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      ‘Earwig’ Review: Danse Macabre

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      The latest trip down the rabbit hole by the French director Lucile Hadzihalilovic follows a young girl with teeth made of ice and her cadaverous caretaker.Near the beginning of “Earwig,” the latest trip down the darkest of rabbit holes by the French director Lucile Hadzihalilovic, a 10-year-old girl admires a landscape painting, seated before it in an image similar to the famous scene from “Poltergeist.” Fascinated, she runs her fingers over the rough canvas and its vibrant colors; it’s a moment not unlike the experience of watching the film, which can feel like being hypnotized by disturbingly palpable still lifes from the unconscious realm.Set somewhere in midcentury Europe (though everything feels as if it were ripped out of a 19th-century Gothic novella), “Earwig” takes place mostly indoors, between the jaundiced, windowless walls of a near-empty dwelling. The girl, Mia (Romane Hemelaers), has teeth made of ice, which are melted down and remolded each day by Albert (Paul Hilton), a cadaverous man whose unseen and menacing overlords croak cryptic orders to him over the phone.Like in her past films, Hadzihalilovic explores the psychic tensions of a cloistered, ritualized existence — this time taking on the point of view of an adult (Albert) to create a loose drama around the event of Mia’s release. One day, the bosses tell Albert that he will no longer serve as the girl’s warden, upending his womblike routine and sending him into a macabre frenzy complete with visions of what may be his long-dead wife, broken-bottle bloodshed and a jarring suicide attempt at the lake. These events are woven together by a twinkling uncanny score and blurred lights that function like title cards.Hadzihalilovic is an expert conjurer of other worlds, and “Earwig” unearths a startlingly seductive array of visual and sonic textures that don’t quite add up to much more than a powerful mood. There’s no big revelatory payoff, even though there’s the semblance of (or the attempt at) one — best to let this one simply wash over you should you choose to sip the magic tea.EarwigNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 54 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Queen of Glory’ Review: Back to the Bronx

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      In the writer-director Nana Mensah’s amusing and astute feature debut, a death forces a reckoning for a brainy young Ghanaian-American living in both worlds.Molecular neuro-oncologist Sarah Obeng is very smart. But in the subtle delight “Queen of Glory” — written and directed by its lead actor, Nana Mensah — the American daughter of Ghanaian parents can be foolish, too. Take her married boyfriend and university colleague, Lyle (Adam Leon): He’s simply not worthy.Sarah is organizing their relocation to his next job when she learns of her mother’s death. Now she must decamp from Manhattan’s Upper West Side to the Bronx to plan her mother’s funeral, deal with her father (Oberon K.A. Adjepong) and decide what to do with her mother’s home, her Christian bookstore and the store’s grateful employee, Pitt (Meeko Gattuso). Pitt especially gladdens as the former inmate with the face tattoos and creative side gig.The child of Ghanaian parents herself, Mensah traverses the polyglot turf well, infusing details with astute affection and understated laughs. Even the occasional slapstick proves more sweet than silly.Sarah’s return to the neighborhood of immigrant melding and cultural adjacency stirsher feelings of being an outsider but at the same time awakens her sense of community. Mensah pokes gentle fun at her heroine and treats the failings of some of the menfolk here with deadpan wit and little rancor.Ghanaian drums and dance set a sonic and visual motif that recurs, at once disruption and glue. With so much to do, Sarah has had little time for grief. When her reality, the drumming and the movie’s archival images of African gatherings finally converge, a mother, a motherland and a daughter get their emotional due.Queen of GloryNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 18 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Persuasion’ Review: The Present Intrudes Into the Past

