Review: 'Ema' introduces a fiery talent in Mariana di Girolámo, as a woman dancing on the edge of an emotional eruption

There’s a thin line between love and hate, The Persuaders (and, later, The Pretenders) sang — and in director Pablo Larrain’s propulsive drama “Ema,” a woman dances on that line for all she’s worth.

Mariana di Girolámo plays Ema, a reggaeton dancer in Valparaiso, Chile, who is in a tempestuous marriage with a choreographer, Gastón, played by Gael García Bernal. Yes, there’s an age difference — and it’s suggested that Ema was once a protege who became a romantic partner. 

It’s also suggested early on — explanations come later — that Ema desires to be a mother, but something horrible happened when they adopted a 7-year-old boy, Polo. The aftermath involves Gastón’s sister, in the hospital with burn scars, and Ema’s fascination with using a flame thrower in her outdoor dance works.

In between dance performances on the streets, and enduring the withering looks from colleagues at the school where she teaches, Ema hatches a plan. It involves a lawyer, Raquel (Paola Giannini), and a man, Anîbal (Santiago Cabrera), and it could give her a chance to reconnect with Polo — or blow up her, and his, world.

Larrain, known to U.S. audiences for “Jackie” and the upcoming Princess Diana biopic “Spencer,” returns to his native Chile (where he also made “Neruda” and “No,” both with Garcîa Bernal) and dives deep into the reggaeton culture. With a vibrant color palette, Larrain (co-writing with Guillermo Calderón, who wrote “Neruda,” and Alejandro Moreno) traverses the chasm of Eta’s emotional state, as she wrestles with her own mistakes and the guilt Gastón heaps on her for their mutual faults.

The movie is a showcase for di Girolámo, in her first internationally seen film (which finished its festival run at this year’s mostly virtual Sundance Film Festival). Both in her dance moves and her acting, de Girolámo channels the pain and rage Ema is processing, as she pushes to have it all — artistic freedom, sexual liberation, family comfort — on her own terms, no matter the cost. It’s a stunning introduction to the world, and makes di Girolámo a face to watch in the future.

——

‘Ema’

★★★1/2

Available starting Friday, September 24, for streaming via the Salt Lake Film Society’s virtual cinema, SLFS@Home. Rated R for strong sexual content, nudity and language. Running time: 107 minutes; in Spanish with subtitles.

Review: 'Eyes of Tammy Faye' is a shallow look at the televangelist, but Jessica Chastain finds layers in her portrayal.

In the movies, as in life, the icon known to the world as Tammy Faye Bakker has been done wrong by the men who claim to have her best interests at heart.

This time, it wasn’t her caddish husband, televangelist Jim Bakker, who exploited her open nature to pry open viewers’ wallets. No, this time the culprit is director Michael Showalter (“The Big Sick,” “The Lovebirds”), who never gets more than mascara-deep in telling Tammy Faye’s story.

Spanning more than four decades of her life, the movie starts with young Tammy Faye Grover (Chandler Head) being drawn to the Assemblies of God church where her stern mother, Rachel (Cherry Jones), plays piano during services. But Mom has banned Tammy from the church, because she’s the daughter of Rachel’s first husband, and an unfortunate reminder of Rachel’s divorce. Still, Tammy talks to God — something she does throughout the story — and does what she thinks God wants her to do.

Cut to 1960, when Tammy (played from here on out by Jessica Chastain) attends bible college and meets the charming Bakker (Andrew Garfield), who preaches a “prosperity gospel,” using selective bible verses to argue that God wants people to get rich — and to give generously to their church to make that happen. Tammy and Jim are quickly married, to Rachel’s horror, and hit the road as traveling preachers, with Jim delivering sermons and Tammy Faye singing and performing puppet shows for the children in the crowds.

Within a few years, the Bakkers join up with Pat Robertson (Gabriel Olds) and his fledgling Christian Broadcasting Network. It’s not long before Jim and Tammy Faye are the network’s stars, with Jim launching his brainchild: A nighttime talk show, which he pitches as “Johnny Carson for Christians,” called “The 700 Club.” 

