through the snow with her boyfriend Jake (Jesse Plemons) to visit his parents’ farm despite her reservations about their relationship. Along the way, she weighs her desire to end the relationship against what she sees as Jake’s better qualities. Meanwhile, a lonely old high school janitor (Guy Boyd) makes his rounds, ignored by students who are enthusiastically rehearsing for a production of Oklahoma!

 

Charlie Kaufman’s 2020 adaptation of Ian Reid’s twisty psychological thriller isn’t the first time the writer/director took on difficult-to-adapt source material. But whereas his take on Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief took on a life of its own (yielding the excellent Spike Jonze-helmed Adaptation), I’m Thinking of Ending Things hews more closely to the source material albeit with Kaufman’s strange, discomfiting, boldly imaginative stamp.

 

There’s little that can be said about this film’s plot without spoiling its surprises. Eschewing a conventional narrative structure, I’m Thinking of Ending Things instead offers a series of increasingly surreal set pieces (tense conversations in a car, an awkward family dinner, etc.) whose symbolism only becomes truly apparent toward the end. Kaufman revisits some of his favorite themes – fear of failure, loss of identity – while dishing out allusions to poetry, film criticism, science, and musical theatre. While that sounds like an esoteric slog, there’s plenty of tension here. The cinematography at times evokes a horror film while the deliberate disregard of continuity has a deeply unsettling effect.

 

Both of the film’s leads rise to the challenge of navigating viewers through the film’s ambiguities. Much as she did in season 4 of Fargo, the Irish Buckley boasts an impeccable American accent, and her increasingly skeptical inner monologue makes her an effective audience surrogate. The seemingly placid Plemons offers moments of bashful hurt and verge-of-snapping rage while a chameleon-like Toni Collette plays his mom as kind-hearted though a bit ditzy. Opposite her, David Thewlis is equally benevolently awkward/oblivious though his English accent seems out of place for a midwestern farmer.

 

Though less self-indulgent than Kaufman’s opus Synecdoche, New York, I’m Thinking of Ending Things is a challenging and divisive film that will likely leave you feeling cold by the end. However, the strange detours it takes to reach that point may make it worth your while.

Spider-Man: No Way Home

 

After being framed for murder and outed as Spider-Man, Peter Parker (Tom Holland) sees his life turned upside down. While attorney Matt Murdock (Charlie Cox) is able to get him out of legal trouble, he, his Aunt May (Marissa Tomei), his girlfriend MJ (Zendaya), and his best friend Ned (Jacob Batalon) are all hounded by negative publicity. This prompts Peter to ask sorcerer Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) to wipe knowledge of Spider-Man’s identity from the public consciousness. However, Strange’s spell goes haywire, bringing in villains faced by other Spider-Men in other realities. Strange is adamant that they must be sent back to where they came from even if it means they will die fighting their respective Spider-Men, but Peter believes he can save them, a noble stance with a dangerously high price to pay if he is wrong.

 

The third film in the most recent Spider-Man trilogy (a Sony-Marvel collaboration) is somehow both its most ambitious and its most essential. The previous two outings (2017’s Homecoming and 2019’s Far From Home) were entertaining and energetic, but they also had to contend with fitting Spider-Man into the larger Marvel Cinematic Universe, and Tony Stark in particular cast a long shadow over the proceedings. Holland did an admirable job under the circumstances, but his designation as “kid in over his head” definitely constrained the character. Though the creative team (director Jon Watts and writers Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers) returns for this outing, they are finally letting Peter grow up. The stakes – both personal and universal – are higher this time around, and the film is able to pull off darker and weightier turns without sacrificing its sense of hope or humor.

 

Watt’s direction is slick and fluid though it lacks a discernable “wow” factor. Fortunately, it doesn’t have to do much heavy lifting here given the charismatic cast. Holland gives perhaps the best live-action Spider-Man performance to date, imbuing Peter with everything from anxiety to optimism to conviction to cold vengeance as the story unfolds. MJ and Ned remain as snarky and as loyal as ever, but their characters take on more sincere and conflicted shading. While rival Flash Thompson (Tony Revolori) remains a sitcomesque nemesis, May is finally, after two films of being diminished and objectified, given more focus here, and Tomei steps up by capturing the character’s protectiveness and morality.

 

These performances are matched by a cadre of returning villains (and Cumberbatch, who plays Strange as exasperated and begrudgingly helpful) from previous Spider-Man film series. Some, such as Flint Marko/Sandman (Thomas Haden Church) and Dr. Curt Connors/The Lizard (Rhys Ifans), are given little to work with, a causality of the film’s inflated character count. On the other hand, Jamie Foxx is able to play Max Dillon/Electro as something closer to himself in both appearance and temperament (compared to his maligned blue-hued turn in The Amazing Spider-Man 2), and a digitally de-aged Alfred Malina effortlessly slips back into Otto Octavious/Dr. Octopus. The real standout, however, is Willem Dafoe as Norman Osborn/Green Goblin. Here, the personality split between the two is more pronounced than it was in the character’s debut twenty-plus years ago. As Norman, Dafoe is confused and regretful, a sympathetic, mentally disturbed inventor. As the Goblin, his nefariousness is cranked up well past his hammy initial portrayal to Joker-esque levels of sadism. Dafoe puts his famously expressive face to good use here sans mask, and though he too gets the digital de-aging treatment, the sixty-something actor impressively did much of his own stunt and combat work, establishing the Goblin as both a physical and psychological threat.

 

Part of Spider-Man’s appeal as a character has always been his flawed relatability, and Peter’s early-film woes (social media harassment and college admissions anxiety) will feel recognizable to many. Another part comes from his sense of duty no matter how many times he gets put through the ringer, and the film does not shy away from seeing if there is a breaking point. At times, No Way Home can feel like too much – a superfluous character, a shoehorned in line of fan-pleasing dialogue, an awkward conversation that goes on too long – but its winning performances and deft balance of humor, action, and tragedy make it among the best cinematic Spider-Man stories ever told.

