'The Little Things' has its few small pleasures

I like my Denzel Washington characters to have swagger. My favorite roles of his in movies like Malcolm X, Training Day, Inside Man and American Gangster give him a chance to look and be cool, and most importantly, look like he's enjoying himself on screen. But for some reason he has had a tendency to gravitate toward schlubby sad sacks who are haunted by the past.

Not that he doesn't play these parts well, too. In The Little Things, a dour, brooding crime drama he's a somewhat disgraced former detective turned sheriff who is for relatively convoluted reasons drawn into a case that is eerily similar to the one that initially derailed his career. So far, so good, but also a little routine.

He forms an at first uneasy alliance with an up-and-coming detective played by Rami Malek. It's odd seeing an inherently oddball actor like Malek play an earnest family man and a dogged professional. I kept waiting for him to be revealed as the serial killer they're chasing. But then Jared Leto, looking like a bizzaro world evil Jesus, starts popping up on the periphery of the movie basically wearing a sign that says I'm the killer.

The film, directed by John Lee Hancock (of the underrated The Founder and the eye-roll inducing The Blind Side) could use some David Fincher style or just some kind of unconventionality to kick it up a notch. It does have an excellent minimalist opening  sequence and Washington has some typically dynamic acting moments -- I just wish it added up to a little more.

This serial killer genre has long fallen out of fashion -- but the best ones Seven, The Silence of the Lambs, Zodiac had more of a compelling hook, the crimes themselves were so surreal they stood out and raised the stakes.

Still, it has its small pleasures. Leto is very creepy. His appearance seems slightly altered by subtle prosthetics that are unsettling. And Washington as always remains very watchable. His looks have faded considerably and he's packed on quite a few pounds as he pushes 70, but the spark that has made him one of the great movie stars and actors of his generation remains.

He's shown flashes of his former brilliance in recent films like Fences and Flight, which have been sandwiched in between more forgettable fare. I for one am most excited about his next announced feature -- he's slated to play MacBeth in an adaptation of the Shakespeare play directed by Joel Coen (for the first time working without his brother Ethan).

He can play this sort of slightly eccentric heroic cop in his sleep, which is part of the problem with The Little Things. It's a little too on autopilot for its own good. Had it been a little weirder or more original in might have been more memorable. Even though it has nice ambiguous ending.

Still, it's solid Friday comfort food for a cold, dark night.

In defense of 'JFK' : A work of art despite its dubiousness

JFK is a problematic movie by an even more problematic filmmaker. It was controversial when it first came out back in 1991 -- and it's grown even more controversial in the wake of the recent rise of information warfare and dangerous conspiracy theories. I, however, am compelled to defend it because it has long been one of my favorite films, even when I knew it was far from a wholly accurate account of the Kennedy assassination.

I contend that it raises some interesting questions -- I think it's wise not to accept the Warren Commission's report wholesale and I believe it is more likely than not that there was some kind of conspiracy afoot in Kennedy's killing -- but it also undeniably takes substantial liberties, in part to support director Oliver Stone's fantasies of how and why the former president was killed.

I'll admit that my obsession with the film did send me down a rabbit hole years ago where I consumed numerous documentaries and books about the allegations that Kennedy's death was not explained accurately by the official account. Many of the oddball characters and events surrounding the assassination are depicted in vivid detail in the film and one of its incredible virtuoso qualities is the way in which Stone weaves so much information and so much rich characterization without sacrificing his visual flair (his use of archival footage mixed with his own is peerless).

Is much of JFK too on the nose? Absolutely. And Kevin Costner's lead performance, while sturdy and  likable, is somewhat hampered by a propensity to deliver monologues that spell out the theme of the movie again and again. But it's clear that Kennedy's death had a profound effect on Stone (as it did on many members of his generation) and his emotional attachment to the former president powers through.

Of course Kennedy the ideal and Kennedy the man/politician are two very different things. And the saintly, secretly anti-war Trump that Stone conjures here is far more wish fulfillment than reality. 

