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      ‘Mambar Pierrette’ Review: Cosmic Misfortunes

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      A gifted seamstress, played by the filmmaker Rosine Mbakam’s cousin, has to put out a string of fires in this rich portrait of Cameroonian womanhood.Pierrette, a gifted seamstress and a mother of three, can’t seem to catch a break. After a hard day’s work at her humble shop in Douala, a busy city in Cameroon, she’s mugged by a motorcycle taxi driver. It’s also the rainy season and her home — and later her shop — is flooded overnight. It’s a foul time to be broke: The kids are heading back to school and their supplies aren’t cheap.The events of “Mambar Pierrette” are fictional, but the film’s nonprofesssional actors play versions of themselves. The drama is the first narrative feature by Rosine Mbakam, a Cameroonian filmmaker based in Belgium. Over the past decade, Mbakam has distinguished herself as a formidable verité-style documentarian; her subjects, Cameroonian women at home and overseas.Pierrette Aboheu Njeuthat, cast in the title role, is Mbakam’s cousin, and many of the figures who orbit Pierrette’s life are the actress’s neighbors and relatives.A rich community portrait unfolds as Pierrette prepares her clients’ orders and flits around town putting out fires. We get a sense of the patriarchal customs that dictate village life; the frictions between modern, enterprising women like Pierrette and tradition-bound ones like her mother. These and other realities are made apparent in a beautifully organic manner, through the kind of intimate chatter that happens between people who’ve known each other for decades.Pierrette’s rotten luck is no joke. We see, with startling clarity, how a stolen wallet turns into a missed payment, and an electricity shut-off means a sewing machine that can’t sew. Yet the film’s gentle naturalism (at times edging on the uncanny, courtesy of cheeky editing rhythms and an unsettling-looking mannequin) gives her tribulations a cosmic undertone.Mbakam hits a remarkable balance. The sociopolitical truths that make up Pierrette’s losing streak are evident, without the miserable patronizing so common in films about struggle in Africa. Also palpable is a more universal gut feeling: the half-serious suspicion that one has been cursed.Mambar PierretteNot rated. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 33 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Lil Nas X: Long Live Montero’ Review: A Hip-Hop Trailblazer

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      The documentary, streaming on Max, follows the queer singer-rapper on the road and at home, but the best scenes by far are when he is onstage.To watch the singer-rapper Lil Nas X in the documentary “Lil Nas X: Long Live Montero” is to witness a Black queer man embody a power that still feels very new.Directed by Carlos López Estrada (“Raya and the Last Dragon”) and Zac Manuel, this film, streaming on Max, is historically important given its subject’s place in hip-hop, a genre dominated by heterosexuality and hypermasculinity. New interview footage with Montero Lamar Hill, a.k.a. Lil Nas X, from both on the road and in his home, is juxtaposed with performances from the artist’s recent “Long Live Montero Tour,” a celebration of queer eroticism and joy.But the scenes are assembled like the wall collage of pop stars that we see in his otherwise empty bedroom, resulting in frustrating interview segments that are both broad and cursory. Lil Nas X is forthcoming in the documentary about his preshow bowel movements, for example, but is less open about more meaningful thoughts, such as how his religious journey is connected to his work.When the musician Little Richard, known for his flashy attire and complicated past, comes up in a 1972 interview clip that Lil Nas X briefly comments on, the film makes a quick point about Black queer artists who have struggled to be out. It then falters by generalizing a history that, with some added details, could have better emphasized Lil Nas X’s current impact on culture.“Saying actual words — it’s really hard to do,” Lil Nas X eventually admits. Still, the best parts of this documentary are onstage, where his freedom to be himself tells its own thrilling story.Lil Nas X: Long Live MonteroNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. Watch on Max. More

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      ‘The Peasants’ Review: A Village Rendered in Oils

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      The filmmakers DK and Hugh Welchman apply a painstaking oil painting technique to render this sweeping drama set in a 19th century Polish village.The painstaking process behind “The Peasants,” the new painted film exercise from DK and Hugh Welchman, is only laid out after the film ends. As the credits roll, the directors show clips of painters viewing reference footage and then reproducing the images in oil on canvas, sometimes frame by frame.The filmmakers pioneered the inventive animation technique on their previous feature, the Oscar-nominated “Loving Vincent,” and they apply it here to a story of sweeping scale. Based on Wladyslaw Reymont’s novel, “The Peasants” follows Jagna (Kamila Urzedowska), a young woman in 19th century Poland who is driven into a loveless marriage with a wealthy widower (Miroslaw Baka) despite her ongoing flirtation with his strapping son, Antek (Robert Gulaczyk).The world of the film is insular and provincial, stacked with themes of family and faith and peopled with vulnerable girls, resentful wives and brooding men quick to trade punches over perceived affronts to their pride or dignity.“The Peasants” is divided into four seasons, and its inventive visual style proves richest when rendering landscapes — scenery that shifts in color and stroke with the climate. But as the story’s melodrama grows repetitive, so do the visuals. The painted animation is especially deficient in close-up shots (of which there are many); the smudgy brushstrokes blunt facial expressions. In these moments, the technique seems to be working against the film’s emotion rather than for it.The PeasantsRated R for sexual violence and nudity. In Polish, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 54 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘American Star’ Review: Armed and Vacationing

