The Muppets Christmas Carol

Ebenezer Scrooge does not care for the so-called "surplus population". He's actually quite clear about it. In Charles Dickens' 1843 novella A Christmas Carol, when Scrooge is petitioned by two do-gooders trying to help the poor, he barks at them that "if [the poor] would rather die [than go to poor houses] they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population!" That famous line is uttered verbatim by this version of Scrooge played by Michael Caine in the 1992 musical, The Muppets Christmas Carol. It shouldn't be that surprising; the same line is often kept in high school productions of the famous story, as well, like the school play featured in a fascinating episode of Planet Money two years ago that details Dickens using his cruel character to represent the views of economist Thomas Robert Malthus, whom Dickens found to promote inhumane, misanthropic economic ideas at a time when so many were suffering. But it surprised and impressed the adult me that The Jim Henson Productions decided to keep such a line in their adaption.

The kid version of me always liked The Muppets Christmas Carol, the first Muppets movie without founder Jim Henson (whom, along with puppeteer Richard Hunt, the film is dedicated to) and the first to be distributed by Disney. Despite its use of the famous line described above, this is a non-restrictive adaption of this famous story because, well, most of the characters are played by Muppets. Kermit the Frog (Steve Whitmire) is Bob Cratchit, and predictably his wife is played by Miss Piggy (Frank Oz, who also served as executive producer of this film and directed Caine four years prior in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels). Other than that, this adaption largely follows Dickens' story, which is important. Children, the target audience of the film (and perhaps one day the novella), may grow up to be considerably less mean than Scrooge, but that may be because famous, universal stories like these are so didactic. Toning down everything by having Scrooge be a little nicer and having everything be perfectly cheery would have been a mistake.

It seems unnecessary to detail the story and plot of this movie. Practically everybody knows about Dickens' famous tale, how a miserly grinch named Ebenezer Scrooge is visited by three spirits (the Ghost of Christmas Past, the Ghost of Christmas Present, and the Ghost of Christmas Future) to warn him that his cruel ways shall have consequences. Surely, every viewer can envy Scrooge for such a gift to see not only the past and future but also what people are truly saying behind their backs in the present. Such tactics are necessary, for Scrooge, a ruthless banker who underpays his workers, has such a negative effect on everything. Things seem to get quite dark and cold as soon as Scrooge, or "Mr. Humbug", as the Muppets sing, walks hurriedly to his office. 

Scenes can get pretty spooky at times in Scrooge's journey to understand his terrible ways, especially when the fire extinguishes and the ghosts appear and haunt Scrooge in his own home. In The Muppets Christmas Carol, the Ghost of Jacob Marley is now the ghosts of Jacob and Robert Marley, played by Statler and Waldorf (performed by Jerry Nelson and Dave Goelz, respectively). The creepy tone doesn't stop when they exit, however. The Ghost of Christmas Past (a ghastly animated doll voiced by Jessica Fox) and the reaper-like Ghost of Christmas Future (puppeteered by Robert Tygner and performed in-suit by Don Austen) are also unearthly.  

The film, though, is definitely a comedy, one that's as humorous as the Muppets can make it. The gags and pratfalls (things like Rizzo the Rat falling into a bucket of frozen water or a Muppet cat crashing into a suddenly closed door) will likely still get quite a few laughs from children, but adults will at least appreciate the spoken humor. Screenwriter and longtime Muppets collaborator Jerry Juhl's script employs that famous Muppets wit. For example, when Scrooge is asked for money to help the poor, Dr. Bunsen Honeydew (Goelz, who also is Gonzo the Great, our narrator) asks how much they can put Scrooge down for. "Nothing," says Scrooge, to which Dr. Honeydew immediately asks, "You wish to remain anonymous?" 

