Week Ending 2/13/26

The suburbs are a unique beast in that houses are neither as closely packed as in a city nor as spread apart as the country. So, you're just insulated enough to believe in your own privacy while being so on top of your neighbors that they aren't afforded the luxury to have their own. To combat that duality, you must create tiny cliques that bring specific community members sharing similar pet peeves into one bubble to commiserate and complain about everyone else.

Dana Olsen's script for The 'Burbs understands this dynamic so perfectly that he's able to make his paranoid trio's straight man as crazy as the lunatics surrounding him. Because Ray (Tom Hanks) is generally ruled by rationality. He's the one who can talk sense or perhaps shame Art (Rick Ducommun) and Mark (Bruce Dern) into not following their worst impulses. The more they whisper into his ear, however, the more feral he becomes. Paranoid hive minds are dangerous things.

Everything branches out from there whether Ray's wife (Carrie Fisher's Carol) clearly seeing his descent into frenzy, the block's indifferent pariah (Gale Gordon's Walter) ignoring them all, or the mysterious new neighbors (Courtney Gains, Theodore Gottlieb, and Henry Gibson's Klopeks) acting strangely. They are respectively relegated to killjoy, bully, and victims. The men deride Carol, begrudge Walter, and seek any means possible to terrorize the Klopeks.

Beyond the easy "fat" jokes lobbed towards Ducommun, this childhood fave held up immaculately in large part because Joe Dante directs it with tongue firmly planted in cheek. The "horror" score by Jerry Goldsmith. The wild camera zoom when Ray and Art are screaming. The "aw shucks" demeanor from Art and Mark when Carol won't let Ray come out and play. Even Corey Feldman's audience insert literally eating popcorn as the insanity unfolds.

That the narrative is also dramatically sound in its twists and turns—each propelled by these three idiots jumping to the wildest conclusions available due to becoming stir crazy from the doldrums of suburban life—feels miraculous. But that's what's possible when you stay true to the authenticity of your characters and let them play within their absurd scenario absurdly. They'll dizzy themselves so thoroughly that any potential rug pull becomes the ultimate cherry on top.

8/10

Published six years after "The Last of Us" hit consoles, David Koepp's Cold Storage takes a different approach to the zombie-by-way-of-fungus phenomenon. Rather than have Cordyceps evolve to infect humans due to global warming, he posits that a new strain of fungi could come from outer space—specifically due to the Skylab space station re-entering Earth's orbit in 1979 with scattered debris falling across Western Australia. What if an experiment that was never supposed to touch our planet found its way here anyway?

Adapted by Koepp himself and directed by Jonny Campbell, the film version of his novel reveals the answer to that question straight away as DTRA agents Robert Quinn (Liam Neeson) and Trini Romano (Lesley Manville) arrive just in time to watch the result of Dr. Hero Martins (Sosie Bacon) getting infected. It happens quickly and violently. So much so that the government doesn't hesitate nuking the entire affected village. Unfortunately—because of course they would—a sample is still saved and stored for posterity.

Fast-forward twenty years via time-lapse and the secure military base housing it is inevitably retrofitted and sold to a private storage company wherein twenty-somethings Teacake (Joe Keery) and Naomi (Georgina Campbell) work the night shift for their biker pig boss Griffin (Gavin Spokes). They had no reason to question this fact or worry about its ramifications, but a chirp has suddenly manifested to spike Naomi's curiosity and Teacake's ire. And it's also alerted DTFA's "Abigail" (Ellora Torchia) to bring Robert out of retirement.

With all that crucial expository information to consume in short order so you understand the plot, it becomes laughable when someone outside that dynamic enters the picture. Why? Because we know they'll ultimately prove pawns to the overall linear course of action en route to ensuring the main trio of characters meet for their climactic bid to save the day. There's Mrs. Rooney (Vanessa Redgrave) taking a nap in her storage unit with a handgun. Naomi's ex pulling in with a ... handgun. Griffin's biker gang showing up with ... yup. Handguns.

To the film's credit, however, the action caused by that firepower isn't the focal point. It merely helps guide Teacake and Naomi where they need to go by providing room for comedy and a better sense of their personalities. It's very on-the-nose to boil the latter down to ex-con and teen pregnancy, respectively, but we can hope Koepp gave them more nuance on the page. In the end none of it really matters beyond Teacake showing his heart and Naomi her love for her kid. Humanize them so everyone else can become expendable.

