'The Killing of a Sacred Deer' is a movie I hated to hate

There was a lot of snarky snickering and uncomfortable giggles during director Yorgos Lanthimos' new film The Killing of a Sacred Deer, but I didn't find anything funny about it. I generally don't find bleak treatises on man's inhumanity to his fellow man -- especially nowadays -- to be particularly worth chuckling about. 

Much like The Lobster, Lanthimo's most recent critically acclaimed mind-bender, I went into The Killing of a Sacred Deer with high expectations: the trailer was positively Kubrick-esque and what I gleaned about the premise, which involved a surgeon being subjected to some form of macabre revenge for medical malfeasance, seemed intriguing.

The film is formally fantastic -- with some very striking wide shots that do recall the work of the master behind The Shining and A Clockwork Orange. The difference is that while those films have some black humor and satire in them, they are also at important moments genuinely harrowing -- something The Killing of Sacred Deer, despite its moody rhythms and dread-filled soundtrack, never is.

In my opinion, a movie at the very least should provoke some kind of emotional response from the viewer, and if it's clicking the right way, it should have the impact the director intended.

But it's unclear to me what service Lanthimos is trying to provide his audience outside of trolling them. The film is clearly judgmental about its characters and its audience, keeping both at a remove with its stilted, stunted and sullen style and with its apparent contempt for the banal bourgeoisie. It keeps throwing curveballs at its audience -- with an emphasis on the sexual -- and patting itself on the back for making people squirm. This is the kind of movie where there is a running gag about a girl getting her period for the first time, if you find that kind of thing hilarious.

A talented cast, including Nicole Kidman and Colin Farrell, are asked to strip themselves of all charisma and to calibrate their voices as little as possible. Imagine a film where every character is profoundly socially awkward and blurts out very matter-of-factly whatever intensely personal thought enters their brain. We're supposed to think these characters are already dead inside before the plot kicks in, get it?

I was able to hang with the film during its prolonged set-up, because Lanthimos definitely has an arresting style, but once the sheen comes off his work it's stunningly hollow and if that is the point -- which I fear it is -- then I am not sure why his films are worth flocking to.

This film, not unlike The Lobster, is being elevated by the very privileged class of filmgoers and critics that it presumes to be sending up. And perhaps there is a kind of moviegoer who likes to be made to feel bad when they watch a film, but I am not one of them.

I don't mind being scared or even unsettled by a film, but smug condescension isn't for me. It's not that I don't 'get' The Killing of a Sacred Deer -- it's not exactly subtle. For instance, in one scene a character expresses more interest in the fate of an MP3 player than their own sibling. I just don't find it profound.

Other critics will fall over themselves to praise its audacity and chilliness -- but for me there is nothing risky or daring about reveling in cruelty, and there are plenty of films that lack heart (I imagine the Transformers movies do, even though they would never get the critical praise this will). But to me the really great films -- like The Florida Project -- pull off something much more audacious -- which is to aim for your heartstrings and hit their target.

Why I just can't with Woody Allen anymore

I've made no secret about the fact that I've been a lifelong Woody Allen fan, but it's become increasingly hard over the last several years to say that in a public space with even a modicum of dignity. At a certain point, how can you defend the indefensible?

Like a lot of artists whose personal lives range from problematic to preposterously offensive, I have managed to separate the work from the individual and appreciate the art for what it is.

Movies like Annie Hall, Manhattan, Crimes and Misdemeanors and Hannah and Her Sisters meant a lot to me as a burgeoning film addict, and I still love them, even if they almost all show glimmers of the most toxic aspects of Allen's personality.

And a few of his recent outings like, Blue Jasmine and Midnight in Paris, have shown a spark of the savage wit and comic insight that made Allen such a special, welcome voice at the movies. But for every winning return to form there have been at least two or three tired May-December romances, or cliched nostalgia trips, or purely self-indulgent exercises from an unapologetically narcissistic, now 81-year-old man, who has consistently used self-deprecation to mask an unbelievable ego and who seems to see filmmaking as not so much a labor of love, but a force of habit.

I have plenty of people I am close to who boycott his films, especially in the wake of decades-old child abuse allegations which resurfaced a few years ago (which he has vehemently denied). I haven't gone to see any of his recent movies myself but admittedly more because the work didn't interest me -- but I also felt guilty for indulging this man, who didn't seem cowed by the criticisms, and who also seemed to flaunt his creepy inclinations.

