Movie Review: Medieval Resistance that may have Inspired Robin Hood — “The Uprising”

I can’t say that one of my favorite filmmakers, Paul Greengrass, made the wisest decision in trying to make a famous “Off with their heads!” peasants’ rebellion the basis for the legend of Robin Hood.

The legend seems to date from assorted outlaws and knights who went rogue in the 13th century, and “The Uprising” is a fictionalized retelling of the events of the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381.

But the director of “United 93,” “Captain Phillips,” “Bloody Sunday” and the best of the Bournes takes a shot at rendering this cherished piece of English history relevent to his (British born) times, and ours. And if your ears perk up when his script has someone use the word “deplorables” to describe those the elites tax and work to death, and another charactor growl “No kings,” that’s your clue.

Every so often, the Little People reach their breaking point and rise up. Such stories hearten the downtrodden in our darkest hours. And even doomed revolts have their idealistic origins, good reasons to “take arms against a sea of troubles.” The same goes for movies that overreach.

Andrew Garfield is a poor ploughman in the lowlands of Essex, a lost soul mourning those in the three graves of his hardscrabble farm. His wife and children died in the Black Death. Half the population of England perished with them.

That’s reduced the ranks of taxpayers and serfs, hitting the Church, the Crown and the Royal Council of advisors to teen King Richard II (Woody Norman) where they live. How can they finance wars in Scotland and France and live, dress and eat in the style they’ve grown accustomed to?

Tax businessfolk? No, they’ll “want a place at the table” of power for that, Treasurer Hales (Tom Hollander) warns. So, it’s the peasants again who’ve got to foot the bill. An archbishop (Stephen Dillane) can only cluck in mock sympathy.

When the Essex taxman — backed by chainmailed sergeants at arms — enforces rents and taxes demanded by the havesof the have-nots since all the land was divvied up by the Normans and “writ” in The Domesday Book, when he insists the Ploughman pay not only what he owes but also the “Death Tax” on his lost family, when his goons start molesting girls to see if they’re old enough to be taxed as adults, the protests of the local priest fall on deaf ears.

The Ploughman is the one who bellows “ENOUGH!” And when the goons come for him, they face his rage and eventually, his sharpened scythe.

The Peasants’ Revolt has begun. It spreads, with the Ploughman leading villagers who stuck up for him to the tax records holdings, torching the paperwork and killing anyone who stands in their way. “Heretic” priest John Ball’s release (Jamie Bell) from prison gives them a rabble-rousing motivational speaker. And soldier Wat Tyler (Cosmo Jarvis) gives the rebels just enough leadership to point them at London.

With the king’s army tied up in Scotland and France, “commons” will march on the city, “petition the king” and “save him” from his evil councillors.

Up the commons,” they shout. The common men and women (Thomasin McKenzie plays a furious agitator who used to be a nun) will be heard and they will have their grievances addressed.

The queen mum (Katherine Waterston) may be concerned and seem sympathetic. But she’s most concerned for her callow kid with the crown, who is having nightmares, listening to tyrannical advice and plainly not in charge here.

Garfield is credible enough as this farmer who turns out to be awfully hard to kill, even when he’s facing professional fighting men. That’s the magic of movies, and the often-scripted power of “rage” to help one overcome any foe.

Jarvis is even more believable, and Bell works up a fine lather as a raging priest revolting against a heartlessly corrupt church, among other evils. McKenzie makes a nice zealot and Waterston gives us shades of “inscrutable” as the mother of a bratty mop top better suited to a boy band than a crown.

Greengrass utterly immerses us in this world of wood, thatch, oppression and mud. He taps into the working class appeal of this story, whose “politics” are as obvious and simplistic as they were in “Spartacus,” “Les Miserables” and in “Peterloo.”

As it would take the Brits almost another 300 years to break their monarchical addiction — with extreme prejudice and yet only temporarily — we know this story will take a turn towards a doomed poignancy. Ideals remain out of reach, snatched by ugly human nature and the determination of those with “the addiction of wealth” to maintain it.

But I’ll say this for Greengrass. He always serves up a thought-provoking ride. Even when the tale eyerollingly turns towards Sherwood Forest, I was thinking about the ancestral estate right across the road from ours, deeded to a Virginia family by “Mad” King George III well over 250 years ago, and still in their hands to this day, even though they haven’t lived on it or worked it in forever.

Chew on that and tell me “progressive” taxation is “fair” and that most people, “deplorable” or not, would think “ENOUGH” loud enough for the next spark of “Uprising” to break out.

Rating: R, graphic violence

Cast: Andrew Garfield, Jamie Bell, Thomasin McKenzie, Woody Norman, Katherine Waterston, Stephen Dillaine, Tom Hollander, Sky Yang and Cosmo Jarvis

Credits: Scripted and directed by Paul Greengrass. A Focus Features release.

Running time: 2:06

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Movie Review: Just Close the Curtains on this “Knightfall”

“Knightfall,” the latest title of a thriller that had other working titles, is a B, C or D movie starring the dye-job-fools-no-one son of the funniest James Bond and a little known actress who looks as if she was cast at Mar-a-Lago.

I’ll let you ponder the photos above to figure out who is who.

