Review: "The Jungle Book"

Disney certainly has an appetite for "Jungle Book" iterations. Or at least they think we do. Lucky for them, they're right ... at least when it comes to good ones.

Beyond the cheesy 1967 animated feature, there was its (wisely) forgotten sequel, "The Jungle Book 2" in 2003; "TaleSpin," a short-lived 1990 TV spinoff; a live-action version in 1994 starring a nearly 30-year-old Jason Scott Lee as the boy Mowgli; another live-action version in 1998 that went straight to video; an animated cheapie in 2010; and another TV series that's still running.

The newest version directed by Jon Favreau ("Iron Man") is a pleasing mix of old and new elements. It uses high-end CGI to render all the animals, and the results are pretty stunning. Neel Sethi plays Mowgli, a "man-cub" abandoned in the jungle and raised by wolves, particularly fierce mother Raksha (voice by Lupita Nyong'o), with a little help from wise black panther Bagheera (Ben Kingsley).

The animals still talk, as they did in the books, and recite Rudyard Kipling's verse containing wisdom from the mouths of creatures. The action is fairly intense -- it was a bit scary for our 2-year-old -- and quite well-choreographed.

This is the sort of movie designed expressly for kids but entertaining enough to keep their parents engaged.

And yes, they do bust out a few iconic songs from the '67 movie, including "The Bare Necessities" and "I Wan'na Be Like You," sung by Bill Murray as the bear Baloo and Christopher Walken as the massive ape King Louie, respectively. Both end up serving as comic relief in the middle of some tense sequences.

Murray's version is actually quite charming, and in general his voice work is so emotive and spot-on that I hereby forgive him for the "Garfield" movies. Walken does a talk-singing thing that almost ends up in yodeling territory.

Scarlett Johansson also has a brief role as Kaa the mesmerizing serpent, but her best contribution is a gorgeous rendition of "Trust in Me" that plays over the end credits. Kaa actually helped Mowgli in the books, but here he's a she, and she's all bad.

The story mainly revolves around Mowgli's conflict with Shere Khan (Idris Elba), a massive Bengal tiger who deeply resents a boy living among the jungle denizens. A human wielding "the red flower" (fire) left him scarred and blind in one eye, and now the power-hungry feline wants to exact his revenge on all their kind.

Bagheera and the alpha wolf, Akela (Giancarlo Esposito), decide to return Mowgli to the human village in the name of maintaining comity between the jungle species, but their plans go awry.

Mowgli ends up under the protection of Baloo, a large and lazy bear who wants him to use his human ingenuity to get at all the wonderful honeycomb sticking to a cliff. He says it's for his hibernation, but as others point out jungle bears don't hibernate.

"It's not total hibernation, but I do take naps," he sniffs.

Favreau and screenwriter Justin Marks wisely keep the preachy life-lessons stuff to a bare minimum. The only real moral of the story is that humans shouldn't try to be animals, and vice versa -- but that doesn't mean they can't get along.

Sethi is winsome and agreeable as Mowgli, but as you might guess his character is just a vantage point from which the audience can view all the amazing creatures and action.

I was never a big fan of the old Disney animated film, and most of the other cinematic and TV versions have passed me by. This new "The Jungle Book" manages to seem fresh and full of energy, and that says something all on its own.

Review: "Krisha"

"Krisha" is one of the strongest feature film debuts I've ever seen by a young filmmaker.

The fact the film was shot in nine days using a five-figure Kickstarter campaign is impressive. But what truly astounds is that writer/director/co-star Trey Edward Schults used his own family and friends as the cast, shot in his own parents' home, based on an incident that really happened during a Thanksgiving gathering.

If you think, based on that description, that this is some sort of semi-pro effort, the sort of thing that rarely sees light beyond the festival circuit, you'd be very wrong. It is an incredibly poised, emotionally mature and technically assured piece of work -- the sort of lightning in a bottle most veterans hope to capture once or twice in a career.

The performances are uniformly marvelous, which is more impressive when one considers many of them are non-actors. They largely use their real-life names, including the central character. For some their only other experience was playing in a short film version of this same story Schults made in 2014.

Krisha (Krisha Fairchild) is both the subject and object of the film. A sixtysomething woman who walked out on her extended family a decade ago, she rejoins them at a critical stage -- for them, and for her. She has just reached the point of desiring to reintegrate herself into their midst and atone for old sins. They have just reached the threshold of being willing to accept her. (Though some more so than others.)