It's hard to totally divorce the film from reality since so many elements in the movie --  from David Ferrie to Clay Shaw to Jim Garrison and many more -- are very real and some of the strange events are not in dispute (such as Jack Ruby's cryptic 11th hour plea to Supreme Court Justice Earl Warren). But if it is viewed as theory, and albeit highly exaggerated theory at that (Stone has a tendency to perceive deaths as murders and retracted stories as the result of coercion), the film can be enjoyed on its own terms.

We are sometimes led to believe that JFK was universally popular throughout his presidency but that simply wasn't true. In fact, at the time of his death he was at a low ebb popularity-wise, especially around the time of his death. In the south, and particularly in the city of Dallas -- which had become a hotbed for extremist right wing activity -- he was despised and many people close to him believed his life would be in danger should he travel to Dallas that fateful fall. Their fears turned out not to be unfounded.

In the wake of the invasion of the Capitol, there has rightly been more of a spotlight on disturbing tendencies on the far right -- and JFK is instructive on this front. Even if the shadowy villains in the film are a melange of the real and imagine, they are not totally devoid of truth.

Ultimately, the movie is telling us to question authority and seek justice -- these are unabashedly good things. It also is clearly making a case for the tireless pursuit of the truth and even if the film we're watching is Oliver Stone's truth, I can't help but admire his dedication to codifying it.

Are prequels ever worth the trouble?

I recently watchable the perfectly ok but far from perfect 2011 prequel to the 1982 John Carpenter classic The Thing, foolishly also called The Thing. I say it's foolish because when it came out I presumed the 2011 film was simply a remake of the original and I had no interest in that.

For whatever reason, the producers behind this film didn't make the effort to effectively communicate that it was actually a prequel, which would have made me a lot more intrigued. It's about the Norwegian crew that became the first victims to the alien creature before Kurt Russell and his bros showed up. And in many ways it's trying to be the same movie as the original.

It's got the moody look and a brooding score that is a blatant rip-off of the classic Ennio Morricone one from the 1982 original. It course corrects the lack of women in the original by putting the always likable Mary Elizabeth Winstead in the lead and it definitely strikes the same tone as the Carpenter film.

But something is just ... missing. Perhaps it's the lack of strong characters. The Norwegians don't really break through, nor do normally interesting character actors like Joel Edgerton. And worst of all, the special effects, would should be mind-blowing (like they were and still are in the 1982 film) are pretty horrendous.

Chalk it up to an over-reliance on CGI instead of practical effects. The movie is just never particularly scary or horrifying, so the most satisfying thing about it is its linkage to the original movie.

And watching it got me thinking -- are there ANY good prequels. Clearly, I've made my feelings known about the most infamous prequels of the original Star Wars trilogy, which are arguably the most famous examples of prequels ever.

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom is technically a prequel but you'd never know it. The Godfather Part II, one of my favorite movies ever, is both a prequel and a sequel at the same time. It relies on your knowledge of the first film, so there's that -- but it's not really a traditional prequel.

I guess you could say Casino Royale is one -- it's never been clear to me if we are to wholly discount all the James Bond films that came previously or understand that those are adventures that the Daniel Craig bond will go on or did go on during those long layovers between his 007 entries.

The problem with straight prequels is that more often than not you're aware of where they're headed going in. The two ones that work best for me that both technically have that problem are Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and Rogue One. Both are films about tragedies -- one far more disturbing and grounded -- but they deliver the gravitas and pathos you need.

In Rogue One, they benefit from our decades of memories of the original Star Wars, the mystery of how the plans to blow up the Death Star were procured -- which provides an opportunity for virtually all brand new characters -- and yet we know all the heroes will likely have to perish to explain their absence in future installments.

It's not a perfect movie. The Felicity Jones performance has always been a little lacking for me. But it's a surprisingly risky movie for Disney -- a Star Wars fable where all the heroes die. And it grows in my estimation every time I see it.

