'Creed II' is another knockout for Michael B. Jordan, Stallone

Sequels are always so risky. You almost always disappoint, and at worst, detract from the power of the original. But Creed II is one of those fantastic ones which builds off your affection and respect for the first movie, and spins such a captivating new yarn that you find yourself rooting for a third installment when you leave the theater. Honestly, I think if the fact that the movie was a sequel wasn't so front and center this installment would be the Oscar contender Ryan Coogler's 2015 movie was. It's that good.

Just like Rocky II put its hero through the paces of a challenging sophomore slump, this new movie (directed with grace and intensity by newcomer Steven Caple Jr.) is all about pain and redemption.

Sylvester Stallone co-wrote this one, but none of the grit, humor and authenticity of its predecessor is lost. Instead we get to enjoy what have become new friends maturing. For instance, Jordan's titular hero and Tessa Thompson's Bianca's relationship is beautifully fleshed out in this one.

Yes, it has the old fashioned convoluted premise of the Drago family (led by a terrifically stoic Dolph Lungren) seeking payback for the humiliation they suffered at the end of Rocky IV, but even there story is handled with sensitivity and nuance, so much so that there is real pathos and stakes in the big fight confrontations for them too.

Meanwhile, Stallone is just so in the pocket as Balboa. Here is an actor who has been able to master a single character for over 40 years. That shuffle, that cocked hat, and uncertain line delivery gets me every time. He's just as incredible and heartbreaking in this film as he was in Creed (and frequently has been in many of the previous Rocky movies) and can have me in tears with just a single reference to his dearly departed Adrian.

But this is the Michael B. Jordan show. Let there be no doubt, following his scene-stealing performance earlier this year in Black Panther, and this, he is the leading man of the year (sorry Bradley Cooper). He has this remarkable ability to be both hyper masculine and achingly vulnerable in just the right doses. He has so much chemistry with everyone on-screen from Thompson to Stallone to Phylicia Rashad as his long-suffering mother.

I have no idea if he's keen to track the growth of this character over several films as Stallone did very successfully (his final entry as Rocky in the ring, Rocky Balboa, is still surprisingly moving), but the prospect is exciting. Here is an unabashed African-American hero whose race is self-evident but also not a major force or feature in the narrative. Audiences simply root for him because he is so damn charismatic and heroic. I haven't seen something like this with a black actor since Denzel.

And while there are those who are keen to call this movie formulaic and sentimental, they are overlooking the fact that the formula really works and sentiment is genuine.

This hero's journey is not unlike the one Stallone goes on in Rocky II -- but Jordan's Creed is a very different character (he's far angrier than Rocky ever is, Thompson's Bianca is no Adrian (she actually encourages her husband to fight) and even Stallone's Rocky has changed -- he's a wise man -- not an intellectual -- but a student of human behavior who knows how to read a room and who has perspective for days.

I'm just so inspired to see a big mainstream drama do such great business and be appreciated for the great pop entertainment that it is. Just like Halloween from earlier this year, this is a great genre reboot that hits all the right notes without ever feeling hokey and predictable. That's no small feat. I loved this movie and if you are a fan of this type of movie -- you will too.

Why I can't get excited about 'Green Book'

There's one big Oscar movie this season that I am sort of dreading, perhaps unfairly, and it's the new movie Green Book.

It's getting rave reviews, and is appearing on virtually every Oscar shortlist out there, showing staying power in many major categories.

I like a lot of the comedic work of the director Peter Farrelly (he and his brother made Dumb and Dumber, Kingpin and There's Something About Mary), I love the lead actors Viggo Mortenson and Mahershala Ali -- but the film's trailers have left me with very mixed feelings.

While I am sure it's well made and well acted, it feels like the latest in a long line of well-intentioned movies out of Hollywood that seem to tell their audience "aren't you glad racism is over" or "man, isn't racism bad" through the lens of a white character observing the life of a black character, who in turn enriches them and makes them a better person.

Now, this is entirely unfair of me. I am literally basing all of my skepticism on a single ubiquitous trailer. Of course, it's totally possibly that Green Book is irrepressibly beautiful and charming story of a real-life interracial friendship that portrays a compelling Civil Rights era context. But, I do feel wary of films like this (and I include The Butler, a film made by a black director, Lee Daniels, in this category, too.) which seem to want to leave audiences with a feel-good attitude about race in America.