Additionally, the production design by Val Strazovec and art decoration by Dennis Bosher and Alan Cassie are exemplary. (It's also clever. Look closely as Caine sings "Thankful Heart" in town and you'll see a store called Micklewhite's. Michael Caine's real name is Maurice Micklewhite.) Other production elements that deserve praise are Miles Goodman's score and the songs by Paul Williams, especially "Scrooge", "Thankful Heart", "When Loves is Found", and "It Feels Like Christmas", sung wonderfully by Nelson as the Ghost of Christmas Present. One song that was controversially omitted from the theatrical version was "When Love Is Gone", sung by Scrooge and his fiancé, Belle (Meredith Braun) in the scene from his past. Disney is the one who has been blamed for that, apparently believing that the song wouldn't appeal to young children. However, the lost piece of film was finally found earlier this month.   

Caine's singing is so-so; he's able to carry a tune but sometimes is a bit flat. It doesn't matter. This isn't Abba or Les Misérables. He's singing with Muppets, so he's allowed to have imperfect pitch and range. Besides his singing, his acting is terrific. Caine is completely believable as Scrooge before and after his transformation and enlightenment, able to depict Scrooge's cruelty, curiosity, and compassion with ease. The sharpness in which he delivers the lines is also that of a master in his field. When Kermit diplomatically reminds Scrooge that the latter wants eviction notices to be sent out on Christmas, Scrooge replies, "Very well. You may gift-wrap them." The acidity in his delivery is remarkable. Caine, delightfully, likes the movie as much as you do, telling interviewer Lauren Larson that he still watches it all the time with his younger family members. He took the work seriously, too, claiming at the time that he approached the project as if he were working with the Royal Shakespeare Company. It doesn't matter if he's with Kermit and Miss Piggy; he appears as if he's very devoted to his craft while also having a ball.   

As will most people watching this film. It may not be the most rambunctious Muppets production, but it works. For many, it's actually the best adaption of the famous story. Children should see it (preferably with the recently found footage). They'll laugh, they'll be frightened from time to time, and they'll at least learn that people are people; sometimes they struggle, but they should never be written off as "surplus". 

Dedicated to Mary, my mother, a fan of this movie.

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The Prom

The new musical The Prom is kind of like the Pete Buttigieg of musicals, which is too harsh to Buttigieg, whom I generally like (and preferred over the eventual nominee), but I get why a lot of people don't care for him. I'm not the first one who has thought of similarities between Buttigeg and The Prom; Zachary Stewart wrote about the resemblance of the two last year, but Stewart and I seem to have come to different conclusions. At first I thought Stewart's article was meant to be an insult—both Buttigieg and The Prom are hardworking yet bland and try to be really appreciated. Ultimately, however, they're gay stories presented mainly for straight, centrist audiences.

In fact, centrism is one of the major flaws of this film. The Prom, directed by Ryan Murphy and written for the screen by Chad Beguelin and Bob Martin (who wrote the show with Matthew Sklar), is a movie that likes to think of itself as being self-aware—it is, after all, a show that pokes fun at celebrities embracing activism to help a lesbian student in order to improve their image and brand—and yet it's not as self-aware as it would like to be. Its satire falls flat, and its message of love and acceptance comes across as smug, superior, and outdated. The clearest example of this is undoubtedly the big solo by Trent, the actor in between gigs whose over-beaten joke is that he went to Julliard. In the song, Trent (pretty creepily) stalks a bunch of the conservative teenagers at the mall to sing a song called "Love Thy Neighbor", where he points out all the hypocrisy and absurdity of religious people cherrypicking Bible verses to boost their political agenda. In the long history of arguing over this issue, pointing out the parts in the Bible that would send most of us to Hell has never worked to convince anyone to support queer people. The song, with on-the-nose lyrics including lines like "love trumps all," comes across as if Aaron Sorkin in the late 90s had written it.