This simple family gathering becomes Krisha's crucible. She reacts, and is reacted to. Past resentments quickly flare to the surface. There is reason for hope and cause for dismay. Eventually things reach a crisis point from which there is no return. (About which I'll say no more.)

Fairchild is Schults' real-life aunt but plays his mother here; he plays himself (or a version thereof). Abandoned by his mom as a kid, Trey is now about to graduate from college with a business management degree. Krisha presses him to not abandon his youthful dream of becoming a filmmaker. He is clearly unreceptive to her overtures.

Fairchild is a remarkable physical subject for the camera. With a strong, magnificent face and flowing mane of silver hair, she resembles a powerful Earth goddess traipsing among the mortals. But Krisha (the character) is a bundle of wounds and needs. In between the frantic give-and-take of a large house full of people, she makes short, urgent phone calls, apparently to a new lover. Ostensibly checking in, they sound just this side of desperation.

Unexplainedly, Krisha is missing part of an index finger, which she keeps wrapped in bandages and occasionally spritzes with medicine. It's a direct, if understated, visual message: she's lost parts of herself, parts of her loved ones' lives are missing to her.

The family seems a typical upper-middle-class one. There are so many people, we're not sure at first exactly who is who -- it's possible Krisha doesn't know, either. There are new spouses, a new baby, strapping young men horsing around and watching sports, Krisha's sisters (Robyn and Victoria Fairchild), their husbands, someone's daughter, and later Krisha's aged mother (Ballie Fairchild) freshly picked up from the nursing home.

There are two older men, husbands of the sisters, fathers of the sons, who are quite different from each other. Becker (Chris Doubek) is a doctor and an introverted bundle of nerves. He seems to seek the shadows in every social encounter. But Krisha spies on a moment of genuine warmth between him and Trey, and grows envious.

Then there's Doyle, an acerbic type who always must be the center of attention. It's a scene-stealing performance by Bill Wise, as written and played. Doyle is part Southern gentleman, part witty raconteur, part pain-in-the-ass-for-its-own-sake. He's very good at picking apart the foibles of others; less so at aiming that pinched gaze at himself.

"I'm goddamn Superman; I eat leather and shit saddles!" is one of his many annunciations. Things like this are said in a joshing tone, but we suspect he really embraces it.

Schults' camera wanders through the household like am apparition, seeking out pools of conversation and encounters. The roving cinematography is reminiscent of later Terrence Malick (under whom Schults interned), while the overlapping dialogue is straight from Robert Altman's repertoire. (If you're doing to steal, steal from the best.)

The director uses these techniques to great effect. We feel caught up in the whirlwind as Krisha experiences it. Sometimes we see things from her perspective; sometimes the reverse shot as she is gazed upon and judged. In one very powerful sequence late in the film, we revisit previous encounters and see how they registered from Krisha's point of view.

He also integrates music beautifully into the proceedings, such as a Nina Simone song that accompanies Krisha during the beginning of her downfall. It's amazing how delusion can often feel so magical ... at least for a while.

"Krisha" takes the quotidian stresses and strains of an unremarkable family and transforms them into a subtle, violent warfare of the soul. Trey Edward Shults: More, please.

Reeling Backward: "None But the Brave" (1965)

I've made it something of a hobby horse in this space to touch on movies directed by well-known actors who made it their first and last effort behind the camera. These include the only films directed by the likes of Charles Laughton, Marlon Brando and Karl Malden. Now it's Frank Sinatra's turn and his 1965 anti-war movie, "None But the Brave."

It's a rather ham-handed picture -- demonstrating that Sinatra's rightful place was in front of the camera or behind a microphone, not in the director's chair -- but it's notable for several reasons.

The most obvious are that it was the first joint Japanese/American production, and depicted World War II from more or less morally equivalent vantage points. Decades before Clint Eastwood's "Letters from Iowa Jima," a companion piece to "Flags of Our Fathers," Sinatra's film melded the American and Japanese stories into one.

It's about two small forces of soldiers who are stranded together on a lonely island far away from the action. The war still plays out in a micro version, though, with an outbreak of humanism that holds the bloodshed at bay, at least for a time.

Written by John Twist and Katsuya Susaki, it's a quite pessimistic tale that essentially argues that men are doomed to repeat their mistakes by embracing violence rather than dialogue. We rigidly stay inside our respective silos, divided by nation, race, religion, etc. and fail to see the humanity in each other.