When Tammy Faye sees how well the Robertsons live, off the wealth the Bankers’ hard work has created, the Bakkers strike out on their own, forming the PTL (“Praise the Lord”) network. Keeping that empire afloat takes a lot of donations, and a lot of debt — and the strain drives a wedge between Jim and Tammy Faye.

Everything depicted here will be familiar to anyone who saw Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato’s  2000 documentary, also called “The Eyes of Tammy Faye,” which is credited as inspiration for the script by Abe Sylvia (a TV writer making his feature debut). That documentary leaned into Tammy Faye’s camp value — it featured puppets similar to hers, and enlisted RuPaul as the narrator. (Seeing RuPaul and Tammy Faye walking the streets of Park City the year the movie debuted at Sundance was a surreal delight.)

The movie delves into Tammy Faye’s weaknesses — her pill-popping and a brief instance of infidelity, both of which Jim holds over her head, while also using Tammy Faye’s tearful confessions as money-raising ploys for PTL. It also shows moments when Tammy Faye’s generous spirit ran counter to Christian doctrine, such as when she did a sympathetic interview with a gay man with AIDS, or when she opined to Rev. Jerry Falwell (Vincent D’Onofrio) that evangelicals should stay out of politics. (The movie depicts Falwell as a humorless scold and, when the Bakkers’ empire collapses, a duplicitous backstabber — and I am here for all of it.)

Everything looks note-perfect, from the period details of Tammy Faye’s childhood to the garish soundstage where Jim and Tammy Faye broadcast PTL to millions of viewers. And certainly the cast — namely Chastain, Garfield and D’Onofrio — look like the people they’re portraying.

But there’s a hollowness to the narrative, as if Showalter and Sylvia saw the ‘90s comedians mocking Tammy Faye for her over-the-top make-up and chipmunk voice — shown here in a montage that will make you cringe today — and decided they weren’t going to explore past that surface.

Only Chastain, in a tour de force performance, gets past the make-up and mannerisms to plunge into the soul of this unfairly maligned woman. Chastain seems to understand that Tammy Faye’s secret was in how the pancake make-up and permanent eyeliner were her armor, constructed in response to her mother’s condemnation and Jim’s manipulations — and that while Tammy Faye’s look was fake, her compassion and her Christian heart were the real thing.

——

‘The Eyes of Tammy Faye’

★★1/2

Opens Friday, September 17, in theaters everywhere. Rated PG-13 for sexual content and drug abuse. Running time: 126 minutes.

Review: 'Everybody's Talking About Jamie' is a love-filled LGBTQ musical about a boy who wants to hit the prom in drag.

An exuberant blend of industrial grit and fantasy glitter, the musical “Everybody’s Talking About Jamie” is a bouncy, inclusive high school musical loaded with humor and heart.

It’s also a delightful introduction to Max Harwood, a winning young actor in the title role of Jamie New, a 16-year-old gay teen living in Sheffield, England. Jamie’s tough enough to stand up to his class bully, Dean (Samuel Bottomley), but sensitive enough to care that his father (Ralph Ineson) is a no-show at his 16th birthday party. Jamie’s parents have divorced, and Mum (Sarah Lancashire) covers up the fact that Dad, who has remarried, is a homophobe who wants nothing to do with his son.

At his birthday party, Jamie receives the gift he’s been saving up for: A dazzling pair of glittering red heels. Walking in those towering shoes gives Jamie confidence to pursue his dream of being a drag performer — a job that his 11th grade careers teacher, Miss Hedge (Sharon Horgan), dismisses as unrealistic. Jamie tells his only school friend, Pritti (Lauren Patel), a nerdy Muslim girl who gets mocked for her hijab, that he plans to unveil his drag persona at his school’s prom.