Except Robert, of course. He's the bad ass with a bad back (I wonder if that will prove important during a pivotal moment of suspense?) who's been warning the chain of command that global warming and American capitalism were rapidly setting the stage for this fungus to break containment for years. So, he has no qualms inspiring "Abigail" to ignore orders or preparing to decimate a portion of Kansas to complete his mission. Bring Manville's sweet sociopath back into the fold and you must wonder if any witnesses will be left alive.

The fun comes from the interactions. You get some of it with Neeson and his former boss as well as Manville enjoying the excitement of the job again, but the majority of the laughs arrive via Keery and Campbell adjusting to their insane circumstances on the fly. Because it's one thing to go on a wild goose chase for a chirping alarm through closed off military tunnels. It's another to watch humans and deer ("No real animals were used in the making of this film.") explode before their eyes with fungal goop splashing everywhere.

It's that slimy gore-adjacent factor that will ultimately win over the horror crowd even if the only real suspense comes from whether our protagonists will beat the timer on the nuke Robert brings to the party. So much vomit is spilled and innards expelled that I'm surprised there is only one slippery floor gag. And things get even messier script-wise when considering the containment aspect since Koepp tries to raise the stakes via a storm and escapees only for each potential risk to be forgotten, minimized, or solved with zero effort.

We aren't here for airtight plotting, though. We're here for a good time and Cold Storage does fulfill that promise. Sometimes having so many holes to poke makes the experience more fun too. I do wish the whole didn't feel like a two-and-a-half-hour film cut down to ninety-minutes of punch lines (by the time Teacake finally reveals the reason for his nickname, I had forgotten I ever maybe cared to learn it alongside Naomi) because it's nearly impossible to invest beyond the spectacle. But it is what it is. I figured as much going in.

6/10

You know you're in for a good time travel movie when it spares you from having to experience the umpteen times the protagonist has repeated the moment he is currently repeating again. Why dull us with a hyper-edited collage of the false starts, information gathering, and colossal failures when you can hire an actor like Sam Rockwell to manically vomit them all through dialogue in the most absurd variation on a diner hold-up since Pulp Fiction?

Our entry point into director Gore Verbinski and writer Matthew Robinson's Good Luck, Have Fun, Don't Die is therefore as likely to be revealed as the somber truth Rockwell's "Man from the Future" implores his audience to believe as it is that he's an unhoused, schizophrenic devoid of even the weakest grasp on reality. Since he's talking a mile-a-minute about needing eight of them to join a crusade that hasn't worked in a hundred-plus tries, everyone leans towards looney bin.

It doesn't matter that he knows their names and details about their lives gleaned from reliving this pep talk and doomed adventure so many times. It doesn't matter that he knows some of them have the courage and willingness to attack the challenge of saving the world from the docile fantasy of an AI-fueled server promising to provide humanity a life without pain. He's lost the plot on bedside manner and his unhinged enthusiasm is now sabotaging his goal.

So, it takes him aback when Susan (Juno Temple) raises her hand. He knows her name, but not much else (presumably, since the script often takes liberties en route to facilitating manufactured reveals that would be better off taken at face value rather than attempting to preserve twists that prove anything but). Why is she volunteering first this time? Does it matter? He needs to get this show on the road and one willing participant is better than none.

Once Mark (Michael Peña), Janet (Zazie Beetz), Scott (Asim Chaudhry), Marie (Georgia Goodman), and Ingrid (Haley Lu Richardson) round out the party, the real journey is ready to commence. Because Rockwell isn't recruiting them to whisk away with his dirty poncho time machine to his apocalyptic battle. No, they must leave the diner, elude the cops the waitress always calls, and survive a fantastical gauntlet to reach their destination.

Robinson takes his time getting us outside with a few flashbacks providing context to his characters and the world at-large. Just because Rockwell is from the future, doesn't mean the on-screen present is our reality. No, certain dangers that those of us paying attention know exist where it concerns technological and AI advancements have already crested their tipping points. The zombification of society is here (think The Framework from "Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.").