It's a noble sentiment, but one delivered without an ounce of subtlety or originality. As if the film's message weren't clear enough, the title card at the end hammers us square in the forehead: "Nobody ever wins."

(Which is, of course, an idiotic statement on its face. Ask the millions of descendants of Jews who survived the death camps if the Allies' victory was worthwhile or not.)

Sinatra gave himself a supporting role as the chief pharmacist mate aboard a cargo plane that is shot down over the island. The chief -- no name is every given -- is a combination of comic relief and needling voice of reason, who imbibes liberally of the large stock of whiskey among the medical supplies the plane was carrying. (Which all, apparently miraculously, survived a high-speed crash landing on the beach.)

The real protagonists are Captain Bourke (Clint Walker) on the American side, and Lt. Kuroki (Tatsuya Mihashi) for the Japanese. The latter narrates, as writings in a journal addressed to his bride, whom he married on the day he left for the war. Kuroki has a great deal of both humility and conceit about him, describing himself as a descendant of samurai warriors who loves life and the handiwork of mankind.

This is demonstrated in the early going as Kuroki chastises his hidebound sergeant, Tamura (Takeshi Katô), for working the men too hard in the harsh Pacific sun. They are building a boat to send a contingent to make contact with their command and replace destroyed "communicational" equipment. What they don't know is the American naval advance has pushed their tiny island far outside the reach of the Japanese Empire.

The sergeant grumbles, but obeys. Their force also includes a peasant fisherman and a Buddhist priest, both rotund and cheerful and competing for the distinction of worst soldier in the Japanese military. The men clearly respect and adore their lieutenant.

Were that it were so on the Yank side. Bourke spends the first half of the movie convincing the unruly Army soldiers to follow his lead, citing a fictitious piece of military code that any troops aboard his plane remain under his command until such time as they reach their destination. Bourke isn't power hungry, but simply recognizes that their greenhorn 2nd lieutenant, Blair (Tommy Sands), is likely to march into a Japanese ambush if he doesn't assert a more cautious hand.

A word on screen presence: Man, did Clint Walker have it. Though he's not a household name, Walker is a contender for the most impressive physical specimen ever to walk on a Hollywood sound stage. Fully 6½ feet tall, with a 48-inch chest and 32-inch waist, lantern jaw, jet black hair, Caribbean blue eyes and basso profundo voice, he was television's first Western star in "Cheyenne," which ran from 1955 to '63. He literally looks like Superman come to life.

(In 1971 he was impaled through the heart by a ski pole in a freak accident and pronounced dead. But a doctor detected slight signs of life. Walker was revived, recovered and, at 88, is still with us today.)

 

His Bourke is a pragmatic man with his own woman troubles back home. He's supposedly seen a lot of action -- odd for a cargo pilot -- and organizes his men on the far side of the island so they can scout the enemy. Lt. Blair openly challenges his authority at every turn, backed up by pug-nosed Sgt. Bleeker (Brad Dexter), whom Bourke has to put in his place with personal fisticuffs. (Dexter, who often played the big bully, looks like a little twerp next to Walker.)

 

And then there's Tommy Sands' portrayal of the headstrong lieutenant.

 

...Tommy, Tommy, Tommy...

 

This has to go down as one of the most ill-thought performances in Hollywood history. Employing an over-the-top Texas accent, Blair yelps and over-enunciates his words like a carnival barker hocking joy juice to the local rubes. He's not playing a "type," he's playing a caricature. Every time he appears onscreen, it's a distraction. It's like something out of a Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon. 

A more experienced director would've quickly put Sands in his place, or found another actor. Sinatra didn't do that, to the movie's detriment.

 

Sands, who like Sinatra got his start as a teenage pop music idol, saw his career go down the poop chute right around the time this movie was being made -- reputedly with the help of Sinatra, who encouraged his showbiz pals not to hire him. Though this was most likely retaliation for Sands divorcing his daughter, Nancy. Perhaps the younger crooner saw the writing on the wall and decided to stink up his father-in-law's movie as preemptive revenge.

Anyway, things progress as you'd expect. After some initial skirmishes and deaths, including the boat being blown up, the respective commanders set up an exchange in which the chief -- who's passed off as a doctor -- amputates the gangrenous leg of a Japanese corporal in exchange for the Americans getting access to the only fresh spring on the island. 

From there it's happy-happy time, with the men smiling and exchanging fish for cigarettes, with the barest of demarcations between the American and Japanese sides of the islands. Then Bourke fixes his busted radio and manages to arrange for a U.S. destroyer to pick them up, so all bets are off and the war's back on.