The character at the center of this story is Emma (Jo Ellen Pellman), a gay teenager in Edgewater, Indiana, who, like most teenagers, wants to go to her high school's prom. However, the PTA, led by Mrs. Green (Kerry Washington), eventually cancels the prom to prevent Emma and her girlfriend (who happens to be the closeted Alyssa Greene, Mrs. Greene's daughter, and is played by Ariana DeBose) from attending. Emma, though, has powerful allies in her corner, one of whom is the principal (Keegan-Michael Key, whose singing is quite good), and the other four (with more questionable motives) are washed-up Broadway actors.

Two of these stars are Dee Dee Allen (Meryl Streep) and Barry Glickman (James Corden), who have just closed a show on Broadway in which they played Eleanor and Franklin Roosevelt. The biting reviews of their performances finish them. Lacking the will to crawl out of such disappointment, Dee and Barry, while washing away their sorrows in alcohol with chorus girl Angie Dickson (Nicole Kidman) and Trent Oliver (the actor in between gigs played by Andrew Rannells), they stumble upon the anti-lesbian controversy in Indiana on Twitter. Now they have a publicity stunt to save them! So the four of them decide to make their way west to Indiana to demand that this small, backward town change its ways, whether Emma wants their help or not. This cynical, haughty, misguided, fake-woke behavior of the foursome is a major driving point of the story, and in better hands, it could have gone somewhere. Instead, we get unbelievable character arches, boring songs, and fanciful embroidery pretending to be critical art. 

Like Love, Simon two years before it, the place and time of this story is peculiar. GenZ is the most progressive generation alive, and yet this movie would have us believe that the entire student body is united in intolerance toward Emma. Don't get me wrong: It's no question that young queer people still face terrible challenges (like homelessness, for example, in which LGBTQ youth are 120% more likely than non-LGBTQ youth to suffer from; Emma is one of them after she is disowned by her parents), and not being allowed to attend prom with their dates is certainly one such challenge. There is a long history of students fighting for this right, dating back to 1980 in a court case called Fricke v. Lynch in which the court ruled that school bans on same-sex couples attending prom is a violation of students' freedom of speech. Nine years before The Prom debuted on Broadway, a school in Mississippi cancelled its prom instead of allowing a lesbian couple to attend. In a situation similar to what happens in The Prom, a secret dance was planned by the parents instead, and the two gay students were not invited. A similar controversy happened last year in the exact same school district. 

So, why not have the film take place either several decades ago or in present-day Mississippi? It seems like a trivial thing to criticize the movie for, but it's also something I kept thinking about. Putting this story in a modern-day, middle-class Indiana suburb makes what happens in The Prom feel hyperbolic. Believe it or not, Mississippi isn't Indiana (support for same-sex marriage in Indiana was sixteen points higher than in Mississippi, according to polling conducted three years ago). There are so many troubling stories of queer students being discriminated against at schools and proms across the entire country in cases that could have served as the civil rights issue for the film, but an entire school board and student body working to unleash, with surgical precision, gratuitous amounts of humiliation on a school's apparently only out lesbian student in present-day Indiana was not believable to me. 

Even if the above points didn't bother me, there's not a whole lot to praise in The Prom, with its acting in particular being a disappointment. It wouldn't be fair to say that Pellman, who makes her debut here, provides a one-dimensional performance in her role as the kind, persevering Emma, but for a character who is meant to be going through a variety of different emotions and turmoils, Pellman puts forward more or the less the same expression and note in every scene she's in. It could be that this was done deliberately to be Emma's mask in the face of such hatred, but I didn't get that impression. 

Much of the other discussion about the acting has centered on Corden's performance, with articles in IndieWire, Yahoo News, and Buzzfeed all devoting ink to what many viewers will likely take away from his acting: a straight actor leaning heavily into stereotypes, resulting in an unseemly display of gay-face. I agree with these critiques, and I wish that Corden had known better. (I do think he can sing, though.) The controversy aside, his chemistry with Streep mostly works, and she's essentially as good as she's ever been, but she's never really given a bad performance, has she? I just wish she had found a better movie to be in this winter than a feel-good yet phony musical in which the songs all sound the same.