Great films about the era, like Ava DuVernay's Selma are unflinching about the stakes, the prescience and the real players in the events that took place. They don't require a white knight, white liberal hero to be an audience surrogate -- I'm looking at you The Help -- and so they are not weighed down by forced sentimentality or let anyone off the hook because of a little historical distance from the action.

I fear that Green Book is patting itself on the back for being a kind of reverse Driving Miss Daisy, where the black character appears to have higher status and more agency. But there's a reason that Mortenson is campaigning for Best Actor while Ali is relegating to supporting in this year's Oscar sweepstakes, because this is a movie about Mortenson's character.

Again, I need to see it. I need give it a chance to surprise me. Mortenson and Ali are such warm and lovely performers that I could see it winning me over despite my reservations. But I do want this to be the last film about the black experience from the perspective of a white person.

There have been films like this I have enjoyed in the past. I think Alan Parker's Mississippi Burning is a masterpiece even if it is about white FBI agents investigating the murder of predominately black civil rights workers.

I think the movie works because it is up front about the fact that it is about a fish out of water (Willem Dafoe) being forced to see bigotry up close and learning to embrace the hard-nosed rule breaking tactics of a veteran agent and southern native (played to perfection by Gene Hackman) to seek justice. It is not a feel-good movie per se (even if the bad guys are eventually arrested) and it doesn't turn its white protagonists into flawless superheroes.

That said, 30 years later, that film also stands as an example of when Hollywood was still too scared to tell stories about this country's dark racial past from the perspective of the people who were most affected by it -- African-Americans.

In 2018, we should be doing better, more nuanced things. Predominately black films have had enough commercial success (hell, the biggest movie of the year, and currently this decade is a nearly all-black superhero movie) that you can't argue anymore that audiences won't go to see movie like this without a white lead.

Why couldn't the Mortenson character be the supporting one and the film just be about Ali's pianist character? It's a question I ask myself every time I see ads for this film. And hopefully, I won't be still asking myself that when I eventually drag myself to see it.

‘The Favourite’ is a note perfect film, one of the year’s best

Prior to seeing The Favourite, I admired the films of director Yorgos Lanthimos more than I enjoyed them. They had a kind of cold Kubrickian intensity that was undeniably impressive. Yet there was also a smugness to the laughs and a jarring lack of heart. While devotees may consider his new film a bid for the mainstream, I consider it a maturation—and a masterpiece.

This is a film where I wouldn’t change a single line or alter any scene. It features a trio of peerless performances that rank among the year’s best from Emma Stone, Rachel Weisz and the scene-stealing Olivia Coleman. Nicolas Hoult also offers tremendous support to this bawdy and beautiful costume comedy.

The best corollary for this film is Stanley Kubricks’s epic Barry Lyndon. Both films are about conniving people trying to move above their station in life.

In this film, it’s Emma Stone — doing a very credible British accent — vying for the affections of a queen who is very in over her head (Coleman) while competing with her royal highness’ best friend, sometimes lover and long time manipulator (Weisz).

Their escalating feud provides the spine of this sumptuous romp, which feels utterly contemporary and never, ever predictable.

Lanthimos has not abandoned his fascination with human frailty and cruelty, nor has he lost his deadpan humor — which is here in abundance.

It turns out his sensibility is a perfect fit for the costume drama because he is able to revel in the absurdity of the character’s vanity and political machinations.

And without spoiling anything — I’ll say it ends with one of the most quietly devastating finales I’ve seen in quite some time. For all it’s funny moments, The Favourite has a stone cold seriousness in its center.

Black Panther remains the most entertaining film I’ve seen this year and its power as pop art has not diminished with time, but The Favourite certainly rivals it in terms of craftsmanship and storytelling — and they both benefit from a clear visionary serving as the director.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t continue to sing the praises of the movie’s leading ladies. These are very challenging, emotional and physical performances at a time where many have rightfully called out a dearth of strong women’s roles. This film could and should stand as a testament to the what-should-be-obvious fact that women can be just as riveting on screen as any man, if not more.

I can’t say enough good things about this movie and it just made my top 10 list a little more overstuffed.

'The Ballad of Buster Scruggs': The Coens go 3 for 3 with westerns

Nothing in the Coen Brothers' early work would suggest that they were necessarily culturally or temperamentally suited to revitalize the western genre, but they have repeatedly demonstrated that they can both elevate and revere this type of film, which has been largely out of fashion for years.