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      Ian McShane stars as an assassin killing time in the Canary Islands.“American Star,” the latest film to showcase the travel benefits of being a professional killer, opens with Wilson (Ian McShane) arriving in Fuerteventura, one of the Canary Islands. After parking his rental car off the side of a desert road, he peeks in the trunk to find a photograph of his latest mark, who of course lives in a sleek, modernist home nearby.But the mark isn’t there, which leaves Wilson consigned to killing only time. Keeping a low profile in a jet-black suit that matches the rental car and attracts the attention of nearly everyone — he befriends a kid (Oscar Coleman) who wants to know why he hasn’t brought swim trunks — Wilson hits it off with a bartender, Gloria (Nora Arnezeder). She appears to be the mysterious blonde who turned up while he was scoping out the (sleek, modernist) house.Citing local wisdom, Gloria says there are only three types of people in Fuerteventura — residents, tourists and those who are running from something. By that point, she has accompanied Wilson to the site of a wrecked ship that provides the movie’s central metaphor. Gloria’s mother (Fanny Ardant) says her daughter has always found that “heap of scrap metal” fascinating. The viewer is meant to conclude that Wilson, a psychologically scarred Falklands veteran, is her new favorite scrap.There is also a younger assassin (Adam Nagaitis), a son of Wilson’s war buddy. He says he is on the island to make sure the hit comes off — an ominous sign. But much of “American Star” is more engaging than a summary makes it sound. Despite an oddball taste for wide-angle lenses, the director, Gonzalo López-Gallego, can sustain a solid slow burn. Still, neither McShane nor the scenery can take the rust off the basic scenario.American StarRated R. Vacation or no, he’s still a hit man. Running time: 1 hour 47 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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      Glen Powell at the Sundance Film Festival

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      The star and co-writer of “Hit Man” heard that his film had wowed audiences, but because of the actors’ strike, he couldn’t see for himself until now.Glen Powell doesn’t want for much these days, after co-starring in “Top Gun: Maverick” and watching his new film, the romantic comedy “Anyone but You,” cross $100 million at the worldwide box office. Still, for the past few months, there was one little thing he felt he had missed out on.It has to do with “Hit Man,” a comedy Powell co-wrote with the director Richard Linklater that casts him as a hapless teacher who must pose as an assassin for hire. I first saw it at the Venice Film Festival in September, where it proved so crowd-pleasing that the audience broke into applause midway through the movie. A week later at the Toronto International Film Festival, the response was also through the roof.But for months, Powell had only heard about all that secondhand. Since the Screen Actors Guild strike was still going strong during the fall tests, Powell wasn’t able to attend a premiere of “Hit Man” until it played Monday night at the Sundance Film Festival. Afterward, he called me from a car that was speeding him toward celebratory drinks.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?  More

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      Gypsy Rose Blanchard and the Big Shift in True Crime