Dopesick

 

In the 1990s, Purdue Pharma executive Richard Sackler (Michael Stuhlbarg) aggressively pushes OxyContin as a miracle pain management cure, seeking to downplay or bury reports of its addictive properties. Salesman Billy Cutler (Will Poulter) is at first enthusiastic about marketing Purdue to doctors, but he has second thoughts when higher and higher doses are recommended. One of Billy’s clients, rural Virginia doctor Samuel Finnix (Michael Keaton) experiences a similar disillusionment, especially after he begins taking OxyContin himself. Meanwhile, deputy U.S. Attorneys Rick Mountcastle (Peter Sarsgaard) and Randy Ramseyer (John Hoogenakker) begin investigating Purdue Pharma as does DEA official Bridget Meyer (Rosario Dawson).

 

Beth Macy’s comprehensive exploration of America’s opioid crisis would have made for a fine docuseries. Instead, Danny Strong adapted it as a dramatic miniseries. It’s a dumbed-down distillation with an overly narrow focus even if it does touch on relevant themes and offer potent performances.

 

One of the more salient features of Macy’s book is showing how addiction cuts across race, class, and geographic lines. While the miniseries acknowledges the opioid crisis’s national scope, the characters shown affected by it are largely Appalachian whites. Similarly, the book pointed to plenty of bad actors, unscrupulous Purdue Pharma among them. Here, the “get Purdue” focus obscures the involvement of others.

 

This simplification of a complex issue may make for more manageable storytelling, but it also leads to predictability and one-note characterization. Stuhlbarg plays Richard Sackler as a black hole of amoral greed, and both Poulter (wide-eyed go-getter who develops a conscience) and Dawson (dogged agent whose devotion affects her personal life) play composite characters who function less as people and more as types. Keaton’s Finnix (another composite) acquits himself better. Rather that simply playing the doc as a naïve-but-well-intentioned man led astray, he’s shown as angry and desperate before committing himself to helping others as best he can. The best performance, however, belongs to Kaitlyn Dever as Betsy Mallum, one of Finnix’s Oxy-prescribed patients. The queer daughter of conservative churchgoers who works a dangerous mining job while battling chronic pain, she inspires empathy even at her worst.

 

While Dopesick’s narrative choices are frustrating, it still brings gravity and attention to a worthwhile issue, and if it inspires viewers to read Macy’s more informative telling, all the better.

Bamboo Grille

 

Located at 112 East Parris Avenue in High Point, Bamboo Grille offers Chinese and Japanese cuisine. The restaurant is open for lunch and dinner every day except Tuesday. Online ordering is available via QMenu.

 

In the works for quite some time, Bamboo Grille’s High Point location recently opened to enthusiastic reviews from the local Facebook contingent. The photos accompanying said reviews were perplexing to say the least as they suggested standard Americanized Chinese takeout fare. Of course, food can often taste much better than it looks. Sadly, however, that was not the case here.

 

Bamboo Grille boasts a large menu featuring most of the classic takeout staples: apps, soups, lo mein, fried rice, and so on (but sadly no cold sesame noodles). The restaurant also offers hibachi/teriyaki dishes and a sushi menu, albeit with no surprises among either the Chinese or Japanese offerings.

 

I stuck to the Chinese side for my first order. Anticipating several meals’ worth of leftovers for the two of us, I went with crab rangoons, wonton soup, mapo tofu with beef lo mein in place of rice, honey chicken, and house special fried rice for takeout. Prices are a bit higher here relative to other takeout places, but you get plenty of food for your money.

 

Pickup went without a hitch – everything was ready to go and still hot when I got there – but the food was largely a disappointment. Much of it was bland, and even the advertised-as-spicy mapo tofu brought little heat. Textures were another issue: the rangoons were thick and doughy and the fried rice was slightly mushy with large chunks of meat. The one standout dish was the least authentic of the lot. Reminiscent of a chicken donut, the honey chicken was addictively good.

 

That dish aside, Bamboo Grille offers nothing that can’t be found better elsewhere. Unless the kitchen steps up its game, this place is a one-and-done for me.

Eternals

 

Thousands of years ago, the god-like Celestial Arishem (voiced by David Kaye) sent the super-powered Eternals to earth to wipe out the predatory Deviants and watch over humanity without interfering in human affairs. Over the years, the Eternals drifted apart, but a new Deviant threat has caused former lovers Sersi (Gemma Chan) and Ikaris (Richard Madden) along with the perpetually pubescent Sprite (Lia McHugh) to reunite. Together, they seek out the others despite debates over their mission and purpose that divided them years ago.

 

The newest entry in the Marvel Cinematic Universe is one of its riskiest ventures, but not for the reasons you might think. In comic book lore, the Eternals were born from Jack Kirby’s desire to keep exploring mythological epics. He created what amounted to bootleg versions of the Greek Pantheon rebranded as an alien race that inspired the myths, a nonsensical proposition given that the “actual” Pantheon existed in Marvel’s world as well. Even after attempts at streamlining and modernization by Neil Gaiman and others, the team seemed an unlikely candidate for the big screen and an even unlikelier film for director/writer Chloe Zhao, best known for more low-key, personal, naturalistic fare. Then again, these same criticisms could have been levied against Guardians of the Galaxy – obscure characters and idiosyncratic director – and that proved to be one of Marvel’s biggest successes. This was not the risk, nor was it the film’s inclusion of deaf and gay heroes: Marvel has not exactly been a stranger to diversity. Rather, the gamble here was in trying to make a film that is the inverse of everything in its shared universe yet still fits within it.

 

Marvel movies are often derided by critics for being predictable entertainment. This falsely presumes a homogeneity and shallowness that several films within the oeuvre can easily challenge, but let’s take the criticism at face value for now. Its antithesis, therefore, would be a provocative slog, and that is largely what the Eternals amounts to, something that would be considerably more forgivable were not the writing so poor.

 

To the film’s credit, Eternals boasts visual panache and handsome production design. While some of the cosmic visuals are goofy and the rendering of Deviants as generic monsters disappointing, the film makes good use of its globe-spanning settings, depicting everything from ancient Babylon to the contemporary Amazon. Ramin Djawadi’s score isn’t terribly memorable, but it’s certainly not a liability here.

 

Beyond that, Eternals at least grasps – even if it doesn’t always hit – at a number of weighty issues. The film’s central conflict is a familiar one of ends vs. means, but there are a number of other ideas raised and grappled with. The engineer/inventor Phastos (Brian Tyree Henry) is confronted with the horrors of the technological progress that he enabled while Sprite’s angst at not being able to age and being stuck in a body that doesn’t suit her can be read as a trans allegory.

