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      ‘Romancing the Stone’ and Its Screenwriter’s Tragic Tale

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      Diane Thomas was a waitress when she made headlines for the script sale of what would become a box office smash. But the Cinderella story had a sad ending.Each day, before her waitressing shift began, Diane Thomas would plop herself onto the floor of her tiny Malibu studio apartment, in front of a low-slung desk, and begin typing. Throughout late 1978 and early 1979, she worked daily, hours on end, conjuring the tale of Joan Chase, a mousy romance novelist suddenly thrust into a life-or-death adventure.“I wanted to write about a woman who became her own heroine,” Thomas would offer of her inspiration. “The notion that we can be whatever we imagine ourselves to be interested me.”Forty years ago, Thomas’s story, “Romancing the Stone” — and its heroine, renamed Joan Wilder — reached big screens, becoming one of the top box office hits of 1984 and an enduring classic, owing to a perfectly measured blend of action, comedy and romance. “It’s still the most well-rounded script I’ve ever read,” Michael Douglas, the film’s producer and co-star, said in an interview. “In many ways, it was a reflection of Diane — she wasn’t quite as shy as Joan Wilder, but she poured a lot of herself into this story of a writer who experiences a metamorphosis.”During a golden era of action-adventure pictures, the novice Thomas turned the genre on its head. “A woman being the impetus for that kind of movie hadn’t been done, certainly not in that way,” said Kathleen Turner, who played Wilder. “I mean, the girls in those types of movies were just that — they were always sidekicks or scenery.”Thomas’s friends, like her fellow writer Betty Spence, said the sweep of the story — which moved from the posh Upper West Side of Manhattan to the raw jungles of South America — was the product of a fertile imagination. “Diane was a pure storyteller,” Spence said. “She could sit there and spin a tale out of nothing, and it would have a perfect beginning, middle and end.”When Thomas sold her script in the summer of 1979, she went from minimum-wage worker to one of the highest-paid screenwriters in Hollywood. It was the start of a meteoric career that would include a pair of major movie hits and multiple projects with Steven Spielberg. Yet “Romancing the Stone” would be the only film to ever bear a Thomas writing credit because her life was tragically cut short.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      ‘Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire’ Review: Running Out of Steam

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      The latest in the Warner Bros. Monsterverse franchise shows signs of an anemic imagination.Nothing about “Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire” makes sense, which is not, on the face of it, a problem. We have not settled into cushy cinema seats with our comfortingly stale popcorn to engage in discourse about metaphors and science; we are here for the stars in the title. About that title: “Godzilla x Kong” (meant to echo various other titles in other, non-Hollywood Godzilla movies) could mean Godzilla times Kong, or Godzilla crossed with Kong, or Godzilla against Kong — some permutation of titans. Whatever it is, there will be punching. We are here for the punching.What we’re not here for is the humans, which is lucky, because they’ve been dropping like flies. Most of the characters from the last few films — including the 2021 “Godzilla vs. Kong” (also directed by Adam Wingard) — have disappeared, largely without explanation. Our main character now is Dr. Ilene Andrews (Rebecca Hall), adoptive mother to a tween, Jia (Kaylee Hottle), a member of the Iwi tribe, who communicates with Kong directly via sign language. I particularly missed Alexander Skarsgard’s Dr. Nathan Lind, whose absence is sort of explained but not mourned, and who has been replaced, for narrative reasons, by a kooky veterinarian to the titans played by Dan Stevens. (For some reason, I assume to signal the kookiness, Stevens sports an exaggerated Australian accent.)They’re joined once again by Bernie Hayes (Brian Tyree Henry), the conspiracy podcaster-blogger-documentarian-weirdo from the last film. For some reason, he’s convinced that nobody believes his stories about the titans, even though actual Godzilla is roaming the Earth and shown on the nightly news. (I’m more stuck on the strangely fantastical idea that he’s a popular blogger. Wouldn’t he have a Substack by now?)These humans are pretty boring, more anemic than they were in the last movie. They’re there purely for narrative propulsion through this story, which begins with Kong living in the Hollow Earth (exactly what it sounds like) and Godzilla up on the surface. As long as the twain never meet, we’re good — and by we, I mean humankind.Which means, of course, they’ll meet. The scientists spot Godzilla napping in the Colosseum, then stomping his way through Europe and northern Africa, seemingly absorbing as much nuclear power as he can because he senses some confrontation coming. At the same time, something is very wrong in Kong’s world down below. And Jia is having strange dreams, too — dreams that lead to an expedition into the Hollow Earth. More

