By Susan Granger
Special to WestportNow
Apparently based on a true story, “Poms” is a gentle dramedy, aimed at the AARP demographic, about making the most of the time you have left.
After a diagnosis of terminal cancer, Martha (Diane Keaton) is determined to quit chemotherapy and leave New York City. She’s sold most of her possessions, loaded the rest into her car, and is driving south to spend her remaining months in Sun Springs, a spacious retirement village in Georgia.
“I came here to die,” Martha crisply informs her sassy, Southern Belle neighbor, Sheryl (Jacki Weaver), a substitute teacher who’s hiding her teenage grandson, Ben (Charlie Tahan), in the ‘adults-only’ condominium complex, retorts: “You’re dying today. You will be dying next week. In between, you should be dancing your ass off!”
Exasperated by Sun Springs’ arbitrary rules and regulations, Martha recalls a youthful dream by starting a Cheerleading Club, much to the consternation of prissy, power-hungry Vicki (Celia Weston).
Joining their gyrating granny ensemble are timid Rhea Perlman, sultry Pam Grier, dancer Patricia French, aerobics-expert Carol Sutton, yoga-enthusiast Ginny MacColl, and baton-twirling Phyllis Sommerville. Plus Chloe (Alisha Boe), the teenager they recruit to coach them. Think age-defying “Golden Girls” meets “Bring it On.”
Too bad Shane Atkinson’s contrived script is blandly bittersweet and so one-dimensional that none of the characters has significant back stories. That shallowness obviously hinders the pacing by British documentary director Zara Hayes, who shares story credit and is tackling her first fictional feature.
Issues of ageism, self-image and empowerment are only briefly touched on.
FYI: Curiously, “Poms” garnered the best publicity possible when — in a recent interview — Anjelica Huston disdainfully referred to the “an old-lady cheerleader movie,” calling such roles “apologetically humble and humiliating,” inciting the expletive wrath of outspoken Jacki Weaver.
On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, “Poms” is a simplistic, yet spirited 7 — thanks to Diane Keaton.
Having been besotted by J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit” and “Lord of the Rings,” I was eager to see “Tolkien,” hoping to learn what sparked his imagination and passion — but it’s a dull disappointment.
This literary origin biopic begins in 1916 in the muddy trenches of World War I, where shellshocked second lieutenant Tolkien (Nicholas Hoult) is searching for a friend during the bloody Battle of Sommes, while imagining German flamethrowers as fire-breathing dragons.
A flashback reveals that John Ronald Reuel Tolkien (1892-1973) — pronounced “toll-keen” — was orphaned, along with his younger brother. Penniless, they were entrusted to Father Francis Morgan (Colm Meaney), who enrolled them in King Edward’s School in Birmingham and settled them in the home of elderly, rich Mrs. Faulkner (Pam Ferris).
That’s where shy Tolkien meets and falls in love with orphaned pianist Edith Bratt (Lily Collins), who introduces him to Wagner’s operas about “one ring to rule them all,” as he charms Edith with his own invented language, a precursor of Elfish. So much for fanciful, foreshadowing Middle-earth parallels.
Alter winning a scholarship to Oxford, Tolkien finds three artistic/intellectual friends: Christopher Wiseman (Tom Glynn-Carney), Robert Quilter Gilson (Patrick Gibson) and Geoffrey Bache Smith (Anthony Boyle). These kindred spirits form a secret society called the T.C.B.S. — Tea Club and Barrovian Society — determined to “change the world through the power of art.”
Floundering in academia, Tolkien encounters philologist Joseph Wright (Derek Jacobi), who permits him to study linguistics, warning that invented words must have meaning as well as music — exactly what Edith told him years earlier. By then, Tolkien’s plummy career path is set.
Working from a serviceable, if stodgy script by David Gleeson and Stephen Beresford, Finnish director Dome Karukoski has forsaken all fun to create an all-too-respectful, ethereal, lyrical bore.
FYI: Tolkien’s estate notes they “do not endorse it or its content in any way.” Understandably.
On the Granger Gauge, “Tolkien” is a flaccid 5, a flimsy fellowship tale.
If “El Chicano” is the first Latino superhero movie, the Hispanic community deserves better.
When LAPD Detective Diego Hernandez (Raul Castillo) embarks on an investigation of execution-style gang murders, Capt. Gomez (George Lopez) assigns him a new partner, Martinez (Jose Pablo Contillo).
Complaints that Martinez is a “Midwestern Mexican,” not familiar with the local cartel, fall of deaf ears, perhaps because Diego’s twin brother Pedro reportedly committed suicide after being released from prison for crimes he committed when he was involved with the gang.
Their investigation leads the detectives to Shotgun (David Castaneda), Diego’s former childhood friend-turned-criminal, and El Gallo (Sal Lopez), a drug kingpin who believes California was stolen from Mexico and wants to reclaim the territory.
Pedro’s journals cause Diego to believe that his brother may have adopted the guise of El Chicano, a motorcycle-riding ‘40s urban legend, a bloodthirsty vigilante who wears a ceremonial mask and uses an Aztec knife to stalk evildoers in the barrio. Before long, it’s Diego who becomes El Chicano.
Working from director/producer Joe Carnahan’s clichéd, profanity-laden screenplay, stuntman-turned-director Ben Hernandez Bray and cinematographer Juan Miguel Azpiroz have a major problem with lighting. Far too many scenes, set at night, are murky and woefully under-lit, frustrating any attempt to follow the action. The result is that much of what happens is incoherent and confusing.
Apparently, Bray was initially inspired by the gang-related death of his brother, trying to combine his personal pain and loss with ideas about East Los Angeles’ Latinx culture, Aztec imagery and Mexican nationalism. But what emerges on the screen is part police procedural/part avenger drama.
In English and Spanish, on the Granger Gauge, “El Chicano” is a frenzied, ferocious 4, filled with graphic violence.
(Editor’s Note: Westport resident Susan Granger grew up in Hollywood, studied journalism with Pierre Salinger at Mills College, and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with highest honors in journalism. In addition to writing for newspapers and magazines, she has been on radio/television as an anchorwoman and movie/drama critic for many years. See her reviews at www.susangranger.com.)
