Review: "Miles Ahead"

“Miles Ahead” is Don Cheadle’s riff on the life of Miles Davis, a master of improvisation, so it makes sense in many ways for him to treat the official biography of the jazz genius as a mere stepping-off point for his own concocted refrain.

But just as having masterful technical skills as an instrumentalist doesn’t necessarily mean you have the chops to make up music on the spot, the film’s dizzying attempts to inventively cogitate on Miles’ mythology sometimes wander off into narrative cul-de-sacs and side tracks that just don’t sing.

The esteemed actor gives perhaps the finest performance of his career, showing us the contemplation and calculation behind that ferocious mask of Eff You self-regard with which Davis obscured himself. We see and feel his hunger to create, the rage at anything that stood between him and his music, understand a bit of the towering pride that often harmonizes with talent.

Cheadle also directed and co-wrote the screenplay (with Steven Baigelman), his feature film debut in both roles. It’s technically accomplished work; it hits a lot of emotional scenes solidly and certainly bespeaks of someone who has a future behind the camera if he wants one.

The movie mostly concentrates on Davis’ fallow period from 1975 to 1979, when he stopped publishing music and even ceased playing the trumpet at all, with flashbacks to his heyday in the 1950s and early ‘60s. The early biographical stuff more or less plays it straight, while the later scenes have the barest bridge to reality.

The latter involve a wild scenario in which Davis’ session tape, supposedly the chariot of his comeback, is stolen and re-stolen back and forth between himself and Harper Hamilton, a shyster agent played by Michael Stuhlbarg, complete with squealing car chases and blazing gun duels.

Acting as his wingman/witness is David Brill, a hipster Scottish journalist played by Ewan McGregor who was sent by Rolling Stone magazine to get the scoop on Davis’ return. Though Brill may be fudging about whether he was actually assigned the story, or just knocked on Davis’ door on spec. His initial attempts at an interview don’t go well.

Davis: “My story? I was born, I moved to New York, met some cats, made some music, did some dope, made some more music, then you came to my house.”
Brill: “That's it? …I guess I'll fill in the blanks later.”
Davis: “That's what all you writin' mother****ers do anyway.”

The movie is framed by a formal sit-down interview with the same journalist, apparently meeting for the first time, which is our cue that everything that comes between is mere rumination.

Cheadle gets deep inside Davis’ physicality, somehow bending a slight resemblance into near-doppelgänger accuracy. It starts with that sheathed voice, partly croak and partly purr, as if consciously trading volume for intensity. Then there’s the shuffling limp -- the result of a congenital hip disorder in real life, but something else in the movie’s telling -- and the deadpan snarl.

Cheadle even nails the straight-fingered way Davis bent his digits at the first knuckle perpendicular over the horn’s valves, instead of rounded like they teach you. As in everything, Davis played it his way.

Emayatzy Carinealdi is a vibrant presence as Frances, Miles’ first wife and muse, even appearing on the cover of his 1961 album, “Someday My Prince Will Come.” She was a rising dancer who gave up her career at his bequest, which sets off a downward spiral of resentment and, eventually, violence. The film regrettable short-shrifts Davis’ long history of domestic abuse.

Keith Stanfield, a young actor who’s been phenomenal in small films like “Dope” and “Short Term 12,” plays Junior, a fictionalized young trumpeter who gets unconvincingly caught up in the scramble for the session tape, yet still receives a little mentoring from the legend.

Davis was famously reticent to play his famed standards, preferring to focus on his ever-evolving taste for freeform jazz (or “social music,” as he preferred), bebop, fusion, etc. “If the music don’t move on, it’s dead music,” he says.

In trying to embrace his subject’s ingenuity, Cheadle erred too much on the side of fancifulness to the detriment of coherence. That doesn’t degrade the power of his performance. Sometimes the solo outshines the tune.

Review: "Dope"

"Dope" is a crazy, funny, smart film. It's got a terrific batch of young actors, a brash original story and style from writer/director Rick Famuyiwa, and an urgent vitality that demands our attention.

It's about Malcolm, a smart kid from South-Central Los Angeles who adores 1990s hip-hop culture and dreams of getting into Harvard. You probably know that South-Central is a tough area rife with guns and drugs, and may have heard that Inglewood is at its core. The Bottoms, Malcolm's neighborhood, lives up (or down) to its nickname.

Malcolm is played by Shameik Moore, who should be on the list of every casting director in Hollywood after this. He announces himself as a performer in much the same way the cast members of "Boyz n the Hood" did nearly a quarter-century ago.

This is a bit ironic, since Malcolm is self-professed geek who regularly gets trounced upon by the school bullies and can barely speak to girls.

Life is challenging but good for Malcolm and his two best buds, Jib (Tony Revolori) and Diggy (Kiersey Clemons). The trio wears vintage clothes ranging somewhere between Fresh Prince and Ice T, and Malcolm's got an impressive flat top/fade that makes his whole head stand up, and out. They're typical horny boys who yearn after girls but never get them, even Diggy, who is one herself.