It’s about a “mole” in an intelligence unit trying to track down some weapons-grade bacteria, and the scientist “above my clearance” forced to join in the killing and kicking ass it takes to get it back.

Being a British film, breeding matters. So as regards Rosalind “Ros” Knight (Jeanine Sothcott), “We DO know who her father is” matters more than it should.

Geoffrey Moore’s the agent in love with her, the one who knows the stakes. “We screw up tonight, and the world’s a lot more dangerous– for everyone!” He’s talking about the bacteria, not the romance.

A botched marina-side interception in the dark of night sets our chase in motion, and heaven help the “IFBs” who get in the way. Moore’s Hugh gets to define that acronym, too.

“Innocent f—–g bystanders!”

Our scientist has the pass key to the case holding the bacteria and is dragged into this violent world and forced to fight for her life — unconvingingly.

Michael Paré collects a check for a working vacation in the UK by playing the U.S. agent sent to protect Ros, as nobody knows who anybody can trust in those British secret services.

And Ian Ogilvy is the grumpy, weathered “father” who raised Ros, a veteran of the services himself and not to be underestimated as the climax closes in on Knightfall, the family estate. He has a pet black revolver he named “Jemima.”

Ahem.

There’s not much to this spy tale, and certainly not enough to justify four credited writers. The sound effects and fight choreography are lacking, Ben Fortune’s slack direction does nothing for the pacing and the whole affair seems more misguided than half-hearted.

But they saw that they could re-title it and hope some folks confuse “Knightfall” for the animated “Batman: Knightfall, Part 1” released a coupld of weeks back. Don’t be fooled. This “knight” falls and can’t get back up.

Rating: unrated, violence

Cast: Geoffrey Moore, Jeanine Nerissa Sothcott, Rupert Holliday Evans, Ian Ogilvy and Michael Paré

Credits: Directed by Ben Fortune, scripted by Simon Cluett, Robert Dunn, Bob Schultz and James Smy. A Saban release.

Running time: 1:22

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Movie Review: A Legend of the Steppes Gives the Mongols What For — “Rise of the Conqueror”

A Danish American bit-player rolls the dice as star and co-writer of a big-screen Medieval combat period piece in “Rise of the Conqueror,” a good looking but strained bit of mid-Mongol Empire history shot where all of this really happened — Uzbekistan.

If you don’t know the story of Timur, or as he’s known in the West Tamerlane, you might need to brush up a bit before tackling the new epic about his “rise.” It’s about a Turco-Mongol leader’s climb to power in the Silk Road era of Mongol conquests and intrigues in the Samarkand, Uzbekistan of the mid to late 14th century, around 150 years after the death of Genghis Khan.

Those depicted include the Muslim Timur (Christian Mortensen) of the Barlas Tribe, his fiery archer-wife Aljai (Yulduz Rajabova), her brother/his brother-in-law Hussayn (Mahesh Jadu) and Ilias Khan (Joshua Jo), who takes over as overlord of this corner of the Mongol Empire during Timur’s life.

Actually, there are scads more featured players — all of them little-known — and the relationships and agendas of each character they play are very hard to keep straight in this film.

Timur is a well-born tribesman placed high in ruling circles of Samarkand, married to the sister of the figurehead royal family and thus subservient to her brother Hussayn when the inevitable assassinations begin again.

Timur’s refusal to join a rebellious uncle is rewarded by positions of power and responsibility by the aged regional khan (Maruf Otajonov). The Mongols don’t appreciate that as much as he’d hoped. And his loyalty to “a lesser man” (Hussayn) as possible leader of a break-away state is questioned by all who know him.

With the Mongol leadership’s knees on everybody’s necks, Timur’s chief leadership skill might be staying alive.

The film places us in the feast hall when the Mongols of heir Ilias try to wipe out any challengers to their divine right to rule via “mad honey” poison, their infamous compound bows and blades.

Timur is nothing is not a survivor. He escapes Samarkand, wounded, an injury which will give him the nickname “Timur the Lame” (Tamerlane). But he’s nursed back to health by the “Zoroastrian witch” Baku (Arazu) and her followers, who include a wandering Scot (Paul Marlon), a refugee from the Scottish Wars of Indepence.

Timur thinks everyone he knew and loved is dead. But when he learns otherwise, he rejoins Aljai and her increasingly megalomaniacal brother’s rebellion to seize Samarkand from the Mongols. And that’s when Hussayn’s true colors show and Timur’s lust for revenge on those who wrong him comes to the fore.

Maybe this Chinese superweapon, “black powder,” will help.

Director Jacob Schwarz — he’s got “The Chosen” Christmas special credits — gets his money’s worth out of the location shooting — breathtaking steppes vistas, ancient cities and fortresses made less of a “ruin” by CGI, battles on horseback and Medieval combat at its most bloody.

Tall, dark and handsome Mortensen’s got the fight choreography moves and brooding screen presence to play the title role, even if his casting seems ethnically off, especially when we meet everyone else in this Mongolo-Turkic world. Jadu, Rajabova, Jo and a sea of supporting players are better suited in capturing a version of this place and time and the people who lived through it.

