Wednesday, March 27, 2024

Let's Hulu again

I was eager to get back on Hulu primarily to finish the second season of Welcome to Wrexham (MC-77).  I liked the first season more than I expected, but I absolutely loved the second season, which puts the very good Ted Lasso to shame as an American introduction to British football.  Heretofore my appreciation of the sport was mainly predicated on Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch, but now Wrexham is my touchstone for the appeal of the game and my fellow feeling for its fans.  Wrexham’s sports history reminded me of Cleveland’s, a down-on-its-luck working-class industrial town with a fabled litany of disappointment for its supporters.  And this multi-dimensional documentary series is so much more than an advertisement for the two American stars, Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenny, who purchased the woebegone football club of this Welsh mining town with the mines long gone, and football glory long past.  While matching the incongruous over-the-pond humor of Lasso, this series, exciting enough as a sports saga, delves into many aspects of Wrexham’s history and culture, from Britain’s worst mining disaster to its superlative women’s team, as well as the home lives of many players.  The un-English length of this show, 33 episodes over the two seasons, may seem like more than you want to know about a minor league soccer team, but if you are anything like me, you will become engrossed and enchanted by the fate of Wrexham, its football club and fans, and look forward to sequels (Season three starting on 4/19).
 
Mention of personal favorite Nick Hornby leads me on a tangent, to a six-episode British tv series based on one of his novels, Funny Woman (MC-70, PBS), which stars Gemma Arterton as a Blackpool beauty queen who leaves for Swinging Sixties London, in hopes of becoming the UK’s answer to Lucille Ball.  Despite social and gender discrimination, she succeeds in getting her own tv show, and setting straight all the men who surround her.  Arterton is excellent, the supporting cast good, the sense of period and place strong, and appropriately for a Hornby story, the music selections are spot-on.  I won’t say that it's a great show, but it tickled me.  With this and Lessons in Chemistry and Julia (unfortunately not renewed for a third season), we’ve lately had a lot of looks behind the scenes at Fifties tv production.
 
Back to FX series on Hulu (most of the TV worth watching on the channel, aside from Abbott Elementary and a nice array of oldies-but-goodies), Fargo (MC-84) has been hit or miss with me, with season two the standout (Kirsten Dunst!), but the presence of Juno Temple, John Hamm, and Jennifer Jason Leigh drew me back to sample some of season five (Wiki for summary and full cast).  I watched on sufferance through six episodes, with the humor barely outpacing the violence and brutality, but in the seventh a new level of imagination and seriousness began to emerge, and by the final tenth the braiding of themes, including domestic abuse, predatory lending, and right-wing militia violence, made for a fully satisfying show, highlighted by excellent acting and visual style all round.
 
On the other hand, the second season of Feud (MC-76), Capote vs. The Swans, dropped off considerably from the first, Bette vs. Joan – I didn’t make it past the third episode, when it became clear that the show had little to offer beyond swanky gossip.  Tom Hollander comes in third place, behind Toby Jones and Philip Seymour Hoffman in his portrayal of Capote, at an admittedly more obnoxious period of his life, when he betrayed the confidences of the stylish society matrons who were his best friends, played here by Naomi Watts, Diane Lane, Chloe Sevigny and other familiar faces.  Despite their presence, the result was, to me, decidedly un-fabulous.
 
Genius (MC-62) is another middling series -- I didn’t watch the seasons on Einstein and Picasso, but I did check out Cynthia Erivo as Aretha, and gave a chance to the latest, MLK/X.  With Kelvin Harrison Jr. as Martin Luther King and Aaron Pierre as Malcolm X, it took an episode or two for me to get over their physical differences, but I was eventually won over by their performances, and I’m always happy to revisit the lives of two key figures of my formative years.  And I especially appreciated the parallel treatment of Coretta Scott King (Werucha Opia) and Betty Shabazz (Jayme Lawson).  I was also drawn in by the involvement of exec producers Gina Prince-Bythewood and Reggie Bythewood, whose work has always impressed me.  The show isn’t especially ground-breaking or profound, but for me it was a worthy reminder of two pivotal lives.  So I decided to make the series my regular accompaniment to stationary biking for a week or two.  But I’d certainly recommend Selma and Malcolm X (or even Rustin and One Night in Miami) over this series.
 