They share a passion for academics and '90s music, jamming upbeat tunes in the music room after school about getting good grades, dubbing themselves Awreeoh. That's as in "Oreo," a nod to their multiracial makeup and embrace of cultural values deemed too white by their fellows.

The setup is that Malcolm is invited/cajoled by a local drug dealer, Dom (A$AP Rocky), into attending an underground party. He would probably stay away except for Nakia (Zoë Kravitz), a local stunner who is kinda/sorta linked to Dom. Malcolm, Diggy and Jib make the scene and are having a good time until a deal goes bad and bullets start flying.

Long story short, Malcolm finds himself with his backpack stuffed with Dom's heroin. The dealer wants it back, while his competitors demand the dope for themselves. Malcolm and his pals begin a confusing, scary but also uproarious journey through L.A.'s seedier parts, trying to figure out how to dispose of the stash while keeping their skins intact.

Meanwhile, Malcolm still needs to ace his S.A.T.'s and make a good impression at his interview with a Harvard alumni.

If all this sounds a little like "Risky Business" mixed with "Boyz," that's because it is. But Famuyiwa's script, while liberally borrowing elements from other movies, synthesizes them into an original and engaging pastiche.

In general I'd call it a comedy, poking fun at aspects of black and white culture, and the in-between spaces where Malcolm and his friends are trying to carve out a spot for themselves. But it's got some serious and poignant moments, too, often arriving with surprising juxtaposition to each other.

It's a hard tonal balance to strike, but Famuyiwa and his cast pull it off. It's odd to see common themes from the gangsta genre, like a strutting stand-off between two men with guns, played for chuckles. But "Dope" helps us look at familiar things in new ways, and laugh while doing it.

Video review: "Selma"

“Selma” was a good but hardly great movie. The fact that it received an Oscar nomination for Best Picture seems more a nod to the weight of the historical subject it tackled -- the civil rights struggle that brought about the Voting Rights Act of 1965 -- rather than the actual aesthetic merits of how they depicted it.

I found David Oyelowo alternately mesmerizing and off-putting as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Director Ava DuVernay and her star have talked in interviews about their deliberate effort not to perform an impersonation of King. But the cadence of his speeches is such an important part of his legend -- so when Oyelowo purposefully avoids replicating that timbre, it subtracts from the power of those scenes.

(The filmmakers also weren’t helped by being denied permission to use the actual text of the speeches, so screenwriter Paul Webb had to whip up facsimiles.)

By far the most memorable part of the movie is the depiction of the brutal “Bloody Sunday” encounter between peaceful protestors and Alabama state troopers. Harrowing and vividly emotional, this sequence brings the dry history out of the textbook and into our eyes and hearts.

Other scenes, though, become a flat parade of supporting characters who struggle to erect any kind of identity.

In retrospect, the hurricane of controversy over the film “only” receiving two Academy Award nominations seems ridiculous. (It did win for best song.) The reason it didn’t fare better during the awards season is because it’s just not that great a movie.

Certainly worthy of our time, but not fawning admiration.

The film is being given a sumptuous video release with a host of extra features, though you’ll need to buy the Blu-ray version to get most of them. The DVD only comes with a couple of educational featurettes.

The Blu-ray adds several making-of featurettes, a music video of “Glory,” photo gallery, deleted and extended scenes, and two separate commentary tracks: one by DuVernay and Oyelowo -- I always love it when actors join their directors for these things -- and the other with DuVernay and her cinematographer and editor.

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Review: "Selma"

"Selma" has been mislabeled as "the Martin Luther King Jr. movie," which it is not, just as the three months of demonstrations for black voting rights in 1965 Alabama was not merely his doing. (Others had been organizing and protesting for two years before King arrived.)

The drama, directed by Ava DuVernay from a screenplay by Paul Webb, is a bit stodgy at times -- characters sometimes feel like they're reciting speeches instead of talking to each other. It also takes a bunch of well-publicized liberties with the historical record, such as depicting President Lyndon Johnson (Tom Wilkinson) as MLK's chief antagonist in opposing the Voting Rights Act, when the two coordinated closely.

(And it was Robert Kennedy who unleashed the FBI to spy on King on his cohorts, not LBJ.)

Still, it depicts several moments possessing great power, such as the recreation of the "Bloody Sunday" event in which state troopers ran down defenseless non-violent protestors marching from Selma to Montgomery. DuVernay brings to life the incredible struggles during the civil rights era, especially the pervasive sense of African-American being marginalized and oppressed.

Some of the quieter moments are the best, such as when a workaday woman (Oprah Winfrey) attempts to register to vote and is given an impossible citizenship test by the court clerk. (After correctly answering how many county judges are in Alabama, 67, she is instructed, "Name them.") The reality of Jim Crow would not begin to fade until hearts and minds were changed, not just laws passed.