Jamie is eager to be a drag queen, but needs to learn how to be one. He finds Sheffield’s most drag-friendly shop, House of Loco — whose proprietor, Hugo Battersby (Richard E. Grant), recounts his days as Miss Loco Chanelle, the toast of Sheffield’s ‘80s club scene. A series of flashbacks, framed as Hugo’s VHS memories, show how the ‘80s queens stood up to police raids and survived the AIDS epidemic. (Young Loco is played by John McCrea, who played Jamie in the original London stage production.)

Jonathan Butterell, who directed the London stage production, proves himself a smart choice to direct the film, his first feature. Butterell captures the gray dinginess of working-class Sheffield, and offsets it with flashes of theatrical sparkle and razzle-dazzle that matches Jamie’s rainbow-hued take on his world. He also balances the comedy of Jamie’s school life with the dramatic arcs of the teen’s relationships with both of his parents.

With powerful supporting work by Patel and Grant, the real find of “Everybody’s Talking About Jamie” is Harwood, who makes a stellar debut. Harwood shows Jamie as eternally optimistic, seeking glamour and paternal approval in equal measure, and his winning performance carries the movie on his slender shoulders. 

——

‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’

★★★1/2

Available starting Friday, September 17, for streaming on Prime video. Rated PG-13 for thematic elements, strong language, and suggestive material. Running time: 115 minutes.

Review: Clint Eastwood, at 91, still delivers in "Cry Macho," an odd movie that aims to dismantle movie tropes about masculinity

Confession time: I never saw Clint Eastwood’s 2018 drama “The Mule,” in which Eastwood directed and starred as an elderly man who became a drug-runner for Mexican cartels — and my knowledge of “The Mule” comes solely from the review comedians John Mulaney and Pete Davidson gave it on  “Saturday Night Live,” where they marveled at “the most bananas movie” ever made.

With that much knowledge, I feel fairly safe in declaring Eastwood’s newest movie, “Cry Macho,” a somewhat tamer but still offbeat movie, as something of a spiritual sequel to “The Mule” — in that it’s another story of an old man crossing into Mexico to bring something back and find some personal redemption along the way.

Eastwood plays Mike Milo, who long ago was a rodeo star, until a bronco landed on him and broke his back. Years later — 1979, to be exact — he’s working as a Texas horse trainer, until his boss, Howard (Dwight Yoakam), fires him for drunkenness and unreliability.

A year later, Howard returns to Mike’s life, with a job offer: He wants Mike to cross the border, drive to Mexico City, and retrieve Howard’s 13-year-old son, Rafa (Eduardo Minett), from the clutches of his Howard’s ex-wife, Leta (Fernanda Urrejola), who is abusing Rafa — at least, that’s the way Howard tells it.

When Mike gets to Mexico City, and Leta’s mansion, he finds the situation is more complicated. Leta, who lives in a mansion with his bodyguard, has no idea where Rafa is, but suspects he may be trying to compete in cockfighting. Sure enough, Mike finds Rafa in the poor part of town, preparing to have his rooster — called Macho, which Rafa says means “strength” — battle in a cockfight.

After dodging a police raid, Mike takes the reluctant Rafa under his wing. This is where the bulk of the script — credited by Nick Schenk (who wrote “The Mule”) and N. Richard Nash, on whose 1975 novel the film is based — sets up shop. Mike, Rafa and Macho hit the road toward the Texas border. Sometimes they take the back roads, to avoid Leta’s bodyguards and the Federales she’s called in to find Rafa. For awhile, they hole up in a small town, where Mike teaches Rafa about training horses, and about how the concept of being “macho” is a limited view of masculinity. Also in this town, Mike — whose wife and son died years earlier — kicks up a little romance with Marta (Natalia Traven), a widow who runs the cantina and looks after her four granddaughters.

So the story is a little out there, and some of the plot points make no sense when held up to scrutiny, but there’s something charming and tender in Eastwood’s telling of it. At 91, Eastwood doesn’t have to prove anything to anybody, and he can make any shaggy dog story he wants, and if he wants to direct himself into a romance at his age, who’s going to stop him.