And then there’s the muddle of a script, straining to get us from point A to point B, but forever getting lost in details both real and fictionalized for the film.

I watch movies for a living, reviewed the true epic “Mongol” back in 2008 (stream it), and have an interest in this era that’s drawn me to a Metropolitan Museum exhibit of Mongol Art (they weren’t really “creators,” just pillagers) and any documentary on the region and its history that’s come along. And I found this “hero’s journey” a bit of a drag to try and follow.

Characters mention “The Silk Road,” but watching a pretty good recent documentary series on that isn’t a lot of help in homework terms. Nor is knowing Poe’s poem “Tamerlane”

Given the murky narrative, what we’re left with is a well-shot, cut and fought steppes epic that consistently falls short of showing us or telling us much that explains Timur’s rise and what made him special enough to become The Last of the Steppes Conquerors.

The “legend” is here, but his “Rise” is rendered as quite dull muddle between the battles.

Rating: TV-14, violence

Cast: Christian Mortensen, Mahesh Jadu, Yulduz Rajabova, Joshua Jo, Dulguun Udkuu, Paul Marlon, Sanjar Madi, and Arazu

Credits: Directed by Jacob Schwarz, scripted by Matthew Greene, Christian Mortensen and Jacob Schwarz. A Well Go USA release now streaming on Tubi, Robu, Plex, Youtube and Amazon

Running time: 1:58

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Movie Review: A Buddy Comedy (?) with Organ Donation and a Big Body Count — “Runner”

The distributing studios may sweat over the fact that MGM’s “Runner” showed up on streaming just as Angel Studios’ “The Runner” was trotting into theaters.

One stars Gal Gadot as a lawyer/mother sprinting across London to murder a prosecution witness to save her kidnapped child. The other features Alan Ritchson as a delivery driver with “special skills” which he calls on to kill his way through bad guys in Brisbane, Australia to get a valuable organ donation to a dying little girl.

Both films are quite violent, and have mobsters/kidnappers making others do a lot of their dirty work for them, hurling threats and instructions by trackable cell phones. So you could see why Angel Studios might be peeved that MGM stole their thunder in streaming their title last week.

For viewers, it’s pretty much a wash. Both stumble and disappoint more often than they thrill.

Gadot’s thriller has pace but little sense of the “ticking clock” that builds suspense, and she’s a bit of a stiff when it comes to showing empathy or fear for an endangered child, or building empathy with the audience.

Hulking Ritchson, star of TV’s “Reacher,” is the sort of screen hero who hits people and bones break, spinal cords fold up and organs are rearranged. He’s a prettier Dave Bautisa, a humorless John Cena. But when he says he means business, we take it seriously.

“I’m not a man people mess with successfully.”

We see plenty of evidence of that in this flippant “buddy picture” whose bloody body count smothers any sense that it’s an “action comedy.”

Owen Wilson plays Ben, an organ donation courier who flies into Brisbane with a liver for a little girl further up “The Gold Coast.” Ritchson is Hank, who is A) the driver/deliverer/errand boy who normally picks up packages, say a rare Golden Conure parrot (I think) exchanged in a divorce settlement, or even an absentee politician on a bender who is needed for a vote, B) an ex-Navy SEAL, C) a recovering alcoholic who just collected his “one year sober” chip and D) irked as hell that his latest package is a passenger with a liver in a secure refrigerated case ready for transplant.

Chatterbox Ben shows up, climbs into dude’s Outback-ready 4-Runner, and will not shut up.

“I think I’m gonna win you over,” Ben chirps in his most cheerful Wilsonese.

That seems unlikely even before the black Land Rovers start chasing them through the streets, along the waterfront, with bullets flying, cars and trucks and buses crashing and the carnage and collateral damage piling up.

This “cartel” fellow, named Damien, of course (Rodrigo Santoro of “Westworld”), covets the liver. He shoots strangers in traffic and subordinates who disappoint him and he curses and threatens our mismatched heroes in English and Portugeuse.

“Don’t make me kill any more innocent people today!”

Fat chance of that, what with the coppers yelling “Drop your weapon!” before drawing their own and a steady supply of henchmen who fail to waylay that incredibly-rare bloodtype liver and the beefcake protecting it.

The script, by two unproven novices, lurches from ludicrous to laughable with rarely a surprise thrown in along the way. The direction leans into a chemistry that never comes close to clicking between our two leads, Mr. Talks-a-Lot and “brooding, drives fast punchy guy.”

But damn, the ways they have Ritchson dispatch bad dudes are creative. And for a film distributor that keeps things on the family side of “faith based” or something akin to that, this movie’s disregard for life is something of a shock.

How many shootings, stabbings and beatings-to-death do we witness? I lost count in the 30s.

The climax has every mano-a-mano brawl cliche in the history of the genre, including that knife that comes out for a “tchik tchik tchik tchik” stabbing sprre and that inevitable moment when the writers and their characters realize that the setting of this fight sometimes has a fire axe under glass.

Ritchson has instant credibility as a man of violence who swears “I don’t hurt people any more,” and doesn’t embarass himself as an ex-husband/grieving dad, either.