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me is an even bolder proposition. It takes the most unspeakable, horrific aspect of the plot of the cult TV series and realizes it in brutal fashion. The movie was reviled when it first came out in 1992, in part because of its horrifying bleakness. But like all the trauma in any David Lynch film, it's not just there to shock and disturb you. It's a deeply sad and haunting movie about loss.

Still, ever since the disappointment of Prometheus color me skeptical about the prequel premise. It's more often than not diminishing returns and creatively bankrupt, even if there is some measure of guaranteed box office because of name recognition.

MLK/FBI expertly documents dark chapter of civil rights icon's life

There has been a sustained evolution of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s image in my lifetime. I grew up during a period, about twenty years after his death, where he was mythologized as something akin to a saint. I was given the impression, and I suspect a lot of other kids of my generation were too, that MLK was beloved by virtually everyone but the most virulent racists.

It's been important to disabuse people of that notion. And several recent projects -- including Ava DuVernay's excellent film Selma and the the recent documentary MLK/FBI -- have taken great efforts to convey something closer to the reality of who King was and how he was received by the broader public.

Now, I think more and more people have come to realize that Dr. King was actually reviled by a not insignificant portion of the public, up and including the infamous FBI director J. Edgar Hoover, who goaded President John F. Kennedy and Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy to authorize invasive wiretaps on King to expose his alleged affiliation with the Communist party.

While King did have a close adviser with a Communist past, the wiretaps were really about documenting King's infidelities in his personal life (including a controversial allegation that the civil rights leader may have witnessed and encouraged a sexual assault), which while far from ideal, have nothing to do with his movement and his non violent message.

Hoover's singular obsession with King was motivated by a decades-long racist preoccupation with the idea that a "black messiah" (he'd previously feared this would be Marcus Garvey) would rise up and provoke African-Americans seek and demand equality. 

MLK/FBI has some starling soundbites from the era from white people about Dr. King (one woman call him "too bossy," and according to polls at the time 50% of the country took Hoover's side in their clash. Hoover had called King a notorious liar, without offering up any explanations or evidence for his broadside, which seemed to have been said in a fit of pique following King's winning the Nobel Peace Prize at the end of 1964.

Even if this information may not be new to some viewers, MLK/FBI still has a wealth of tremendous archival footage which I would argue is essential. 

For instance, a hostile interviewer who could be a transplant from Fox News today accuses King of creating a "crisis atmosphere' and without nuance blames him for spreading violence with his nonviolent protests. LBJ frets over the phone about whether or not to distance himself from King over Hoover's insidious reports about hotel room trysts the minister engaged in. A heckler tells King to "stick to civil rights" after he came out against the Vietnam war.  Or even more prescient, an anti-King protestor insisting he'd attended a "Communist training school" based off a single unsubstantiated photo.

By the end of MLK's life, Hoover and by extension the FBI had decided that radicalized black Americans were a greater threat to the security of the United States than any foreign or domestic enemy. That may sound absurd today and it was -- but even if the FBI's paranoia was fantastical, their actions were no less destructive and divisive.

Clearly, their insidious infiltrations helped handicap the Black Panther Party and it's a miracle that King achieved all that he did with spies in his midsts and the federal government on his tail. And while his life was tragically cut short -- he will continue to be vindicated, since all the FBI's skulduggery has done is elevate how revolutionary King was and how impressive his achievements ultimately are.

'One Night in Miami' is a must-see translation from theater to film

Oddly enough, One Night in Miami is the second of two nearly all-black, Oscar-baity theater-to-cinema productions to come out in the past few weeks. But One Night in Miami has the advantage of focusing on four instantly recognizable and fascinating black icons -- Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Sam Cooke and Jim brown.

Neither film totally breaks out of the confines of being clearly based on a stage play -- but One Night in Miami is still terrific, well-paced and riveting. When the conversation is this electric, as are the performances -- it's engrossing instead of claustrophobic.

