Personally affecting, "The Farewell" is a little movie with a big heart. And, because it's PG and suggested for the whole family, this is a perfect opportunity to make sure that spoiled little grandchild in your clan doesn't become the only freshman at Princeton who hasn't seen a subtitled movie.
Although most of the world is by now familiar with the saga, the combination of resplendent landscapes and superb voicing of the magnificently imaged players breathes a reinvigorating spirit into the franchise.
Like the cavemen in "Quest for Fire" (1981) who are committed to literally keeping the flame of life burning, Jack sees himself as the emissary from a time lost — the sole repository of the poetic genius that was The Beatles.
The brazenly oddball mechanisms he employs to build the scenario and make his points draw us into the nuttiness of his premise with the magnetic appeal of that naughtily mischievous kid who lived on your block.
The essence of the late-night talk show is much more than what is visible to the drowsy eye. It is about the magic that can exist within the art of conversation. And in "Late Night," Emma Thompson as TV host Katherine Newbury, a practitioner in that black art, illustriously takes us behind the smoke and mirrors of keeping folks up past their bedtime.
But what drives you crazy as you partake of Kempner's scholarly and entertaining treasure trough of the superbly assembled puzzle that was Newark, N.J.'s, Moe Berg, is, how about all the stuff we probably don't know about him?
Thus, because of its celebrated songbook and heartrending meditation on the search for love, I emphatically endorse "Rocketman" before setting my moviegoing trajectory for "Godzilla II: King of the Monsters," and wonder if I'll construe 'tis also amour that motivates the beast.
Rated PG and boasting a bevy of positive beliefs, with special emphasis on the leadership roles it passionately affirms are rightfully waiting for the fairer sex to assume, it's just the sort of film I'd want to take my daughter, Erin, to when she was little.
Adding insult to the societal injury movies like the John Wick franchise commit, this is big business. It has grossed $53 million as of this writing, and it'll play all summer before going on to the really big money that movies make in the post-theater convenience of our dens.
Pulling no punches in its hardly veiled muckrake of the current four-flushers down in Foggy Bottom, this delightfully quixotic confection, heir to the screwball comedies directors Frank Capra and Preston Sturges buoyed Depression Era audiences with, is shrewdly enjoyable.
The seriocomic adventure tale, a panoply of the very latest computer magic to suffuse the silver screen, is rapid-fire action most of the way, it is ultimately an exuberant kaleidoscope of technology, friendship and the separating of truth from the deceit of those who would bamboozle us. I
Still, my rooting was cautious, always respecting in fearsome awe the uncertainty of youth and the mysteries it held. One misstep and you're on the pre-gentrified Bowery, squeegeeing car windows, or at least that's what my Mom warned whenever she had trouble waking me for school.