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      Dakota Johnson smirks her way through a Netflix adaptation of the rekindled romance in Jane Austen’s last novel, our critic writes.The great irony of this new, not-quite-modernized adaptation of Jane Austen’s final novel, “Persuasion,” is that it communicates its tense relationship to its 19th-century source material in a repressed, passive-aggressive manner — an approach oddly suited to Austen’s trenchant view of society. The film doesn’t take the creative leap to transpose the beloved story in the present day. Instead, in curiously excruciating fashion, the director, screenwriters, and star imply their discomfort with Georgian-era social norms from within the novel’s period setting.Both the film and the novel begin in the early 1800s, as the story’s heroine, Anne Elliot (Dakota Johnson), visits her sister Mary (Mia McKenna-Bruce) in the English countryside, after their father squandered the family savings. Anne is an unmarried woman who is fortunate to be respected — or, at least, perceived as useful — by her blue-blooded relations. But in direct addresses to the camera, Anne admits that she is haunted by the memory of a love affair she was persuaded to end with an enterprising but fortuneless sailor, Frederick Wentworth (Cosmo Jarvis).Now Anne is alone, and her regrets only grow when Wentworth returns to the country as a wealthy naval captain. He’s eager to find a wife, and if his sights are first set on Anne’s lively sister-in-law Louisa (Nia Towle), his attention always seems to wander back to Anne.For this story of rekindled romance, the film summons the handsome appointments expected for a big-budget period drama. There are extravagant mansions, brocaded costumes and magnificent vistas. But there is a crisis of contemporaneity at the heart of this pretty adaptation, and the trouble begins with its presentation of its heroine.Johnson, wearing smoky eye shadow and pink lipstick, displays the confident appeal of a celebrity sharing her secrets with the audience. Her smile reads as a smirk. The incongruous bravado of her performance is mirrored by the film’s script, written by Ron Bass and Alice Victoria Winslow, which peppers lines from the novel with meme-ish truisms like, “Now we are worse than exes. We’re friends.”The contrast between the modernized dialogue and Austen’s period-appropriate language only makes both styles seem more mannered. The story’s heroine, its dialogue and even its themes of regret and loneliness seem to be swallowed up by the need to maintain an appearance of contemporary cheek.For fans of Austen’s novel, it’s hard to imagine the director Carrie Cracknell’s version providing a sense of ease or escapism. Instead, the unbearable tension between past and present serves as a disarmingly naked window into the anxieties of current Hollywood filmmaking. Better to have the whole movie be a skeptical, uncertain affair than to risk presenting a pre-feminist heroine who lacks confidence.PersuasionRated PG. Running time: 1 hour 47 minutes. Watch on Netflix. More

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      ‘Anonymous Club’ Review: The Joy of Creation

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      The Australian singer-songwriter Courtney Barnett goes on a world tour in this music documentary, and finds that a change is needed.The singer-songwriter Courtney Barnett started out as a DIY artist, home-recording energetic songs communicating knotty feelings. Early in this documentary, written and directed by Danny Cohen, a cheery interviewer leads into a question by saying that it’s not too common to hear artists “singing about panic attacks.” This reflects more on the limited listening experience of the interviewer than anything else, but you get the idea.The images in “Anonymous Club” are pretty conventional for a music documentary, particularly at the start. Barnett’s work blew up commercially after the 2015 release of her album “Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit.” World tours with a backing band followed: We see trucks being unloaded at stadiums, lighting rigs going up, and electric guitars rocking out with post-punk clamor.At Cohen’s request, Barnett kept an audio diary over several years. In it, she speaks about how the repetition of touring is giving her emotional state a beating. Barnett muses on the contradiction of how, in one performance, she might be “vivid and alive” and in the next “distant,” even though she’s going through the same motions with each show.Because Barnett is shy by nature, and prone to depression and anxiety, touring gets to be a special kind of drag. In public she’s a sport: When a glib German interviewer quotes her lyric “I’m not your mother/I’m not your bitch” and then asks with a grin “who are you mad at?” she doesn’t take the bait.Back at her home in Melbourne, she sits with her depression. Clearly a change is needed. A stripped-down tour with no backing band — and a musical collaboration with the drummer Stella Mozgawa of Warpaint — get Barnett back to the joy of creating. Perhaps not surprisingly, she achieves it in a setting not too different from the one in which she began.Anonymous ClubNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 23 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Don’t Make Me Go’ Review: Sharp Curves Ahead for Next 2,000 Miles