But as a foil for Wilson, riding two dudes on a beach bike to deliver a refrigerated liver, the light touch isn’t there, not from director Scott Waugh (The Jackie Chan/John Cena “buddy” thriller “Hidden Strike” was his), and not from Ritchson either.

And for those keeping movies-with-the-same-title score at home, that eye-rolling finale and its attempt-at-pathos epilogue makes this the lesser of two “Runners.” That’s got to be a relief to Gal Gadot, anyway.

Rating: PG-13, graphic violence, some profanity

Cast: Alan Ritchson, Owen Wilson, Leila George, Peta Sargeant and Rodrigo Santoro.

Credits: Directed by Scott Waugh, scripted by Miles Hubley and Tommy White. An Angel Studios release.

Running time: 1:37

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Classic Film Review: The Sweetest Stoner Comedy of them all — “Saving Grace” (2000)

A lot of stars slipped into allignment to get the twee British pot comedy “Saving Grace” into theaters.

It featured Brenda Blethyn in the title role, fresh off two recent Oscar nominations.

The film co-starred and was scripted by Craig Ferguson, a Scottish comic famous all over the British Isles, and already reaching U.S. audiences weekly on “The Drew Carey Show.”

And what did co-star and co-writer Ferguson, then eight years sober, think would tickle viewers’ funnybones at the turn of the millenium? A movie about a newly-widowed gardener taking up cannabis cultivation in scenic, coastal Cornwall, just t’make ends meet, y’understand.

“Saving Grace” is a sweetly ecccentric comedy about how one green thumb –– not belonging to her Scots stoner gardener, Matthew — and how she turns all she knows about plants and planting loose on the one profitable thing that can help her meet the mortgage and the bad debts her late husband left behind.

Small-time grower (in the village rectory’s hidden back plots) Matthew is thus sucked into a scheme he kind of instigates, but one which puts both of them in over their heads, and in a hurry.

Fending off the local constable is one thing. Keeping debtors at bay is another. And then there’s the French mobster they want to sell their best buds to. He’s played by one of my favorite French actors, the amusingly-accented and droll Tchéky Karyo.

“All ze people I deal with are scum,” he purrs to never-sold-pot-before Grace. “I’m a leetle scummy myself. You are not scum. Zat worries me.”

Grace has to strongarm Matthew into letting her be the one to try and “make the deal.”

“With the grrrrreatest respect,” Ferguson’s Matthew burrs. “I’m the young hip one. You’re the hip replacement.”

Matthew’s in love with the fair fisherlady Nicky, and she’s not into his childish pursuit.

“Nicky doesn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who’s irresponsible. And I don’t want to be in a relationship with someone who isn’t Nicky.

Colorful characters like the seemingly daft cop, the wise but perhaps not “hip” vicar (Leslie Phillips), the garden club spinsters who think cannabis is “tean” and the pot-loving village physician, played by Martin Clunes who’d go on to make a long-running series based on this fish-out-of-water “Doc Martin” fellow.

There’s little strain to any of this, no real sharp edges — despite the menace of bigtime drug distributors — just pretty sights (Port Isaac, Cornwall) and cute eccentrics at every turn.

Nicky and Matthew bicker like the cleverest couple you know.

“You’re getting older,” she says.

“These are laugh lines,” he retorts.

“”Nothing’s that funny,” is her punchline. Well, “Saving Grace” is. Pretty much.

Rating: R, drug abuse, profanity

Cast: Brenda Blethyn, Craig Ferguson, Valerie Edmund, Leslie Phillips, Tchéky Karyo and Martin Clunes

Credits: Directed by Nigel Cole, scripted by Mark Crowdy and Craig Ferguson. A Fine Line release streaming on Tubi, Youtube, Pluto Amazon Prime and Roku TV.

Running time: 1:33

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Netflixable? “Husbands in Action” serve up Korean Goofballs in a Kidnapping Caper

If you watch one screwball Korean action comedy this year…

Damn. I just can’t pull the trigger on that sort of endorsement for “Husbands in Action,” a dopier-than-dopey kidnapping caper that “TV-MA” rating or not, seems aimed at kids.

It’s that childish.

Wacky sight gags, cartoonish fights, “logic” utterly deleted from the script and physics defied so often Bugs Bunny’s rolling his animated eyes, this one’s um “got it all,” as they say in the trades. But “it all” doesn’t amount to much.

So there’s this young mob kingpin, Du-joon (Kim Ji-suk) who is running all things underworld in Incheon via an AI gadget. The mobster of the future is confronted with the mob world’s past when older, heavier Yong-gang (Yoon Kyong-ho) gets out prison.

Young Blood can’t even bother pronouncing Mob Legend’s name right.

But hotshot detective Choong-sik (Jin Seon-kyu) is wise to, or more than happy to stumble into busting Du-joon before Yong-gang’s crew — which the cop once nicknamed “The Doodie Gang” — can make their move.

Not to worry. Du-joon’s adoring wife Hye Ran (Lee Da-hee) kidnaps the cop’s wife (Kang Han-na) and little girl (Oh Eon-seo). Let’s make a trade!