It imagines a fictional meeting between these four remarkable men the night after Muhammad Ali unexpectedly won the heavyweight title against Sonny Liston in 1964.

It's the directorial debut of the great Regina King and she has clearly transferred her own talent and generosity as an actress to her work behind the camera seamlessly. All four stars of this film are given amble room to shine, to be charismatic, to be combative and moving. And it's a tribute to her and the film, that these iconic figures never feel like cookie cutter caricatures.

Yes, Eli Goree does a pitch perfect emulation of Muhammad Ali's distinct sing-song voice and Kingsley Ben-Adir has Malcolm's pensive physicality down pat -- but these are fully realized characterizations that both speak to their legacies and their heights.

Aldis Hodge has the hardest role, especially since Jim Brown is best known from his stoic gravitas, not his verbosity -- but her acquits himself well. And Goree's Ali, while dominating the first act of the film tends to recede more into the background as the principle, most pointed conflict emerges between -- Cooke (played beautifully by Leslie Odom, Jr.) and Malcolm over whether assimilation or provocation is the best means to advance the cause of black liberation.

Their arguments and perspectives are complicated and nuanced, and King wisely doesn't allow any of the characters to emerge as superior to any of the others when it comes to expressing their feelings and values.

The debate they're having was relevant then, but it's still relevant today. And the fact that nearly all of these men (with the exception of Brown) were doomed in their own way -- Cooke was killed later that year, Malcolm the following one, and Ali, who poignantly boasts of wanting to fight into his old age, would become a shell of his former self for roughly the last 35 years of his life thanks to a debilitating battle with Parkinson's disease.

I may be most impressed with Ben-Adir. Denzel Washington has played the most iconic version of Malcolm X or stage and screen. Others have attempted to capture his essence (Mario Van Peebles in Ali comes to mind) but they have all paled in comparison to Denzel's take -- until now.

He wisely underplays the role, only occasionally erupting into righteous fury. Instead, this a more sensitive and gentle version of Malcolm, one who speaks in more hushed tones and is oozing admiration for his peers even when he admonishes them.

King avoids heavy-handedness, which is the Achilles hill of period civil rights-influenced films like these. And even though I saw the finale coming from a mile away -- any true Sam Cooke fan would -- it doesn't make it any less powerful.

Simply put, this is a must-see film -- it's not just a history lesson, it's too infused with feeling for that. It's one of the best films of the past 12 months and it will surely establish Regina King as not just one of the great actors of her generation but one of the great up-and-coming filmmakers too.

'Rock n' Roll President' reminds us that leaders can be decent

It's ironic that on the day Donald Trump was impeached for the second time -- capping a most consequential and calamitous single presidential term, that I would feel compelled to watch the new documentary Jimmy Carter: Rock n' Roll President.

Carter's presidency has been re-examined and re-evaluated quite a bit in recent years. Perhaps this is in part because of the undeniably admirable way he has lived his life post-presidency. It may also be a testament to his remarkable staying power -- he is the longest living president in U.S. history. 

And finally, it may have something to do with his character, after all he was a bit of an anomaly. A white southerner who disavowed racism and easily embraced black people and black culture (he placed MLK's portrait in the governor's mansion in Georgia as one of his first acts in that office). A deeply religious and personally conservative man, who loved iconoclastic rock musicians.

His form of earnest progressivism now stands in a contrast to Clinton's triangulation and even Obama's pragmatism, and we liberals always have a tendency to fall in love with our standard bearers after the fact (although Clinton's sordid history with women has complicated this). Despite his gentle voice and bearing, Carter was a fierce competitor, a peerless politician, and a peacemaker who defied conventional wisdom repeatedly to rise to the presidency.

He was, unfortunately, dealt a terrible hand once he assumed the presidency -- an economy spiraling out of control, multiple foreign disasters and domestic ones, too. He'd alienated members of his own caucus by running against the Democratic establishment and Republicans weren't fans of his either, seeing him as an interloper who took advantage of Watergate to win.