Why exactly? From a character/motivational standpoint, it makes little sense. Kuroki, having been established as the wisest man on the island, suddenly insists that it's his obligation to prevent the Americans from getting aboard that ship and becoming operational parts of the American war effort again. Bourke offers to accept their surrender and take them along, but Kuroki would rather lead his men to certain death in a useless gesture toward his sense of duty.

 

While it's not so that nobody ever wins in war, it is very much true that many people lose. Kuroki loses his personal war by remembering his patriotic one. Narratively, this war film loses by shoehorning conflict into places it doesn't fit.

Frank Sinatra's sole directorial effort isn't awful, but it's easily the weakest of those I've visited. Of course, I haven't written about Matthew Broderick's 1996 effort, "Infinity"...

Video: How long will DVD and Blu-rays survive?

It’s a slow week in Videoville -- no major releases in the wake of the seventh “Star Wars”-- so it’s time for another in my occasional series on the state of home video.

When I wrote the first such column about seven years ago, I stated emphatically that DVD and the then-fairly-new Blu-ray format were the inarguable superior choice for watching movies at home. The picture and sound are unmatched compared to streaming, and most disc releases include bonus features unavailable elsewhere.

Over time, I’ve crab-walked further and further over to the streaming video side of the argument. In my last such piece, I admitted that my own family’s streaming consumption far exceeded our time watching on disc.

Now I’m ready to take the next step and ask: How much longer will DVD and Blu-rays survive as a viable format?

Sales of discs continue to fall. Netflix is now largely a streaming business with an arm that mails you DVDs and Blu-rays. Even the cheapest smartphone or tablet can stream Netflix, Amazon Video, Hulu, Vudu, etc. Aside from the limits of your data plan and available Wi-Fi, you can watch almost anything, almost anywhere.

At home, between my Netflix and Amazon Prime subscriptions I can choose from literally thousands of films to stream instantly. And with a decent TV and surround sound, the presentation is roughly equal to DVD.

When people do want discs, they will use Redbox or a similar low-cost outlet to rent DVDs so they can see new releases on video right away rather than waiting for them to come to streaming.

In the unofficial election between video quality vs. convenience, the latter has won in a landslide. Movies on disc are the political equivalent of Barry Goldwater. DVDs have been around since 1999; Blu-ray since 2006. So what happens next?

My best guess is that discs will continue as a popular medium another decade or so. By then, the model for TV/movie/video consumption will have sufficiently blurred that it will no longer seem strange to have a new film released in theaters and streaming simultaneously.

Blu-ray and DVD will become a niche market for hardcore cinephiles who seek the absolute highest quality presentation possible -- roughly analogous to where CDs are for music today.

We are now seeing 3-D and Ultra HD televisions everywhere in stores, along with high-end Blu-ray players to accommodate them. As the price point on those comes down and more titles become available, a certain strata of consumers will migrate to that for when they really want to experience a movie at home with amazing picture and sound.

They key to the survival of the disc format is making sure next-gen players are backward compatible with Blu-rays and DVD. I, for one, don’t want to have to throw out a collection I spent years and thousands of dollars building.

(I already did that once with laserdiscs -- remember those? -- and painfully recall titles I paid $40 for being sold on eBay at $3 or $4.)

The point is, watching movies will continue to grow more democratic and versatile. People will still curl up before a big TV at home to watch a movie, but more often they want to watch while they’re eating lunch, riding in a vehicle or airplane, or even sitting in the dentist’s chair.

DVD and Blu-ray, and their disc-based successors, will endure like classic cars or sports cars. Perhaps 5 percent of the marketplace craves to drive in style; everybody else just wants to get from place to place with the greatest of ease.

Review: "Midnight Special"

"Midnight Special" has that Spielbergian element of wonderment but not the emotional connection. Writer/director Jeff Nichols' fourth feature film, all of which feature Michael Shannon, fills the mind but not the heart. It's a mystery that reveals too little of itself, as if afraid to lay down its big cards and see how the audience reacts.

It's still a worthy film. But compared to the unnerving appeal of "Take Shelter" or the twangy, Twain-esque charm of "Mud," it feels like a bit of a letdown.

Two men are on the run, having kidnapped a curious young boy. Alton (Jaeden Lieberher), 8, sits in the back of the car, content and unafraid, reading comic books while wearing dark goggles as they flee in an old muscle car -- even though it's night. Alton never goes anywhere during the day, never goes out at all in the light.