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      Not long ago, true crime storytellers had little in the way of first-person footage captured in real time to rely on. Now, as much of our daily lives are documented, the genre is transforming.There’s a moment near the end of the 2017 documentary “Mommy Dead and Dearest” where Gypsy Rose Blanchard is filming her boyfriend at the time, Nicholas Godejohn, as he lies nude in a hotel room bed. A day earlier, Godejohn had stabbed to death Gypsy’s mother, Dee Dee Blanchard. The killing was part of a plot the couple hatched to free Gypsy, who was then 23, from her mother’s grip so they could be together. In the short video, we hear Gypsy make a playful sexual comment amid her copious, distinctive giggling.Dee Dee Blanchard had abused and controlled her daughter, mentally and physically, for decades. It was believed by many to be a case of Munchausen syndrome by proxy — a form of child abuse in which a caregiver might induce illness to draw public sympathy, care, concern and material gifts — and the saga captured the collective interest.The snippet is the first time we see it unfolding through Gypsy’s eyes, and the point of view serves as a glimmer of what would become one of the biggest shifts in true crime storytelling.Stories like these were once conveyed through re-enactments, dramatizations and interviews with police officers, journalists, medical professionals, family and friends. If there were primary sources, those were typically scans of photos of happy families or of grisly crime scenes underpinned by voice-over narration, exemplified on shows like “20/20,” “Dateline,” “Snapped,” “Forensic Files” and “48 hours.” Home video cameras, which became popular in the 1980s, certainly changed the true crime landscape, but those recordings were generally sparse and supplemental. In rare instances, viewers might hear directly from the perpetrators or victims in interviews often conducted years after the fact.Dee Dee Blanchard, right, with her daughter, Gypsy Rose Blanchard, who endured decades of physical and mental abuse by her mother. via The Blanchard Family/LifetimeNow we have reams of first-person digital footage, which means that viewers, more than ever, are privy to the perspectives of those directly involved, often during the period in which the crimes took place, closing the distance and making the intermediaries less essential. The case of Gypsy Rose Blanchard encapsulates the trajectory of this phenomenon. Her saga, for example, received the scripted treatment with “The Act,” a 2019 limited series on Hulu, for which Patricia Arquette won an Emmy. But those looking for a definitive, unvarnished, visceral take on the events now have options and direct channels, rendering that series as almost an afterthought.The rise of social media has, of course, accelerated this dynamic. Blanchard and Godejohn’s relationship was almost exclusively online before the murder, and Facebook posts and text messages between them were used in court by prosecutors to incriminate them. Godejohn was sentenced to life in prison; Gypsy received 10 years, of which she served about seven.She was released on Dec. 28, 2023, and the following day she posted a selfie to Instagram with the caption “First selfie of freedom,” which has gotten more than 6.5 million likes. Online, she’s been promoting her new Lifetime series, “The Prison Confessions of Gypsy Rose Blanchard.” “This docuseries chronicles my quest to expose the hidden parts of my life that have never been revealed until now,” we hear her say from prison.Blanchard and her husband married in 2022 while she was still in prison. via Gypsy Rose Blanchard and Ryan AndersonShe has quickly become a social media celebrity, with more than eight million Instagram followers and nearly 10 million on TikTok. Since her release, she has shared lighthearted videos like one with her husband, Ryan Anderson (they married in 2022 while she was in prison), at “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” on Broadway and more serious ones, like a video in which she explains Munchausen syndrome by proxy.Technology’s influence on modern criminal investigations has become foundational in many documentaries from recent years.In the two-part HBO documentary “I Love You, Now Die: The Commonwealth v. Michelle Carter” (2019), the story is largely told through the thousands of text messages exchanged between two teenagers, Michelle Carter and Conrad Roy III, from 2012 to 2014. The text messages led up to the exact moment of Roy’s suicide. Selfie videos that Roy had posted online are also shown. Carter spent about a year in prison for her role in his death. The documentary (by Erin Lee Carr, who also directed “Mommy Dead and Dearest”) left me “spinning in circles, turning over thoughts about accountability, coercion and the nebulous boundaries of technology,” as I wrote last year.One of the highest profile murder trials in the United States in recent years — that of the disgraced lawyer Alex Murdaugh, who shot and killed his wife, Maggie, and son Paul in 2021 — ultimately rested on a staggering recording captured moments before the murders. That video, on Paul’s phone, placed the patriarch at the scene of the crime, sealing his fate: two consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole.Alex Murdaugh, center, as seen in the Netflix docuseries “Murdaugh Murders: A Southern Scandal.” His murder trial was among the most talked about in recent years.NetflixThe use of that footage, along with abundant smartphone video that brought viewers into the world of the Murdaughs, in documentaries like Netflix’s two-season “Murdaugh Murders: A Southern Scandal,” would have been unimaginable not long ago.But perhaps no recent offering illustrates this shift like HBO’s docuseries “Love Has Won: The Cult of Mother God.” Members of the group Love Has Won live-streamed their days and nights; they filmed and posted untold hours of preachments and online manifestoes to YouTube and Instagram Live. Much of the three-episode series comprises this footage, and in turn viewers watch Amy Carlson, who called herself “Mother God,” slowly deteriorate over the course of months from the perspective of the people who were worshiping her.It’s a vantage point so unnerving and haunting, it dissolves the line between storytelling and voyeurism. When the group films her corpse, which they cart across numerous state lines, camping with it along the way, we see all that, too, through the eyes of the devotees. Several of the followers continue to promote her teachings online.Amy Carlson, center, who led a group called Love Has Won, as seen in the HBO docuseries “Love Has Won: The Cult of Mother God.”HBOIt was clear this month in the comments on Blanchard’s Instagram that many were uncomfortable with her re-emerging as a social media presence. Some found it odd that she would participate so heavily and publicly immediately after her release. Others thought it was in bad taste for her to celebrate her freedom while Godejohn serves a life sentence.The greatest criticism of the true crime genre is that horrors are being repackaged as guilty-pleasure entertainment, allowing viewers to get close — but not too close — to terrible things. And perhaps the best defense of true crime is that it allows viewers to process the scary underbelly of our world safely. It is a strange dance between knowledge, observation and entertainment.Either way, the fourth wall is cracking, and perhaps the discomfort this might cause has been a long time coming. More