 

However, these virtues come at a considerable cost. The film is slow and poorly paced, bloated with an excess of exposition early on and marred by a nonsensical conclusion that allows for previously unexplained abilities to manifest as the plot demands. Along the way, there isn’t much characterization to speak of. Chan has plenty of screen time, but her character feels underwritten, especially outside the context of her past (Ikaris) and present (work colleague Dane Whitman, played by Kit Harrington) relationships, a sharp contrast to the extrovert of the source material. The talents of big-name stars Salma Hayak and Angelina Jolie are largely squandered as their characters, the thoughtful leader Ajak and the fearsome but damaged warrior Thena, simply aren’t given much to do. Druig, a cunning manipulator in the comics, is toned down and played by a miscast Barry Keoghan as a petulant cynic. Kumail Nanjiani’s Kingo, who has used his agelessness to start a successful Bollywood dynasty, has a few amusing moments, but the film goes out of its way to treat him and his valet Karun (Harish Patel) as designated comic relief, cheapening the performance. Even Madden, who delivers one of the better performances as an anguished and detached quasi-Superman, is undermined by his character’s predictable trajectory.

 

While not a failure on all fronts, Eternals is a disappointment. In a way, it is more of a DCEU film than an MCU one, sacrificing pacing and character development at the altar of stylish myth-making.

Woke Up This Morning: A Definitive History of The Sopranos

 

In this season-by-season behind-the-scenes account, Sopranos actors and Talking Sopranos podcast hosts Michael Imperioli and Steve Schirripa compile a collection of interviews with the actors, crew members, and creators who made the show one of television’s greatest successes.

 

Woke Up This Morning might be more accurately titled Talking Sopranos: The Book for it distills and rehashes the podcast’s anecdotes. For those who never listened to the podcast, you get (most of) the best of it without Michael and Steve’s bickering, inane tangents, and product shilling, and there are definitely some amusing and eye-opening insights regarding casting decisions, creative inspirations and influences, and near disasters. However, those who have been keeping up with the podcast will likely be let down, especially in light of the hosts’ claim that the book contains never previously revealed material. Like Chrissy pushing Webistics, their hype for this book isn’t exactly on the level.

Kernersville Bagel

 

Located at 931F South Main Street in Kernersville, Kernersville Bagel serves up bagels, bagel sandwiches, coffee, and desserts. It is open from 6 a.m. to 3 p.m. daily.

 

The sister store to Greensboro’s venerable New Garden Bagels, Kernersville Bagel upholds the same high standards…and offers more seating. My wife and I went during opening weekend expecting to find the selection picked over, but we were pleasantly surprised to encounter plenty of availability. On a good day, expect to find a dozen or so varieties with plenty of spreads to go with them. While business was brisk this Saturday morning, the hard-working staff was hustling and able to keep pace.

 

We ordered a pair of bagel sandwiches to eat in and a half-dozen bagels to go. The Taylor ham/egg/cheese combo, a New Jersey staple, is done justice here. As with the New Garden store, the bagels offered at Kernersville Bagel are some of the best in the Triad. Transplanted Yankees (especially fellow members of the tribe) will feel right at home here (grab a black and white cookie to round out the experience) while Southerners may find themselves culinarily converted. Only bad luck (i.e. they run out of your favorite type of bagel) can let you down here: the bagels certainly won’t.

Earl's

 

Located at 121 West 9^th Street in Winston-Salem, Earl’s offers Nashville-inspired cuisine for lunch and dinner. The establishment is open from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. daily with dinner entrees available after 4 p.m. and brunch on weekends. There is a full bar, outdoor seating is available, and live music (country) plays on Friday and Saturday nights.

 

A whiskey kitchen is becoming de rigueur for North Carolina cities of a certain size, and Earl’s is Winston-Salem’s take on the concept. While it can’t hold a candle to either 913 in Greensboro or Whiskey Kitchen in Raleigh, it fares well enough on its own merits.

 

Conveniently located near Wise Man and Radar breweries and the Ramkat, Earl’s is spacious and comfortable. Though I’m definitely not a country music fan, “What am I doing here?” never entered my mind.

 

Earl’s specializes in chicken, but the menu offers everything from burgers, sandwiches, and salads to meatloaf to tomato pie. For our first visit, my wife and I opted for a fried pickles starter, a Winston Hot Chicken sandwich, and chicken and dumplings. While the app arrived relatively quickly, we faced a considerably longer wait for the entrees. Granted, fried chicken takes time, but the kitchen’s pace could best be described as leisurely. However, Portia, our server, was warm and friendly and did a great job.

 

When it did arrive, the food was more satisfying than not. The fried pickles were a definite hit. They do them as chips rather than spears here. They were very thin, very crisp, and packed a good bit of dill flavor. The accompanying ranch tasted homemade. That same crispiness extended to the tots and the chicken sandwich as well. The latter packed a welcome kick from the dry rub, and creamy slaw in the sandwich was a nice touch. That said, I found myself missing the sauciness of a “Nashville Hot,” and this did not feel like $14 worth of sandwich. At least it was easy to eat. The chicken and dumplings, on the other hand, were worth the $16 charged and then some. The gravy was rich and herby, savory without being too salty. The dumplings were delectable, and chicken is a house specialty here for a reason.

 

Overall, Earl’s falls short of great (except for, perhaps, in chicken), and the kitchen is slow, but it offers good service, solidly tasty food, and an inviting atmosphere.

Lost Judgment

 

In Yokohama, firefighters stumble across the body of Hiro Mikoshiba, a student teacher who had recently disappeared. One person who seems all too happy to see Mikoshiba dead is Tokyo police officer Akhiro Ehara, who blames Mikoshiba’s bullying for driving his son to commit suicide. Ehara, however, has a seemingly airtight alibi: at the time of Mikoshiba’s murder, he was caught groping a woman on a train, a crime for which he now stands trial. Suspicious, his legal team at Genda Law reaches out to their former colleague, lawyer-turned-detective Takayuka Yagami, to find out what really happened. Yagami and his partner Kaito head to Yokohama, reunite with friends Tsukumo and Sugiura, and begin to investigate the elite Seiryo High School in hopes of learning the truth. But as their investigation draws the attention of everyone from police to local gangs, it’s clear that someone doesn’t want that truth getting out.

