Digital Week – July 22

Neil Jordan’s best film is brilliantly directed and written (he won the 1992 Oscar for best original screenplay), starting out as a thriller, then shifting gears into a tentative romance until becoming a quasi-mystery for its startling finish. All these disparate parts are melded into a seamless whole by Jordan, who combines standard plot elements with refreshing twists and psychologically acute  characterizations and motivations as well as uncannily juggling disparate moods and rhythms. And let’s not forget the estimable acting by Stephen Rea, Forrest Whittaker, Natasha Richardson and Jaye Davidson, right down to the smallest parts. Criterion’s UHD transfer superbly accentuates Ian Watson’s tangy cinematography; extras are Jordan’s 2005 commentary, new interviews with Jordan and Rea, 2005 making-of documentary and an alternate ending with Jordan’s commentary.

For 135 messy minutes, writer-director Lee Cronin slogs through several excruciatingly insipid storylines that tie standard mummy legend to obscure Egyptian mythmaking and, of all things, demonic possession films, especially The Exorcist, which could sue for defamation. Sequence after limp sequence marches in front of the camera, and it’s all sadly risible—and the end threatens a sequel. Including his name in the title is quite the flex, as if anyone else would want to take credit. The film does look impressive in UHD; extras comprise Cronin’s commentary, deleted scenes and three making-of featurettes.

Director Rachel Israel and a cohort of writers concocted this genial comedy set in a Jewish summer camp that brings together former besties Nomi and Mara, who attended as kids; Nomi takes a job as a counselor from camp director Mara after being kicked out of her own rock band and is told to supervise the “floaters,” camp kids considered misfits. Those who are familiar with—or attended—summer camps might get more laughs and nods of recognition from this, but it is certainly likable, especially when the floaters unsurprisingly win over their critics, and nicely-acted by Jackie Tohn (Nomi), Sarah Podemski (Mara) and Judah Lewis, Nina Bloomgarden and Jake Ryan as the head floaters. 

Orpheus and Eurydice have been fodder for artists for centuries, but this musical—which opened on Broadway in 2019—by book writer-lyricist-songwriter Anaïs Mitchell, isn’t a patch on Offenbach or Cocteau. Set in a Depression-era burg that recalls the French Quarter, the show at times spits out the swampy, jazzy Big Easy sounds; at its most original, Mitchell’s music grooves robustly. The men (Orpheus, Hades and Hermes) have more to work with vocally than the women (Eurydice and Persephone). That’s no slight on Eva Noblezada and Amber Gray, who sound comfortable in their middle range, but the male leads’ voices—Reeve Carney’s high tenor, Patrick Page’s rumblingly low bass and ageless Andre de Shields in between—go on a more satisfying vocal ride. Although Mitchell’s derivative music, lyrics and book don’t come close to their mythical forebears, director Rachel Chavkin makes the show move, literally—a trio of onstage turntables, combined with Rachel Hauck’s seedy set, Michael Krauss’s sober costumes and Bradley King’s savvy lighting, conjures a sweaty musical purgatory.  

Writer-director Georgia Bernstein’s glossy drama about Eleni, a young nurse at a retirement home who becomes entangled in a sordid emotional and criminal relationship with Douglas, one of her elderly patients, tries to be so many things at once—erotic thriller, crime drama, psychological character study—that it ends up flailing unsatisfactorily. As Bernstein loses control, the film’s moodiness becomes a liability, as scenes of Eleni and Douglas in various stages of their mutually harmful kinship start to become perfunctory and dull—even a surprising murder seems more a desperate way to end things. On the plus side, Cemre Paksoy gives a commanding performance as the needy Eleni and Bruce McKenzie is nearly as good as the dementia-addled but virile Douglas.