Eastwood’s direction is smooth and economical, almost never a wasted moment or shot — and cinematographer Ben Davis (“Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri,” “Captain Marvel”) brings a calm beauty to the film. The weakness may be in the script, which takes a few pedestrian shortcuts as it imparts its lessons about masculinity and its limitations.

Eastwood gives a solid performance in “Cry Macho,” still charismatic even when he’s slightly hunched over by his age. He seems to understand that the myth of the West probably dies with Mike — but until that happens, he’s willing to impart what he knows to future generations.

——

‘Cry Macho’

★★★

Opens Friday, September 17, in theaters, and streaming on HBO Max. Rated PG-13 for language and thematic elements. Running time: 104 minutes.

Review: Documentary 'My Name Is Pauli Murray' gives proper credit to an unsung hero of the civil rights movement

Unless you’re well versed in American legal theory or LGBTQ history, you may not know who Pauli Murray — a situation the thoughtful and informative documentary “My Name Is Pauli Murray” works to rectify.

Murray was an activist for civil rights and women’s rights, and an icon for LGBTQ people. At different points in her life, she was a pioneering student, a poet, a lawyer, an unsung legal scholar, an author, a professor and Episcopal minister.

Directors Julie Cohen and Betsy West, who profiled the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg in “RBG,” chronicle Murray’s birth in Baltimore and upbringing in Durham, N.C., where she felt the sting of racism firsthand. The directors often point out moments in Murray’s life where she fought battles long before others; for example, she and a friend were arrested for sitting in the whites-only section of a segregated bus, in 1940 — 15 years before Rosa Parks famously did the same. (Murray and the friend were outmaneuvered by the prosecution, who dropped the segregation charge that she wanted to fight as unconstitutional, and merely charged her with disturbing the peace.)

In law school, at Howard University in 1942, Murray wrote a paper arguing that segregation violated both the 13th and 14th amendments to the U.S. Constitution. Though the paper was disputed by some of her professors, it was filed away — and became a core argument when the NAACP’s legal counsel, Thurgood Marshall, argued before the Supreme Court in the landmark case, Brown v. Board of Education. But, for years, Murray was not told of her contribution for decades.

Another of Murray’s arguments, this one about discrimination by sex, was taken up by Ginsburg when she worked on the ACLU’s Women’s Rights Project. (Ginsburg cited Murray by name in her amicus brief in the precedent-setting 1971 case Reed v. Reed.) Cohen and West present an outtake from “RBG,” in which Ginsburg praises the strength of Murray’s legal mind, and the clip takes on the air of a holy relic.

The film also takes pains to document Murray’s sexual identity, something she had to hide from the world. Murray preferred trousers over skirts, and begged doctors to prescribe hormones because she was convinced she was a man born in a woman’s body. She also had a long, loving relationship with Irene Barlow — once an office manager at a law firm where Murray worked — that lasted nearly a quarter-century. By today’s measure, according to her biographers, Murray likely would have identified as transgender.

Cohen and West rely on a wealth of Murray’s writings, including legal briefs, poetry and personal letters that depict her struggles with depression. They also interview a wealth of scholars who detail Murray’s contributions to legal thinking, and provide the context for how those lessons apply today. Those voices turn “My Name Is Pauli Murray” into a dynamic history lesson, and an introduction to a hero for civil rights for whom recognition is long overdue.

——

‘My Name Is Pauli Murray’

★★★

Opens Friday, September 17, at Megaplex Jordan Commons (Sandy) and Megaplex at The District (South Jordan); also streaming on Prime video starting October 1. Rated PG-13 for disturbing/violent images and thematic elements. Running time: 91 minutes.

Review: 'The Card Counter' is a sly and absorbing character study of a gambler on the brink.

Like the diamond-sharp movies he used to write for Martin Scorsese — a Murderer’s Row of films that includes “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull” and “The Last Temptation of Christ” — Paul Schrader creates in his new film, “The Card Counter,” a fascinating study of a loner whose past and present collide.

