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Don Johnson and Aaron Pierre can’t just get along. (Allyson Riggs / Netflix)
I had fun chopping up Jeremy Saulnier’s smart, human-scale revenge (and also cilvil asset forfeiture) thriller Rebel Ridge with old pal Glen Weldon and new pal Marc Rivers. I was never onboard with the Michael-B.-Jordan-as-Superman movement, but Aaron Pierre as Kal-El? I’m here for it.
When you're smiling, the whole world smiles at you. (20th Century Studios)
My Washington CIty Paper review of Alien: Romulus, the 45-year-old franchise’s first legasequel, is here. Lest anyone fear I have not had enough to say about these slimy, sweaty movies that I so love, even when they’re bad. Which this new one is not!
Cailee Spaeny, stompin' bugs. (20h Century Studios)
It’s a reunion of the unforgettable Silver Streak episode of A Degree Absolute! as I join pals Glen Weldon and Ronald Young, Jr. to dissect the latest Alien on Pop Culture Happy Hour. None of us recognizes the occasion by using the phrase “hug ‘n’ munch,” even though it would have been utterly appropriate to do so. Dang!
In space, no can hear your scream at your A.D.
No film franchise has had a more accomplished class of filmmakers explode from its womb than the ALIEN-iad. Extraterrestrial, extraterrestrial, read all about it in the Paper of Record.
Walter Koenig and Paul Winfield on the set of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, part of the genre Class of ‘82.
If you’re a certain kind of cinephile, you probably know a few things with the rote force of scripture: That Conan — the barbarian, not the talk show host — philosophized about what is best in life. That E.T. phoned home. That Spock sacrificed himself to save the crew of the starship Enterprise. That patricidal “replicant” Roy Batty, in the final moments of his own brief life, eulogized his vanishing memories as “tears in rain.”
My Washington Post review of Chris Nashawaty’s The Future Was Now: Madmen, Mavericks, and the Epic Sci-Fi Summer of 1982 is here.
Ryan Reynolds, probably, and Hugh Jackman, almost certainly, as/in Deadpool & Wolverine. (Disney)
“You might not care about the canary-colored onesie. You might not be swayed by the fact the film’s multiversal milieu empowers Reynolds, director and cowriter Shawn Levy, and their collaborators not only to resurrect long-dormant Marvel heroes like [REDACTED], but to corral stars whose long-rumored superhero turns never happened such as [REDACTED], and even coax a walk-on from [REDACTED] who in a surprise twist, plays [REDACTED] instead of [REDACTED]. If you care about precisely none of that, you might still find this thing a worthy diversion, just for the light-speed potty-mouthed quips. Surely no film from within the Disney megalith has ever given us so many euphemisms for masturbation—or so many jokes about Honda Odyssey minivans.
“Me? I’m just here for Jackman.”
My incredibly consequential Washington City Paper review of Deadpool & Wolverine is here.
Clown-as-life-coach Julia Masli. (Cameron Whitman))
On HA HA HA HA HA HA HA, a clown show that was one of the most popular attractions at last year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe, now at Woolly Mammoth for a short run.
I am not a performer, but I think of myself as a Capital Fringe veteran. 2006, the summer of the first Capital Fringe — our unjuried and aesthetically unreliable but gloriously democratic performing arts festival, open to anyone who can fill out some forms and cough up a relatively modest enrollment fee — was my first as a resident of the District. I had a part-time job at the Studio Theatre that year, which I’d gotten as a result of having come to Studio in the employ of a performer who’d done a show there the prior spring. But I was only just becoming a theater person, an interest that would deepen as I began to cover theater for DCist, may it rest in power, in 2007. My first Washington Paper City cover story was about the fifth Captial Fringe, in 2010.
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