But the cop’s divorced. Si-nae (Kang) has remarried — to a goofy, younger “extreme sports” fan veterinarian, Min-seok (Gong Myoung). With the brains-behind-the-mob wife demanding her husband’s release, this exchange won’t just involve the cop who must break the law to free his new prisoner. It’ll require the presence of the screaming, mini-van drifting nutjob “Dog Doctor” riding shotgun, or driving.

“It’s always best to work together!” he declares (in Korean with subtitles, or dubbed into English).

The cop has to keep his promise to his little girl that “Justice will always win,” while dragging around this supposed dead weight who claims — and sometimes proves to have — “special skills.”

Writer-director Park Gyu-tae (“6/45” and “Bunt” were his) has a penchant for gonzo, or somethung approximating that in his comedies. This one is “out there” mostly in the sense that there’s no logic and characters spend a lot of time screaming.

Two of the three husbands are trying to get the third one back to his wife to free “their” wife and child. That involves a few throwdowns, and a lot of shouting.

The way the two dads summon up the strength to break out of bindings or smash down a walk-in freezer’s door is screaming at the top of their lungs before every fresh burst of effort.

“Husbands in Action” has Korean puns (the subtitling can’t keep up) and jokes and food references. But it’s not so much Korean as Asian, as the characters, situations and dialogue seems more suited to anime.

Bits about cops assuming their best detective skipping off with their prime suspect is a “genius” could have worked for more laughs.

The female roles — Jeon So-min plays a nosy reporter who stumbles into all this — are thinly scripted and show a lot of wasted potential. Maybe they’re saving that for the sequel.

I like the energy here, even if the pacing doesn’t match the sometimes manic behavior of the characters.

Because no matter how dumb, slackly paced and talky/shouty all of this is, it never really comes off. An almost-amusing chase, a funny (ish) brawl, a laugh here and a yawn there.

And let’s finish this review with a pet peeve. If you don’t speak Korean, Mandarin, Japanese, Vietnamese or what have you or aren’t immersed in the cinema of any of these cultures, figuring out who is playing what can be a puzzle.

If you’re reviewing a film like this, and Korean cinema has joined the Big Boys and Girls when it comes to movie-making, you need help discerning the credits.

The Internet Movie Database, decades ago, set out to order first and last names as they are in the culture that the filmmakers were born into. And as Korean surnames and those in some corners of Asia come first, that’s what they doggedly say they do, no matter what the filmmaker/actor uses as their billing, in the East and West.

IMDB claims they’ve made that a hard and fast “rule.” But it gives them as many fits as it does me. Check out how they bill the director of this film. And then the stars. I must run into this problem 100 times a year. You’d think as they transition to bots doing this “credits” work they’d be right or at least consistent. Nope. They’ve been driving me nuts with this forever.

Kids, nobody needs help making typos or committing cultural faux pas.

Rating: TV-MA, violence and profanity

Cast: Jin Seon-kyu, Gong Myung, Kang Ha-na, Kim Ji-seok, Jeon So-min and Yoon Kyong-ho.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Park Hyu-tae. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:47

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Series Review: Not Your Grandpa’s “Grand Tour”

The dropping of a new series of “The Grand Tour” held about as much interest for me as the announcement that the BBC is re-engineering “Top Gear” for another run, this time with a comedian/car-nut as its center.

It’s TV, remember. So British or not, you know all involved are thinking “youth movement.”

The rebooted “Grand Tour,” which is where the most celebrated “Top Gear” went when Jeremy Clarkson got fired and ended his and James May and Richard Hammond’s run of a series that began decades before them and continues after they left, throws three new strangers at the car review/car stunts/epic treks.

Old man Clarkson’s running “Clarkson’s Farm” and making bank for Amazon, thank you very much. Renaissance Pedant James May is dabbling in travel shows and the like. And Richard Hammond, going grey and yet the youngest of those three — he’s 54 — is running a classic car restoration shop with a TV crew following him around.

The new guys are a personable, irritable Canadian youtube “car enthusiast,” Thomas Holland (38ish?), his “Throttle House” channel-mate James Engelsman (35), a Brit, and British engineer/nerd/trainspotting influencer Francis Bourgeois, the stage name of 26 year old Luke Nicholson.

If car culture and motoring enthusiasm is to have a future, these three — especially the toothy, goofy, gawky Bourgeious are supposed to be its face, I guess? A little of him goes a long way, as The Stage Name Kid gives off this or that “Top Gear” replacement-who-didn’t-work-out vibes.

That’s one’s first take-away from this new series, which repeats “Top Gear” and “Grand Tour” gimmicks. It also takes us to a few new places — Angola, Malaysia and Malaysian drifting and car-decorating culture (think SoCal in the early 2000s), Pikes Peak for a race of tiny, underpowered but practical Japanese “Kei cars” — along the way.

Series reviewers have an unwritten code that says one must watch at least three episodes of a new show to review it, and even then you’re spitballing whether it’s going to work, who will rise to the top of the cast and if the chemistry will ever get there.

Series producers know that and make sure — no matter how pedestrian, derivative and blase the first two shows are — that the third episode is a winner.

That’s what happens here, as genre fans struggle to identify with this new trio, their forced bonhomie and their dental work. Even during Hammond’s “tooth whitening” days, we never saw this much toothy grinning from the old gits who used to get themselves in over their heads with this or that motorsports event or motoring predicament.