But the rock n' roll community embraced him -- not just because he was a superficial fan, but because he had authentic roots and very real appreciation for rhythm and blues, for country, and yes, for rock n' roll. In the same way that the hip-hop community saw that Obama was one of their own, musicians like Bob Dylan saw that Carter was a sincere fan who understood the context, not just the caliber of their creations.

Carter considers Dylan and Willie Nelson two of his best friends -- which is not only very cool, but makes you think more of him as a man and as a leader. 

There was a lot of musical culture in the White House under Obama -- Al Green, Common, The Rolling Stones, Lin Manuel Miranda, just to name a few. But, under Trump there was -- nothing -- he clearly had no interest in culture that didn't revolve around him. His preoccupation is the relatively solitary game of golf. Carter, on the other hand, while imperfect clearly was curious about not just music, but other people.

The film doesn't dwell too long on Carter's missteps as president (with the notable exception of the Iran hostage crisis and inflation) -- as with all presidents, there were many -- but what it does highlight is that these artists, like so many voters, saw a hopefulness and honesty in him that was refreshing and it still is, especially after four years of Trump whose defining characteristic is his willingness to lie about literally everything to serve his short term goals.

It's hard not to watch the film -- and watch all the bipartisan hope that Carter inspired in the wake of the Nixon era (he earns moving tributes from both John Wayne and Paul Simon in archival footage) and not think of Joe Biden, who is going to be sworn in a moment of unprecedented division, and quite frankly, danger. He will almost certainly come up short too as Carter did, but I for one can't wait for a resurgence of old fashioned decency in that office -- because a little bit of humanity goes a very long way.

Charming and unpredictable 'Kajillionaire' is sweet delight

I'm embarrassed to admit I am not well-versed in Miranda July's oeuvre.  I had heard her name, knew she had a devoted following, but she simply wasn't on my radar. Having finally seen her 2020 film Kajillionaire, I am eager to check out more.

The film has very original tone and aesthetic -- quirky and specific in a way that recalls Spike Jonze or Wes Anderson. But of course July also has a voice all her own. 

And while Kajillionaire has its share of laugh out loud moments, it's also got pathos and a delicacy that I appreciated in this era where cynicism is often teed up as the ideal comedic tone.

The film opens on misfit family of gangly misfits led by a hilarious Richard Jenkins and almost totally unrecognizable Debra Winger. They are their twenty-something daughter (played by Evan Rachel Wood) pull off (or attempt to) petty crimes to sustain their shambolic existence.

Wood is saddled with extremely long straightened hair, an ill-fitting track suit and a deep, monotone voice that I thought would grate on me by grew on me over time. 

Wood shows she has solid comic timing and she makes her character feel more real than simply a comedic caricature.

However, the film really comes alive when Gina Rodriguez shows up in a disarming, sexy and natural performance as a gregarious woman who stumbles into this strange family's world and decides to go along for the ride.

I suppose the film may be trying to say something more profound about class and consumption -- but I enjoyed it more for it's unpredictable trajectory and it's willingness to be unapologetically weird when mood strikes it.

It largely avoids sentimentality or easy satire -- the film doesn't condescend to its characters or its audience and it has a bright, bold look about it from start to finish.

I've long lamented the dearth of good comedies out there but this past year had a few bright spots -- the enjoyable On the Rocks, the surprisingly fun Freaky and of course the raucous Borat sequel, all tickled my funny bone.

I wouldn't go so far as to say Kajillionaire is some sort of revelation, but it was creative and diverting (not unlike this year's Palm Springs) and it gave newfound appreciation for Gina Rodriguez, who gives the film's best performance and who is worthy of more of her own starring vehicles in the future.