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      ‘La Chimera’ Review: A Treasure Trove

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      In her latest dreamy movie, the Italian director Alice Rohrwacher follows a tomb raider, played by Josh O’Connor, who’s pining for a lost love.Like the yellow brick road, the bright red thread in “La Chimera” winds through a world that is both dreamy and touched by magic. The thread has begun unraveling from a long knit dress worn by a woman beloved by the movie’s hero. It trails across the ground, flutters in the air and beguiles you, just like this film. And, like all loose threads — in fraying fabric and in certain stories — this slender cord tempts you to pull it, urging you to see what happens next.“La Chimera” is the latest from Alice Rohrwacher, a delightfully singular Italian writer-director who, with just a handful of feature-length movies — the charming, low-key heartbreaker “Happy as Lazzaro” among them — has become one of the must-see filmmakers on the international circuit. Rohrwacher, who grew up in central Italy, makes movies that resist facile categorization and concise synopsis. They’re approachable and engaging, and while she’s working within the recognizable parameters of the classic art film — her stories are elliptical, her authorship unambiguous — there’s nothing programmatic about her work. More

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      ‘On the Adamant’ Review: A Psychiatric Facility on the Seine

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      This documentary by Nicolas Philibert drifts along, with unnamed patients and their caretakers, on a large houseboat in Paris.It’s hard to tell the difference between the patients and staff in “On the Adamant,” Nicolas Philibert’s documentary about an alternative psychiatric facility in Paris. The treatment center, located in a large houseboat with louvered windows, floats tranquilly on the Seine.Inside the Adamant, a convivial atmosphere of disorder reigns. In the opening scenes, Philibert turns his camera on an unnamed toothy gentleman belting scratchy vocals during a jam session. The man is so at ease that he really goes for it — squinting his eyes and vigorously wagging his fist.“On the Adamant” is like a jam session, too — a jumble of bright spots and tedious meanderings. Absent explanatory captions and title cards, the documentary offers no guidance on who’s who or how things are run, opting instead for a dazed, occasionally sleepy, immersion.Like Frederick Wiseman, his American counterpart in documentary filmmaking, Philibert is fascinated by the inner-workings of institutions in his native France. See, for instance, his documentary about a single-class primary school in rural Auvergne (“To Be and to Have”) or his behind-the-scenes explorations of the Louvre (“Louvre City”) and a Parisian radio station (“La Maison de la Radio”). In “Every Little Thing,” from 1997, he spotlighted the famed La Borde psychiatric clinic, structuring his study around the patients’ rehearsals for their summer play.In “On the Adamant,” Philibert employs steady camerawork as he goes around the facility and captures its patients in conversation with each other and their caretakers. Throughout, we stumble upon new group activities (jam-making, sewing, painting), which patients are free to partake in, or not.No one is as magnetic as the aforementioned rocker, in part because Philibert assumes a passive gaze, one that seems to listen but hardly asks. At worst, it seems like he doesn’t know what to do with his subjects.In any case, that Philibert doesn’t stick to a “main character,” or impose a phony narrative arc, vibes well with the facility’s free-spirited methods, even if the documentary lacks the drama of a more structured production. Yet there’s something to be said about how quaint and unremarkable this quite remarkable — borderline utopian — facility is made out to be. Could treating the mentally ill with respect and empathy be this simple?On the AdamantNot rated. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 49 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘DogMan’ Review: Crackers for Animals