The Prom is the type of movie that feels two decades too late. I had low expectations for The Prom, and they were met. 

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Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone

"Your sins are terrible, and it is just that you suffer."

Francis Ford Coppola always considered The Godfather Part III, the third feature in his trilogy based on Mario Puzo's famous novel, now celebrating its thirtieth anniversary, to be an epilogue. Hence the "coda", which is apparently what Coppola and Puzo wanted to name the film. Despite Paramount Studios rejecting their idea and ordering the film to (logically) be called The Godfather Part III (after The Godfather and The Godfather Part II), Coppola has now revisited this famously mediocre conclusion in a director's cut titled Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. 

That title is important, or so we're told. Coda, according to the dictionary, means the concluding passage of a piece or movement, typically forming an addition to the basic structure. Craig Elvy at Screenrant argues that in one simple name change, Coppola has fixed the biggest problem with his 1990 film. According to Elvy, "When audiences hear 'The Godfather Part III,' they expect a cinematic epic on par with the 1970s classics, but the third effort was never intended or written to deliver the same experience. By billing itself as 'The Godfather Part III,' viewers are destined for disappointment even before the opening credits." In other words, naming the film "Coda" (which translates to "tail", or the ending of a song, in Italian) as Coppola and Puzo intended allows audiences to understand what kind of final film they were attempting to present. 

I disagree. Audiences are smart, far smarter than Hollywood usually gives them credit for, and yet it's doubtful that audiences would have understood the difference between the final film as an epilogue and the final film as a piece of cinematic artwork with intended equal footing as the previous two films. Those who saw it were disappointed in 1990, and its title had nothing to do with it. Thus, what worked in Part III also works in Coda, but what didn't work in Part III still doesn't work in Coda. The elements that don't work are well-known by now: the absence of Robert Duvall (due to salary disagreements with the studio) as Tom Hagan, the adopted son of Vito Corleone and family consigliere; a convoluted plot involving a conspiracy regarding the death of the Pope and a papal banking scandal; and the perhaps nepotistic casting of Sophia Coppola as Michael's daughter.

While the consensus over the years is that the reaction to the film itself may have been a little too unfair, Sophia Coppola's performance still divides viewers. Julia Roberts had been cast in the role but then dropped out due to scheduling conflicts. Winona Ryder took over but then dropped out due to nervous exhaustion (though she would be directed by Coppola two years later in Bram Stoker's Dracula). Running out of options, Coppola cast his daughter. It's true that she was a little out of her league with giants in the scenes, but in this new director's cut, I wouldn't call the performance bad. It's probably the most naturalistic performance in the film, which can come as a relief given that many of the older, experienced stars overdo it from time to time. Sophia Coppola has recently said that while the reactions had embarrassed her, it didn't destroy her. This is our gain, for she won an Academy Award fourteen years later for the screenplay for Lost in Translation, joining her father, grandfather (Godfather composer Carmine Coppola) and cousin Nicolas Coppola (better known as Nicolas Cage) as Oscar winners.

Like the two films before it, this one starts with a party in which every problem the Godfather will need to deal with is essentially laid before him. Al Pacino returns as Michael Corleone, the Godfather, who now attempts to be the man he promised Kay he would become all those years ago: legitimate. The casinos have been sold, and there is nothing illicit about his empire, or so he tells the archbishop (played by Donal Donnelly). Michael knows that the archbishop, as head of the Vatican bank, has accumulated hundreds of millions of dollars in debt. Michael's offer is to purchase $600 million worth of shares in Immobiliare, making him the largest shareholder. But the primary mess beyond these financial situations Michael has to deal with involves his nephew, Vincent Mancini (the son of Michael's brother Sonny, played here by Andy Garcia). Like his father before him, Vincent is a boyishly charming yet unpredictably violent hothead. He feuds with Joey Zasa (Joe Mantegna), who has taken control of the Corleone family business in New York City. Despite Michael's distrust of Zasa, he scolds Vincent for not seeking peace. Peace with Zasa is not something Vincent wants, so Vincent takes a big bite into Zasa's ear. 

