By Susan Granger
Special to WestportNow
Beginning with a quote from Oscar Wilde: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars” — “Wonderstruck” is the visually captivating story of two curious 12-year-olds — a half-century apart — who run away to New York City to find answers to elusive questions about their past.
In 1927 in Hoboken, New Jersey, lonely Rose (Millicent Simmonds) lives with her strict father (James Urbaniak). She’s deaf, and her great joy is going to the movies to see her silent-screen idol, Lillian Mayhew (Julianne Moore), who is now starring on Broadway and whom she thinks is her mother. Her story is evocatively told in stylized black-and-white with no spoken dialogue.
In 1977 in Gunflint Lake, Minnesota (in vibrant color), Ben (Oakes Fegley) is mourning the death of his single mother, a librarian named Elaine (Michelle Williams), when he finds an old bookmark from Kincaid Books in Manhattan with the note, “Elaine, I’ll wait for you. Love, Danny.” Just then, he’s struck by lightning, which leaves him deaf but, nevertheless, determined to find the man who may be his father.
As the puzzling plot unfolds, their parallel lives are bound to intersect. But how?
Collaborating with novelist/illustrator/screenwriter Brian Selznick, cinematographer Ed Lachman, production designer Mark Friedberg, costumer Sandy Powell and composer Carter Burwell, director Todd Haynes (“Carol”) cleverly cuts between Rose and Ben, each on a mission they are unable to articulate.
Somehow, they find their way to the wildlife dioramas at the American Museum of Natural History, where Ben meets mischievous Jamie (Jaden Michael), and Rose finds her older brother Walter (Cary Michael Smith).
The connective threads emanate from the historical tradition called Cabinets of Wonder, where ingenious individuals would display their exotic collections.
Adding to the remarkable authenticity of this childhood fantasy, newcomer Millicent Simmonds is deaf in real life, working with other hearing-impaired actors who communicate through their facial expressions, gestures and physicality.
On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10 “Wonderstruck” is an enthralling 8, weaving a cosmic web of whimsical enchantment.
Kenneth Branagh’s remake of “Murder on the Orient Express” derails long before the snowbound, stranded strangers begin to suspect one another of murder.
Before the steam-engine chugging out of the station in the mid-1930s, we’re introduced to Belgian detective Hercule Poirot (Kenneth Branagh) with his ridiculous, salt ‘n’ peppery mustache.
Author Agatha Christie described Poirot’s facial adornment as having a “tortured splendor,” part of what throws and provokes people. Throughout the film, it’s a major distraction.
Shortly after leaving Istanbul, the corpse of Edward Ratchett (Johnny Depp), an American art dealer, is found in his berth with multiple stab wounds. And the culprit is obviously still aboard.
While an avalanche forces the legendary luxury train to stop on a particularly precarious trestle, Poirot interviews all the passengers with access to Ratchett’s compartment.
There’s Rastchett’s assistant (Josh Gad) and valet (Derek Jacobi), the Doctor (Leslie Odom Jr.), the Widow (Michelle Pfeiffer), the Missionary (Penélope Cruz), the Governess (Daisy Ridley), the Professor (Willem Dafoe), and the Princess (Judi Dench), traveling with her maid (Olivia Colman).
Back in 1974, director Sidney Lumet cast Albert Finney as Poirot, assembling an all-star cast that included Vanessa Redgrave, Maggie Smith, Lauren Bacall, Anthony Perkins, John Gielgud, Sean Connery and Ingrid Bergman, who won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar.
In this new version, screenwriter Michael Green has made few changes, the most obvious being a new opening scene in Jerusalem, introducing idiosyncratic Poirot, obsessing over two perfectly balanced soft-boiled eggs, and reconfiguring Dr. Arbuthnot as African-American.
But the connection remains the same: all the passengers had reason to loathe Ratchett, the gangster who kidnapped and killed 3-year-old Daisy Armstrong — a pivotal plot point that Agatha Christie lifted from the 1932 abduction of Anne and Charles Lindbergh’s baby.
Perhaps the most obvious problem in this remake is Kenneth Branagh’s self-indulgent casting of himself as prissy Poirot and his increasingly annoying overhead shots.
On the Granger Gauge, “Murder on the Orient Express” is a forlorn 5, a forgettable whodunit.
“A Bad Moms Christmas” begins with newly divorced Amy Mitchell (Mila Kunis) viewing the wreckage that is her home on Christmas Eve, wondering what went wrong — as a camel wanders by.
Flashback a few weeks, as Amy and her friends — chipper Kiki (Kristen Bell) and crass Carla (Kathryn Hahn) — contemplate the upcoming holiday season, feeling overworked and underappreciated.
Their angst is amplified when their respective ‘bad’ moms unexpectedly show up. Amy’s is domineering, demanding Ruth (Christine Baranski). Kiki’s is sugary-sweet, yet suffocating Sandy (Cheryl Hines). And Carla’s is Isis (Susan Sarandon), a pot-smoking, hedonistic gambler.
While the original “Bad Moms” (2016) delivered some disarmingly raunchy guffaws, this shoddy, superfluous exploration of complicated mother/daughter dynamics disappoints. Written and directed by Jon Lucas and Scott Moore, it’s neither insightful nor amusing.
Indeed, it’s embarrassingly vulgar, particularly when blowsy beautician Carla rhapsodizes about waxing the private parts of a male stripper (Justin Hartley) who’s tired of women lusting for his bodacious bod.
To be fair, there’s a slyly comical scene in which Kiki and Sandy consult a therapist (Wanda Sykes) about establishing ‘boundaries,’ and Ruth’s mind-boggling, Yuletide extravagance, involving live partridges and the Chicago youth choir.
While skilled comediennes like Kathryn Hahn and Christine Baranski make the best of the stressed-out situation, it’s a shame they’re given such sloppy material to work with. There’s no sisterhood, none of the disarming female bonding that characterized their previous comedy.
On the Granger Gauge, “A Bad Moms Christmas” is a frazzled 4, like trashy tinsel.
(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.)