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      An electrifying Caleb Landry Jones plays the damaged heart of this oddly wonderful tale of resilience and revenge.Drag queens, disability and dozens of canines converge in Luc Besson’s “DogMan,” which opens with a quotation from a 19th-century French poet and closes with a symbolic crucifixion. In between is the strangest, possibly silliest movie of the veteran director’s idiosyncratic career. It is also borderline brilliant.On a wet night in New Jersey, a bloodied man dressed as Marilyn Monroe (Caleb Landry Jones) is arrested while driving a truck filled with agitated dogs. An empathetic prison psychologist, Evelyn (Jojo T. Gibbs), learns that the man is named Douglas, the dogs are his “babies,” and that his horrifying story resonates more than Evelyn would like with a predicament of her own. Flashbacks to Douglas’s past expose a childhood terrorized by a Bible-thumping brother and brutal father, who caged the boy alongside a team of fighting dogs. He also delivered the gunshot wound that would consign Douglas to a wheelchair for most of his life.That life, unfolding in scenes that run the gamut from sweet to bizarre to heartbreaking, is a dark fairy tale of survival. Hunkered in a dank, abandoned building filled with books, security cameras and four-legged companions, the adult Douglas maintains an almost psychic bond with the only creatures to ever show him sustained affection. From his booby-trapped lair, he provides vigilante services to local supplicants, operating as a kind of godfather (dogfather?) with a pack that obeys his often wordless commands. Gigantic or tiny, fearsome or cuddly, stealing from the rich or subduing gangsters, they scamper through the film with lolling-tongued delight and discernible personalities. Not since “Amores Perros” (2000) and “White God” (2015) have so many movie canines impacted the lives of so many characters.Besson, to his credit, recognizes the wackiness in his screenplay, and plays into it without reducing Douglas’s pain to a joke. Even so, it’s doubtful if the movie would work without Jones’s astonishing commitment to, and understanding of the character. (If you saw him two years ago in Justin Kurzel’s “Nitram,” you already know he excels at playing deeply damaged individuals.) He’s mesmerizing here, skirting easy pathos to give Douglas a touching dignity that stabilizes the movie’s kooky premise. When he discovers a talent for cabaret and debuts a performance of Édith Piaf’s “La Foule,” the moment is both sad and sublime: a bona fide showstopper.People get hurt in this movie, but “DogMan,” loping along like one of its pups, doesn’t linger over the violence. Scenes flow smoothly from chilling to cute, buoyed by a cheekily over-the-top soundtrack. This isn’t a maudlin, triumph-over-adversity yarn: Douglas might be in a wheelchair, but he’s easily the most able body onscreen.DogManRated R for a brutalized child and a chomped crotch. Running time: 1 hour 53 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Lousy Carter’ Review: Blackboard Bungle

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      A college professor gets a grim diagnosis in this comedy from Bob Byington.Death be not tragic in “Lousy Carter,” a repellently watchable curiosity from the Austin cult filmmaker Bob Byington. Carter (David Krumholtz) is a self-involved literature professor with little interest in his students, his family, and his past and present lovers. So when he’s given six months to live, no one cares. Turn the concept of a laugh-out-loud comedy inside-out and you’ll have a feel for Byington’s sense of humor: a sustained cruel hum, the room tone of a crypt.There are no hugs here, no lessons to glean before dying, not even anything as impassioned as despair. Carter fills his final days dully scrolling his phone during cold conversations with his ex-wife (Olivia Thirlby), his mistress (Jocelyn DeBoer) and her husband (Martin Starr), his supposed best friend. Even Carter’s analyst (Stephen Root) is unmoved during one of the rare times Carter opens up about his pressurized childhood and squandered life. “At least you had a father,” the therapist snaps.Between the hammering misanthropy, the herky-jerky editing and almost defiantly crummy sound mix, this exasperating film keeps you enjoyably off-balance. At one point, I could swear Byington had locked us inside a narcissist’s head as a challenge, like a cinematic escape room; later, the movie seems to yearn to be a graphic novel so the audience can soak in the malaise (and catch the visual gags that don’t quite land). Perhaps the point lies with the caustic grad student who Carter attempts to bed as his last great hurrah. Gail (Luxy Banner) has zero respect for his underwhelming pontifications on Vladimir Nabokov and F. Scott Fitzgerald. She’s bored with taking male ennui seriously — and the film feels the same way.Lousy CarterNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 20 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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      ‘The Beautiful Game’ Review: A Different Kind of World Cup