The third and fourth episodes send the new guys off to convince America that “smaller is better,” and all most any pickup owner will ever need is a 40-60hp Honda Acty or the like, all any sports car enthusiast needs is a Suzuki Alto. But Kei cars are undersized and road-illegal in much of the U.S. So getting from Wyoming to Pike’s Peak, Colorado, will take some lumber roads and 4×4 trails, and one amusing bit of business involved covering the cars with a three-sectioned school bus shell to disguise them on Colorado tourist town streets.

The engineer is the enthusiastic pedant, the Canadian quick tempered and quicker with a U.S. policing/Teslas aren’t selling “I wonder why?” crack. And the second Brit is there because of well, birthright, I guess.

If this was an America-based series (they still refer to costs in pounds sterling, and horsepower in British “brake horsepower”), you’d have to have a Latin car culture representative among the drivers. Because if car culture has a present and future in the “Fast/Furious” U.S., it has a Spanish surname.

Some years back, for a magazine article on car collecting (the core audience of this sort of show), a successful dealer of restored classics told me men (mostly white) get into cars and car nostalgia in their late 50s and get out of it after ten years or so, on average.

That’s the “base” demographic these shows are pitched to. Most car repair/restoration shows skew “resto-mod” younger, and are just as dependent on “chararacters” as “The Grand Tour” and its “Top Gear” antecedent.

As an older guy who once bought a Triumph TR-6 at James May’s insistence, now keeping a 2003 Subaru Baja rustbucket going (fingers crossed) and doing his own work on a ten year old Wolfsburg Edition Golf, I should confess that maybe this “been there/back with newer cars” updating maybe isn’t for me.

And I have to say that as I look out the window at my drought stricken, over-heated part of America — a short drive from Clarkson/May and Hammond’s beloved VIR — that my tolerance for shows mocking the need to get away from hydrocarbons is spent. It went away with the dinosaurs who retired from “The Grand Tour.”

If you’re younger than that and still burning fuel and burning tires pretending to be oblivious to what that costs the planet, youtube is where you belong. Electric cars are the present and future.

Maybe the chemistry will click more than we can tell from the first season. Maybe younger viewers hunger for a perpetually-grinning goof who gushes “It’s got me by the underwear, and it’s giving me a BRUTAL wedgie!” We’ll see.

But the odd remark about how “anti-social” America’s mania for two times the size we actually need a pickup truck to be is (I test drove a kei truck or two, and these three have no IDEA what the damned things cost) doesn’t justify the need for a show that covers too much of the same ground as its many predecessors.

At least there’s a hint that maybe one or two of them know how to fix, on the fly, something that’s broken. That’s the way it’s edited, anyway.

So it’s not your grandpa’s “Grand Tour.” Except it is. For now. Every “epic” trip, test, etc. through the first half dozen episodes is a Variation on a Theme by ‘Top Gear.'”

Adding the three elder statesmen to the show as gurus the newbies visit doesn’t work — at all, “torch passing” be damned. Clarkson comes off as “contractually obligated.” May seems annoyed. Hammond can’t hide his dismay.

The pricey, beautifully-photographed “car porn” that “Top Gear” heralded and that producer/creator Andy Wilman perfected is still very much an addiction for some. But the bloom has gone off that rose, and when it’s hot enough and the bees are dead, it won’t be blooming again any time soon.

We’ll see if these three mesh, if their geeky juvenile Power Rangersish “Kei Team” chemistry comes to feel less forced. Will they manage a little conflict beyond the odd moment of competitiveness?

And we’ll see if they find enough new wrinkles in old car quests/car tests/car gimmicks that decades of “Top Gear” and “Grand Tour” seasons trotted out to make the show a draw.

But it’s not just Clarkson and May and people their age who’re pretty sure the time for all that has passed.

Hammond? He could’ve starred in this updating. He’s still got the teeth for it.

Rating: TV-14, a bit of swearing, wot wot?

Cast: James Engelsman, Thomas Holland and Francis Bourgeois, with Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammon and James May.

Credits: Created by Andy Wilman, scripted by Sam Philip. An Amazon Prime release.

Running time: episodes six @ :55 minutes each

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BOX OFFICE: “Spider-Man” approaches All Time Record, “Odyssey” Clears a $Billion, “By Any Means” cracks Top Five

Labor Day Weekend is both a four-day weekend, and the “last weekend of summer” as far as the movies go.

So all the $numbers piled up and reported here will be for the four days of the first moviegoing weekend of September.

“Spider-Man: Brand New Day” devoured the summer of ’26, and adding another $23 million (per Deadline.com) which puts it within reach of “Star Wars: The Force Awakens” as the all time “domestic” (North America) box office champ.

“Force Awakens” earned $936 million pre-Trumpflation bucks back in 2015, in North America alone. “Brand New Day” will be over the $920 million mark by midnight Monday.

But the movie’s box office take is slacking off enough to notice. It’s losing some weekdays to “The Odyssey,” which just cleared the $1 billion mark, only that’s the worldwide take of Christopher Nolan’s greatest hit. With an additional $17.2 million helping it close in on $1.6 billion, domestic and worldwide.

