Arts Reviews

On Friday morning, readers of the New York Times were presented with a foreboding headline: “The Chilling Reason You May Never See the New Trump Movie.” For the unfamiliar, the film in question, The Apprentice, is a drama/thriller about the relationship between Roy Cohn and a younger Donald Trump as he pursues glamour and riches in 1970s New York, becoming progressively amoral and self-obsessed in the process. Succession’s Jeremy Strong plays Cohn, Sebastian Stan plays Donald and the film’s most controversial scene involves the now former president raping his first wife, Ivana. (She accused him of “violating” her in her 1989 divorce deposition, only to recant this in 2015.

If you were standing somewhere around Hollywood today, you would hear a long, deep exhalation. The new Bad Boys film, snappily subtitled Ride or Die, has indeed ridden, rather than expired, at the US box office. It grossed $56 million in its opening weekend — and not only is this the highest opening for an R-rated film since Oppenheimer nearly a year ago, but it indicates that in a summer where blockbusters have been routinely un-performing (Furiosa and The Fall Guy may have been critically acclaimed, but it looks unlikely either will cover their considerable production costs), there is still hope for a crowd-pleasing action film that appeals to a wide audience. Yet the film’s success was also a quasi-referendum on the pulling power of its leading man.

Alec Baldwin is a family man through and through. The poster for Baldwin’s eponymous new TLC show — featuring the actor surrounded by his wife and gaggle of kids — is proof. The heartwarming scene almost made Cockburn forget that Baldwin accidentally shot and killed a crew member for the film Rust back in 2021.   On Tuesday, Baldwin and his faux-Spanish wife Hilaria announced their upcoming show via Instagram, inviting viewers into their home to see the “ups and downs, the good, the bad, the wild and the crazy.” The fifty-second promo features the couple's seven kids, all under ten, screaming in their sterile, white New York City apartment — music to Cockburn’s ears.  https://twitter.

The much-anticipated new Benedict Cumberbatch series on Netflix, Eric, initially sounds as if it could have been made at any point in the past four decades. Bankable leading man whose character is battling substance abuse issues and mental instability; check. Diverse supporting cast including at least one character who is not only struggling against racial prejudice but homophobia too, check. Gritty-yet-faintly exotic setting, in this case the pre-Giuliani New York of the Eighties, check. But there is another element in Abi Morgan’s psychological thriller that throws a spanner in the works, in the form of the eponymous Eric.

It must be nice to be Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos. Not only is he paid a truly eye-watering amount of money to be in his job (roughly $50 million a year, according to reports), but because of his company’s pre-eminent position in the streaming market, he is interviewed, largely uncritically, by major news titles, even when he says things that are obviously either wrong or deeply stupid. Thus it has proved in a recent conversation with the New York Times, in which he announced, of last year’s hits Barbie and Oppenheimer, “Both of those movies would be great for Netflix. They definitely would have enjoyed just as big an audience on Netflix.” To add insult to injury, he declared that the size of a screen was all but irrelevant, saying, “My son’s an editor.

Although this year’s Cannes Film Festival hasn’t concluded yet (it runs until this Saturday), there is a general sense that the true talking-point pictures have been frontloaded into the opening week, both in competition and out of it. Without doubt, the one that has attracted the most attention is Francis Ford Coppola’s sci-fi epic Megalopolis, which premiered last Thursday to a mixture of outright scorn and bemused but respectful appreciation, all of which suggests that, although it still lacks a US distributor, it will keep making waves upon its release later this year — although the chances of Coppola regaining anything like his $120 million investment are slim, to say the least.

This Friday sees the Cannes premiere of a film that, by rights, really ought not to exist. As the likes of its stars Adam Driver, Giancarlo Esposito, Dustin Hoffman and Shia LaBeouf all assemble on the Croisette, it will be its now eighty-five-year-old director, screenwriter and producer, Francis Ford Coppola, who will be the most closely watched figure of the night, if not the entire festival. Megalopolis, the movie that they are all gathering to promote, has been Coppola’s great passion project all through his career. He first came up with the idea in 1977, began to develop it in 1983 and, finally, sold part of his wine empire a few years ago to raise the film’s $120 million budget.

The fourteenth series of Doctor Who returns to international screens imminently — and this time there’s a twist. Thanks to the heavy financial investment of Disney+, who have become co-financiers with the BBC, the show now has a considerably higher budget than it has done before, of around $130 million per season. Little wonder that the BBC’s director-general Tim Davie commented, only slightly tongue in cheek, that “we’ve got to thank – a lot – our partners, Disney+, who came on board so that the Doctor can travel even more widely across the planet in a slightly flashier Tardis.

Live long enough and everything you love will be remade by Hollywood. If you vaguely remember some film or show from your childhood, expect a grey-suited producer to rip it from the vault, spruce it up for “modern audiences” and shove it onto multiplex screens or one of the endless streaming services, where it’s likely never be seen and instantly forgot. There have been four modern Predator remakes.  When it was announced in 2018 that FX would be adapting Shōgun, the epic bestselling 1975 novel of medieval Japan by James Clavell, I heard myself audibly groaning. The 1980 mini-series starring Richard Chamberlain and Toshiro Mifune was already a stone-cold classic.

It was once the case that, if a planned film in a two- or three-movie series came out and wasn’t very good, the remaining films would be scrapped. The world has changed with the advent of streaming, and even though Zack Snyder’s Rebel Moon — Part One: A Child of Fire was greeted with critical contempt, its sequel Part Two: The Scargiver has slid onto Netflix, only to be met with, you guessed it, yet more dismay and horror.

If you make the mistake of following journalists on Twitter, you would think that Civil War is the most talked about film of the year. It's not — and the over-coverage it's been receiving isn’t because it's particularly amazing or outrageous or riské or inflammatory. It did reach number one at the weekend box office, but on a quiet weekend, competing with third-week tickets for Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. No, all the attention has come because Civil War is about journalism and there are few things we like talking about more than ourselves, despite few others being that interested. And so, here I am. But more interesting than the film is the release strategy behind it, because it represents A24 taking a punt on far more expensive films than usual.

In one of his always entertaining books about Hollywood, screenwriter William Goldman offered a candid insight into why one picture he wrote, 1996’s The Ghost and The Darkness, didn’t work. He blamed its failure on the casting of Michael Douglas in a prominent role as a nineteenth-century big game hunter, describing Douglas the epitome of the “flawed, contemporary American male.” Certainly, compared to his peers, Douglas has taken on remarkably few costume drama roles. Instead, he became best known for icy performances in psychosexual thrillers like Fatal Attraction and Basic Instinct, in which he played alpha males slowly dismantled by powerful and intellectually superior women, to say nothing of his iconic and deservedly Oscar-winning performance as Gordon “Greed is good!