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      John Cho and Mia Isaac play a father and daughter on a road trip in this twisty drama, which explores the gulf between familiarity and intimacy.“You’re not going to like the way this story ends,” Wally (Mia Isaac), 15, warns the audience at the start of “Don’t Make Me Go,” a father-daughter drama of startling honesty and humor. Max (John Cho), Wally’s protective single dad, has learned that his headaches aren’t just from the struggle of parenting his restless teenager. A cancer diagnosis gives him one year to live — and instead of coming clean about his condition, Max packs up their wood-paneled Jeep for a road trip with an ulterior motive: To take a surprise detour to introduce Wally to her mother (Jen Van Epps), who ran away with Max’s best friend (Jemaine Clement) when the girl was an infant.The setup is like a hazard sign reading “Caution: Treacle Ahead.” Yet the director Hannah Marks and the screenwriter Vera Herbert veer from predictability. Life is unpredictable, and the film gambles big to make that point. In one jolting scene, they set an emotional showdown on a nude beach — but neither character finds the gratuitous flaccidity funny. (Thankfully, the film’s editor, Paul Frank, does.)Cho and Isaac’s stellar performances expose the gulf between familiarity and intimacy. The two flinty characters are more likely to expose their own vulnerable bellies to outsiders than to each other. Herbert’s droll, scrupulously realistic dialogue captures the journey of a parent and a child learning to see each other as flawed people. As Cho’s buttoned-up Max attempts to deliver decades’s worth of advice during the drive, he reveals that he was once a musician before he settled into the role of a risk-averse accountant. Max denies Wally’s accusation that he quashed his passions for her sake, yet the film is wise (and brutal) enough to side with her when she’s right — as she certainly is in her early warning about the movie’s polarizing finale.Don’t Make Me GoRated R for teenage drinking and abundant adult nudity. Running time: 1 hour 49 minutes. Watch on Amazon. More

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      ‘Costa Brava, Lebanon’ Review: Paradise Tossed

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      In Mounia Akl’s ambitious debut feature, a family’s attempts to escape the filth of Beirut go awry when the garbage follows them to their doorstep.As civic emergencies go, few possess the symbolic clarity of a garbage crisis. They’re ugly. They stink. They signify dysfunction, rot and toxicity in ways that need no sorting.They are also an effective shortcut to dramatic poignancy, as the Lebanese director Mounia Akl demonstrates in her ambitious first feature, “Costa Brava, Lebanon.” But if it sounds like a facile metaphor, blame history: Beirut has been choking on garbage for years — including, but hardly limited to, the kind you put in bags.Situated in a dystopian near future indistinguishable from the present, the film’s setting is less a space for imagination than for cynicism: The more things change, the more they stay the same. The trash is still a problem. The leaders are still corrupt.Perhaps things could be different in the countryside, where one family struggles to maintain an off-grid Eden. Years before, Souraya (Nadine Labaki), a famous singer, escaped there to build a family with her husband, Walid (Saleh Bakri), a disillusioned and damaged former activist. But after a government land seizure brings the garbage literally to their door, the fragility of their little ecosystem becomes apparent.Souraya wonders whether Beirut was really so bad. Their teenage daughter (Nadia Charbel) dreams of boys and a bigger world. Their other daughter (Ceana and Geana Restom) is too young to give up on her daddy, but she has also absorbed his trauma, harassed by the obsessive-compulsive delusion that by counting she can control the surrounding chaos.The paradise these characters seek might as well be the Spanish coast of the title, elusive as it is. If a fuller sense of their humanity is sometimes lost to the ideas they serve, Akl has nonetheless produced a smart and sensitive film.Costa Brava, LebanonNot rated. In Arabic, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 46 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris’ Review: High Fashion for the Humble