Answers are few, and drip out at a sometimes frustratingly slow pace.

Roy (Shannon) says he's the boy's father, but we're not entirely certain. He's a little distant, giving instructions in a harsh tone. He seems to regard Alton as an obligation rather than someone to be loved. The other guy is Lucas (Joel Edgerton); we know even less about him than the other two. But he handles himself well in tight corners, and we get the sense that's why he's there.

They clearly care about Alton, revere him even; but it's the sort of care you might have for a pet tiger.

Clearly Alton is special. We know this because a (too) long expository sequence introduces us to The Ranch, a religious cult run by Calvin (Sam Shepard), who is Alton's adoptive father. They've got a Branch Davidian feel -- pastoral, patriarchal, well-armed and expecting a reckoning any day now. The FBI has been watching them for some time, and when Alton is kidnapped they search the place and question everybody.

Adam Driver plays Paul Sevier, a bookish type from the NSA who's brought in because some of the Ranch's scripture includes data that could only come from top-secret satellite communications. Calvin patiently explains that the boy sometimes speaks in tongues, and they write down what he says and regard it as holy text.

There are also reports of supernatural powers, light coming from Alton's eyes, and those who commune with this illumination feel a sense of peace and fulfilmment.

After the feds have left, Calvin dispatches some of his own men (Bill Camp, Scott Haze) with guns to track Roy down and bring Alton back.

We eventually meet up with Alton's mother (Kirsten Dunst), who is eager to be reunited with her son. We get the sense Alton was taken away from her and Roy without their entire willing consent. Both used to be part of the cult, and broke away at some point, or were thrown out.

"We get the sense" is largely the way the audience experiences this movie. Too many filmmakers feel compelled to spell everything out for us, to the point there are no surprises. Nichols goes too far the other way, raising tantalizing question and possibilities and then... just leaving them out there, unexplored.

Since the Ranch folks seem to regard Alton as their resident savior, did the cult exist before he came into their midst? Or did they adjust their beliefs to accommodate his supernatural abilities?

Eventually we learn more about Alton, what he can do, what his purpose is. But the information arrives so late in the going it doesn't have time to register with a lot of visceral impact. There's too much chase-chase and not enough questioning why they're running, and why others are chasing.

Despite all this, I liked the movie. It's in some ways a spiritual successor to "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial." Alton is the intriguing Other whose mystery must be puzzled out, but doing so means certain loss for those who join the quest. Dangerous people join in the hunt, some with benevolent intentions, others selfish, but either way their interference just serves to prevent Alton from fulfilling his destiny.

There's been a lot of buzz about "Midnight Special," but the studio decided to dump it into theaters without any fanfare or screenings. (They even moved up its limited release by a week on short notice.) It's a shame. It's a flawed but worthwhile film that bespeaks of better things to come.

Review: "The Boss"

Now that she's a bona fide major star who puts together her own vehicle pictures, it's heartening to see Melissa McCarthy stepping out of her box. We'd seen her do a lot of the same thing in "The Heat" and "Tammy" and other flicks, playing the rough, socially unskilled, blue-collar woman who does outrageously offensive things seemingly without any concept of how it affects others.

McCarthy has mostly carried these roles off, based on a sassy screen presence and deft comic timing. But we could feel the staleness starting to creep in.

She's playing an actual fresh character in "The Boss," the second collaboration with real-life husband Ben Falcone, who also directed. (Steve Mallory shares a screenwriting credit with the pair.) She plays Michelle Darnell, an uber-rich mogul brought low by her own arrogance, who has to start all over by crashing at the apartment of her harried ex-assistant, played by Kristen Bell.

Think Donald Trump mixed with Suze Orman, plus a smidge of Ann Coulter (the nastiness, not the politics).

I love the physical get-up McCarthy has to play Michelle. She has this impervious bob of reddish hair that drapes her head like a stubborn waterfall. She always wears extravagant outfits and jewelry, even while sleeping. And she's got that lacquered makeup seen on cable newscasters you suspect was put on with industrial paint applicators and could withstand anything short of a category 4 hurricane.

Michelle also wears roll-up collars that come right up to her cheeks. You suspect she started doing that because of a troublesome double chin, and now goes through life in perpetual Kilroy mode, looking like she's peeking over a wall at you.