Then this year he not only had the audacity to suggest that the outrage of Harvey Weinstein's transgressions was overheated (he has since clarified his remarks, and called the embattled mogul a "sad, sick man."), but he is also rumored to be shooting a film which portrays a sexual 'relationship' between an adult male and a 15-year-old girl. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound.

Now, Allen defenders (and I am sad to say I used to be one of them) would argue that as unsavory and unorthodox as his relationship with Soon-Yi Previn was (and some say, still is) they have been together now for 25 years, have children together, and this Oscar-winning legend has never been formally charged with any crime.

My thoughts exactly

That all feels like some of defenses I've heard over the years of another filmmaker whose work I revere but as a human being is pretty reprehensible -- Roman Polanski -- who has just been accused yet again of a 1970s-era sexual assault.

It's as if time and distance are supposed to erase what we all know he did.

At the very least, Allen could have kept quiet and stayed away from a subject where he clearly has a lot of detractors and an unpleasant reputation, but instead he seems keen to revel in it, and that for me has become a bridge too far. It's like he's pulling an R Kelly, daring us to look at how sleazy he can be so he can get off on the fact that he continues to get away with it.

The new movie in question will likely be a flop -- the great irony is that most Allen movies are -- but because of his historically great reputation as a filmmaker he will probably continue to attract A-list actors (his latest not-so-well-reviewed movie stars Kate Winslet and Justin Timberlake) and be treated as events by critics who want to believe that this very old dog has some new tricks.

But this former fan is convinced he doesn't. For me, his unpleasantness as a human being has eclipsed what talent he had and maybe still has. I simply cannot countenance his brand of self-aggrandizement anymore. He was a brilliant filmmaker and comedian, nothing is going to change that. And he's directed women like Diane Keaton, Mia Farrow, Diane Weist and Cate Blanchett in some of the best performances of their careers, and I appreciate him for that too. And we may never truly know if he is a child molester or not, and to a certain extent that is beyond the point for me now.

He is someone who doesn't seem to appreciate boundaries, women's autonomy and modern standards of fair play -- and I can't support him with my dollars anymore.

More men -- who let's face it, probably comprise most of his small but fervent fanbase -- need to start questioning why they keep supporting him and whether its worth it anymore.

'Never Seen It' - Episode 23 - Hmm, how much did we hate Hostel?

For years my wife Elizabeth Rosado and I have studiously avoided watching Eli Roth's surprisingly well-received 2005 "torture porn" film Hostel, but with Halloween around the corner and far too much time having passed since the last episode of our Never Seen It podcast, we figured we'd take a dive in.

And oh boy, is this movie a doozy. And while we may have had strong (a.k.a. negative views) about the movie, it did provoke some interesting side conversations about the Harvey Weinstein scandal and that nature of horror movies in general.

Click on the YouTube link below to listen to us rant and rave, and hopefully you'll think we had some smart things to say about this movie we just both watched for the first time this week.


PREVIOUS 'NEVER SEEN IT' EPISODES:

Episode 1: Some King of Wonderful
Episode 2: XXX
Episode 3: Varsity Blues
Episode 4: Xanadu
Episode 5: An Affair to Remember
Episode 6: Blue Steel
Episode 7: Spy Kids
Episode 8: The Frisco Kid
Episode 9: Rising Sun
Episode 10: The Conjuring 2
Episode 11: Zootopia
Episode 12: Fear
Episode 13: The Cell
Episode 14: Nocturnal Animals
Episode 15: Kindergarten Cop
Episode 16: Clash of the Titans
Episode 17: Silence
Episode 18: King Kong (1976)
Episode 19: The NeverEnding Story
Episode 20: Striptease
Episode 21: The Craft
Episode 22: The Purge

Stay tuned for more!

Streaming culture could spell doom for Orson Welles' legacy

Although Citizen Kane is routinely name-checked as the greatest film of all time, few casual movie fans eagerly seek it out, and those that do might find the black and white drama about the rise and fall of an ambitious newspaper man too dated to appreciate. Of course, they'd be dead wrong to discount what is arguably the most influential American film ever. It has since been surpassed in modern esteem by The Godfather, whose kinship with modern cinema is perhaps more detectible.

And now, Welles' astonishing work as a filmmaker is in danger of becoming purely a curiosity for hardcore cinephiles like myself.