Recently, there have been Tarantino's forays into westerns, but his films are more clearly homages (to spaghetti westerns primarily) than totally original visions. In No Country for Old Men, True Grit, and now The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, the Coens have made strong standalone visions of their own, violent and poignant in equal measure.

The difference is that No Country and True Grit were both adaptations, albeit flawless ones, of very popular source material. Buster Scruggs feels more personal, more like them. It's six stories in one -- all beautifully shot and expertly crafted -- with quirky casting and some of the other hallmarks of the Coen's oeuvre, but their jarring tonal shifts and ambiguous nature make this feel like an interesting new chapter in the Coens' history.

What's curious about the movie is it was released on Netflix, and this may be the rare film that works in that format. It's both episodic and sprawling, with a relaxed, lived in pacing that works for home viewing but might feel tedious in a theater. The film is never boring but it can be a little impenetrable at times, which of course, is also a hallmark of a lot of Coen movies.

The first chapter, from which the film gets its name, is a jarring black comedy -- featuring Tim Blake Nelson as a goofy, singing cowboy on the outside, but a brutal, sadistic sociopath on the inside. The violence is genuinely shocking and surreal in this first piece, but the film feels like the kind of ironic fable that the Coens have tackled in the past.

Part two is also more fun than fierce, with James Franco as a bank robber who's execution keeps getting unexpectedly postponed. It's in the third chapter where things start to get more mercurial and solemn. That story features Liam Neeson as a grizzled manager of a limbless performer. My favorite might be part four, which features a wonderful Tom Waits as a prospector who's just struck gold.

Part five has a great turn from The Big Sick's Zoe Kazan, and a brutally bleak ending. And the strangest of all is the final sequence, which I don't know if I fully understand but still has an intriguing resonance about it.

This is a lot of movie, and it's incredible that the Coens elicit as much affection for its characters as they do considering the fact that the film runs a little over two hours and tells six different stories (each introduced as if it were a section of a book).

I'm still processing the movie, but I think it's heartening that the Coens are still marching to their own drum making unique, idiosyncratic projects like these that reflect their sensibility. I was disappointed that their last big screen effort -- Hail Caesar! -- flopped. It was a pleasurable tribute to old Hollywood.

This film, a tribute to the western -- is anything but old fashioned -- but it does represent a kind of precise storytelling and cultural specificity that is in short supply these days (perhaps only Wes Anderson has a similarly front and center cinematic voice). It's definitely worth a look -- I found that it sticks with you in ways you wouldn't expect.

'Widows' deserves to be a word of mouth blockbuster

Widows, which opened this Friday, is the kind of movie I am always lamenting that they don't make anymore. It's a well-written, adult action drama that is chock full of terrific star turns and delicious plot twists (some of whim had the audience I was in audibly gasp).

It's the most commercial, mainstream movie director Steve McQueen has made to date, and he managed to do it without sacrificing his razor sharp style and ability to convey nuances of race and class.

This has been another banner year for films that grapple with race, and while Widows is also a first-rate heist picture, it has some smart, pointed things to say about political posturing, racial authenticity and even police brutality.

It's a sprawling movie -- with lots of colorful characters and backstories -- it reminded me of Heat to some degree, with its high melodrama mixing with artful action set pieces. It's hard to say whether it will be taken as seriously as more prestige fare come Oscar time, but I hope it is in the mix.

Certainly, Viola Davis deserves to be in the Best Actress conversation. This is unlike any other big screen role she's had. The movies had largely relegated her to playing a supportive role, and as dynamite as she's been in those parts, I always suspected there was more untapped resources in her repertoire.

In Widows, she gets to finally play the badass we all knew she was all along. And she's supported by a great team of female co-stars, including Michelle Rodriguez and newer faces Cynthia Erivo and Elizabeth Debecki, as the wives of hoods who are brutally killed leaving them all behind with their debt.

They quickly decide (perhaps too quickly) to pull off a heist planned by Davis' late husband (played with his usual gravitas by Liam Neeson) in order to get whole. And that's kind of just the beginning.