Though you’d never know it from their interface, buried on Hulu there are quite a lot of new and excellent films unavailable elsewhere, including foreign films and documentaries.  Most recently, Andrew Haigh’s All of Us Strangers (MC-90), which seems to be a dream within a dream, or maybe it’s a ghost story, in a screenwriter’s emblematic chamber piece.  I don’t hold any of that against the film, and in the event, I was happy (and sad, and otherwise moved) to go along for the ride, all about loneliness, love, and reconciliation, in a manner that feels extremely personal.  Andrew Scott is superlative in the lead role, as a writer whose isolation is broken into by a handsome stranger, in a correspondingly feeling performance by Paul Mescal.  The Scott character lost his parents in a car accident when he was twelve, but recovers them through memory or magic (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell, touchingly younger than Scott), in order to say what he never told them back then, most importantly that he was gay. The acting carries the film (and carries the viewer over any obscurity or implausibility) but the cinematography and music also provide marvelously evocative moments.  Haigh (45 Years, Lean on Pete) has proved himself to be an elusive but naturally compelling filmmaker.
 
I stuck around on Hulu well into March to catch two Best Picture nominees.  I didn’t expect to like Poor Things (MC-87), since I’m no fan of director Yorgos Lanthimos.  The movie is certainly too much in several ways (length, camera tricks, over-the-top design, impulse to shock), but I must admit it’s not bad, with a comically crazed sort of intensity and integrity as a Frankenstein-like construct.  Set in a steampunk-style Victorian world, it tells of a mad(?) scientist (Willem Dafoe) who transplants the brain of an infant into the body of a female suicide (Emma Stone).  As her brain and reflexes rapidly catch up to her body, she becomes engaged to the medical student (Ramy Youseff) who is monitoring her progress, but then runs off with a cad (Mark Ruffalo) who introduces her to sex (and lots of it).  Along the way she develops a social conscience, feminist principles, and career goals.  Back in 2011, I prophesied that “One of these days Emma Stone will be in a decent movie, and she will be amazing.”  By now, she has won two Best Actress Oscars (and two supporting noms) – one of which was indeed for a good film – but I won’t argue that she didn’t deserve this recent statuette (though I was rooting for Lily Gladstone).
 
Having recently been unimpressed by two Justine Triet films and not overly enamored of courtroom dramas, I wasn’t expecting too much from Anatomy of a Fall (MC-86), despite a Palme d’Or and five Oscar nominations.  But the film far exceeded my expectations, gripping throughout and anchored by a superlative performance from Sandra Hűller, as a writer suspected in the death of her husband.  Though focused on a trial, the film is really an anatomy (or autopsy) of a marriage.  And also a disquisition on the relation of truth to fiction.  The wife is German, the husband French, so they speak English in a futile effort at communication.  Did he jump or was he pushed?  And who will ever know?  What about the blind son who is the most important witness?  The proceedings in a French courtroom, so different from American or British, provide further interest.  The writer-director refused to tell Hűller herself whether her character was guilty or innocent, which adds another layer of fruitful ambiguity and mystery to her portrayal.
 
Blue Jean (MC-87) is a real find, with the debut of writer-director Georgia Oakley and a breakout performance by Rosy McEwen as the title character.  Jean’s a secondary school PE teacher in Thatcherite England, hiding a private life as part of a lesbian collective while the vile PM promotes homophobic legislation.  The blue starts with her eyes, establishes the palette of the film, and describes her disposition. McEwen is mesmerizingly beautiful while convincingly deep and dark, and the film charts a turn in LGBTQ+ acceptance from one generation to the next, the teacher remaining closeted in a way that undermines her closest relationships, while one of her students is much more open in her orientation.  This film seems to emerge from lived experience rather than dramatic or polemic construction, content to leave its questions open-ended.
 
In a similar vein, Monica (MC-75) is an intimate and sympathetic look at a trans woman alluringly played by Trace Lysette, who transfixes the camera in Andrea Pallaoro’s film.  The title character returns from SoCal to the midwestern home from which she was banished as a teenager, in order to help care for her dying mother (the reliable Patricia Clarkson), who does not recognize or acknowledge her former son.  The brother with whom she was close when they were boys together is slow to reconnect as well, but his wife and children are welcoming to Monica, accepting her as who she is rather than who he was.  The film was shot in an arty and askew manner that I don’t always endorse (e.g. Aftersun), but was totally won over by here, pulling the viewer inside the scene, sometimes shadowed and obscure, sometimes clear and close.  Not a lot is said, but every image seems to have meaning, and conveys a subtle message of acceptance and family connection.
 