 

The sequel to Sega’s 2018 Yakuza spinoff Judgment, Lost Judgment again offers a change-of-pace set in a familiar world. This time, however, that change goes beyond merely playing as a character on the (mostly) right side of the law. While the main Yakuza series has shifted to a turn-based RPG, Lost Judgment retains the classic brawling combat. It’s actually even deeper and more fluid here thanks to the new parry-and-counter oriented Snake style, one of several welcome additions. And yet to call Lost Judgment a superior sequel would overlook more than a few blemishes.

 

For all of their melodrama, machismo, and zany moments, Yakuza games have never shied away from tackling serious issues. Previous entries tackled mistreatment of the homeless, police and political corruption, immigrant exploitation, and the devastating effects of Alzheimer’s. Here, bullying, suicide, and sexual harassment take center stage. The first two are handled well, showing the impact of pushing teens to the brink, while the game’s approach to the third can best be described as tone-deaf. Another story-related concern: whereas Yagami had a personal stake in the events of the first Judgment, here he seems to be along for the ride. Yes, the case tests his commitment to his notion of justice, but it doesn’t hit the same way.

 

Gameplay is similarly hit-or-miss. Combat, as mentioned, remains a highlight, but for those not looking to fight the ubiquitous thugs that roam the city streets, Lost Judgment gives you the option of skateboarding right past them. The game’s investigation tools are deeper too, offering you not only the ability to look for clues but also, in certain circumstances, to sniff them out using a canine assistant. Less enjoyable is the new parkour (that utilizes a grip meter that depletes over time) and stealth (repetitive: move to a spot, throw a coin to distract, move to the next) mechanics. At least the game’s side content remains varied and mostly fun. Yagami gets to act as an advisor for various Seiryo High clubs, giving him a chance to do everything from dance to box to skateboard. The robotics club matches – picture robot Tetris with weapons and awkward controls – are a frustrating exception.

 

With Yakuza series creator Toshihiro Nagoshi having moved on and Sega locked in a dispute with representatives for Takuya Kimura (Yagami’s character model and Japanese voice actor – Greg Chun delivers the English performance), Lost Judgment may be the last game of its kind. That’s a shame both because Yagami and the game’s combat will be missed and because while Lost Judgment is hardly a failure by any means, the side series deserves a stronger send-off.

Dune: Part One

 

On the desert planet Arrakis, amid huge sandworms and hostile Fremen tribesmen, lies the spice mélange, a valuable substance that fuels interstellar travel. Emperor Corrino has transferred governorship of the planet from cruel and oppressive House Harkonnen to noble House Atreides, a gesture more trap than gift. Nevertheless, Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaac) seeks to secure his position by allying with the Fremen. Meanwhile, his partner Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) has been training their son Paul (Timothee Chalemet) in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, the powerful and secretive order to which they belong. Paul has been haunted by vivid dreams of a Fremen girl and armies killing in his name. One way or another, the house will meet its fate in the desert.

 

Frank Herbert’s iconic sci-fi novel is no stranger to the screen, having birthed a bizarre proposed 1970s adaptation by Alejandro Jodorowsky, a bizarre and offputting realized 1980s adaptation by David Lynch, and a less bizarre but more forgettable television miniseries in 2000. Denis Villenueve’s 2021 epic, which spans the book’s first half (a sequel is in the works), is by far the most successful of the lot. A faithful adaptation that distills when it needs to, Dune is crafted with vision and care. It is exciting and atmospheric enough to draw in even those that haven’t read the book, yet its latter-half pacing may test the audience’s patience.

 

As with Blade Runner 2049, Villenueve shows a knack for capturing the essence of what came before while still leaving his own stamp. Dune doesn’t skimp on the visual spectacle, offering everything from the endless sands (and terrifyingly huge sandworms) of Arrakis to the dark, cold hellishness of Harkonnen homeworld Giedi Prime and all shades in between. A pivitol battle, downplayed in previous adaptations, is given the full battle scene treatment here. A Hans Zimmer score, one of his best in recent years, accentuates the majesty and tension.

 

The actors generally do commendable work though several casting and character decisions don’t sit quite right. Among those that do work are Isaac, Ferguson (especially), and Chalomet (as with previous Pauls, he’s older than the character, but he pulls it off). Skellan Skarsgard’s take on the evil Baron Harkonnen is appreciably toned down. He’s still sinister and dangerous, but he’s not over-the-top. On the other hand, the Baron’s advisor Piter (David Dastmalchian) loses the source material’s twisted personality, much like Atreides weaponsmaster Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin) loses his musician side (the gruff warrior shtick calls to mind Brolin’s Deadpool 2 performance, but that was played for humor). Duncan Idaho is given an expanded role relative to previous adaptations, and while Jason Momoa is a fairly limited actor, he at least has the combat prowess down. Javier Bardem, on the other hand, is anything but limited, yet he feels slightly miscast here. The sequel will tell how Zendaya fares as Chani since her role here is small.

 

Despite a robust beginning, Dune lags about half to two-third of the way in. Paul and Jessica spend what seems like a long time wandering the desert, an indulgent choice on Villenueve’s part. Pacing recovers well enough toward the end to set up the film’s next installment, but Dune would have lost little were it fifteen minutes short.

 

For sci-fi fans and those who enjoyed the novel, Dune is a must: a grand spectacle that consistently impresses. For everyone else, the pull may not be quite as strong, but there’s still more engagement than slog.

Sopranos Review Round-Up: The Many Saints of Newark, Talking Sopranos, and Off the Back of a Truck

 I was a teenager in New Jersey when The Sopranos revolutionized television drama during its original run. I didn’t fully grasp the intricacies of what I was watching – that would come later – but there was something relatable beyond the adjacency of the setting. Most of the show’s main characters were of my parents’ generation rather than my own, but their children, Meadow and A.J., embodied many of the seeming contradictions Millennials faced: well-provided for yet ill-prepared to deal with the world, pushed to avoid repeating the mistakes made by their parents yet resented for not being more like those parents, offered both possibilities and a relentless pressure to fulfill them.