Part of this is a symptom of streaming culture which puts an emphasis on easily digestible and relatively current movies. Welles' films were not meant to be watched on a phone -- they are complex, intellectual, in some cases -- years in the making. They often require repeat viewings to fully work and they are decidedly non-commercial.

Part of the blame can also be placed on Welles, who stubbornly marched to the beat of his own drum creatively, so much so that even when he'd earned the clout in Hollywood to finance his pet projects he opted to make difficult Shakespearean adaptations like Chimes at Midnight, rather than fare that mainstream audiences might find more relatable.

He has no iconic late career performance in a wildly known hit film (like Brando in The Godfather) so younger audiences don't really have a gateway to his career other than being forced to sit through Citizen Kane in school and maybe stumbling upon his embarrassing, drunken outtakes from one his later life cheap commercials (which he used to finance his films) on YouTube.

It's a shame that for so many people today, if they know of Welles at all, they think of him as a one-hit-wonder or as a bloated has been. The truth is somewhere in the middle.

As a filmmaker, he made visually dynamic spectacles that rival Stanley Kubrick's unforgettable framing shots. Welles himself was always a profound booming presence on screen either as a credible (albeit blackfaced) Othello or as a corrupt cop in Touch of Evil.

He had a tendency to favor high-falutin' literary adaptations like his daring 1962 staging of Kafka's The Trial, although not all his work was deadly serious -- his playful 1974 semi-documentary about forgers and con artists -- F for Fake -- has its tongue firmly planted in its cheek.

Of course, Welles wasn't fully appreciated for much of the time he lived either. He made most of his money phoning it in with charismatic performances in lesser films by other directors (with the terrific The Third Man being a notable exception) and most of his films were never released as he fully intended them because of studio interference.

Recently, many of his works have been restored and reappraised, but so few of his films readily available, and many of them steeped in subject matter that was not timely even sixty years ago, I fear Welles's significance will feel like more and more of a passing memory with the march of time, with only a few aging filmmakers and movie nerds like me to extol his virtues.

'Brawl in Cell Block 99' could change view of Vince Vaughn forever

The idea of Vince Vaughn as a stoic, badass action hero should be laughable -- and part of the genius of the new, soulful grindhouse film Brawl in Cell Block 99 is that it isn't at all.

After making a dynamic breakthrough in the indie comedy Swingers just over twenty years ago, Vaughn has had a very hit or miss career as a leading man in Hollywood.

Early on he was either miscast or misused in big budget movies, and eventually he settled into a successful groove as a motormouth comic actor in movies like Old School and Wedding Crashers.

But Vaughn's wiseguy schtick started to feel strained after a while, even when his movies were still making money, and then until suddenly they weren't. He seemed washed up and he wasn't even 50 yet, which for a male performer is far from the sunset of a career.

I don't know the backstory of how he came to be cast in director S. Craig Zahler's Brawl in Cell Block 99. Perhaps he thought he has nothing to lose so he figured why not appear in a brutally violent, throwback action picture which is barely being released in theaters.

But it turns out that by shaving his head and dialing down his personality, Vaughn actually has far more range and depth as an actor that I could possibly have imagined.

Not unlike Zahler's horror western pastiche Bone Tomahawk, Brawl in Cell Block 99 is a slow burn of a movie, but the quiet stretches work better in this film as Vaughn's tightly wound convict is pushed over the edge because of extraordinary circumstances that I wouldn't dare spoil here.

This is more than just a violent prison fight film -- although once the action gets going it is jaw dropping and horrific-- it's mostly a quiet character study, held together surprisingly well by Vaughn.

Instead of downplaying Vaughn's formidable height and physicality, Zahler accentuates it, and Vaughn does more with a deadpan silent look them reams of quippy dialogue ever could.

His character, Bradley Jenkins, is an old-fashioned man with a code, the kind of character that Charles Bronson or Lee Marvin would have played in their heyday. He only speaks when he has to and he means everything he says, In fact, he winds up behind bars because he stands up for something on principle, not simply because he got caught committing a crime.

And while Vaughn cuts a strong hero figure here, he is matched in a stirring turn from another reborn aging star, Don Johnson, as one of the more sadistic movie wardens I've ever seen. My only quibble with his performance is that I wish there were more of it in the film.

It is a long picture, one that requires some patience in the early going. But once you surrender to its bone dry, economical style (accompanied by a great retro soul soundtrack) you'll find a little gem that is destined to become a cult favorite and just might change peoples' perceptions of Vaughn as an actor forever.

