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In This Issue

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Spank the Honkey The victim of a racial slur exacts a special kind of retribution

Class Struggle Maplewood has all the trappings of any all-American high school. If it weren’t for its test scores and a ghastly graduation rate, it probably wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar.

The Spin

Courtroom Absence Tennessean ignores the prosecution of a deadly gang

Campaign Update Clinton recalls terrifying BNA landing; McCain makes major address on race; Obama discusses ‘crazy’ preacher

Lady Saves the Day Ashley Bishop’s strong performance as Billie Holiday overcomes a static script

 

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LEATHERHEADS On-screen and off, George Clooney is like a holdover from a time—which may only have existed in the movies—when men were witty gadabouts who knew how to dress, charm the pants off a lady, and throw a punch if the occasion called for it. All of which makes Clooney’s third film as director, Leatherheads, sound almost too good to be true: a 1920s screwball comedy with Clooney as a scrappy hustler trying to put a respectable face on the scruffy new sport of professional football, while a feisty reporter (Renée Zellweger) targets his golden-boy college-football star (The Office’s John Krasinski). It’s an appealing screwball premise, and there’s little question that Clooney has done his homework—he’s decked out Leatherheads with fast-talking ink-slingers who seem to have walked right out of The Front Page and a battle-of-the-sexes bedroom scene borrowed from It Happened One Night. He’s also cast actors who play very well in period mode, and given them dialogue strewn with rat-a-tat rejoinders. But for all that looks and sounds right here, Leatherheads never quite feels right. The tempo seems a half-beat or so off the Hawks and Sturges farces it emulates—it aims for clickety-clack and ends up closer to clickety-clunk. It’s the least visually adventurous of Clooney’s three films, too. —Scott Foundas (Opens Friday)

SHINE A LIGHT Big-shot director Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones concert film is not only a vanity project for everyone involved, it’s a total tongue bath. The backstory: Scorsese has used Stones anthems to classic effect (Mean Streets, Goodfellas, The Departed), so the World’s Greatest Rock ’n’ Roll Band asked the Very Excellent Film Director if he’d like to film the Highest-Grossing Tour of All Time. He happily obliged, the Stones signed on as producers, and all parties settled on documenting the second of two 2006 Stones-headlined charity benefits celebrating Bill Clinton’s 60^th birthday. But Shine a Light’s only point seems to be: You try this at 60. If Altamont was the Boston Massacre of rock shows, this Beacon Theater date is a presidential-library dedication. So invariably we get the hits (“Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” “Shattered”), Keith singing “Connection” like a hound dog in heat, and Jack White looking genuinely humbled to join Jagger for a superb rendition of “Loving Cup.” Mick’s cheek crevices may look like they could swallow a truck, and his “Sympathy for the Devil” woooo-hooo may now sound like a dying crow, but his bafflingly tight stomach is a wondrous relic, impressive for any man of any age. Shine a Light is not. —Camille Dodero (Opens Friday)