Movies like this are usually only as good as their villains and the film has plenty. There in the corrupt Mulligan family, led by a racist patriarch (a fantastic Robert Duvall) who has set up a political dynasty he hopes to be prolonged by his slick son (Colin Farrell, who's also good, but struggles mightily with his attempt at a Chicago accent).

And there's the Manning brothers, one a hoodlum trying to go straight in the criminal world (Brian Tyree Henry) and another who simply revels in his own ability to inflict pain (an ice cold Daniel Kaluuya).

All of these characters are given room to breathe. develop and show shades of gray. The pictures moves though, never feels a minute too long and has ruthlessly efficient dialogue that gets right to the point.

It should be a major hit -- that is of course if audiences can get over their bias against women-led action pictures. It's a real crowd pleaser with more than any intelligence and insight to avoid being a meaningless trifle.

Even if it doesn't open big at first, and the first indications are it won't, I think it could be a real word-of-mouth movie. Certainly, it's a must-see for fans of great genre movies. They're finally back with a vengeance this year.

'Boy Erased' is a movie red state America must see ASAP

Probably the most impressive thing about the emotionally pulverizing and beautifully performed new (likely Oscar favorite) film Boy Erased, is that it portrays the parents of a young gay teen forced to go to 'conversion therapy' with grace and empathy.

As impressive as Lucas Hedges is in the lead role, and he is, it's the remarkable work of Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman as his parents that I think could be the most groundbreaking.

It would have been easy to paint these two devout Arkansas Christians as over-the-top caricatures, but they're not. They love their son but have a warped view of homosexuality that challenges their compassion and leads them to make unconscionable decisions.

Even the villain of the piece -- played by the film's writer-director -- actor Joel Edgerton is less a figure of pure menace, and more of an absurd charlatan, drunk on his own power (the film pointedly reveals that the dogma the young boys and girls are indoctrinated with is riddled with typos).

Perhaps, this is why their has been some criticism of the movies gay conversion scenes, which are frequently more sterile and even humorous than harrowing (although there are upsetting moments to be sure). But like with BlackkKlansman, I think Edgerton is rightly conveying the ignorance of these haters, not turning them into forceful foes but exposing them as the pathetic, scared men that they are.

Everything in this movie is handled with delicacy, realism and sensitivity. For instance, the Hedges' character's self actualization of his sexual identity is complicated and at times ugly. He enters therapy wanting to change, not necessarily fighting it.

The story unfolds in chilling fashion (it's based on the memoir of the protagonist Garrard Manley) and makes plain how toxic mixing religious fervor with hate can be, as well as how psychologically destructive shame can be.

Following his stellar work on and in The Gift, this films cements Edgerton's status as a major filmmaker. He never overplays a moment here, and doesn't shy away from letting emotional moments hit you in both subtle and sensational ways. There are scenes here that contain some of the best work Kidman and Crowe have ever done, so much so, that they're occasionally wavering Southern accents are barely a distraction.

It could have been a screed or a polemic, but it is neither. It does end with a chilling title card that reminds viewers that 36 states still permit facilities like the one the Hedges character is sent to, which means that there's state-sanctioned child abuse in at least 36 states.

However, because the story in no way judges Christianity or paints its subjects with too broad a brush, I think it could earn more mainstream acceptance. I kept thinking, this is a movie that demands to be seen by perhaps not virulent homophobes (who will likely not be moved in the slightest by it) but by those fence sitters, who are uncomfortable with LGBT culture and people, but are persuadable.

Of course, it is no one's responsibility to educate these people not to hate. They ought to seek out the knowledge on their own, as well as reach out to people in that community to develop a better understanding of them.

But it would be naive to understate how effective movies like this can be. It had me in tears thinking about my own relationship with my parents, and how hard it can be to break any private truth to them, no matter how significant.

It was just over 10 years ago that snickering jokes were being made left and right about Brokeback Mountain, and now this film arrives and thankfully mainstream culture has advanced enough that virulent homophobia is no longer openly tolerated by much of the public -- now, the challenge is excising the hate that exists privately in many peoples' hearts.

And I do believe, in some small way, Boy Erased -- which is one of the best movies I've seen this year -- will contribute to some peoples' growth.

'Little Murders' may be the best little-seen masterpiece of the '70s

Sometimes you see a movie from several years ago and think not only - how did this get made - but -how did they make something this ahead of its time? That's the feeling I had while watching satirist Jules Feiffer's 1971 masterpiece Little Murders.