Emotional 'The Florida Project' feels likes a doc of forgotten America

There are moments during director Sean Baker's The Florida Project that feel like being stuck in a car with a bunch of unruly kids. But once you get used to this film's meandering style -- almost entirely from a child's perspective -- you will start to see the world as the playful little heroes of the story do -- and the effect is invigorating.

Not unlike Baker's previous film -- Tangerine, which was a day in the life of two vivacious trans women -- The Florida Project takes a sensitive and thoughtful look at people living on the margins of American life.

Baker never condescends to his characters or allows them to lapse into caricature -- with the exception of some very amusing shots of wonderfully tacky Florida locales, the movie doesn't have a single set-up joke in it. In fact, it all unfolds almost like a documentary, with veteran character actor Willem Dafoe being the only recognizable face on screen.

As Bobby, the beleaguered manager of a run-down motel, Dafoe has never been this warm and winning on-screen before. He's always been a consummate character, but his stock and trade has been eccentric, larger than life characterizations (he's literally played Jesus and in Wild at Heart, something close to the devil). Here he is sweet, believable and intensely lovable. It'd be a crime if he isn't in the mix for a Supporting Actor Academy Award.

But the real star of the movie is 6-year-old Brooklynn Kimberly Prince, a newcomer who displays incredible range of emotions and nuance as the the ringleader of a bunch of mischievous kids who have turned Bobby's motel into their own version of paradise.

The Prince's character's mother -- a young, single woman, who in a lesser film would be reduced to crude stereotypes -- is also a remarkably realized figure. You may not condone her life choices, and yet you also feel compassion for her hardscrabble life, and she will make you better appreciate your own.

This character is also played by an excellent, relative novice -- Bria Vinaite, and it's a testament to the power of Baker's filmmaking that non-actors and Dafoe co-mingle so intimately and effortlessly that nothing feels at all forced or staged.

The work with the child actors in especially remarkable. Their line readings, dialogue and body language are all so natural that it's incomprehensible to me how Baker captured them. It's almost if he let the kids guide the film and he just let the camera roll.

Tangerine did have similar ramshackle slice-of-life aesthetic --so perhaps Baker is onto crafting his own signature style -- a bit of Robert Altman meets cinema verite.

By the time the film reaches its complex it has become slyly emotionally overwhelming  and it culminates with an ending that I'm not sure I am entirely happy with, but whose ambition I appreciated. I'm curious to see if it connects with audiences on a commercial level.

It's an incredibly special little film, one that has resonated with me deeply. It's one of the best films of an already strong year, with a rhythm and voice that is uniquely its own.

'The Meyerowitz Stories':Why Dustin Hoffman is a national treasure

I have never been a member of the cult of Noam Baumbach. I have enjoyed some of his movies, while some have felt wildly overrated to me by critics who saw themselves in the material but perhaps failed to see that they are almost always so steeped in white people problems that they could stand as a testament to why people of color feel so frustrated when attempts to portray the banalities of their life experience are deemed risky. In the all-star Meyerowitz Stories, which is currently streaming on Netflix, Baumbach does aim for more universal truths, although his story of a egotistical, formidable patriarch and his eccentric offspring is a familiar trope in Baumbach's solo work and his collaborations with Wes Anderson.

What elevates this project, and makes it special, is the presence of the brilliant Dustin Hoffman. Now 80 years old, but still unconventionally handsome, quick-witted and charming, it's a delight to see this newly hirsute iconic actor working at the top of his game as a sculptor who has always over-estimated his own impact on the art world and his has blithely failed as a nurturing father.

It's mind-blowing to think about the fact that it was 50 years ago that Hoffman first became a movie star with his performance in the classic dramedy The Graduate. Then already 30, but channeling much younger, Hoffman blew up old fashioned ideas about what made a leading man and in the decades that followed he was a chameleon, remaking himself in movies as diverse as Midnight Cowboy, Lenny, Marathon Man, All the President's Men, Kramer vs. Kramer. Tootsie, Rain Man, Hook and many more.

He has not been as omnipresent in recent years as some of his peers (like DeNiro and Pacino), and with the exception of the Meet the Fockers films, he hasn't really sold out his brand as a consummate professional, but perhaps because he doesn't have one signature role -- his persona could arguably be defined by his versatility -- his legacy may harder to pin down by modern audiences.

