Tag Archives: C-


Producer: Jason Blum, Oren Peli and James Wan
Director: Adam Robitel
Writer: Leigh Whannell
Stars: Lin Shaye, Angus Sampson, Leigh Whannell, Caitlin Gerard, Kirk Acevedo, Javier Botet, Bruce Davidson, Spencer Locke, Tessa Ferrer, Ava Kalker, Hana Hayes, Pierce Pope, Thomas Robie,, Aleque Reed and Marcus Henderson
Studio: Universal Pictures


The “Insidious” horror franchise, which began in 2010, has gotten so chronologically convoluted that newcomers might find the need to shuffle the installments around to find their bearings. Fortunately for those just coming to the series, getting up to speed would merely require them to watch “Insidious: Chapter 3” (2015) before taking in “Insidious: The Lost Key” (or “Chapter 4,” if you prefer), which is really a direct sequel to it. Then they can move on to the first “Insidious,” the action of which is immediately subsequent to that of “Key,” and to its 2013 sequel, “Insidious: Chapter 2.”

Or you could do the smart thing and just watch the original “Insidious” and stop. It’s a reasonably clever—and relatively gore-free—modern horror movie, even if it trailed off in the final act. The remaining movies represent the law of diminishing returns, and this “Key,” along with its immediate predecessor, proves the nadir—at least until another chapter shows up, because, while this installment represents the closing of the arc for the woman who’s become its central character, it still leaves the door open for continuations with a different, younger heroine in charge. (Given the history of horror franchises, of course, the appearance of a word like “Last” or “Final” in a subtitle is no guarantee that we’re actually at an end. In fact, it usually indicates the opposite.)

In any event, “The Last Key” brings full cycle the story of Elise Rainier (Lin Shaye), the elderly psychic whom the troubled Lamberts (Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne) summoned in “Insidious” to help them exorcise the demon that had taken over their young son (Ty Simpkins). Rainier died at the close of that movie, and appeared only spectrally in the sequel. But she took center stage with “Chapter 3,” which backtracked to the first exorcism in which she was joined by her comic-relief aides Specs (Leigh Whannell) and Tucker (Angus Sampson).

In the aftermath of that mediocre frightfest, this film now gives Elise the full bio-treatment, beginning with a long prologue, beginning in 1953, showing her sad childhood in a New Mexico house she (first Ava Kolker, then Hana Hayes) shared with her loving mother Aubrey (Tessa Ferrer), her younger brother Christian (Pierce Pope, and then Thomas Robie) and her cruel father Gerald (Josh Stewart), a corrections officer at the nearby state prison. Gerald is obsessed with brutally punishing Elise for claiming to see ghosts, and during one stint in the house’s basement bomb shelter she unwittingly unlocks a door that releases a demon with keys for fingers (Javier Botet) that takes her mother’s life. She finally runs away, leaving Christopher alone with wrathful Gerald.

At that point the film switches to 2010, and Elise (Shayne) is approached by Garza (Kirk Acevedo), the new owner of her childhood home, to exorcise the malignant forces in it. So she returns to New Mexico with a mission. In the process she will also reconnect with her brother (now Bruce Davison), still bitter over her abandonment of him, and meet his daughters Imogen (Caitlin Gerard) and Melissa (Spencer Locke). In the process of her investigation she will discover the extent of the evil she unleashed so many years ago, and by travelling once more into what she calls “the Further,” will rescue a few endangered people, give some souls respite, and put that demon back where he belongs.

Looked back on in retrospect, the plot of “The Last Key” does pretty much parse (except for a thread involving Melissa, which seems utterly extraneous), but as directed by newcomer Adam Robitel it doesn’t make for a very scary movie. Much of it consists of Shane stumbling about the house in the dark of night, searching for spirits, and despite the efforts of Robitel, production designer Melanie Jones, cinematographer Toby Oliver, editor Timothy Alverson, the effects team and composer Joseph Bishara, those languid sequences don’t generate much suspense apart from the usual quota of sudden “gotcha!” moments accompanied by a sudden loud shriek on the soundtrack. (To his credit, Robitel does upend expectations at one point, setting up a shot that appears to be leading to an abrupt shock but then pulling back from it.) The result is more tedious than frightening.