That still is not the end of Michael's problems. His son, Anthony (Franc D'Ambrosio) wants not to pursue a career in law, but in music. He's supported by his mother, Kay (Diane Keaton), who has long since separated from Michael. Kay fears that now that Michael is so respectable, he's even more dangerous than he has ever been. Even though she hasn't seen him in eight years, when she meets him again at the opening party scene, it's easy to see how much she despises him. She looks wonderful, though, he tells her as he quickly eats cake and doesn't make much eye contact. 

While it may not be as unforgettable as the two films that preceded it, The Godfather Part III is not without its distinctive features, namely the thrilling helicopter attack scene, the ambush during a street parade, and Michael's famous line: "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." However, that iconic line would be so much better if we had more of the calm acting Pacino became famous for in the 1970s. While his work in Part III is more subdued than his acting in Scarface, it still is the Pacino of the 80s, 90s, and beyond. In other words, he screams a lot, and the film suffers when he does.

Much of what's disappointing about the film is not so much Sophia Coppola's acting but the film's script. Despite some memorable dialogue, there are problems with how it presents these characters we've known for so long and the situations they're in. It's right to focus on Michael's obsession with redemption, but the film tries too hard to come full circle with everything. Coppola and Puzo also try to give Connie (Michael's sister, played in all three films by Coppola's sister, Talia Shire) something more to do than in the first film (in which she is only there to be a victim of domestic violence) and the second film (in which she's only there to...not really do anything). But changing her from passive to active, as she backs Vincent's moves to be more aggressive when dealing with the family's enemies, has mixed results. So, too, do many of the scenes in which Michael and Kay try to bury the hatchet and move on; they often come across as delightful yet dull. And the Vatican plot the family finds themselves in is interesting, but Coppola and Puzo do not tie the two together in a convincing way.

Despite the disappointment that the film is famous for, it wasn't the disaster some think it is. The film earned $137 million worldwide, finishing second in its opening weekend behind only Home Alone. It wasn't much of a critical failure, either. While Coda has an impressive 91 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, The Godfather Part III still received a rating of 68 percent and seven Oscar nominations, including Best Picture, making the trilogy one of only two to have all three of its films nominated for Best Picture (the other being the Lord of the Rings trilogy). One of those nominations went to Garcia, who was nominated for Best Supporting Actor. One of his competitors for that award was Pacino, who was nominated for his role as Big Boy Caprice in Dick Tracy, a performance that is superior to his work in The Godfather Part III. They both lost to Joe Pesci for Goodfellas. 

I didn't revisit the theatrical release version of The Godfather Part III before watching Mario Puzo's The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. Why would I? One negative consequence of that, though, is that because I hadn't seen Part III in more than fifteen years, it was remarkably difficult to figure out what has been changed by Coppola. The very final scene is definitely different, and most people who see both, even if there has been a big gap between the viewings, will probably notice. The opening is quite different, too; part of that I knew immediately, and part of that I learned later. 

But ultimately, even though a few minutes have been shaved off, some scenes have been rearranged, and the opening and ending are different, it still feels the same. Or, as Owen Gleiberman terrifically put it: "It's the same damn movie." That's a good thing or a bad thing, depending on your perspective. I fell in the "it's-not-great-but-it's-not-awful" camp who modestly defended The Godfather Part III, but Coda largely left me unable or unwilling to enthusiastically champion it as a shining masterpiece, as I think some had expected it would become after this director's cut. In essence, it's still the least memorable of the three films. 