In The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected), he is hilariously funny, but also very believable as a certain kind of father we've either all had or certainly witnessed. Unfortunately, for reasons I won't spoil, his character takes a back seat to his grown sons (played by Ben Stiller and Adam Sandler) and the film becomes considerably less fun because of it.

Stiller and especially Sandler are in fine form here, as half-siblings who are still confronting unresolved slights from their childhood and through crisis are forced to navigate the awkwardness. Sandler gives easily his best performance since Punch-Drunk Love (you could almost call his an extension of his suppressed rage/wounded soul work in that movie). But the narrative stakes feel relatively small.

This is a film with a lot of histrionics, loud bickering, literal fighting and in an amusing, but broad running gag -- copious nudity -- it does, also, feel deeply personal.

For me, despite the references to my alma mater Bard College, there wasn't a terrible amount that I could relate to, so my biggest takeaway from viewing it was my affection for Hoffman, who is one of our greatest actors, someone who exudes restless energy and vivacious spirit, and should be on the big screen a lot more often.

'Blade Runner 2049' is satisfying and strictly for fans of the original

The cult around the original Blade Runner is very cool, if unexpected. It's a decidedly cold movie -- about the nature of humanity -- cloaked in a rain drenched, depressing future overwhelmed by omnipresent advertisement, a veneer of flinty cruelty and an oppressive police state.

In other words, it's a world that's not for everyone which may be why the 1982 original never found a huge audience, and why the new film, despite its critical acclaim, has also confounded some audiences who aren't familiar with this series' unique mix of philosophy amid bursts of brutal violence.

If you're attracted to the world of Blade Runner, with its dispassionate heroes and gorgeous landscapes, this new film -- Blade Runner 2049 -- will not disappoint. In the same way that Mad Max: Fury Road invigorated a long moribund apocalyptic franchise, this film hits just the right notes and tone of the original, aided tremendously by Denis Villeneuve's precise direction, Roger Deakins' flawless cinematography and two terrific leading man turns from Ryan Gosling and Harrison Ford.

I'm curious to see how The Last Jedi pans out, but I think I can safely say this will be the smartest and most sophisticated blockbuster-style movie of the year. And whether or not it winds up making a profit, ir's one of the best films I've seen all year.

Does every plot point fall neatly into place? No. Is it a slow-paced film short on bravura action sequences? Absolutely. But that doesn't diminish its impact.

Just like the original, this is a movie you have to give yourself over to -- if you surrender to is glacial pacing and its mysterious, circuitous plot, you will be invigorated and you'll leave the theater asking yourself crucial questions about what is the true nature of humanity and what defines us -- our memories? Our actions? Our capacity for compassion? Or, all of the above?

So much credit is due to Villeneuve, who has an incredible track record to date with modern masterpieces like Sicario, Prisoners and Arrival already under his belt. Not only does he have a great eye, he also knows how to keep emotion front and center no matter how 'big' a movie is.

He has a top-notch cast here -- and with Gosling and Ford he has two capable leading men, with very disparate acting styles, who nevertheless both know how to beautifully portray masculine vulnerability. Meanwhile, the film pays homage to the original in ways both big a small -- from the Vangelis-ish score to the film noir-ish aesthetic.

If the film has a flaw it's probably its fidelity to the themes and tone of the original. If you're not a fan of the 1982 Ridley Scott film, you won't likely enjoy this one. This is a movie  for fans, for people who have grown to love the offbeat rhythms of the original and yet longed to see its themes explored more fully.

Blade Runner 2049 brilliantly bookends that unusual but groundbreaking original, which completely upended the way the future was portrayed in movies, and provided a brooding alternative to the Star Wars brand of sunny sci-fi which was dominating multiplexes at the time,

It's a work of art. It's not for everyone. But that's ok -- because so much great cinema isn't.

It's too soon to brand 'Blade Runner: 2049' a flop

In a turn that has become all too commonplace in modern Hollywood, Blade Runner 2049 -- after just one weekend in theaters -- has already gone from highly anticipated and critically acclaimed follow-up to a cinematic classic to a so-called "box office disappointment." 

This narrative is especially damaging because far too many audiences interpret headlines like that as an indictment of a film's quality, even though Cinemascore found that audiences that did see the movie on opening weekend gave it a high A- average grade.