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      ‘The Underdoggs’ Review: Guess Who the New Coach Is, Kids

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      Snoop Dogg, as an egomaniacal retired football star, turns community service into a sport when he sees a chance to rekindle romance with a player’s mom.It’s not until the film’s postscript that “The Underdoggs” suddenly makes sense: The movie, starring Snoop Dogg as a retired athlete coaching a Pop Warner team, is inspired by the Snoop Youth Football League, the real-life organization that he started in 2005. The film, directed by Charles Stone III, is perhaps best understood as something meant as a fun dedication to the program — but it makes for a forgettable, often aggressively perfunctory work.Snoop plays Jaycen Jennings, a former star wide receiver who’s become an insufferable has-been and, after a reckless driving charge, is forced to do community service in his hometown. After running into his old flame (Tika Sumpter), whose son is on a helpless youth football team, he decides to coach the squad to burnish his public image and cozy up to his former sweetheart.It’s a familiar narrative — an embittered narcissist, down on his luck, forced by circumstances to coach, and eventually connect with, a ragtag group of kids — a situation the film knowingly plays with, making frequent references to the Emilio Estevez character in “The Mighty Ducks.” But it can’t come up with any memorable jokes or genuine heart to fill in the beats that it mostly slogs through. The kids in the film are simply too young to make an impact, and Snoop, who is fine enough as an actor, ultimately doesn’t possess the charisma necessary to elevate a lazy script.What we’re left with instead is the occasional chuckle from Mike Epps as the hapless class clown he usually plays, and the vague outline of other movies that have done this story with more charm.The UnderdoggsRated R for pervasive language, sexual references, drug use and some underage drinking. Running time: 1 hour 41 minutes. Watch on Prime Video. More

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      ‘Tótem’ Review: The Girl Who Sees Too Much

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      In Lila Avilés’s second feature, a 7-year-old girl begins to grasp the severity of her father’s illness while birthday preparations are underway at home.There are worlds inside worlds in “Tótem,” a soulful drama populated by an array of creatures, some with two legs and sad smiles, others with feathers, fur and shells. Set largely in a rambling house on a single momentous day, it focuses on a serious-eyed girl, Sol, who serves as the story’s luminous celestial body. You see much of what she sees, the warmth and disorder. Yet because Sol is just 7, you also see what it means to be a child in that messy reality known as adulthood.The Mexican writer-director Lila Avilés plunges into the mess the minute Sol (Naíma Sentíes), wearing a red clown nose and a floppy rainbow-colored wig, arrives at her grandfather’s house. There, amid the homey clutter of a house that actually looks lived in rather than art directed, two of her aunts are busily, and none too efficiently, prepping an evening birthday party for Sol’s gravely ill father, Tona (Mateo García Elizondo). As people and animals exit and enter the story — a raptor portentously flies overhead early on, part of a menagerie that includes bugs, dogs and a goldfish in a plastic bag — one aunt bakes a cake as the other dyes her hair.Avilés soon maps the house’s labyrinthine sprawl, swiftly building a tangible sense of place with precise, well-worn details and quick-sketch character portraits. “Totem” is a coming into consciousness story about a child navigating realms — human and animal, spiritual and material — that exist around her like overlapping concentric circles. Yet even as the story’s focus sharpens, what matters here are the characters: their emotions and worried words, how they hold it together and fall apart, their individual habits and shared habitat. (Avilés’s 2019 feature debut “The Chambermaid,” set in a hotel, is about another ecosystem.)Sol serves as a narrative through line in the movie, which opens with a kind of prelude set in a single-room public bathroom. She’s parked on the toilet, and she and her mother, Lucia (Iazua Larios), are chatting and laughing. Lucia tells Sol to finish (“push it out”), encouragement that amusingly evokes Freud’s theory about the anal-retentive stage. Whether Avilés herself is pushing, as it were, a Freudian take or not, the scene works as a run-up to what follows. Sol’s childhood reality is expectedly circumscribed, its limits expressed by the boxy aspect ratio and the closely attentive, hovering camerawork. Her reality is also changing, as becomes painfully clear by the contrast between her mother and her fast-fading father.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?  More