 

Since the last episode aired in 2007, The Sopranos has been analyzed, dissected, lauded, scorned, queried, referenced, revered, parodied, and dismissed more times than I care to count. As influential as it has been, that much is to be expected. Less anticipated, however, has been its renaissance. It has been a streaming favorite amid the pandemic, particularly – and perplexingly – among those too young to have seen it the first time it aired. Then again, given how well Tony’s “I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end” speaks to contemporary concerns, perhaps that is not perplexing after all.

 

Amid this resurgence, several cast members launched podcasts, several books were written and released, and the seeming mirage of a prequel movie actually became a reality. These media run the gamut from the virtuosity of Uncle Junior belting out “Core ‘ngrato” to the ineptitude of Vito’s attempt at honest carpentry, but even at their lowest points, they are at least fascinations for Sopranos fans.

 

The Many Saints of Newark

 

In 1967, New Jersey mob soldier Richard “Dickie” Moltisanti (Alessandro Nivola) serves as a mentor to his young nephew, Tony Soprano (William Ludwig), especially after Tony’s father Johnny (Jon Bernthal) is sent to prison. Four years later, Johnny is released, Dickie and Joanne are parents to a young son, Christopher, and Tony (Michael Gandolfini) is an intelligent but trouble-prone teen concerned about his depressed mother Livia (Vera Farmiga). Meanwhile, Harold (Leslie Odom Jr.), one of Dickie’s former number runners, has come back to form a Black syndicate to wrest control from the Italians. While Dickie’s uncle Sally (Ray Liotta) encourages him to stay out of Tony’s life to avoid corrupting him, it may be too late for either of them.

 

Ever since the cut-to-black ending of The Sopranos final scene, demand has run high for some kind of follow-up. Series creator David Chase’s reluctance and series star James Gandolfini’s 2013 death made a continuation impossible, but it didn’t preclude a prequel. To a certain extent, The Many Saints of Newark delivers, showing younger versions of many of the series regulars and at least hinting at what led them to where they are when we first met them in 1998. But amid the copious amounts of fan service lurks another, arguably more interesting movie that looks at the 1967 Newark riots and their impact on the status quo via the lens of organized crime. The extent to which these two aims interrupt rather than complement one another speaks to an identity crisis that keeps The Many Saints from reaching its full potential though there are still moments in which it shines.

 

If nothing else, The Many Saints excels as a period piece, capturing the 1960s and 1970s with Scorsese-like detail. Chase (who co-wrote with Larry Konner while Alan Taylor directed) has always been something of an obsessive music fan, and it shows here. While his selections fit the mood (or, in one case, hilariously and darkly subvert it), they are so omnipresent during the film’s first half hour or so that The Many Saints plays like an awkward musical. This, coupled with some questionable writing, lends credence to the idea that Chase’s biggest creative contributions to The Sopranos were as a big-picture conceptualist while a lot of the episode-to-episode brilliance came from the likes of Terence Winter and others. At the very least, Taylor’s direction is sharp and assertive. This is a stylishly violent movie though not (again, save for the case previously alluded to) cartoonishly so.

 

Even with the dedication to fan service as something of an impediment, some of the cast members do an excellent job. Nivola has the luxury of playing someone long dead when the series began, and so he has more freedom to define who Dickie Molitisanti was. We see in him many shades of Christopher, a series regular (who narrates the film from beyond the grave – a cheap gimmick that Michael Imperioli nevertheless salvages). Dickie is violent and jealous and impulsive but also aware that there is more to life than being a wiseguy and is driven to achieve it. Harold, who morphs from ally to enemy, is in many ways his mirror image: a criminal who experiences a social awakening of sorts and decides to take his shot. Given the paucity of Black characters in the original series, his deuteragonist role (until that spot is usurped by Tony) is a welcome addition.

 

Among those in the “younger versions of established characters” camp, Farmiga and Corey Stoll (Tony’s conniving Uncle Junior) had some of the biggest shoes to fill (Nancy Marchand and Dominic Chianese, respectively) yet did some of the best work here. Farmiga’s Livia is still brimming with toxic negativity, yet she is not the monster she will become by the time of Marchand’s portrayal. Farmiga humanizes her enough to offer some semblance of hope for redemption even though we know it is not meant to be. For his part, Stoll nails Junior’s pettiness, irritiablity, and sense of his own importance as well as his look and mannerisms. It’s a shame that a character with some of the best dialogue in the original series is reduced to a series of catchphrases (even if the infamous “varsity athlete” line was laugh out loud funny), but that’s no fault of the actor.

 

Of course, Michael Gandolfini taking over for his late father had arguably the biggest shoes to fill of all, but to everyone’s collective relief, Tony isn’t the main character here. Gandolfini the younger did a commendable job embodying younger Tony even if he’s slightly too old for the role. Then again, this is far from the movie’s only transgression against the established timeline. In the original series, Silvio Dante (Steven Van Zandt), Tony’s longtime friend and consiglieri, is implied to be a peer no more than a few years older. Here, the 1960s/70s version is played by a 30-something John Magaro with a combover, and he calls Tony “kid.” That Magaro is doing a caricature of a mobster caricature doesn’t help matters. Liotta very nearly falls into this category of distractingly bad as well. As Dickie’s abusive jerk of a father, Aldo, he’s one-note detestable, turning in a lazy performance full of superficial bluster. But then he also plays Sally, who is both quirkier (he’s a Miles Davis fan) and more contemplative, showing that maybe Liotta wasn’t just going through the motions for a paycheck after all.

 

The Many Saints of Newark ends in a way that brings everything full circle while still leaving questions unanswered. Chase, ever the pessimist, shows children fighting to avoid becoming their parents and failing, and that, coupled with the change in setting and exploration, however brief, of social context, lends at least some substance to what is otherwise an awkwardly nostalgia-heavy affair. Fans of the series will likely find The Many Saints worse than the weakest of the show’s episodes, and yet, as a side story/supplement, it’s oddly indispensable.

 

Talking Sopranos

 

One of several Sopranos podcasts to emerge during the past few years, Talking Sopranos is hosted by series regulars Michael Imperioli and Steve Schirripa, who interview crew, fellow cast members, and others while providing recaps of every episode.