Intentionally provocative 'Promising Young Woman' is uneven

The trailer for Promising Young Woman is a scorcher -- it promises a timely #MeToo themed dark comedy thriller about a woman out for revenge against toxic men with a penchant for attempted date rape. In reality, however, the movie itself if a mixed bag. It wants to shock you -- but many of its jolts are either spoiled in the trailer or come only at the end of the film and its tone is so inconsistent it's hard to fully embrace it.

What's best about it is a scene stealing lead performance from Carey Mulligan. Her smokey-voice femme fetale antihero is the heart and soul of the film, and she wisely doesn't allow herself to become a caricature. The same can't be said for her sniveling male prey -- who while played by a bevy of amusing, mostly comedic actors, all come across as too cartoonishy sleazy (with a couple of notable exceptions).

Additionally a subplot involving a burgeoning romance with a seemingly nice guy doctor (played by actor-director Bo Burnham) just didn't work for me and killed the momentum of the film.

There's a self satisfied air in this movie and a bit of a repetitive streak. The film takes a wild left turn in its climax that feels a lot more like the film I was hoping to see, but that plot twist also feels like it comes from a much more heightened satire, which the proceeding film really wasn't.

Some of this complication comes from the film's somewhat ambiguous narrative. You're not entirely sure if Mulligan is seeking to commit violent acts or simply engaging in a high stakes game of blackmail. 

Meanwhile, Laverne Cox pops up in a largely thankless role. Ditto for SNL veteran Molly Shannon. There are some more tertiary characters -- like a woman complicit in past abuse (played ably by Alison Brie) but this really is Mulligan's show.

She's had an interesting career and has had a curiously hard to pin down movie persona -- certainly this is most dynamic star turn yet and if the movie is worth seeing, it is for her.

I appreciate that this film is trying to start a conversation -- and as crazy as the news cycle can be and is, this topic will never get old. I do wish that there was a little more nuance and real suspense in the film -- Mulligan always seems to have the upper hand in every exchange and her foils are such obvious fools that the set pieces don't land the gut punches they're hoping to.

Hopefully, it will shame some men who have convinced themselves that they are nice guys who didn't "mean anything" when they either directly or indirectly participated in abuse. And one could argue the film is a cautionary tale about a woman scorned.

It has a few belly laughs and some pretty devastating moments in it, so I wouldn't definitely not say it's a bad film, but I didn't necessarily love it either. Still, I presume Mulligan will make the final five Best Actress contenders when those nominees roll out.

New version of 'Godfather III' likely won't change your opinion

Whenever you talk to a film buff about The Godfather movies there is in the inevitable debate about which of the first two is better. Clearly, both are masterpieces -- two of the best movies ever made. I prefer Part II which probably makes me a bit more pretentious and more of cinephile hipster, but it's fun to debate their merits -- sort of.

And then, often, the conversation devolves into a review of Part III, which is usually met with disdain and derision. As someone who has always liked the film, flaws and all, it becomes painful to defend it, as if its universally accepted image as a misfire should never be tainted.

I was too young to fully know how it was received when it first came out 30 years ago. I know it performed well at the box office (although not enough to justify its high -- for the time -- cost) and it was nominated for a few Academy Awards, including Best Picture -- but perhaps that was just because of the Godfather pedigree.

Like he has with many of his other films, director Francis Ford Coppola has decided to tinker with his divisive three-quel and has re-released it in the form he claims he intended, with a new subtitle -- Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. I have never been convinced that calling the original release The Death of Michael Corleone would have made a huge difference in terms of the film's impact or success. After all, audiences would still want to know how Pacino's antihero died. But alas, here we are.

Watching this "new" version is a bit of an eye-rolling experience, not because the film is diminished in anyway, but moreso because it plays virtually the same. It still has it's baroque papal corruption subplot. It still has Sofia Coppola's horribly stilted performance and Andy Garcia's wonderful scene stealing one. 

And it has, best of all in opinion, Al Pacino's moving work as a wounded Michael Corleone in decline, trying in his last gasp to finally do what he'd always dreamed -- legitimize his family -- but his past demons keep coming back to haunt him.