And thanks to Trumpflation, there’s a chance this summer could have another claim to the record books. That all-time summer season record is $4.756 million. We won’t know until probably Tuesday AM, Monday night at the earliest.

“Coyote vs. Acme,” the movie Warner Bros. didn’t want to release, will add another $13 million over this four day holiday. That gives Ketchup Entertainment a prayer of earning back its $50 million purchase of the WB’s much more expensive than that cast-off. It’s over $35 and may clear $50 before September is done, making any post-theatrical sale to streaming something close to pure profit.

Smart, Ketchup. Very smart.

“By Any Means” proves Mark Wahlberg still has an audience, even if it’s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II‘s movie, as far as leading man goes. It’s earning mixed to negative reviews across the board but will collect over $9 million to come in fourth.

“Insidious: Out of the Further” keeps cashing in, with another $8.1 million (four day) weekend, good enough for fifth place.

Sixth place was taken by Disney/Pixar’s “Cars” re-release — a twenty year old film whose first fans are taking their children to see it — adding $7.6 million over four dars.

“Cars” struck me at the time as the first misstep Pixar made, a franchise launched by a studio that manufactured good reviews by cherry picking who got the “first look” at it. They built a whole, soulless franchise out of that, with “Planes” and increasingly crappy toy-sales-oriented pictures.

But rediscovering the found-money in re-releasing old titles could discourage Disney’s out-of-ideas/let’s remake-everything ethos (“Moana” was a warning shot). So “Cars” selling nearly a million tickets isn’t a bad thing.

Saban’s “Buddy” rolled up $7.2 million — seventh place.

“Paw Patrol: Dino Movie” did $4.45 million to take eighth.

Ridley Scott’s dog “The Dog Stars” fell off a cliff and only earned ninth place $3.4 million honors.

A re-release of the seminal “Akira” he did $3.23 million, giving the thirty-eight year old film tenth place.

I was going to stick around for A24’s “Onslaught” after catching “By Any Means.” But end of summer sci-fi — genetic soldiers, Dan Stevens and what not — is rarely anything worth sitting in a theater with. Weak reviews and a $2.3 million take won’t have anybody popping champagne corks at the distributor’s closed-for-the-holiday-weekend offices.

It didn’t crack the top ten, nor did “Fall 2: Deadpoint,” ($2.87) another dangling from very-high-places thriller from the makers of “Fall.”

That leaves “End of Oak Street,” “Mutiny,” “Tony,” “Spa Weekend” and out of the top ten this week as summer shifts to fall starting next week.

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Movie Review: Eyes Off the Prize? Civil Rights Justice “By Any Means”

The all-too-human lust for vengeance collides with the faint hope for justice in “By Any Means,” a Civil Rights thriller set in the “Mississippi Burning” timeline.

It’s a violent “true enough for Hollywood” tale of torture and summary executions in pursuit of Mississippi racists who murdered a civil rights leader.

What director Elegance Bratton (“The Inspection”) was shooting for was an upending of the “white savior” trope that films since before “To Kill a Mockingbird” and after “Mississippi Burning” have leaned on.

uppose your “white savior” is a pitiless, amoral and murderous mobster?

But the film’s script (by Sascha Penn, a producer who wrote “Creed II” among other credits) forgets to give us a villain, leaving us a vague “They’re all guilty” parade of colorless, stupid, white supremacist rednecks.

And Bratton and Penn drain most of the pathos out of the deaths of a couple of civil rights figures played by the formidable Giancarlo Esposito and LisaGay Hamilton.

Two years after the Chaney, Goodman and Schwerner murders that were the basis for “Mississippi Burning,” and things are no better in the “Segretation now, segregation forever” Deep South. The F.B.I., a little more integrated since that notorious case, is embedded there and getting nowhere.

Special Agent Wayne Strider (Yahya Abdul-Matteen II, “Manta” in an “Aquaman,” a mainstay of TV’s “The Get Down”) has returned to his native Mississippi for a chance to make a difference, only to be consigned to the filing department archives.

But his bosses (David Strathairn and Josh Lucas) change their tune with D.C. higher-ups decide to bring back a “no rules” thug who helped them crack the Chaney, Goodman and Schwerner murder case by breaking some heads.

Gregory Scarpa (Mark Walhberg, at his most ripped) is only referred to by name in the closing credits. He’s a notorious piece of F.B.I. civil rights era lore (the Bureau denies hiring this killer) who loomed in the background of “Mississippi Burning.” You’ve got your guy and he won’t confess? Mr. “Uniquely Qualified” for this sort of work, Mr. “I HAVE no rules” is your man.

He’ll beat confessions, get bloodied torture subjects to name names, and bust up the murderous KKK and its various “white citizens’ councils” one broken man or dead body at a time.

Wahlberg plays the guy as almost irresistably loathesome, a monster with a family of five he cheats on, and leaves behind in Bensonhurst, blackmailed (he’s a mob informant) into heading back South and doing what he does.

Strider? “You’re to be his handler.”

A “buddy” picture is in the making, with Strider reluctant to try and “explain racism to someone like you” as Mr. Colombo Crime Family expresses disdain for Martin Luther King, Jr., and a preference for “that other guy, Malcolm.”