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Mank

"It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on him not understanding it."
-Upton Sinclair

Mank, the first film directed by David Fincher since Gone Girl six years ago, is, as you may suspect, a Hollywood film dripping with Hollywood nostalgia for the 1930s and 1940s. That makes it a peculiar topic given that we're in an era where the nostalgia audiences seem to desire is about the 1980s. Box office tickets, however, in this pandemic are largely irrelevant, especially as the film is available to viewers on Netflix. Fincher, whose works often feature persona non grata, takes a different track this time. In Mank, the audience is told the tale of Herman Mankiewicz, the legendary and amiable Hollywood screenwriter most famous for writing (or co-writing, depending on who you talk to) Citizen Kane. 

Mankiewicz in the film, called Mank by his friends (and foes), is often demarcated in some way. In flashbacks, he is frequently drunk and obsessed with gambling, but generally likable in ways his enemies never are. In the present-day scenes (that is, in 1940), he's desperately yet reluctantly working away on a screenplay he doesn't seem to think will go far for "radio's golden boy" Orson Welles (played here by Tom Burke). Mank even agrees to write the film for $10,000 (about $180,000 in today's money, which must have been quite something in the midst of the Great Depression) but receive no credit. He's bound here, too, not only because his director, who has been given creative freedom by RKO, is demanding a script in no time, but also because he's bedridden thanks to a giant cast on his leg. 

Like Citizen Kane before it, Mank features a screenplay, written by Fincher's father, Jack (who died in 2003), that is non-linear. The film switches between Mank writing the script for Citizen Kane in 1940 and flashbacks from the 1930s detailing his relationship with different Hollywood figures, some of whom will serve as inspiration for characters in the famous 1941 film. Mank is recovering from a car accident, and to keep him away from alcohol, he works in a remote house in California to create a script in ninety—scratch that, sixty—days. Assisting him are his English secretary, Rita Alexander (Lilly Collins), and German housekeeper named Frieda (Monika Gossman), who feels she owes Mank her allegiance due to help he has given her in the past. The flashback scenes are the ones in which we see Mank interact with most of the Hollywood figures who helped shape the narrative of Citizen Kane. Aside from businessman, publisher, and politician William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance), who served as the inspiration for Charles Foster Kane (the main character Welles plays in Citizen Kane), Hearst's mistress Marion Davies is a key part of this story. Davies may or may not have served as the inspiration for Charles Foster Kane's wife, Susan. (Welles later felt regret that Davies had become associated with the film.) Davies is played by Amanda Seyfried in one of the most talked-about performances of the year.

For students of Hollywood history, there are a variety of other names thrown at you in these flashbacks: Ben Hecht, Joseph von Sternberg, David O. Selznick, Irving Thalberg, to name a few. The two who get the most screen time are Joseph Mankiewicz (Mank's brother who won four Oscars, including two for All About Eve, and who is played here by Tom Pelphrey) and MGM head Louis B. Mayer, depicted here in a terrific performance by Arliss Howard. If there is a chief malefactor in this story, it's Mayer, Mank's conservative employer who comes across as an unethical cheapskate who can't quite understand why Mank is always antagonizing him. Mayer as a character, however, gets gentle treatment from the film. None of the more nefarious behavior of Mayer's is shown, like his sexual abuse, which was depicted in last year's Judy. Nevertheless, Mank's contrarian behavior toward Mayer will help serve as the inspiration for his famous screenplay.  

This rivalry is where the film dabbles in politics, and this is also where the Finchers theorize were motivations for Mank basing characters from Citizen Kane off of real people, sort of as an act of revenge. (Such an act can provide such catharsis for writers.) Part of the film's second act focuses on the 1934 California gubernatorial race between Republican Frank Merriam, centrist Progressive Raymond Haight, and socialist Upton Sinclair running as a Democrat. Surprisingly or not, this is where the film becomes most interesting, and Fincher has chosen a surprising figure to appear in a cameo as Sinclair. (He does kind of look like him, to be honest.) You may not know who Merriam or Haight were, but you've possibly heard of Sinclair, at least if you had to read The Jungle in university. The Jungle, Sinclair's exposé of the harsh conditions in which immigrants worked in meat-packaging plants, is Sinclair's most famous and influential novel, resulting in acts of Congress to reform the food industry.