The story's a bit thin, but McCarthy and Bell have decent chemistry and the jokes' funny-to-flop ratio is pretty high. It's a foul-mouthed, harmless good time.

Bell plays Claire, the straight woman in this duo. She's a hardworking single mom, devoted, a little on the dull side. Claire has spent most of her professional life catering to Michelle's every whim, from running her companies to spraying her teeth with whitener in between raucous stadium shows where she promises to make everyone rich.

Of course, the only one who ever gets rich in these deals is the person who already is.

After spending four months in prison for insider trading -- think Martha Stewart -- Michelle shows up at Claire's doorstep because her assets were seized and she's alienated everyone else she ever encountered. Some predictable bonding occurs, with Ella Anderson offering a winning, grounded presence as Claire's kid, Rachel.

When Michelle discovers how much loot Rachel's Dandelions troop makes selling cookies, she hatches on a scheme to start a competing outfit she dubs Darnell's Darlings. Using Claire's kick-butt brownie recipe, and by recruiting all the tough girls in school to act as muscle, they soon put the ersatz Girl Scouts on the ropes. This leads to an "Anchorman" style beatdown between adorable girls.

Yes, it's derivative; but yes, it still works.

Peter Dinklage turns up as the kooky villain, a former beau of Michelle's that she double-crossed long ago. Tyler Labine is agreeable as Claire's coworker and huggable bear of a love interest. Kathy Bates has a too-small role as Michelle's backstabbed mentor.

"The Boss" is moderately filthy, decently funny and features Melissa McCarthy stretching her wings a bit. It's enough to tide us over until the "Ghostbusters" reboot.

Video review: "Star Wars: The Force Awakens"

For the record, I’ve adored all the Star Wars movies -- even the much-maligned “prequel” trilogy. So when I say that I liked Episode VII, “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” about as much as I did “Star Wars: The Phantom Menace,” is not the intended insult most people think.

I would put both near the bottom of any ranking of the franchise. Which is to say I think they’re still very good science fiction/fantasy films. But their flaws are more glaring than the others. I won’t belabor those of “Phantom Menace,” as they’re well-known -- kooky trade war plot, Jar Jar buffoonery, etc.

The biggest problem with “TFA” is that it’s not terribly original. It’s essentially a reboot of the first film: a nobody on a desert planet rises to glory through the mystical Force; bad guy in a black mask; cantina of bizarre aliens; roguish smuggler Han Solo sets aside cynicism to join the rebels; world-destroying space station threatens the galaxy; plans for its destruction are embedded in a perky little robot.

Director J.J. Abrams, who co-wrote the script with Lawrence Kasdan and Michael Arndt, seemed more intent on making a greatest hits compilation for the fans than a logical and satisfying extension of the Star Wars saga.

Like: how is it that 30 years after its defeat, the Empire has reconstituted itself into the First Order, complete with Stormtrooper armies and a new Death Star (er, Starkiller Base). What were Leia (Carrie Fisher) and the Galactic Senate doing all this time?

The setup is that Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) was training a new generation of Jedi Knights when he was betrayed by his chief pupil, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), who was seduced to the dark side despite his good parentage. (Which I’ll not reveal here, for the 0.2% of readers who didn’t see the movie in theaters and are still innocent of the Internet.)

The plans for Starkiller Base come into the possession of Rey (Daisy Ridley), a mysterious scavenger living the quiet life on barren Jakku, and Finn (John Boyega), a Stormtrooper who betrayed his dark conditioning. They meet up with Han Solo (Harrison Ford), searching for his long-lost ship the Millennium Falcon, as everyone scrambles to get the plans before First Order wipes out the resistance.

It’s a delightful space adventure, with plenty of dogfights, scary critters and lightsaber duels. Kylo Ren is a new iteration of villain – self-aware, unbalanced, petulant. Rey remains an enigma, including to herself, but there are hints of great destiny ahead. The weakest character is Finn, who transforms overnight from emotionless soldier to hootin’ rebel cheerleader without even the barest of emotional journeys. (Boyega’s often over-the-top performance doesn’t help, either.)

But it’s easy to overlook the failings in “Star Wars: The Force Awakens,” because they don’t detract from the immediacy of the thrills. I’m just hoping future films in the series will harbor a little more ambition.

Bonus features are pretty good, mostly represented in seven featurettes that touch on special effects, John Williams’ musical score, building BB-8, etc. There’s also a lengthy making-of documentary, “Secrets of The Force Awakens: A Cinematic Journey,” plus several deleted scenes.

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