Oscar Isaac stars as the title character, who has taken the alias William Tell as he travels from casino to casino across the country. He can keep track of what kinds of cards have been played at the blackjack table, which allows him to win consistently. He usually leaves the table before he wins too much, before casino security can get wise and throw him out. Bill, as he sometimes is known, does catch the attention of La Linda (Tiffany Haddish), a pro gamer who keeps a stable of card players, finding them investors who will stake them in big tournaments.

Schrader, who wrote and directed, reveals early on that Bill learned card counting in prison. Soon, Schrader also reveals the prison was in Leavenworth, Kan., and Bill’s crime was his involvement in the torture and humiliation of prisoners at the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. The ones in the pictures, Bill remarks in the running narration, got prison time; their superiors, and their superiors’ superiors, did not.

In the convention center of one casino, Bill walks into a law enforcement conference and sits in on a lecture by a Maj. John Gordo (Willem Dafoe). A flashback shows us that Gordo was a civilian contractor in Iraq, who ordered around Bill and other men to commit the atrocities that led to Bill’s incarceration.

Back in the present, Bill also notices a young man looking very intently at Gordo. The man introduces himself as Cirk — “‘Kirk’ with a ‘C’,” he tells Bill. Cirk explains to Bill that Gordo also commanded Cirk’s father during the Iraq War, and that Cirk blames Gordo for his dad’s PTSD and suicide. Cirk tells Bill he has a plan to kidnap, torture and kill Gordo.

Bill then does something uncharacteristic for him: He gets involved. Bill takes Cirk under his wing, bringing him along on the road, as he takes up La Linda’s offer to get into the lucrative World Series of Poker, which could end with a run in Vegas.

As he did in his last film, “First Reformed,” Schrader creates a self-contained little world in which the main character — Isaac’s guilt-stricken gambler here, Ethan Hawke’s haunted priest there — wrestles with ghosts from his past while being prodded to take action in the present. If Bill is a bit enigmatic, that’s to be expected, given the nature of card playing, and of the size of the demons he’s facing.

Isaac leads a solid ensemble cast with under-the-radar intensity, conveying through small gestures and Schrader’s economical dialogue Bill’s desire to live quietly and make small jackpots where he can — while also seeing this kid as a chance to atone for past mistakes. Isaac’s performance is one of the best you’ll see all year, one that will be admired for its honesty and quiet menace.

——

‘The Card Counter’

★★★1/2

Opens Friday, September 10, in select theaters. Rated R for some disturbing violence, graphic nudity, language and brief sexuality. Running time: 109 minutes.

Review: 'The Lost Leonardo' is a documentary with a lot to say about art, commerce, love and loss.

The engrossing documentary “The Lost Leonardo” is part art critique, part industry tell-all, with a good amount of crime caper and political intrigue thrown in for good measure.

The story starts with a painting found in New Orleans by Alexander Parish, who is what the art world calls a “sleeper hunter” — someone who finds works that may be more valuable than advertised. Parish talks to an art dealer, Robert Simon, and together they buy the work for $1,175. Simon thinks it may date back to the Renaissance, perhaps to a student of Leonardo da Vinci, or someone who tried to copy the master’s work.

The painting, called “Salvator Mundi” (“Savior of the World”), depicts Jesus, in a Renaissance-era tunic, holiding his right hand up in an apparent sign of blessing. In his left hand, he holds a crystal ball. There’s plenty of damage and past attempts at “restoration,” so they take it to Dianne Modestini, a well-known art restorer.

Modestini starts working on the painting, thinking it’s from someone trying to emulate Leonardo’s style. Then she notices two things. One is that Jesus’ thumb seems to have been painted twice, an indication the artist tried it one way and changed his mind — something someone making a copy wouldn’t do. The other is an almost imperceptible line on Jesus’ lip, a line Modestini has only seen in one other place: On the face of the “Mona Lisa.” 

Modestini is convinced this work is an original work of Leonardo da Vinci. Soon, Leonardo experts are called in, and they seem to agree — though, in interviews now, some are more sure of their opinions than others.

