The Boys in the Band
Support film festivals — all of them that you can. Also, please vote, because things are just getting stranger and more chaotic out here, and I don’t even know what to tell you. If you’re reading this, hopefully it’s because you need something visual that’s not too abysmal — and we’ve got weeks and weeks of that for you to peruse. (See prior streaming recommendations here: March 26, April 2, April 9, April 16, April 23, April 30, May 7, May 14, May 21, May 28, June 4, June 11, June 18, June 25, July 2, July 9, July 16, July 23, July 30, Aug. 6, Aug. 13, Aug. 20, Aug. 27, Sept. 3, Sept. 10, Sept. 17, Sept. 24.) But for this week, I’m aiming to cover a lot of ground. I hope this helps in your process for navigating this Mad Libs of a world we’re currently in.
The Boys in the Band on Netflix
First as an off-Broadway phenomenon in 1968 thanks to the graces of the late Natalie Wood, and then as a 1970 William Friedkin film, playwright Mart Crowley’s The Boys in the Band is one of those texts that is both famous and infamous for what it does and where it goes. Its 2018 Broadway bow and 2020 film remake (both directed by theatrical legend Joe Mantello) serve as a reaction to that seminal text and to the society it takes place in. Before Stonewall; before the HIV/AIDS pandemic; before Obergefell v. Hodges. This is one of those glorious ’60s pieces of theater in which archetypes and trauma flow like wine, and did somebody say wine? Yes, please. The emotions are big, and so is the import. It’s a gathering of gay friends (and one ambiguous question mark), and the issues are gay. The big hook for this new production/film (which features the same cast) is that all the performers are openly gay as well — something simply impossible in the 1968/1970 go-round. Michael (Jim Parsons, who is fun at first but then yields Kevin Spacey-face as his character gets drunker and meaner) has opened his gorgeous split-level apartment to the group — and Robin de Jesús (from Camp), Matt Bomer, Michael Benjamin Washington and Charlie Carver make the most impactful impressions. A special shout-out to Zachary Quinto as Harold for Going There with his performance, somehow true to the era yet anticipating decades-away meme culture. This show was never for everybody, but it’s refreshing for Netflix to commit to presenting a gay story this conscious of both the past and the present. So much drama, and it’s all delicious.
Happy Halloween, Scooby-Doo! on DVD and video on demand
Remember earlier in the pandemic when the would-be theatrical release of Scoob! got shifted to video on demand? There was some degree of conflicted chatter from the world (about Hanna-Barbera cinematic-universe-building, the unfortunate presence of Mark Wahlberg and the unnecessary recasting of all of the primary voice cast) that got swept aside because it was at that time when we were “all in this together.” Well, in keeping with Warner’s direct-to-DVD animated Scooby-Doo films, we’ve got a spooky Halloween adventure with the usual voiceover cast (including Matthew Lillard as Shaggy and Kate Micucci as Velma), and it’s a delight. It certainly bests Scoob! How can you not love a film in which Mystery Incorporated becomes friends with Elvira and has to battle a Batman villain as well as an army of floating pumpkins determined to transform all of Crystal Cove into an unstoppable vegetable force? Also, there’s about half an hour where we’ve got an unofficial Mad Max: Fury Road remake with Bill Nye as an internet-based real-time GPS/on-board sysop. It’s a brisk 80 minutes — paced very well, spooky but not too scary for the little ones, and the secret of Elvira’s hair? Totally revealed.
My Octopus Teacher
My Octopus Teacher on Netflix
Beautiful in imagery and concept if a little perfunctory in structure, My Octopus Teacher is one of those documentaries that scratches a lot of different itches. If you dig undersea photography, it’s an exquisite journey into the South African coastal seas and the many different biomes that occur in those parts of the ocean. If you like narratives in which dads learn how to relate to their children through seemingly unrelated circumstances — and you can tell by their shoulders that their posture has been a giveaway for regret and the passage of time — you are totally going to respond to this film. The same goes for observing how a man speaks of and relates to an animal, and how that tells you what it’s like being in a relationship with him. And if you dig the magical weirdness of our cephalopod friends in the ocean, My Octopus Teacher has a lot to offer on that front as well. There’s some circle-of-life territory herein, so it’s not for the most delicate of sensibilities, and anthropomorphism is thankfully kept to a minimum. But you get a feeling for this octopus and her travails, and it’s very difficult not to get swept up in the amount of living this feisty mollusk does in a year.
Tenet in theaters of all sorts
Short prelude: I still don’t feel comfortable going to indoor theaters. Your mileage may vary. I don’t want exhibitors to go out of business, nor do I want anyone to die because of the absolutely understandable need for the transcendent social experience of seeing a movie with other folks. But I’m still at the place where I’m sticking to drive-ins for non-streaming options, and thankfully Tenet is showing at several of those. I’ve seen it twice now (both times at Centerville’s Pink Cadillac Drive-In on Highway 100), and the second viewing helped a lot. It wasn’t just knowing the narrative map either, because much of the unintelligible dialogue that has rightfully been getting a lot of digital ink seemed completely comprehensible the second time around. John David Washington is charming and direct as the Protagonist (hopefully Neal Stephenson was amused), Robert Pattinson shines as a Brundlefly of David Bowie and Christopher Hitchens, and Elizabeth Debicki takes a tortured stereotype of a role and turns it into something with gravitas and iconic force. The action is refreshingly physical, and the central tenet (ha!) of the screenplay, involving multiple vectors of existence, is a lot of fun. Other than that last action sequence and the tired trope of defining a woman’s state of being by her nonentity children, the big misstep is Kenneth Branagh trying to play a Russian oligarch version of Balem Abrasax from Jupiter Ascending and missing by miles. But it’s fun, and it may be the last blockbuster we’re getting for a while, so see it with a particle physicist or art punk whom you love.