You know, the one who decided passive resistance against racist oppressors was too slow when winning equal rights and treatment under the law “by any means necessary” seemed like the quicker, if more violent way to go.

The movie’s glib and muted in its impact, right from the start. Screenwriter Penn makes the bickering cliched and the actors do nothing to stop him.

Having our mobster try to convince our “colored” agent to see things his way? No and then “yes” happen so close together it’s a wonder Mateen didn’t give himself the same whiplash the movie gives viewers. Of course it has something to do with “they came after my WIFE” (Nicole Beharie).

A racist, threatening Alabama highway patrolman gets it and all Scarpa wants is a “Thank-you.” Well, not exactly. Our screenwriter throws in “Can I get a smile?” to try and get a laugh.

Walhberg plays to the audience as he tortures this or that hapless, tables-turned oppressor.

“There’s a point where everybody talks,” he tells his victims. Former child actor Ethan Embry is the most recognizable member of the Hattiesburg, Mississippi KKK lynch mob.

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Movie Review: Godawful Gal can’t get “The Runner” up to Speed

The star is generally too easy a target when you’re looking for the ways a movie goes wrong.

So if we’re cutting Gal Gadot any slack at all for the debacle that “The Runner” turned out to be, let’s zero in on screenwriter Mark Gibson, who scripted um, “Snow Dogs,” the animated also-ran “The Wild” and nothing of any note at all starring flesh and blood humans.

Director and Bob Marley-fan pal Kevin Macdonald did “The Last King of Scotland,” “The Mauritanian” and terrific documentaries about Marley, Whitney Houston and others. If this pavement-pounding piffle has any pace or pulse at all, credit him.

Gadot? She stars as a dogged prosecutor and single mom whose son is kidnapped to coerce her into killing her star witness at a big mob trial.

She’s convincing as a lithe, athletic jogger who finishes off every phone call with “I’ve gotta run.” We can believe she’d be a willing trigger-woman.

But as a mother desperate to save her child, she’s about as empathetic as a shark. More to the point, whatever compelling touches the screenplay adds to the character — thinly-fictionalized touches of Charlize Theron’s real life background — Gadot fails on most every level in making her or her plight all that interesting.

Maia drops her clingy son (Rory Wilmot) off at his London school on the opening day of her big trial prosecuting a London mob leader for murder. Then she’s off on her morning run.

She and the viewer are utterly beaten about the ears with a parade of digitally-distracted pedestrians, bystanders, drivers and passengers, conversing on phones, swapping sexy texts, doom scrolling or distracting themselves with TikTok.

That’s the big subtext of the movie, our “devices” have disconnected us. Yawn.

A lawyer lady can’t even run with her Bluetooth ear buds without getting scam calls telling her she’s “already won.”

But one caller isn’t is scammer with a South Asian accent. “I have your son,” he purrs. Apparently, her fraidy-cat kid just wandered off with the first strange man (Damien Lewis, “Band of Brothers”) to offer him ice cream.

“Just think of me as a force for change.”

What she has to do to free her diabetic child is run across town to the hotel where Scotland Yard is guarding her star witness, take a gun the kidnapper’s put in her son’s backpack — which he hid in a dumpster — and gun down the mob turncoat.

The mostly-unseen stranger (we can see Lewis’s chin and hear his distinct voice), with the cliched world-of-tech screens and gadgets at EveryVillain’s disposal, knows all about competitive, can-do “killer” Maia. He can control her phone, AI mimic her voice to ward off work and school calls, and deep dive into her bikini or underwear-clad laptop photos just to show he means business.

What CAN Maia do, on the run through parks, crowded streets, along the river and canals, into The Tube, unable to call or even accost cops or strangers with her plight as our kidnapper keeps her line open and hears and tracks her every move.

Gadot’s Maiia will steal a cell phone — several — in an effort to reach out for help. She’ll outrun owners of various ages, have her own phone stolen, get violent and be chased by London’s finest for that.

The picture does a piss-poor job of maintaining the “ticking clock” element of this ticking clock thriller. The child in jeopardy is an underdeveloped plot point, as diabetic shock and diabetic coma are introduced and underplayed.

But the real failing here is in getting across our heroine’s breathless desperation and letting us follow along as she works the problem. The first is Gadot’s failing, and the second a scripted shortcoming that the director doesn’t fix.

It’s a bold thriller these days that allows a kid or the parent trying to save them die. Suffice it to say “bold” doesn’t figure in here. Showing us the far-fetched “solutions” to how what happens happens after the fact is always a cheat, and it isn’t well-handled here. At all.

“The Runner” might have merited a theatrical release, at least in someone’s eyes, at some point in the production process. But this script needed work, and if Ana de Armas or Leticia Wright weren’t available, plainly they should have kept casting until they found somebody with the warmth and mania necessary to convey a mother’s love for and then panic over the kidnapping of her darling boy.

Rating: PG-13, violence, profanity

Cast: Gal Gadot, Damien Lewis, Rory Wilmot and Alfred Enoch

Credits: Directed by Kevin Macdonald, scripted by Mark Gibson. An MGM release on Amazon Prime.

Running time: 1:25

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