For me, Pacino's performance -- tightly controlled and surprisingly sympathetic -- is what makes Part III a very good, even a great film. And at the end of the day, for a film that probably never should have been made and was almost certainly motivated by a desire for pure profit, it has its pleasures.

The climax at an opera house is still exciting and dynamic -- in fact, the whole movie is just gorgeous as it's two predecessors. And even if Sofia Coppola is a major weakness, her fate in this movie is still a potent plot twist, one that you don't necessarily see coming the first time you see it.

I'm told that there is some subtle rearranging of scenes and small trims (apparently twenty minutes worth) but having seen this film several times I honestly couldn't see too much of a difference. Although, I did like the moving a meeting between Michael and an archbishop earlier in the film because it has a nice echo with the opening meeting scene in The Godfather

The only major change worth talking about (I'd argue) is the very last scene. In the original release, it was slightly abrupt -- we see Michael as an even older man sitting isolated and alone (much as he did at the end of Part II). He makes a small gesture, then he slumps over and dies. In Coda, his death is treated with a little more grace, with a poignant quote that probably hits home more than the original ending did.

Still, at the end of the day, this isn't a movie that necessarily needed to be redeemed in my opinion. Unlike the first two films, it's not for everyone. It feels slower (although Part II is longer and denser, it's plot really moves) and more glum, but it's intended to be. Coppola always seemed to have a lot of guilt about the series that made him famous. Was he glorifying violence and perpetuating negative stereotypes about Italian Americans -- probably -- but he was also making beautifully acted and crafted films that said a lot about American culture and its inherent corruption, that remains valuable to this day.

I hope he has found satisfaction in his new cut, but I will cherish his original works forever.

Sensational performances power the moving 'Sound of Metal'

I'd been putting off watching Sound of Metal because I knew it centered on a character afflicted by a sudden illness (in this case severe hearing loss) and this is something I am perhaps irrationally terrified of. I've never gotten over The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (whose star, Mathieu Amalric, ironically enough appears in this film too), for instance.

And while I will concede that it was perhaps not the kind of feel-good, upbeat movie I should have watched on a particularly dreary New Year's Eve, I am happy to report that its not a depressing slog either. 

This is largely thanks in part to a remarkable lead performance from Riz Ahmed, which should be a serious Oscar contender in a surprisingly very stacked year.

He is incredibly intense, authentic and believable as a heavy metal drummer (and recovering addict) whose life is plunged into chaos when he starts to develop rapid hearing impairment. The movie doesn't spend a lot of time on Ahmed's backstory or slowly develop its central conceit -- it all happens very quickly, making the audience feel just a disoriented as Ahmed.

The film hits its emotional stride when Ahmed begrudgingly agrees to an extended say at a sort of treatment center/school for he deaf, run by character actor Paul Raci in another remarkable, scene-stealing performance.

I must admit to having been unfamiliar with the 73-year-old Raci. Although in real life he can hear, he is the son of deaf parents and so his performance comes from a very genuine place and it shows. There is something about his matter-of-fact delivery, creased yet warm face that is sublime and takes a movie that could have been sentimental and makes it something more sublime.

And I appreciate that the film takes great pains to drive home that fact that going deaf is not some kind of death sentence, and while Ahmed's case is particularly challenging (since after all he is a musician), it's clear that he can still enjoy a fulfilling life if he wants to.

Ahmed brilliantly plays this conflict and you believe his reluctant embrace of his predicament. An almost unrecognizable Olivia Cooke is very sympathetic is a slightly underwritten role, as Ahmed's band-mate and loyal girlfriend. The film's slow, quiet pace doesn't leave a lot of room for their relationship to be fully realized, but she and Ahmed have strong, lived-in chemistry that works well enough.

Ultimately, this is not light entertainment -- it will not so much tug at your heartstrings as it will trigger your empathy and respect. It's definitely one of the better dramas I've seen this year, and it cements Raci's status as an actor to watch and Ahmed as a major film star.