The movie, which leveraged the goodwill and stardom engendered by Elliott Gould's breakout hit M*A*S*H from the year before to make something deeply subversive and, also just deep. There are traces of Wes Anderson and the Coens here, maybe even a little David Lynch. I can't imagine a time when Hollywood studios would wholeheartedly embrace a movie like this, but I am so glad they did.

Gould, who is normally cute and funny deliberately dials down the charisma. He’s hangdog and beaten down -- is bruised and bleeding throughout. He plays an emotionally stunted photographer who is targeted for a romance by a spirited woman (played beautifully by Marcia Rodd) who comically insists on 'moulding' him into the kind of man she wants him to be.

This includes forced visits with her eccentric family, which includes a creepy brother who may or may not be attracted to her, a homophobic father and a blithe mother who has lines like: “You’re a photographer so I thought you’d appreciate looking at these photos of Patsy’s dead brother Steven.”

People don’t talk like this anymore in movies. It's remarkably funny dialogue this is heightened to be sure, but never not interesting. Naturalism can be boring. In fact, when was the last time you actually remembered a line of dialogue from a movie you've seen? "Wakanda forever," is one of the only things that comes to mind for me.

One of the strengths of the new Star Is Born is that the script is memorable even if it is flawed.

From this movie--  ‘What I really want to do is direct films’ - is one of my favorite non sequitur punch lines ever. There's another line I love: “I hate families.” And it's not just the witty, surreal dialogue that makes this movie special, its the willingness to celebrate iconoclasts, which was something of a trademark for 1971 films -- with films like A Clockwork Orange, Harold & Maude and even The French Connection -- putting unorthodox, even crazy characters, front and center.

And while this movie, on it's surface appears to be a light, quirky romantic comedy -- there is a shocking, sudden, not fully explained burst of violence in the denouement that delivers a punch to the gut and changes the entire feeling of the film for the rest of its running time.

There are, of course, elements that date the film. The F gay slur thrown is thrown around casually with contempt, but it does feels authentic to the time. There are moments, some of them, where its evident that the film's origins were on the stage and not the screen.

But these are minor quibbles. This is a brilliant, hilarious movie that deserves to be rediscovered. It's hard to describe, and even harder to find (it's not on Netflix, Amazon or any of the other obvious platforms).

The '70s are full of hidden gems like this that are sadly buried from potential audiences -- movies like The Big Fix with Richard Dreyfuss, and Darker Than Amber, with another cool, unconventional leading man in Rod Taylor, that you have to really hunt for and can't get access to a quality version of them.

These movies must be resurrected -- nudge, nudge Criterion -- they speak to the paranoia, the existential crisis of the 1970s, a decade touched by economic uncertainty, political corruption and senseless violence. Sound familiar?

'Suspiria' remake is ambitious, unsetlling and I'm unsure if I like it

I am not necessarily opposed to remakes or reboots. However, I do believe if you are going to retread cinematic ground (especially when the film you're plundering is already a stone cold classic) you definitely need to justify why you're doing it, either by expanding or enhancing the effect of the original or by doing something very unique and surprising with the material.

Director Luca Guadagnino (of Call My By Your Name fame) definitely tries to do the latter. His version of Dario Argento's stylish 1977 horror film Suspiria is sprawling (nearly 3 hours long), more narratively complex and boasts top notch production values.

It also has the advantage of not one but two riveting Tilda Swinton performances to feast on, ironically the most compelling of which is under heavy prosthetic make-up as an elderly German man.

And yet, at least upon first viewing, I'm not sure his version entirely worked for me. I didn't go in with outsized expectations, but I did go in as a huge fan of the original film. That film's loose plot was never its selling point. The joy of the original was its propulsive pace and virtuoso style. It's gore was gorgeous, its color palette sublime.

Guadagnino goes in a totally different direction with mixed results. His pacing is slower, his film's look is drab and dreary. It's much more of a body horror film that a blood and guts chiller. He also tries valiantly to make a more structured plot and justification for the bizarre goings on in the film, and I think that is where it started to lose me.

The movie is about a mysterious dance company based in late '70s Berlin (the politics of which form a backdrop for the film and a subtext I don't fully comprehend). Pretty much from the get-go the audience is let in on the fact that it's run by a witches coven seeking a new sacrificial lamb, who dutifully arrives in the coquettish form of Dakota Johnson.