 

At the heart of Talking Sopranos is a great joke albeit one that wears thin quickly: Michael and Steve are the complete opposites of their characters…and each other. While Christopher Moltisanti was an impulsively violent failed writer frustrated about his place in the world, Imperioli is an accomplished writer and actor with an intellectual’s low-key bearing. And while Bobby Baccala was the sensitive butt of many jokes (at least until his latter-season rank up), Schirripa is the quintessential abrasive New York loudmouth. The two needle each other endlessly, which is amusing to a point, but they (or, more accurately, Steve) have an annoying tendency to lose the thread. For every insightful and amusing guest interview, there are those marred by rote questions and unwarranted interruptions. The episode analysis fares no better, often spiraling into pointless segues. Admittedly, some of the show biz anecdotes shared are gold, but even at their best, they stretch out each episode’s run time to a frustrating degree.

 

I have invested enough time in Talking Sopranos to see it through to the end, and for the patient, it does offer occasional rewards, but you should think twice before taking the plunge.

 

Off The Back of a Truck: Unofficial Contraband for the Sopranos Fan

 

While other Sopranos books focus their energies on episode analysis and behind-the-scenes trivia, Nick Braccia’s 2020 offering carves out a unique niche by trafficking in Sopranos-adjacent lore. It discusses the cultural context (crimes, food, music, and fashion) that informed the show as well as its big and small screen antecedents (I credit it for getting me interested in the first season of Wiseguy) while also exploring The Sopranos’s subsequent impact. There are favorite episode run-downs here too, as well as series death rankings, and while some of the picks are debatable, even the worst is more thoughtful and informed than the typical vapid top-ten clickbait cluttering the Internet. Some Sopranos fans may find the amount of “side content” distracting and tedious, but for those who have already heard the behind-the-scenes stories, it is precisely this unique focus that gives Off the Back of a Truck value. Credit Braccia for going where other books won’t.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

 

A thousand years ago, Wenwu (Tony Leung) discovered mystical rings that gave him power and longevity. Raising a personal army (The Ten Rings) named for the artifact, he became a conqueror who toppled governments throughout history. Still hungry for more, Wenwu set out to discover the mythical village of Ta Lo. However, the would-be conqueror was bested in combat by the village’s guardian, Ying Li (Fala Chen), who became his wife. Years later, tragedy led Wenwu to resume his martial ways, training his son, Shang-Chi as an assassin. After fleeing his father, Shang-Chi (Simu Liu) is living in San Francisco as the unassuming valet “Shaun.” When his father’s minions seek him out, Shang-Chi and his friend Katy (Awkwafina) travel to warn Xialing (Meng’er Zhang), Shang-Chi’s sister who has not forgiven her brother for running away and abandoning her.

 

Freed from the burden of widespread recognition and the expectations it conveys, Marvel Studios has often found success adapting some of the lesser-known characters from comics lore. Shang-Chi certainly fits the bill. He’s been around for nearly fifty years, but in a universe filled with mutants, super soldiers, cosmic-powered captains, and Norse gods, “elite martial artist” tends to get lost in the shuffle. To a lesser extent, that’s true of this film as well. This is as much the story of Wenwu (a version of the Iron Man villain The Mandarin) as it is of Shang-Chi, and both are competing with mythical elements for screen time as well. Yet despite this and a few questionable creative decisions, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is an exciting, visually adroit film that is still has enough sincerity to tackle issues of family, legacy, and identity.

 

Much was made of Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings being Marvel’s first Asian/Asian-American-led production and the breadth of representation that it represented. In a meta-sense, at least, it succeeded, showing that a director (Destin Daniel Cretton) known for smaller-scale dramas and a Hong Kong-based actor (Leung) known for playing romantic leads could pull off a superhero blockbuster with aplomb. Wenwu is significantly toned down from his comic book inspiration (who wore a ring with a different power on each finger instead of energy-projecting wristbands), yet Leung’s take – charismatic, sentimental, yet absolutely brutal when he needs to be – is refreshingly complex. Meanwhile, many of Cretton’s action set pieces are well-crafted homages. Shang-Chi battling Ten Rings thugs aboard a moving bus calls to mind Jackie Chan’s violent slapstick while Ying Li and Wenwu’s introductory fight references classic wuxia battles.

 

As mentioned, Liu is sometimes overshadowed despite occupying the title role, but that may be a testament to Leung rather than a failing on his part. If nothing else, his training for the role is evident. As Katy, Awkwafina is grating at times, but she does provide an audience surrogate of sorts, and she deftly avoids “token love interest” trappings. Michelle Yeoh – unsurprisingly – elevates her relatively small part. The film even manages to bring back Ben Kingsley as Trevor Slattery, the loony drunken actor who impersonated the Mandarin in Iron Man 3. He provides comic relief while also rectifying one of the previous film’s major problems (reducing the character to a smokescreen for an undeserving white terrorist).

 

That being said, the film hits a major snag when the action shifts to Ta Lo, the kind of place where all myths are true. This isn’t the first time that Marvel has utilized a mystical Asian setting (see Kamar-Taj and K’un-L’un), and the studio previously took heat for having done so. And yet, despite that prior criticism of stereotyping and appropriation, when we finally see a rendition of such a place from an Asian creator, it contains the very things – dragons, a grumpy old mentor, etc. – that sparked those earlier critiques. Couple that with a pseudo-genre shift, and the last third is narratively the film’s weak point even though it is beautifully rendered.

 

Overall, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings brings vitality, verve, and a sense of possibility to the superhero origin story despite its faults.

La Sinaloense Birrieria

 

This Greensboro-based food trailer can often be found making the rounds in High Point and Kernersville (I've caught them at Cork and Grind a few times) as well. If you don't eat beef, you won't find anything here. But for those who do, prepare to be blown away.

Birria, for the uninitiated, is a savory dipping broth, and La Sinaloense Birrieria serves it alongside brisket tacos (with or without cheese) and tortas (on ciabatta bread) though you can get just the tacos or just the broth if you prefer. Everything comes with lime, cilantro, onions, and red and green sauces (both very spicy).