What follows, as Danish documentarian Andreas Koefoed reveals, is a yarn that goes from London’s National Gallery to the shadowy system of so-called “freeport” tax havens, from the world’s most prestigious auction houses to The Louvre. The cast of characters include a profiteering Swiss businessman, an angry Russian oligarch, an FBI agent, and the crown prince of Saudi Arabia. Meanwhile, the value of the painting jumps into the millions, while observers and critics — the most outspoken being Jerry Saltz of New York magazine — decry the whole thing as an expensive hoax.

Koefoed and his co-writers, Andreas Dalsgaard and Christian Kirk Muff, compile a wealth of interviews with several of the principals, as well as investigative journalists across Europe. (Notably, they didn’t get any comment from the National Gallery, The Louvre, the auction houses Sotheby’s or Christie’s, or the Saudi Ministry of Culture — all key players.) They present this information with the pace of a good heist thriller, where what’s being stolen is reputation, credibility and a piece of history.

The lesson of “The Lost Leonardo” is that a painting isn’t just a painting — especially when it is reputedly created by the greatest artist to ever live, and the names and bank accounts of too many people depend on the world believing the story they’ve staked everything on is true.

——

‘The Lost Leonardo’

★★★1/2

Opens Friday, September 10, in select theaters. Rated PG-13 for nude art images. Running time: 96 minutes.

Review: Caper comedy 'Queenpins' tries to make a farce out of crime, but can't deliver the laughs

The most criminal thing about the overly manic and oddly humor-free caper comedy “Queenpins” is the way it squanders the comic talents of so many actors with so little payoff.

“inspired by true events,” as the opening title card promises, “Queenpins” starts with two neighbors in a Phoenix, Ariz., suburb. Connie Kaminski (Kristen Bell) is a retired Olympic gold-medal race-walker whose efforts to conceive a child has left her and her husband, IRS auditor Rick (Joel McHale), in debt and barely speaking to each other. JoJo Johnson (Kirby Howell-Baptiste, once Bell’s castmate on “The Good Place”) is a would-be YouTube influencer who has signed up for a multi-level marketing scheme to get over the loss to her credit caused by an identity thief.

Connie’s penchant for clipping coupons proves to be the inspiration for their plan. They figure out that major corporations print their coupons for free stuff in Mexico, just over the border. So they meet a couple who works in the Mexican coupon printing plant, and arrange to have the presses’ overage shipped to them in Phoenix — and they can sell those coupons online to bargain hunters.

A theme in the script — by the husband-and-wife team of Aron Gaudet and Gita Pullapilly, who also directed — is that Connie and JoJo don’t immediately realize how much they don’t know about pulling off a fraud scheme like this. They learn fast, thanks largely to a cyber-hacker (played by the pop singer Bebe Rexha) who shows them how to set up dummy corporations and other tricks to hide their ill-gotten cash.

Meanwhile, the excess number of coupons gets the attention of the corporations, who complain to Ken Miller (Paul Walter Hauser, from “I, Tonya” and “Cruella”), the loss prevention officer for a supermarket chain. Ken, who lives in Salt Lake City, tries to get the local FBI field office interested, but the case gets shuffled around the bureaucracy — until it lands with the U.S. Postal Service, who send a dogged postal inspector, Simon Kilmurray (Vince Vaughn), to investigate.

Overplotted and underwritten, “Queenpins” stakes most of its comic hopes on some less-than-funny scenes, like Connie and JoJo figuring out how to spend their money, or watching Ken nearly ruin Simon’s stakeout with excessive bowel movements — a gag from which even Hauser, a reliably funny actor, can’t squeeze any laughs.

The only bright spot is Vaughn, who hits comic beats no one else in the movie seems to hear. Watching Vaughn play Simon as a no-nonsense lawman with a hidden poetic streak suggests the smarter, funnier movie “Queenpins’ could have been.

——

‘Queenpins’

★1/2

Opens Friday, September 10, in theaters everywhere. Rated R for language throughout. Running time: 110 minutes.