Nomadland (Hulu, 2020)

 The coal trucks were driven off the mountain and past my house in a predictable order. It was an order determined, I guessed, by how far their destination was from the tipple. 

The red truck was my favorite. For weeks, during the summer of 1975, I hid behind a bush near the road and waited for that truck to drive by. At each pass I'd jump from behind the bush and use a pretend-gun stick to shoot at the driver who would pretend-shoot back. I'd stagger as if hit, then fall backward onto the grass as he blasted his horn in triumph. 

We carried out this routine every single day, every single pass. Until suddenly we didn't. The red truck -- and all the other trucks, too -- one day just stopped driving by. 

It was my first lesson in how our lives and livelihoods are controlled by others. Especially by those who have the power that comes with big money. The sort of money that can pay a guy to haul coal until it's no longer profitable to do so, and the sort of power that allows The Man to not worry about how a trucker will feed his family after the coal mine is closed and his job is terminated. 

Chloé  Zhao's Nomadland reminded me of that trucker and others I've known who are forced to alter their lifestyle and reimagine their dreams because the work they carried out for most of their lives was no longer useful to The Man. That's the context behind this movie: the main manufacturing company in Empire, Nevada shuts down, forcing hundreds of employees to relocate and killing the town of Empire.  Widowed Fern chooses to become a van dweller, a nomadic lifestyle in which people travel from job to job while living in their vehicle. Fern and others form a loose-knit community, and run into each other time and again as they travel their circuitous route. 

Members of this community refuse to say "goodbye" when they split up. Instead, they'll "see you on down the road." 

Nomadland is beautifully shot, with Academy Award-worthy performances by Frances McDormand and David Strathairn. Director Zhao is patient and allows the story to naturally unfold. While the film is not politically themed,  I couldn't help but think of it from that perspective. Is the nomad lifestyle one that's chosen through free will, or is it forced upon people who are marginalized in society? 

Is Fern living this lifestyle because she loves it, or because she has no other choice? 

Considering that question for more than a moment is a waste of time. It doesn't matter why Fern embraced the nomad lifestyle. She did. The beauty of the film is watching as she lives every single moment of her life. This lifestyle doesn't lend itself to waste or want; you live in the moment or you don't survive. 

And perhaps that's a lesson for us all. 

One interesting aspect on Nomadland is that real-life nomads play fictionalized versions of themselves, adding true depth and genuineness. Casting this group allows the peek behind the curtain to feel real, almost as if one is watching a documentary.  I fell in love with Linda May, Swanky, and Bob. They're happy, kind people who care for others in their community. 

Exactly the sort of people I hope to see again some day on down the road. 

Palmer (Apple TV+, 2021)

After the end credits, I cranked up the Internet to read some review of Palmer.

"Justin Timberlake aims for redemption in familiar drama," one review read, while others described it as "heartfelt but familiar," with a plot that contained "familiar material." 

Familiar? Seriously? 

When is the last time you watched a mainstream movie about a pre-teen boy who, despite being bullied by classmates, stays unflinching true to himself? 

Name that movie where a child remains unwavering, despite being told constantly by almost everyone in his life that his perception of himself, his likes and interests, and his loyalties are wrong? 

Where are all those movies with the familiar plot about a young child who is a better parent to his mother than she is to him?

Familiar my ass.  

There are certainly parts of Palmer that are familiar. But any critic that describes Palmer as "familiar" isn't paying enough attention to Sam, a memorable character. made greater by the superb acting of Ryder Allen. He brings a genuineness and sincerity to a role that likely would have come across as flat and two-dimensional in the hands of a lessor-skilled actor. 

Oh yeah, Justin Timberlake was pretty good as Palmer, the guy who learns from Sam that diversity and acceptance makes us better people. I wish Timberlake made more movies, he's a solid actor. 

The Dig (2021)

Most things in life that hold any real value are worth the efforts necessary for you to achieve them. 

That's true for finding love, developing friendships, maintaining life quality, and having personal and professional integrity. And, of course, it's also true about finding historic artifacts buried deep within the earth.

All those things are on display in Simon Stone's mostly-true re-telling of the 1939 Sutton Hoo excavation, which uncovered Anglo-Saxon artifacts that changed how we understand our history. 

The Dig is beautifully shot, well-paced, and consistent. Carey Mulligan, Ralph Fiennes, and the rest of the cast deliver top shelf performances. For me, however, the strength of the film rests in the use of metaphor to explain what's going on in the lives of the lead actors. Those comparisons are subtle, yet powerful.