The food is excellent. The meat is very tender, the thick homemade tortillas are the best I've had since Los Gordos closed up shop a few years back, and the broth adds a comforting richness. You'd expect it to be overly salty, but it isn't. It is, however, addictive enough to devour just on its own.

Combos (one to three tacos plus broth) run in the $11-$14 range depending on your selections, and you can add extras a la carte. The proprietor is outgoing and friendly and truly seems to love what he does.

Quesobirria tacos may not be for everyone, but if you can get behind the idea of Mexican-style pot roast done to perfection, this is it.

Harbor One

 

Located at 788 N. Main Street in High Point, Harbor One offers fried seafood and more. It is open from 11-9 on Thursdays and Fridays (with speedy lunch specials available from 11-2), 3-9 on Saturdays, and 12-6 on Sundays (when a special soul food menu is featured). Outdoor dining is available.

 

Enticed by Facebook photos of their shrimp and grits, I had Harbor One on my to-try list for quite a while before finally paying them a visit. Unfortunately, the shrimp and grits were a Friday/Saturday only item, and my wife and I stopped by on a Thursday. Fortunately, it was far from a disappointing experience.

Harbor One is a small, unpretentious (think Styrofoam containers and plasticware) place with an equally small menu, but this belies how good the food truly is. While the Sunday selections add soul food staples such as smoked ribs, mac and cheese, and yams, the weekday offerings are mostly fried fish/seafood platters or sandwiches as well as wings and a few apps/sides. Wanting to try a little bit of everything, my wife and I split an Ultimate Feast and added zucchini fries.

 

The platter certainly lived up to its name as it included croaker, whiting, popcorn shrimp, jumbo shrimp, oysters, baked beans, fries, slaw, and a few hushpuppies. We were able to get four fairly filling meals out of it, and it offered quality as well as quantity. The hushpuppies are addictive and will leave you craving more. The tender oysters are the antithesis of every tough and chewy fried oyster or clam strip you’ve ever regretted and may even make converts of shellfish skeptics. The chip-style zucchini fries are housemade and generously breaded. Even the crinkle-cut fries (in most cases, a frozen product) were surprisingly tasty and well-seasoned. While croaker is something I might steer clear of in the future (lots and lots of bones), it too had a nice black pepper flavor.

 

The price paid for the feast ($24) was a steal given the quantity and quality, and the proprietor was friendly and welcoming.

 

Call it the paradox of success, but Harbor One does what it does so well that it can’t help but leave you wanting more (more days open, more sure-to-be delicious menu offerings, etc.). In the meantime, take what you can get: you’ll be happy with it.

The Suicide Squad

 

In the South American island nation of Corto Maltese, a new anti-American regime has overthrown the government, gaining access to a weapon of extraterrestrial origin. Intelligence director Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) dispatches Task Force X to infiltrate the country and destroy the research lab housing the weapon. The squad is made up of incarcerated villains with unique abilities who will receive time off their sentences…if they survive.

 

Writer-director James Gunn’s follow-up to David Ayers’ 2016 Suicide Squad is a bigger, brasher, brighter affair. Though it retains a similar irreverence, it benefits from improved plotting and pacing, Gunn’s singular vision, and energy to spare. That vision – gory slapstick with a heart – has admittedly limited appeal, but anyone who found Guardians of the Galaxy’s motley mix of bizarre misfits endearing will likely have a similar reaction.

 

Though The Suicide Squad boasts a huge cast, many appearances are brief: the film lives up to its name, after all. Among those we spend the most time with are returnees Waller, team leader Col. Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), and Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie) as well as newcomers Bloodsport (Idris Elba), Peacemaker (John Cena), King Shark (voiced by Sylvester Stallone), Ratcatcher II (Daniela Melchior), and Polka Dot Man (David Dastmalchian). Waller remains the world’s scariest bureaucrat (kudos to Davis for bringing unparalleled ruthlessness and an epicly frosty glare), and Kinnaman as the straightlaced Flag is less wooden this time around. Harley’s arc and importance to the film both seem smaller, but a la Hugh Jackman and Wolverine, this is a character that Robbie owns even when the material isn’t up to her level. Bloodsport was originally meant to be Will Smith’s assassin character Deadshot, and while the two characters are superficially similar (lethal Black marksmen who are also fathers), Elba made the role his own. He functions as an audience quasi-surrogate, a competent professional surrounded by oddballs and (seeming) losers. As Peacemaker, John Cena is his perfect foil. Like Marvel’s U.S. Agent, it’s a “Captain America as jingoistic jerk” role, with Cena’s hyperconfidence distracting everyone from the stupidity of his costume (which is still the butt of at least one joke). King Shark replaces Killer Croc as the team’s comic relief monster, but he’s given both more personality (awkward and friendless) and more dialogue. A bipedal, socially unaware shark that sounds like Rocky doing Hulk-speak makes for a hilarious choice. Ratcatcher II, daughter of the first, is an original creation, a largely good-natured young woman who can control a legion of rodents. Given that Gunn chose to make the Ratcatchers sympathetic characters, excising their championing of the homeless population seems like a missed opportunity. And then there’s Abner “Polka Dot Man” Krill, a study in contradictions. His brightly dotted costume manages to out-silly Peacemaker’s, yet the dots that he tosses are actually extradimensional energy and can pack quite a punch. Krill was experimented on by his scientist mother to become a superhero, the trauma of which has taken its toll. This would ordinarily make him a tragic figure (and Dastmalchian, who grew up being teased for his vitiligo, taps into the character’s vulnerability), but his mental illness manifests as him seeing every character with his mother’s face, which is clearly played for laughs.

 

While this was a stumble, the film is otherwise more successful in layering its wackiness with more meaningful messaging. The American squad’s meddling in Corto Maltese’s affairs is played as a critique of imperialism, and in a welcome rarity for films that go down this road, the anti-American regime is acknowledged as being as horrible (if not more so) than the pro-Washington one that it replaced. Even the film’s biggest threat is one that would have likely posed no danger were it just left alone.

 

Freewheeling and funny, The Suicide Squad makes no apologies for its excesses, and there are plenty who simply won’t be on Gunn’s bandwidth. But if stylistically violent action-comedy holds any appeal, here’s one that offers more than mere wisecracks and explosions. 