The same negative publicity nearly torpedoed another expensive decades in the making sequel -- Mad Max Fury Road. When that soon-to-be Oscar nominated classic open with 'just' $45 million back in 2015 (coming in second to the widely forgotten Pitch Perfect 2) it was viewed as costly failure, even though it displayed great legs, was hailed as one of the best films of the year and eventually was viewed as resounding commercial success too.

The same fate could still be in store for Blade Runner: 2049, despite its softer opening, it's a film that may draw repeat viewers and more discerning audiences which don't make their moviegoing choices purely based on the box office rat race.

It's sad that every weekend we are force fed a film's 'performance' as some indicator of whether a film succeeded or is worthy of seeing. Does anyone know what Citizen Kane grossed or whether it was one of the biggest hits of 1941, the year in which it was released?

Of course those familiar with the original Blade Runner are well aware of the fact that it was an enormous commercial flop when it came out in 1982.

And while it remains one of my all time favorite films of all time, in all its iterations, it is a slow, heady, moody noir film that never could have or would have broad mainstream appeal.

If anything, it's a tribute to the originality of the studio backing this film that they sunk $150 million into an ambitious sequel to a cult '80s film with niche appeal, with a star who has never anchored an action blockbuster (Ryan Gosling) and another who is 75 years old (Harrison Ford).

And, if the reviews are to be believed, the movie is a masterpiece, on par with the groundbreaking film that inspired it, so shouldn't it not matter how money it makes?

I for one haven't seen it yet -- I was at wedding out of the country during its opening weekend -- but i wouldn't miss it for the world, and can already imagine seeing it more than once, since for me this is the biggest cinematic event of the year outside of a little movie with Jedi in the title coming out in December.

Many of the movies I've loved, even worshipped, over the years weren't particularly profitable, got mixed reviews, and were not widely beloved -- and yet they're mostly considered unassailably great films now, because their greatness was recognized over time and had everything to do with quality and the quantity of money they made.

Don't see Blade Runner 2049 if you don't want to -- but don't skip it because you heard it's long or because it opened "below expectations."

'Battle of the Sexes' feels more inconsequential than its inspiration

When the credits rolled for Battle of the Sexes I learned that it was directed by Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Ferris, the same directing duo behind the dramedy crowd-pleaser Little Miss Sunshine, which also co-starred Steve Carrell, and I thought "yeah. that makes sense."

Not unlike that film, Battle of the Sexes is light and charming but it also lacking in a lot of depth or subtlety. It's an unassailably positive movie, that has some very nice moments in it -- especially during its rousing finale -- but also feels like a bit of a missed opportunity to say something more profound about institutionalized sexism. It's just a fun time at the movies, nothing more.

The film may be hamstrung to some extent by the fact that most viewers may know the conclusion of Billie Jean King's fateful match with Bobby Riggs in an exhibition game, and that Riggs' theatrical misogyny was not sincere and that stakes of the outcome may not have really been that high.

Still, their real-life face off was an important symbolic indicator if nothing else. And Billie Jean King, with her outspoken feminism and uncharacteristic 'look' certainly changed the way female athletes were treated and perceived.

What's less interesting -- to me at least -- is the ups and downs of her romantic life, which consume a lot of the screen time in Battle of the Sexes, and feels like filler. None of it is handled poorly -- although I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching Emma Stone play dress up. It's not her fault entirely, she's really more of a movie star than a character actress. She's like out modern-day Sally Field, capable of being plucky, pushy and resourceful, and always likable.

The real life Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs

Carrell is capable of being a little more interesting on screen. For instance, in a movie like Foxcatcher he was still funny but in a pitch black, terrifying sort of way. Here is doing the sort of sad, pathetic hustler type character he can do in his sleep. There are strains of Michael Scott in his performance as Riggs, and yet I missed his humor whenever he wasn't on screen.

Dayton and Farris set up the backstory of tension in the tennis world over women's salaries and prize money but did little to make it dramatically interesting since the 'bad guys' are so overtly sexist that they feel like cartoon straw men just waiting to be struck down, although the use of a vintage footage of a particularly obnoxious Howard Cosell is a stroke of genius.

And while I don't find the movie especially Oscar-worthy or groundbreaking, I was heartened to see so many young women and girls in the audience I saw the movie in. It's actually a little more risque than I expected, but it's certainly appropriate family fare and as hokey as it can be at times, I couldn't help but be swept up in the inspirational good cheer and excitement of the climatic battle.

This may not be the movie of the moment, the film that salves our collective post-election hurt -- especially those of us who believe in gender equality -- but as a history lesson, it'll do.