Johnson, for the most part, delivers the same not-as-shy-as-I-look performance she gave in the movie that made her a star, Fifty Shades of Grey, and I'm not sure I liked it. It's not that the 1977 Suspiria's lead (Jessica Harper, who gets a small but pivotal role in this remake) was particularly complex either, but this version would be well served by a lead with more character, especially as a contrast to the delightfully over the top witches.

She does give a very credible physical performance though, and the dance sequences here are often breathtaking, even sublime. This is part of what makes this movie so maddening.

There are moments where there is real existential dread, and others that are genuinely terrifying -- like a bravura centerpiece scene where a dancer's body is contorted horrifically against her will -- but then there are stretches that are either tedious or just plain silly, and since the movie has nary a sense of humor (save for a couple shots here and there), it can feel self-important to a fault.

And I am not sure what this film is trying to say. It's definitely not trying to be an audience pleasing thrill ride like the latest Halloween movie. But it's unclear to me what impact its supposed to have. Yes, it's tense and creepy and when it was over I felt like I'd been through the ringer, but the intent of the film felt murkier to me than Darren Aronofsky's much-maligned Mother!, which shares some DNA with this movie.

What I am left with was an undeniable sensory experience -- with some indelible sequences and images -- but also a sense that I've witnesses something shallow and gimmicky. For instance, the Swinton dual role amounts to little more than a stunt, it serves no narrative purpose. The film's gross out scenes, of which there are many, lack the elaborate grace of Argento's -- so they just make you vaguely nauseous, and then you move on.

There's also anachronistic music cues featuring Thom Yorke, and subplots galore that pile on top of each other but don't resonate when all is said and done.

And yet, I still may be willing to revise my opinion about this movie. It's too well-made to dismiss out of a hand as a purely bad film. It's just a maddening one.

Revisiting 'Backdraft': Ron Howard's not half bad blockbuster

Ron Howard's work as director is often dismissed as workmanlike or even hacky, but the man is capable of making solid, even grand mainstream entertainment. He doesn't have a signature style that I can put my finger on -- certainly it isn't subtlety -- but he definitely can deliver a rousing adventure.

Certainly, his version of Solo, which seems to have largely pleased diehard Star Wars fans if not wider audiences, has made cinephiles give him a second look. One movie worth a reappraisal is his 1991 ode to firefighters, Backdraft.

Not only is the movie a marvel of early '90s era practical effects, it is also far more interesting character-wise than it ever needed to be. It may be at least 20 minutes to long and 20% less heavy handed to be considered great -- but it definitely delivers on several visceral fronts.

First off this is arguable peak Baldwin brother coolness, you had The Hunt for Red October the year before and this was William Baldwin's one, and probably only, shining moment on screen. He's the pretty boy conduit for the audience here, although its Kurt Russell who walks away as the film's true star.

He plays a pretty angry, mean-spirited and disturbing character on many levels, who is forgiven for his obnoxiousness by almost every character in the movie because he's well, Kurt Russell. I'm not sure if it was Death Proof or simply time that helped America come to appreciate Russell as the great leading man he is and was, but this movie really highlights his unabashedly macho charm.

But this is a cast full of heavy hitters. Rebecca De Mornay is luminous in a thankless role as Russell's estranged wife, Jennifer Jason Leigh is bizarrely cast in the even more thankless role of Baldwin's love interest, Scott Glenn is initially charming and then creepy as all get out as one of the fireman -- and the movie has two huge aces up it sleeve in Robert De Niro and Donald Sutherland in two campy roles that they both play to the hilt in such fashion that I ached for seeing a movie just about them.

De Niro plays a horribly scared arson detective with a short fuse but also an almost Zen-like approach to analyzing fire. Meanwhile, Sutherland is doing his version of Hannibal Lector as a creepy arsonist (also scarred), who sees De Niro as some sort of symbiotic partner in a lifelong dance with the "monster" of flames.

It's all wonderfully silly and entertaining. I know the movie has a horrid reputation with actual firefighters and it's easy to see why. Other than making a good faith effort to pay tribute to camaraderie and sacrifice of real fireman, it is much more preoccupied with concocting an elaborate murder plot, exploring an overheated sibling rivalry, and throwing in enough sex appeal to make this play like Top Gun with firehoses.