Cork and Grind, A Wine and Coffee Bar

 

Located at 1605 N. Main Street in High Point, Cork and Grind offers wines by the bottle or glass as well as beers and coffee drinks. Drink discounts are offered regularly, and coffee specials change monthly. Cork and Grind is open from Tuesday through Saturday.

 

This High Point spot calls to mind Potent Potables in Jamestown albeit with coffee and a smaller beer selection. Unlike PP or The Brewer’s Kettle, however, Cork and Grind is open early (8 or 9 a.m., depending on the day), which makes it a great morning coffee option if you don’t mind limited choices. I’ve tried several of their rotating coffee drinks (most recently, a banana mocha latte and a cookies-and-cream frozee) and have not been disappointed. They use FosterHobbs beans, which is a definite plus.

 

Another major perk (pun not intended this time) to Cork and Grind is that it tends to draw a wide variety of food trucks and pop-up vendors. They’ve hosted everything from charcuterie to craft chocolate to seafood trucks and more. Robbie and crew are friendly and provide good service, and the atmosphere is comfortable.

 

Whether enticed by an event or simply in search of a place to grab a drink, Cork and Grind is well worth a look.

The Underground Railroad

 

Enslaved on a Georgia cotton plantation owned by the cruel Terrance Randall (Benjamin Walker), Cora (Thusa Mbedu) and Caesar (Aaron Pierre) escape to freedom. The pair are separated, and Cora, now a wanted fugitive, must rely on the underground railroad to ferry her from place to place. All the while, she is pursued by the slavecatcher Ridgeway (Joel Edgerton) and his young black apprentice Homer (Chase Dillon).

 

Barry Jenkins’s Prime Video miniseries adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s acclaimed novel may not hit all the highs of its source material, but it still does the book justice. Whitehead’s central conceit was to meld history and magical realism: the titular railroad here is a literal train, and different states have adopted policies that allegorize America’s fraught approaches to race. North Carolina, for instance, has abolished slavery but also slaves (executing any runaways found therein) while South Carolina has adopted a paternalistic social welfare program that serves as a front for what amounts to the Tuskegee Experiment. Jenkins preserves these elements and renders them in sharp visual detail. The presentation is harrowing without being gratuitous, a procession of brutal images accompanied by Nicholas Britell’s equally haunting score.

 

In front of the camera, Mbedu convincingly embodies Cora’s determination and will to survive. Edgerton’s performance is showier, and Ridgeway’s grandiosity either adds to the character’s mystique (as was the case in the book) or comes across as a ridiculous, overcompensatory put-on (more the case here as the series shows a younger Ridgeway taking up his vocation to spite his father). William Jackson Harper puts in a good turn as Royal, a railroad conductor who befriends Cora, but the series isn’t with him long enough to get to know him well, something true of much of the supporting cast. Even in Homer’s case – he gets far more screen time – we are kept at arm’s length, which feels like a missed opportunity.

 

While the stakes are high, the series’ episodic pacing and questionable narrative digressions do it no favors. The Underground Railroad is at its best when it stays engaged with the story’s present. Even when it isn’t on the move, it can keep the audience’s attention, as is the case with Cora’s sojourn to a Black-owned Indiana winery. However, the series is just as likely to dedicate whole episodes (rather than mere flashbacks during the journey) to past events, which undercuts the momentum.

 

Rarely an easy watch and not always a rewarding one, The Underground Railroad is nevertheless, at its best (i.e. the ninth episode), powerfully acted and aesthetically dazzling.

Black Widow

 

Before she was an Avenger, Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) was a Black Widow, an assassin trained and controlled by the Red Room overseen by Soviet Gen. Dreykov (Ray Winstone). Before that, however, she and fellow Black Widow child recruit Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh) lived in Ohio posing as the children of Soviet agents Alexei Shostakov (David Harbour) and Melina Vostokoff (Rachel Weisz), a super-soldier and a senior Black Widow, respectively. In 2016, while on the run from American government official Thaddeus Ross (William Hurt), Natasha is contacted by Yelena, who has recently broken free of the Red Room. Mutually distrustful, the former sisters must work together to confront their past.

 

If nothing else, Black Widow is a victim of circumstance. Though envisioned as a stand-alone “sidequel” to give the title character a proper send-off following her death in Avengers: Endgame, multiple delays pushed Black Widow into the unenviable position of being the first MCU film release in more than a year at a time when Marvel’s Disney Plus series were making the big screen seem irrelevant. Ouch. Taking timing out of the equation, however, and Black Widow is a solidly exciting action flick with deft humor, a likable cast, and several glaring flaws.

 

Helmed by Cate Shortland and written by WandaVision creator Jac Schaeffer, among others, Black Widow manages a mishmash of tones. It spares us the gratuitousness of a firsthand look at Red Room training while still conveying the gravity of its trauma, which both Johansson and Pugh do quite convincingly. At the same time, Natasha and Yelena’s competitive banter, which switches between English and Russian, is a source of humanization for the hardened assassins as well as humor. Speaking of the latter, Alexei as a boastful Soviet-equivalent Captain America knockoff gone to seed, is set up as the film’s comic relief, but his arc is still tinged with pathos.

 

The only substantial characters lacking in complexity are Dreykov and his top enforcer, the Taskmaster. In the case of the former, Winstone plays him as a distinctively loathsome bastard, so this isn’t exactly a liability. Taskmaster, while a formidable combatant, is largely a waste of the character. The comic book counterpart is a trash-talking mercenary rival to Deadpool with a photographic memory and the ability to copy an opponent’s fighting style. The film version retains the latter trait though presents a different character under the armor as a largely mute minion, devoid of everything else that made Taskmaster interesting.

 

If Black Widow’s tone is in flux, so too is the quality of its plentiful action sequences. When it sticks to hand-to-hand combat and gunplay, it’s well-choreographed. Though Yelena mocks Natasha’s combat poses, the latter is still as competent a fighter as ever. Once the film becomes airborne, however, it kicks suspension of disbelief out the window and resorts to excesses that would make Michael Bay blush.

 

In keeping with Marvel traditions, Black Widow’s post-credits scene hints at what is to come. That moment aside, this is one of the MCU’s least impactful entries though, all things considered, hardly one of its worst.