I'm a bit ambivalent about the performance of David Oyelowo as King. Impressions are the shallowest portion of capturing a public figure's persona, but MLK's musical cadences during his speeches are so inextricably linked to his iconography that it's distracting when Oyelowo conspicuously avoids them. (Imagine someone playing Winston Churchill without the gravelly growl.)

Undoubtedly, some of this criticism is unfair. King is such a giant in our national heritage, the closest thing we have to a secular saint, that any attempt to depict him is fraught with all sorts of challenges. We bring so much baggage into the theater with us that watching the film becomes an exercise in separating our conception of him with what we see onscreen.

The movie depicts King as a man of great conviction but also one of cold calculation, who knew he was putting others in harm's way -- counting on bloodshed, even, to capture headlines and newscasts. In one somewhat shocking moment, he cheers the presence of a backward hillbilly sheriff, since he can be counted upon to split skulls and generate sympathy.

Webb's screenplay does a poor job of working in the other civil rights giants who organized the Selma protests, including James Bevel (Common) and Hosea Williams (Wendell Pierce). They wind up as a vague chorus of hangers-on and also-rans.

Stephan James stands out as John Lewis, then a college student beaten bloody during the march (and now a Congressman), as does Keith Stansfield as Jimmie Lee Jackson, murdered in cold blood by police.

It's rather disappointing that "Selma," directed by an African-American woman, does a rather poor job of representing black women in other than window dressing roles. Winfrey (also a producer) has little more than a cameo, and Lorraine Toussaint is a frequent, vivid screen presence who gets to say astonishing little. (Other than one contrived-sounding speech, she barely has any lines.)

Carmel Ejoga as Coretta Scott King is largely relegated to the home front, clutching and fretting over threats to her husband and children.

"Selma" is the sort of movie that earns respect but not ardor. It tackles a big subject, fleshes it out reasonably well, but labors to find the passion and beating hearts of those brave marchers in Selma.

Review: "Short Term 12"

Grace gives good advice but doesn't take it. As the senior staffer at a foster care facility for troubled teens, she tells a new counselor on his first day that the job isn't to be their therapist or their friend, but simply keep them safe. Nonetheless, she finds herself getting increasingly engrossed in their problems, to the point the strife reverberates against her own past filled with pain.

It's a brave, unadorned and gutsy performance by Brie Larson, best known for roles in teen and/or comedy films. This dark, brooding but enthralling drama should be a game-changer for her.

Writer/director Destin Cretton settles us easily into the daily workings of Short Term 12, housed in a drab facility hidden away in a corner of suburbia. The rules are simple: while the teens are inside the property, their lives are more or less controlled by the staff. Once they get past the gate, though, all bets are off. Runners happen often enough the counselors trade funny stories about them.

Grace rules this environment through sheer force of will, getting boys a foot taller than her to knuckle under at the threat of a "level drop." Mason (John Gallagher Jr.) is her wingman, goofy and sensitive and, we soon learn, her surreptitious sweetie. They're both lost kids who were found, and want other youngsters to have the same chance.

Cretton's story is cyclical and sporadic, much like life at the center. The movie's attention wanders from this kid to that, and eventually onto Grace's own inner turmoil.

The film's strong point is the bond that exists between these teens, even when they're occasionally at each others' throats. They're linked by the idea that nobody's problems are insurmountable, since every person is screwed up in their own way.

Two of the foster kids stand out. Jayden (Kaitlyn Dever) is the newest arrival, a referral from a friend of the facility director. She's jaded, cut off and too smart to fall for the normal tricks. She's unusual among the group in that she lives part-time with her father, who put her there after being unable to handle her destructive behavior.

Slowly, methodically, Grace worms her way into Jayden's good graces. They bond over their love of sketching ... and their horrible expression of self-hatred.

Most affecting is Marcus, the oldest of the group. Foster kids are only supposed to be there less than a year, but he's been around over three and is about to receive a mandatory boot upon turning 18. He's sullen and borderline aggressive, but also harbors a contemplative, poetic side.

Marcus keeps talking about wanting to shave his head for his birthday; Grace and company nod quizzically, not understanding the meaningful insistence behind this odd request. When they finally honor it, it opens up an emotional catharsis that just sweeps you away. It's Keith Stanfield's first feature film role, and he packs a punch.

The movie's not perfect. Cretton's sense of timing is occasionally off, as some events bring a sense of urgency that just melts away. Nate (Rami Malek), the new counselor who at first acts as the eyes and ears of the audience, sort of gets misplaced about halfway through. I also wanted more time alone with Grace and Mason; their romance feels more like a marker than something that breathes.

Still, "Short Term 12" is a powerful and genuine look at young, shattered lives and the painstaking process of piecing them back together again.