BlackBerry (MC-78) plays successfully as a mash-up of Silicon Valley and The Social Network, telling of the meteoric rise and fall of the Canadian company that dominated the smartphone sector before the advent of the iPhone. I never owned one of the infernal machines, but I certainly enjoyed the movie.  Jay Baruchel and Glenn Howerton are convincing and comic in equal measure as nerd genius and corporate shark co-CEOs.  But the film belongs to Matt Johnson as the manic geek who turns out to be the soul of the company, and as director and co-writer.  The proceedings move swiftly from highlight to highlight without troubling too much to fill in the gaps in the story.  (For example, whooshing through how the device got its name, originally the PocketLink.) We’ve heard it all before anyway, tech bros falling for the Faustian bargain, getting rich and then blowing it, either morally or financially.  But this iteration makes for funny and illuminating viewing.
 
While back on Hulu, I could complete my survey of Virginie Efira films with Benedetta (MC-75), in which the pervy 83-year-old Paul Verhoeven purveys another piece of sleaze and cheese.  It’s redeemed by a surprisingly accurate recounting of an Italian nun in early 1600s Italy, who parlayed stigmata and mystical Bride of Christ visions into becoming abbess of her convent by 30 and a political force, especially as the plague encroached on her town.  When a papal nuncio came for an investigation, a contemporary court report provided a window into the time.  But Verhoeven peeps through for the testimony on lesbian nuns, which he is happy to portray in lascivious softcore detail, along with other provocations, as a master of trash with flash.  But who am I to complain about Ms. Efira playing her scenes in the altogether? 
 
I never saw an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond but was a fan of Men of a Certain Age, so I was inclined to give the benefit of the doubt to Ray Romano’s debut as a feature film director, Somewhere in Queens (MC-61), despite the substandard Metacritic rating. The milieu of an outer-borough Italian-American family, a story line about a high school basketball player’s hopes for a college scholarship, and the presence of Laurie Metcalf as the boy’s mother were enough to tip me into watching.  Those ingredients, and the rest of the acting, made for a pleasant if lightweight entertainment, with hints of deeper character development, as Romano’s schlemiel (what’s the counterpart in Italian?) of a father, trying to live through his son’s athletic prowess, flirts with the dark side on several fronts.  The film pulls its punches for a more platitudinous resolution, but I didn’t mind the company of this familiar family for an hour and a half.
Sam Pollard is a documentarian to look for (MLK/FBI, Bill Russell:Legend) and his latest, The League (MC-77), certainly hit my sweet spot, with a vivid history of the pre-Jackie Robinson Negro baseball leagues.  Pollard interweaves the stories of subsequent Hall of Famers from Josh Gibson to Satchel Page, and lesser knowns like Rube Foster, with the social, economic, and civil rights implications of the parallel universe of “colored” players, not to criticize the integration of baseball but to contextualize it, to establish what was lost as well as what was gained.
Dawn Porter is another skilled and prolific documentarian, and her latest is The Lady Bird Diaries (MC-82).  With the narrative extracted from audiotapes Lady Bird Johnson made during her time in the White House, the first-person viewpoint is much enhanced by archival photos and footage, from an era lodged deep in my own memories, here recalled from the perspective of the LBJs (“Hey, hey, …”), adding a useful dimension in retrospect.
Joan Baez: I Am a Noise (MC-75) is rather light on recorded performance, the better to allow Joanie to look back on her life and career, from the perspective of her Fare Thee Well tour just before Covid hit.  Embellished with old journal entries and artwork, as well as an evocative photographic record, her intimate ruminations portray a woman less comfortable in one-on-one relationships than in “one-on-two-thousand,” with a difficult family and romantic history, but a lifelong commitment to social justice, derived from a Quaker mother.  While I was never a particular fan, I appreciated this retrospect on a near-contemporary.
I paused my Hulu subscription after just enough of the 1600s Japanese epic Shogun (MC-85) to determine that whatever its merits, it wasn’t to my taste.  Dragons or no, one Game of Thrones was more than enough for me, and if I want to have a look into this particular period and place, there’s always Kurosawa or some other authentic Japanese director.   But I still consider Hulu to be the second-most essential streaming channel (after Criterion) and plan to return to it when the time comes to watch the whole third season of Welcome to Wrexham, due to start on 4/19.

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