Those morsels of history prepare us for future obstacles on a macro (hordes of teenagers on a silent warpath) and micro (some members of Rockwell's group might be, wittingly or not, spies sent to stop him) scale. That's where Verbinski is able to have fun bringing each hilariously illogical detail to life whether an allergy to electronics and WIFI or a twenty-first century meme-ification of Ray Stantz giving the cosmos a "prompt" when thinking of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

Good Luck, Have Fun, Don't Die is everything you would want out of that title as far as insane set pieces and surreal consequences for seemingly innocuous acts while also possessing an ample dose of heart. Some of the latter is a result of latent empathy (Rockwell seeing that Ingrid should be on suicide watch) and some a product of lemmings like Scott, Mark, and Janet remembering what it means to be selflessly brave in the face of insurmountable odds.

The science fiction elements are perfectly satirized progressions of the chaos our own AI-bubble has sown, touching on the addictiveness of social media, the dissolution of manners and personality, and even the potential of cloning as a means of removing the cost of school shootings in lieu of ever doing anything to actually prevent them. The subject matter is therefore intentionally dark. How could it not when abject terror is being weaponized for profit?

Richardson is the standout insofar as her character is the most three-dimensional of the bunch due to Ingrid's unique inability to embrace technology even if she wanted to, but the ensemble excels at filling their plot-specific roles in ways that entertain enough to forgive their convenience. And Rockwell is at his frenzied best to distract us from seeing the tracks while also ensuring we stay firmly planted to them. There's no better conductor for a runaway train.

I'll always be disappointed when filmmakers intentionally pretzel a plot point to force a twist instead of just letting it be (especially since the trend feels like a symptom of catering to the low-attention spans created by what the film is railing against), but that's sadly our current state of affairs. It neither harms the overall message nor ruins a brilliantly bittersweet ending. It's merely one flaw to an otherwise exhilarating romp as Verbinski reaffirms his mastery of spectacle.

8/10

I'll never forget watching Frank Capra's It Happened One Night for the first time and thinking I'd gone insane. I binged Spaceballs a million times during the 90s without ever fully acknowledging its plot had nothing to do with Star Wars despite being a Star Wars spoof. The internet didn't exist to readily supply its actual inspiration and my parents didn't know anything about classic cinema, so I went through life without a clue that Mel Brooks was actually riffing on Robert Riskin's screwball comedy script beneath that galaxy far, far away skin.

It's therefore great watching it again without the nostalgia shock. Now I could experience it on its own terms and enjoy how delightfully silly and romantic its odd couple pairing is. Because, while Brooks lifted its plot beats verbatim, every romantic comedy from the past century stands upon its shoulders in some way. Whether the roguish leading man or fish-out-of-water (not quite) damsel- (but still) in-distress, the earmarks for missed communications, involuntary flirtation, and the pain inherent to misconstrued betrayal are all present.

The film is also just a wonderful series of gags from its iconic hitchhiking contest to the over-the-top domestic theatrics used to get a couple detectives off their scent. Ellie (Claudette Colbert) needs to get to New York City and Peter (Clark Gable) needs a good story to write, so they join forces to accomplish both goals while endearing themselves to each other by way of being from such disparate worlds that society's demand for pretense never has a chance to rear its head.

They're chippy, blunt, and genuine from frame one with a "This is who I am, take it or leave it" attitude while proving to be more than preconceived notions. She may be pampered, but she's unafraid to rebel. He may be self-important, but he recognizes when someone needs help. And they both allow themselves the space to have fun. To understand each other's plight, empathize with their struggles, and still go out of their way to coax a smile if for no other reason than to remind the other they aren't alone.

10/10

One-year sober (to the day) and finishing her apprenticeship with mortician Raymond Delver (Paul Sparks), Rebecca Owens (Willa Holland) finds herself succumbing to the dark emotions that have haunted her since her father's (John Adams) death years ago. So much so that she's about to risk all her hard work for a score when receiving a call that Raymond needs her to handle some late-night drop-offs at the mortuary. He can't make it, so it'll be her first solo assignment.