The Dig is well worth your investment.   

The White Tiger (2021)

I'm not gonna waste your time with a half-assed review, because anything I try to write about this movie will turn out to be less than it deserves. 

Insufficient. Completely inadequate. 

There are only two things you need to know about The White Tiger: 

1. Stop whatever you're doing. Now. Pop some corn, crank up the Netflix, and watch this movie. 

2. Adarsh Gourav will be nominated for, and deserve to win, an Academy Award for Best Actor. 

Greenland (2020)

Morgan Freeman's role as President Trumbull appears dramatically reduced. During the credit roll I realized I didn't even notice him in this film. 

The Little Things (2021)

John Lee Hancock's The Little Things is, by any definition, a crime thriller. And it's a good one. Denzel Washington and Rami Malek are convincing as two cops -- polar opposites in style and career arc -- who work together to solve a series of killings in 1990 Los Angeles. 

You remember 1990. Pre-cell phones and social media, the Internet was only emerging, and only those geeky scientists were talking about DNA evidence. 1990 policing was all about putting in the time: stakeouts, walking the pavement, knocking on doors, searching for witnesses. The Little Things portrays that era well. 

(One of my favorite scenes is when one of the detectives relays some important information to his partner by pulling his car off the Interstate and using a call box to make the call. It was the Stone Age of detective work.)

Washington's Joe Deacon is nearing the end of his career, consumed by the events of a case that changed his life and career path. Malek's Jim Baxter is an up-and-coming, buttoned-down cop consumed by putting the bad guys away at all costs. Their obsession to close cases has take a toll on their professional and personal lives. Relationships have soured, their reputations are tainted, and it appears that their mental health is starting to be affected. 

Veteran cop Deacon teaches cop-on-the-rise Baxter that it's the "little things" involved in police work that are important for solving a case. Over the course of the film Baxter also learns that the "little things," too, are important to manage when you step out of bounds to achieve a greater good. 

Washington is terrific as the subdued, humbled, and haunted Joe Deacon. And Malek -- who I've not really warmed up to thus far in movies -- is very good as the flashy and aggressive Jimmy Baxter. Jared Leto, who plays the suspected killer, transforms the movie every time he's on screen. He's both scary and funny, and at different times convinces the audience of his innocence and of his guilt. 

Leto's Albert Sparma will be a character remembered. 

News Of The World (2021)

 A well acted, entertaining movie that shows how Tom Hanks pioneered social media. One small town at a time. 

Tenet (2020)

Here’s a time travel story I understand much more than I understood Tenet. And, this story doesn’t have the audio issues of most Chris Nolan films. 

Come on, be honest. You know Nolan’s films always go this way:

The Protagonist: “We live [BOOM] [BOOM] in a [BOOM] twilight [BOOM] world.”

On The Rocks (2020)

 Bill Murray is a national treasure. Bill Murray paired with Sophia Coppola is movie gold. 

Promising Young Woman (2020)

It seems appropriate that I watched Promising Young Woman on New Year's Eve. 

The night before the year turn is a time of reflection. For hindsight; the lessons gleaned from introspection. Emerald Fennell's dark comedy -- and I'm not entirely comfortable giving it that label -- forces viewers to consider our lifetime of actions and how those action affected others. 

Carey Mulligan stars as Cassie who, in her late 20s, struggles to make progress in life. She's stuck due to tragedy that occurred years earlier when Nina, her best friend and medical school classmate, was raped. Cassie spends most of her time secretly planning and carrying out revenge on sexual predators and those who enable it. Her family and friends know she's stuck and try to support her in getting her life back on track. But she can't move on; she's too obsessed, too focused. 

She's consumed by vengeance. 

Fennell uses subtle color schemes to pull back the curtain on Cassie's psychology. The color of ink she chooses when keeping tally of the men encountered while on the prowl suggests some were treated more harshly than others. She paints each fingernail a different, bright color that suggests whimsey to everyone around her, masking that her attention to her goal is laser focused. And Fennel briefly invokes a scene from Joker to suggest that Cassie has reached an emotional breaking point. 

Promising Young Woman is a very good film. But what makes it great is that it forces the audience to identify in our own lives that line between bad behavior and behavior that happens because "we were just kids and didn't know any better." 

In my life, and perhaps in yours too, that line has moved as we've matured. The problem is how -- not if but how -- our behavior has affected the lives of other people, and what damage we've caused family, friends, and acquaintances caught in our wake.