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      This heart-string-tugging Netflix movie about a homeless soccer team, featuring Bill Nighy and Micheal Ward, puts the emphasis on play and uplift.It’s moderately surprising that it’s taken filmmakers two decades to concoct a heart-string-tugging underdog story out of the annual coed sport event known as the Homeless World Cup, a weeklong international competition featuring homeless soccer players.Directed by Thea Sharrock and written by Frank Cottrell Boyce, “The Beautiful Game” is an upbeat, amiable picture that, as its title suggests, puts the sport in front. Which isn’t to say the conditions of the players are ignored. Nathan (Callum Scott Howells), a recovering addict, has a particularly tough time. But the emphasis is on play and uplift. The sunny climes of Rome, where the tournament in the movie is set, help sell it.The great Bill Nighy plays Mal, the coordinator and coach for England’s team, who one afternoon spots Vinny (Micheal Ward) giving pointers to some younger players. Vinny’s got talent, but Mal seems to recognize more in him. Mal also correctly guesses that Vinny’s more or less living out of his car.The writer, Boyce, is known for more adventurous fare than this (see “Tristram Shandy,” from 2006), but this is a more conventional story. Here, Boyce steers around some clichés, but not others. For example, when Ellie (Jessye Romeo), Vinny’s ever-disappointed former partner, tells him to admit that he’s not going to be able to attend their daughter’s school event, rather than prevaricating, Vinny does just that, proudly proclaiming that he’ll go to Rome despite his initial resistance to Mal’s pitch.Peppered with funny and inspiring moments, like the charming way the South African team gets a makeup game after being held up at their airport, “The Beautiful Game” is a model of a modern “nice” movie.The Beautiful GameRated PG-13 for language, themes. Running time: 2 hours 5 minutes. Watch on Netflix. More

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      ‘Asphalt City’ Review: Arbiters of Life and Death

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      Sean Penn plays a flinty paramedic showing a rookie the ropes in this maddening drama about emergency medical workers in New York.Two paramedics — Ollie Cross (Tye Sheridan), a wide-eyed rookie, and Gene Rutkovsky (Sean Penn), a gruff veteran of the trade — traverse the mean streets of East New York, Brooklyn, by ambulance in the solemn drama “Asphalt City.” Flooded with neon and sirens, the movie opens during Cross’s first nights on the corps, tracking his and his new partner’s efforts to provide care for an array of challenging patients.Directed by Jean-Stéphane Sauvaire — with evident inspiration from Martin Scorsese’s “Bringing Out the Dead” — this jittery drama wants viewers to appreciate the unique burdens facing emergency medical workers. Its approach to achieving this goal, however, involves a profusion of overly literal allusions to the paramedics as arbiters of life and death. “We are gods,” a colleague insists to Cross in one of several midnight symposiums on ethics and existentialism. As if those weren’t enough, our hero in training also sports a bomber jacket conspicuously embroidered with angel wings.For reasons beyond my understanding, Cross, an aspiring doctor, looks up to Rutkovsky, a flinty old timer with a propensity to aggress when he feels sad or mad or basically anything. Their dynamic is familiar at best and dull at worst, particularly for those who long ago tired of the tragedies of toxic machismo. A couple of women do inhabit “Asphalt City”: the enthralling Katherine Waterston as Rutkovsky’s nettled ex wife, and Cross’s nameless love interest, whose naked body seems to receive more screen time than her face.Asphalt CityRated R for bloody emergencies and graphic nudity. Running time: 2 hours. In theaters. More