Original video game author Brian Clarke (alongside Tracee Beebe) adapts his The Mortuary Assistant to the cinematic medium as a complete entity rather than trying to blur lines by narratively working in ways to depict its multiple shifts and endings. The whole is therefore compressed into a single night wherein the horrors of discovering that a demon is attempting to possess her pushes Rebecca to both learn the means to stop it and face the trauma of her past.

Director Jeremiah Kipp stays true to the game by playing with the appearance of sigils, augmenting the inclusion of its house of invidiousness spirit known as The Mimic (Mark Steger), and even directly implementing the desktop image and reporting interface from Raymond's computer. Add some split diopters to ensure our attention is never divided between Rebecca and her moving cadavers and the atmosphere remains sufficiently creepy throughout.

Fans of the source material are treated to these earmarks before newcomers can become fully aware of their meaning. So, seeing Raymond react to a corpse's foot twitching may just seem like a subtle scare, but it's actually a very specific sign of things to come. That doesn't, however, mean everything is one-to-one. Kipp and company want their entire audience to be caught off-guard, so don't be surprised when the hallucinations turn violent before Raymond has a chance to explain.

The script does well manipulating our inability to know what's real and what isn't. We can presume the woman banging on the mortuary window isn't really Rebecca's grandmother, but what about her sponsor (Keena Ferguson Frasier) arriving unannounced at her home? And which visions are all in Rebecca's head as opposed to deceptive filters tricking her into hurting herself? How can she even trust that the Raymond she sees and hears isn't another illusion?

She can't. Neither can we. The filmmakers know this and use it to further erode our trust by overlapping fact with fantasy. I enjoyed one scene where Raymond is explaining something to Rebecca over the phone and certain words are obviously being replaced to create a more sinister variation of his instructions. It's not just a means for the demon to break her down either. The resulting undercurrent of self-harm is also crucial to its overall metaphor for addiction.

Just as Kelly explains how holding her guilt and self-loathing at bay is a life-long process that cannot simply be conquered, the same is true when it comes to being marked for possession. The battle in her mind against drugs is the same battle as the one being waged in the mortuary—especially since the memories of her father prove integral to both. There's a reason she was chosen and, as luck would have it (or not), she's in the one place that's strangely equipped to fight back.

The Mortuary Assistant might fall victim to its budget in certain aspects, but it does effectively portray the psychological war for survival at its core. That said, many of the issues people will have with the film won't be huge issues for fans of the game considering the (mostly) single location and repetition (albeit much less since we aren't watching Rebecca wire, exsanguinate, and embalm every single body) are intentional features of its walking simulator infrastructure.

Discovering the process behind Raymond's mode of combating the forces of evil is just as important to the whole as Rebecca's nightmare, but don't expect too much of the former's mythology to be explained alongside hers. At one point she asks about the meaning to everything and he just glosses over it with an "it doesn't matter" ... because it doesn't. Knowing the contextual background of each demonic house isn't necessary for the conflict at-hand.

All we need is a healthy mistrust of what we see and gnarly practical effects to ensure the prevalence of blood, organs, and sutures don't take us out of the moment by looking too fake. With that realism, some nice cinematography to enhance the jump scares, and The Mimic's memorable creature design, it's easy to invest in the ride. And if you must learn more, go fire up the game and dive into its "Night Shift Database" and diaries. This is an adaptation, not a replacement.

7/10

While we assume what's happening right from the start courtesy of the film's obvious thematic motifs, it's still easy to get so enamored by this rare day with Dad in the big city that we trick ourselves into forgetting the inevitable truth just like his two young sons do.

My Father's Shadow proves a perfect mix of historical detail (to infer upon the moment's political unrest and hopeful optimism) and familial sacrifice (to understand what it means to live hard so the next generation might still live better). Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù is fantastic as always and the Egbo brothers' newcomers as his idealistic and surly boys (Chibuike Marvelous and Godwin Chiemerie, respectively) more than hold their own.

Give director Akinola Davies Jr. and his own co-writing sibling Wale a ton of credit too because they expertly orchestrate the rug pull in a way that ensures everything we've seen remains real despite reality. Just as the boys' father spoke of his late brother, they know he also strove to live life as a good man. Now it's their turn to do the same thanks to the lessons imbued by the imperfect shadow rendering this Lagos adventure possible. Then he can find peace too.

8/10