Showing posts with label Phylicia Rashad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Phylicia Rashad. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Film review: "Creed"


“Creed” is a self-conscious attempt to bring closure to the Rocky Balboa saga, by depicting the aged boxer passing on the torch to another underdog. It’s a classic story of beginnings and endings, fathers and sons, starting a new chapter and closing an old one.

It’s well-made, stirring, and would make for a fitting summation to a 40-year journey.

(Though as long as Sylvester Stallone, who’ll be 70 next year, is capable of shambling in front of the camera and mouthing that iconic stumblebum patois, don’t bet on this being the last “Rocky” movie.)

Just how important is Rocky to us? He’s probably the most famous sports figure who isn’t actually real. Check that; in many ways, you could argue he is real. Certainly his influence is – on movies, the sport of boxing and the city of Philadelphia.

There’s a scene in “Creed” where people are shown having their pictures taken in front of a statue of Rocky Balboa at the Philadelphia Museum of Art – the place where he famously ascended those steps in the first movie. It’s supposed to demonstrate how Rocky, now long out of the boxing game and quietly running a little restaurant named Adrian’s, became a legend.

But that’s an actual statue in front of the actual museum, put there as part of a scene from “Rocky III” -- demonstrating that myths can turn into reality, and vice-versa.

The film stars Michael B. Jordan, one of the finest young actors working in film today. Director Ryan Coogler, who co-wrote the script with Aaron Covington, also directed Jordan in the powerful “Fruitvale Station.” Tonally the two films are somewhat similar, in that Jordan’s character is a wayward soul trying to improve himself, only to be pushed down by an uncaring and capricious system.

Adonis Johnson is the illegitimate son of Apollo Creed, Rocky’s opponent from the first two movies who eventually became his closest friend. He died in the ring before Adonis was born, who grew up angry in the child welfare system before being taken in my Apollo’s widow (Phylicia Rashad.)

“Donny” was raised in comfort and security – unlike Rocky, the Creeds kept their boxing dough – but has a Drago-sized chip on his shoulder. He doesn’t feel like he belongs to anyone, is both proud and ashamed of his heritage. He fights low-end professional bouts in Mexico while working a day job in the financial sector.

After running his mouth and being humiliated in the ring by a legitimate boxer, Adonis decides to strive for his dream and make it on his own as a fighter, without using dad’s name as a stepping stone. He moves to a cruddy apartment in Philly, and enlists Rocky to train him. Donny calls him “Unc” and regards Balboa as family, though Rocky is reluctant to reenter the world where he’s lost so much.

Stallone is regretful and poignant, playing a man who doesn’t really have much to live for, but presses on because he doesn’t know how to quit. In Adonis he sees a chance to nurture, to hone and to protect – i.e., to be a father again.

Of course, because this is a Rocky movie it ends with a fight for the championship. How exactly one goes from novice to contender is left deliberately murky. A romance with the cool downstairs girl (Tessa Thompson) has an obligatory feel – why must there always be a love interest?

The bad guy is Ricky “Pretty Boy” Conlan, played by real-life fighter Tony Bellew. He’s a Cockney brawler looking for a quick payday owing to pressing circumstances, and he and his manager (Graham McTavish) see using the Creed name as a way to drum up exposure. Rocky sees what’s happening, doesn’t like it, but gives Donny the space to make his own decisions – while having to make some hard choices of his own.

“Creed” isn’t up there with the first four Rocky movies. But it summons their spirit, and adds a few grace notes of its own. “Rocky” was the story of a guy who fought because he had nothing else; this is the tale of a man with choices who traces in his father’s footsteps in order to become his own man.

Just as it was in 1976, there are different forms of victory.




Sunday, August 10, 2014

Video review: "Frankie & Alice"


It has been my considered opinion that any work of fiction based on the dubious psychological diagnosis of split personalities is doomed from the start. This sort of movie was already clichéd back in the 1970s, and since then many mainstream scientists have come to the conclusion the whole notion of different identities living inside the same body is bunk.

So I was prepared to detest “Frankie & Alice,” the new drama starring Halle Berry (who’s been slumming a whole lot since her Oscar win). Though I should point that calling this film “new” stretches the limits of the word. Shot in 2008, it was given a brief theatrical release in 2010 to qualify for award nominations – which were scant in arriving – before being dumped into theaters this past spring.

In short, everything about it screams “bomb.”

So I was surprised to discover a reasonably engaging movie featuring a strong performance by Berry, and another one by Stellan Skarsgård, who plays her doctor. The writing is at times amateurish and sloppy – with no less than six credited screenwriters, plus two others for story, this film is a prime example of the pitfalls of screenwriting by committee. But director Geoffrey Sax wisely keeps the focus on what’s best, the tense interaction between patient and doctor.

A delicate dance between mistrust and empathy, Frankie’s treatment by Dr. Oz gradually makes progress in uncovering her various personalities – who vary widely in blood pressure, IQ, left- or right-handedness and even race.

Set in 1974, Frankie is a veteran stripper at a swank club (who nonetheless manages to keep everything covered) and party girl on the side. Her tendency for sudden mood shifts, even violent outbursts, eventually lands in her in a mental hospital.

Dr. Oz uncovers two “alter” identities: Alice, a vain and bitter white Southern belle, and Genius, a timid preadolescent girl who acts as Frankie’s reluctant guardian.

The plot unfolds almost like a crime procedural, with the doctor’s psychoanalysis coupled with flashbacks to Frankie’s past providing clues to the wellspring of her mental breakdown. Phylicia Rashad shows up as her devout mother, who tends to turn a blind eye to her daughter’s dark spells.

“Frankie & Alice” isn’t entirely successful, but it smartly focuses more on the characters than the kooky psychology.

Extra features, which are the same for both DVD and Blu-ray editions, are limited to a single featurette, “The Making of Frankie & Alice with Halle Berry.”

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