But I'm not complaining. There is something so appealing and quaint about the absurdity of Backdraft, something totally '90s. And these days, I miss those days.

I can't go so far as to say I am a Ron Howard fan. Although, I have next to no criticism of The Paper, Night Shift, Splash and Apollo 13. His legacy is a strange one, since competency and craft are not always prized above personal vision, but he's a pro, that much I know.

Yes, I am willing to defend the infamous flop 'Ishtar'

The now obscure 1987 Warren Beatty-Dustin Hoffman adventure-comedy vehicle Ishtar, for those who have even heard of it, has become, in the minds of many, synonymous with legendary budget disasters.

The movie, both stars first after a critical and commercial triumph years earlier (Reds for Beatty and Tootsie for Hoffman), effectively brought down comedic icon Elaine May's once promising career as a director after its cost ballooned to an at the time unheard $50 million and it didn't even gross close to half that at the box office.

The film was largely critically reviled, although a few outlets loved it and some (like the New York Times' Vincent Camby) even put it just outside their top 10 best movies of the year rankings. And, as Beatty pointed out, almost every pan of the film led with a bitter rebuke of the movie's budget, suggesting that the project's hubris was even more offensive than its shortcomings.

Today, even a lot of the movie's haters have started to come around to it's charms. And audiences who've dared to give it a chance have come to see it as nothing like the cinematic atrocity its been regarded as for about 30 years. As May famously once joked: “If half the people who had made cracks about Ishtar had seen it. I would be a rich woman today.”

Not unlike Heaven's Gate, the sprawling 1980 western, which was also infamous for its cost overruns caused in part by its perfectionist director -- Ishtar is an imperfect but still fascinating movie -- that has a lot going for it that shouldn't be dismissed just because the behind-the-scenes story was a mess.

The biggest problem with Ishtar is also in a way it's biggest asset -- it's just a light comedy. In scope and content, it feels even less ambitious than Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd's most popular homage to Bob Hope/Bing Crosby 'road' comedies from two years earlier, Spies Like Us. There is nothing too big at stake here, just two aging dummies in over their heads. You don't see where the money went on screen, it should never have been a 'big' movie, and if you go into it expecting something blockbuster-y, you will be disappointed.

This is a film that has the same, low key hilarious rhythm of a lot of Christopher Guest films. The uproarious opening section features Beatty and Hoffman as a clueless, tone deaf duo of would be songwriters -- trying to sell their act and awful songs to no avail.

Through a set of convoluted circumstances they get embroiled in a CIA plot involving a country in the Middle East, arms traders, and a beautiful rebel who one of them absurdly mistakes for being a man, played by the luminous as always Isabella Adjani.

The movie was meant to be a gift from its stars to its eccentric director, who famously punched up scripts for both of their hit prior films, and who had a reputation for making interesting films that also could become mired in studio drama and prolonged delays.

There is literally no excusing the movies' costs. A movie this short of story and pyrotechnics needn't require that kind of money. Also, if the background stories are to be believed, it appears that May (and the cast's) over-the-top ego and/or obsessive attention to detail (depending on your point of view) clearly turned what should have been a light diversion of a movie into a bit of a nightmarish mess.

It also didn't have to be shot on location in north Africa, which certainly put more demands on the film financially and creatively.

Not all the humor in the movie holds up -- it's pretty culturally insensitive -- but then a lot of it does. Beatty and Hoffman are really funny together, so much so that even the sillier running gags (like Hoffman being the irresistible hunk and Beatty being a bumbler with women) work because the two stars are just so damn charming.

The movie also has some sly, subtle things to say about the vapid but sometimes sincere pursuit of fame, celebrity and heroism, not mention the frail male ego, something May has proven very adept at capturing in the past in her terrific 1972 film The Heartbreak Kid and it's great but little seen follow-up 1976's Mikey and Nicky.

I can easily see how watching two middle aged buffoons stumble their way through bad relationships, bad songs, and silly jokes about a blind camel might have rubbed a lot of critics and audiences the wrong way back in 1987, and maybe in 2018 too.

But for me, if you look past the production woes and costs, and just enjoy the movie for the trifle that it is, I had a lot of fun with it. Now, that it's come and gone from theaters, the stakes are also no longer there, and you can enjoy it purely for its whimsical nature and endearing earnestness.

I think, despite its bad reputation, it might just put a smile on your face.