Mayer and Hearst are naturally opposed to Sinclair's nomination. (The flashback scenes take place just around the time Hearst broke away from supporting FDR and went from being on the left to the right.) To fight his candidacy, Hearst funds xenophobic newsreels to instill the fear of communism in Californian voters. One of Mank's friends, a test shot director named Shelly Metcalf (Toby Leonard Moore), is recruited to direct these newsreels to help get him to the big leagues. (It's worth noting, however, that much of this, as Matthew Dessem has written in his fascinating fact-or-fiction article at Slate, is the work of Jack Fincher's invention. For example, there was no Shelly Metcalf.) Overcome with his guilt for making propaganda to harm a candidate working for working people, Shelly immediately falls into a serious depression, and Mank tries to save him. All of these events help fuel Mank's hatred for Hearst and his lackey, Mayer.

Mank is a film that certainly channels its inner-Citizen Kane from the get-go. In addition to its dialogue-rich screenplay (that was polished by David Fincher and Eric Roth, the younger Fincher's frequent collaborator who co-produced Mank), its gorgeous cinematography by Erik Messerschmidt essentially shares the same DNA as Kane, even featuring a few old-fashioned cue marks (those dark circles that suddenly appear in the upper-right corner of the frame) that look like the old days (in a gimmick that comes across as, well, gimmicky). The film's score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, who won Best Original Score for the Fincher-directed The Social Network, is exceptional. 

However, I found Oldman's performance to be increasingly distracting. He certainly makes choices, but often those choices seem to result in what looks like a bad Jack Nicholson imitation. In the history of drunk men, there has never been a drunk man who acted as drunkenly as Oldman does here. And while some of the thought behind his approach makes sense (namely his effortful breathing, which is understandable given that Mank was a smoker and alcoholic who would die a decade later due to alcoholism), it cannot be doubted that the way in which he mumbles through this performance is a hindrance. Oldman is at his best when he tones it down (as he did in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and the Dark Knight trilogy), and he's at his worst when he hams it up (like he does in virtually everything else). In Mank, he gives his most over-the-top performance in years. 

Aside from that, Mank is certainly compelling, and if you can keep up with its rapid dialogue, there's a lot viewers will like about it. I can't say it's unwatchable, yet it's not without numerous problems in addition to Oldman's acting. Mank is another mostly white movie directed by Fincher (there is literally only one Black actor who shows up for a few seconds), and there isn't much female representation here, either, which is unsurprising. The women in the film (Marion, Rita, Frieda, and Mank's wife, Sara, played by Tuppence Middleton) are not allowed to be nearly as interesting or complex as the men. In the all-male writers room, the only woman who appears is a typist who sits topless with pasties on her nipples without explanation. I suspect Fincher and his team are trying to make a statement condemning Old (and current) Hollywood of sexism, and yet it just feels like he doesn't quite understand the problem and instead fuels it. 

Mank is often quite dressed up and may or may not have a place to go, but it doesn't provide much of a reason for caring. Those who dig these kinds of behind-the-scenes biographical films will surely eat it up. Those who don't might find it to be a chore to make it through to the end. Still, Hollywood's love letters to itself often are rewarded come rewards season, and I suspect Mank will be as well. Yet my unfiltered opinion must be stated: I find most, if not all, of Fincher's work (including Menk) to be mediocre at best. (I said it. Sue me.) And I firmly comprehend that I exist in the minority when I say The King's Speech was better than The Social Network. (Sue me again.) But I do think the Academy should have split the difference a decade ago, awarding The King's Speech with its top prize and giving Fincher Best Director. While Fincher likely will be nominated, who knows if he will win. But he has waited his turn. I'm not his biggest fan, but everyone else is. Just give the man his Oscar already.

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