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      This inspirational comedy starring Leslie Manville and Isabelle Huppert trades in a similar kind of British coziness as the “Paddington” movies, though it’s not nearly as effective.In “Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris,” Lesley Manville returns to the world of high fashion in a reversal of her Oscar-nominated role in “Phantom Thread.” Her deliciously frigid character in that film — the forbidding manager of a British fashion house and foe to Vicky Krieps’s lowborn muse — would go catatonic were Manville’s Mrs. Ada Harris to waltz into the fitting room, asking for a “frock” with her cockney drawl.Unsurprisingly, the formidable Manville pulls off the switcheroo, instilling her role as the genial cleaning lady with a tenderness and grace that far surpasses the feel-good pish-posh that is the film around her.Directed by Anthony Fabian, “Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris” trades in a similar kind of British coziness as the “Paddington” movies, though it’s not as zany or funny.Mrs. Harris, a widow toiling away in the service of the postwar London elite, has her eyes set on a custom Dior gown and, after a series of fortunate events, heads to Paris to retrieve the garment of her dreams. Despite having found the cash, our heroine must contend with the menacing Madame Colbert (Isabelle Huppert) and the snooty mores of the biz and its patrons.For the other world-weary employees — the kindly, philosophizing model Natasha (Alba Baptista), the lovesick accountant André (Lucas Bravo) — Mrs. Harris proves single-handedly that the rules of society aren’t necessarily ironclad. If a humble maid can get her hands on a dress that costs 600 pounds, what’s stopping Natasha from pursuing an intellectual life, or André from revolutionizing the company to appeal to women from all walks of life?The trope of the laughably frumpy worker bee, filled with optimism and quiet wisdom, is demeaning, and Mrs. Harris’s iteration is no exception. Despite its gleeful showcasing of beautiful clothes and vibrant midcentury Parisian sights, the film is caught between its fantasies and its principles, landing somewhere more annoyingly clueless — and dull — than it ought to be.Mrs. Harris Goes to ParisRated PG. Running time: 1 hour 55 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘She Will’ Review: Payback Is a Witch

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      A traumatized star is supernaturally primed for vengeance in this gorgeously ghostly thriller.The first name we see onscreen in “She Will” belongs not to its director (Charlotte Colbert) or its star (Alice Krige), but to one of its executive producers, the horror maestro Dario Argento. And it doesn’t take long to recognize the ways in which the plot of this confident first feature (written by Colbert and Kitty Percy) might have appealed to Argento: The emphasis on dreams, the sly humor and — perhaps most of all — the despoilment of female beauty.What’s notable here is Colbert’s restraint, so much so that I hesitate to describe “She Will,” which is virtually bloodless, as a horror movie. Certainly, horrible things have happened to Veronica Ghent (Krige), an aging star recovering from a double mastectomy, but they’re seen mostly through the veils of memory and suggestion. And when she arrives at a remote healing retreat in Scotland with her warmhearted nurse, Desi (an excellent Kota Eberhardt), Veronica appears less a damaged celebrity than an imperious misanthrope with a dry, dark wit.“Scout camp, with a touch of Guantánamo,” she declares their destination, appalled by the unexpected presence of a gaggle of pyramid-worshiping spiritualists. Retreating to a cottage deep in the woods and the comfort of her pain medication, Veronica hopes to find rest and solitude; instead, her dreams are filled with bonfires and shackled women and a ghastly, imploring, helmeted figure. The retreat might be located on the site of 18th-century witch burnings, but it’s a far more recent injury that begins to invade Veronica’s sleep, one involving her 13-year-old self and Eric Hathbourne (Malcolm McDowell), the director of her first film.Blending sensuous imagery with jabs of feminist wit — at one point, a vibrator is weaponized against a male intruder — Colbert sends her heroine on a transformative journey of revenge and renewal. As Veronica absorbs the forest’s damp foliage and sucking peat, her pain eases and she discards her prosthetics. Old wounds, both physical and psychological, are being dug up and aired out, the confrontation of the past becoming a means to accepting her ruined beauty. Makeup, she tells us, has always offered a ritual of preservation; now her slash of carmine lipstick is an act of defiance.Assembled for atmosphere rather than shocks, “She Will” artfully devises paranormal consequences for male violence. Jamie D. Ramsay’s cinematography casts a sullen thundercloud over exterior and interior shots alike, a child’s party balloons in one early scene appearing filled not with helium but with foreboding. When you’re about to embark on a witch hunt, that’s exactly the ambience you want.She WillNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on Apple TV, Google Play and other streaming platforms and pay TV operators. More