And the comic relief moments offer none. The nerd act of Whannell and Tucker has gotten increasingly tired over the years, and their limp dialogue this time around—combined with their amateurish acting—is very hard to stomach. Their constantly inept efforts to hit on Elise’s nieces comes off as especially creepy, given the script’s revelations about what the demon influenced both Gerald and Garza to do.

Acting doesn’t mean much in this sort of fare, but apart from Whannell and Sampson, everyone in the supporting column carries off their duties decently enough (though veteran Davison, to tell the truth, looks rather lost). Wilson, Byrne and Simpkins appear briefly toward the close in an allusion to their already-completed storyline. The major player, though, is undoubtedly Shaye, for whom this series has provided an unexpected career capstone. At a few points here she seems a mite tentative (or simply frail)—which might be attributable to slack direction or editing—but overall she pulls off the nonsense capably enough. One can imagine her acting as a spectral mentor to a younger heroine in something like “Insidious 5: A New Beginning.”

“The Last Key” may satisfy the most undemanding fans of the franchise by fleshing out Elise Rainier’s backstory, but on its own it’s just a mediocre haunted house movie. By the time it ends you may find yourself nodding in agreement with Elise when she says, “I should never have come back here.”


Producer: Laurence Mark, Peter Chernin and Jenno Topping
Director: Michael Gracey
Writer: Jenny Bicks and Bill Condon
Stars: Hugh Jackman, Zac Efron, Michelle Williams, Rebecca Ferguson, Zendaya, Keala Settle, Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, Austyn Johnson, Cameron Seely, Fred Lehne, Sam Humphrey, Ellis Rubin and Skylar Dunn
Studio: 20th Century Fox


Original screen musicals are sufficiently rare nowadays that you have to credit any new one, even if it’s not terribly good, for its bravado, if nothing else. “The Greatest Showman” isn’t the first tuner about legendary impresario P.T. Barnum, wrongly credited with saying “There’s a sucker born every minute”—a Broadway extravaganza starring Jim Dale, staged in the fashion of a circus performance, ran for a couple of years in the early eighties. But while Michael Gracey’s movie is equally flamboyant, it’s unlikely to enjoy a similar degree of success. Opulent but flat-footed, and loaded down with a series of top-forty style songs that sound like rejects from “Frozen,” the movie insistently exhorts us to celebrate diversity while itself remaining obstinately commonplace.

After a prologue showing young Barnum (Ellis Rubin, lip-synching to the singing of Ziv Zaifman), the son of a humble tailor, cavorting with young Charity (Skylar Dunn), much to the distress of her snooty father (Fred Lehne), the script skips ahead to Barnum’s return after years of unspecified activity in the person of strapping Hugh Jackman, who swoops in and takes Charity (now Michelle Williams) away to be his wife.

Barnum struggles to find work in New York—he, Charity and their two adorable daughters are living atop a building, it seems—and so he decides to go for broke. Using some worthless bonds from his last job as a bookkeeper as collateral, he purchases a building and turns it into his museum of oddities, hiring performers like Tom Thumb (Sam Humphrey) and bearded lady Lettie Lutz (Keala Settle)—as well as trapeze siblings W.D. and Anne Wheeler (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and Zendaya)—as part of a diverse group, all of whom he treats with respect. (Barnum’s actual first attraction, Joice Heth, whom he passed off as the 161-year old nanny of George Washington, is present in the crowd, but no mention is made of how he lied about her age, or had her body publicly dissected after her death.)

Despite the public’s embrace of his show—after a rough start, some brickbats from the press (represented by Paul Sparks’ critic James Bennett), and hostility from street thugs who despise his “freaks”—Barnum longs for more. He induces playwright Phillip Carlyle (Zac Efron) to become his partner as a way of attracting the city’s swells to the show—much to the distress of Carlyle’s parents, which becomes more severe after he falls for Anne, though whether they object more to her low-class status or the color of her skin is unclear.

After a visit to Queen Victoria (Gayle Rankin) arranged by Carlyle, Barnum decides to take his respectability campaign further by sponsoring an American tour for renowned opera singer Jenny Lind (Rebecca Ferguson, with singing voice provided by Loren Allred), the “Swedish Nightingale.” That venture earns him the respect he craves but goes south when Lind—who here warbles not opera arias but generic songs straight out of today’s Grammy playbook—develops feelings for him and their relationship threatens his marriage. He also begins keeping his troupe at arm’s length in his striving for societal approval. To add to the debacle, the museum is firebombed in a struggle between the performers and street toughs, and Barnum and Carlyle have to struggle to find a way to return from the ashes. Can anyone say “circus”?

From the standpoint of history, of course, the movie’s portrayal of Barnum is what the actual man would have dismissed as humbug. Barnum was no champion of the downtrodden and marginalized; he exploited them mercilessly for his own gain. But one must set that unhappy reality aside and understand that the movie, co-written by Jenny Bicks and Bill Condon, is intended simply as a celebration of American entrepreneurial chutzpah, perhaps the perfect parable for an age in which practitioners of similar hucksterism have ascended to high office (as if that were an entirely new phenomenon).

Even after one accepts that, however, “Showman” is far from great. Certainly the physical production is sumptuous. Nathan Crowley’s production design, Debra Schutt’s sets and Ellen Mirojnick’s costumes are all eye-popping if totally synthetic, and Seamus McGarvey’s camera swoops and swirls around them in a futile attempt to generate some joyful excitement. All of this is in service to Garvey’s apparent determination to emulate the style and pizzazz of Baz Luhrmann’s “Moulin Rouge!”—an unfortunate model—which thankfully at least does not extend to adding an exclamation point to the title. It’s understandable that a roster of no few than six editors were engaged to try to give the footage some shape; they succeed only fitfully.

The glitzy packaging, moreover, only accentuates the hollowness of the contents. The script eschews any hint of edginess in favor an unvaried celebration of Barnum’s supposedly semi-enlightened showmanship and the triumph of his attractions over the bigotry of the society around them; and the attempt to add swooning romanticism to the mix—not only in terms of Barnum’s lifelong love of Charity but in Carlyle’s love for Anne—is cloying.

Matters are worsened by the songs. Benj Pasek and Justin Paul are currently among Broadway’s golden boys because of their score for “Dear Evan Hansen,” and their tunes for “La La Land” only added to the luster. But their work here is pedestrian, with banal lyrics extolling either the magic of imagination or the glory of self-respect conjoined with the kind of cookie-cutter melodies that blend into one another like a bland medley of current pop hits. Despite the fact that many of the tunes get multiple reprises, they all remain obstinately unmemorable; the result is like one of those old Broadway flops where, as wags used to say, you come out humming the sets. Adding to the depressing air is the overly aggressive choreography of Ashley Wallen. There are a couple of engaging duets (for Jackman and Efron, and Efron and Zendaya), but mostly it consists of group stomp-efforts that seem designed to bludgeon you into acquiescence to the picture’s on-the-nose messages.

Of course Jackman brings his patented swagger to the proceedings, but there’s a palpable sense of desperation in his performance, perhaps understandable given that this is a passion project for him; but it feels as though, like Barnum, he knows that he’s trying to put one over on you. Efron has a few nice dance moments, but mostly he underplays morosely, and Settle seizes center stage with aplomb when given the opportunity to belt out what’s supposed to be a show-stopper, but the supporting cast—even Zendaya, Williams and Ferguson—are given little opportunity to shine.

Reviews for “The Greatest Showman” were embargoed by the studio until opening day, never a good sign. In this case the marketers correctly assessed their merchandise. The film resembles the actual Barnum in being lots of empty bluster with only marginal payoff.