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      ‘Touch’ Review: An Old-School Tear-Jerker, With a Twist

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      An Icelandic widower revisits London, the site of his first romance, in this film from Baltasar Kormakur.“Touch,” a globe-trotting romance from Iceland, is an epic, old-fashioned weepie in the vein of “Atonement” and “The Notebook” — it’s mushy and ridiculous, then, suddenly, you’re in the throes of an ugly cry.Based on the novel by Olafur Johann Olafsson, the film straddles two timelines — 2020, at the very outset of the Covid-19 pandemic, and Swinging Sixties London — and plays out, at first, like a mystery. Kristofer (Egill Olafsson), an ex-restaurateur and widower, is diagnosed with dementia and spurred into action before the disease might incapacitate him: He books a flight from Reykjavik to London, unfazed by the imminent lockdown. He’s the only guest at his London hotel, his flights are near-empty, and his anxious daughter keeps calling, urging him to get back home.As Kristofer revisits his old stamping grounds — he was a student in London — the source of his longing becomes clear. In the earlier timeline, a young Kristofer (Palmi Kormakur), a devoted leftist, abandons his studies and takes a dishwashing job at a Japanese restaurant. The rest of the staff is Japanese, but the restaurant owner, Takahashi-san (Masahiro Motoki), takes a liking to this Icelandic gentle giant, whose passion for Japanese culture is convincing. (Plus, there’s a humorous parallel between Iceland and Japan — the love of fish!) The trope of the white guy with an Asian fetish certainly comes to mind, but Kormakur’s soft-spoken charisma wards off this pigeonholing, creating space for the Japanese characters to become three-dimensional as they tease Kristofer out of his shell.Then there’s the girl: Miko (Koki), Takahashi-san’s daughter, with whom Kristofer is smitten. The film tracks the twists and turns of their friendship, which unfold tragically when Miko’s origins — she’s a survivor of the Hiroshima bombing — come to light.Directed by Baltasar Kormakur, the father of Palmi, a veteran filmmaker with big-budget Hollywood credits (“Beast,” “Adrift,” “2 Guns”), “Touch” rekindles a treacly genre that I didn’t realize I missed. Its tender performances and gut-punch reveals are classic tear-jerker ingredients. Add to this a natural, inordinately sensitive approach to intercultural love — mercifully, without a sense of righteousness or obligation.TouchRated R for sex, references to abortion and images of atomic bomb casualties. Running time: 2 hours 1 minute. In theaters. More

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      ‘Sorry/Not Sorry’ Review: Does Louis C.K. Get the Last Laugh?

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      Cara Mones and Caroline Suh’s earnest and frustrating documentary, produced by The New York Times, has a bitter punchline.In the fall of 2017, The New York Times published sexual misconduct allegations against Harvey Weinstein and Louis C.K., one month apart. Both men were powerhouse producers whose misdeeds were an open secret within the entertainment world, and both articles have been given their own film: Maria Schrader’s “She Said,” a chronicle of shoe-leather journalism, and now Cara Mones and Caroline Suh’s “Sorry/Not Sorry” (produced by The New York Times), an earnest and frustrating documentary whose murky irreconcilabilities are tethered to the fact that Louis C.K. was convicted only in the court of public opinion.While the interview subjects agree on Louis C.K.’s guilt (he released a statement in 2017 admitting to sexual misconduct), the dramatic conflict arises in his penalty. After his status as a revered truth teller was revoked and his show “Louie” was pulled from streaming, Louis C.K has since rebranded as a renegade (and won a Grammy). Depending on the talking head, his moderate marginalization is either excessive punishment or an unearned pardon.The film pokes at this ethical morass from a few angles, most confidently when speaking with the comedians who risked their own careers breaking the industry’s silence (or obliviousness, as some performers here claim).These talented women — Jen Kirkman, Abby Schachner and Megan Koester — tell their stories with charm and humor over a mischievous, overkill score that would be better suited to an outright comedy about a dowager poisoning her rival’s plum tart. The three are far more insightful, hilarious and honest about sexual politics than the Louis C.K. of today, who continues to dole out defensive shtick to his die-hards. But the film’s bitter punchline is that he’s the one still selling out Madison Square Garden.Sorry/Not SorryNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ Review: This NASA Rom-Com Stays Earthbound

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      Greg Berlanti’s movie, starring Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum as only mildly mismatched lovers, is set against the backdrop of the Apollo 11 landing.Speaking of the American moon landing of 1969, which he watched on television, Vladimir Nabokov rhapsodized in an interview, that, “treading the soil of the moon gives one, I imagine (or rather my projected self imagines) the most remarkable romantic thrill ever experienced in the history of discovery.”In “Fly Me To The Moon,” an occasionally engaging comedy set against the backdrop of the Apollo 11 moon landing, the romance is entirely earthbound.The director is Greg Berlanti, a veteran of swoony prime-time dramas like “Dawson’s Creek” and “Riverdale,” whose big-screen pictures include the ghastly 2010 rom-com “Life as We Know It” and the surprisingly (and effectively) earnest teenage coming-out comedy-drama “Love, Simon.” The script is by Rose Gilroy (she’s the daughter of the “Velvet Buzzsaw” auteur Dan Gilroy and the actress Rene Russo) from a story by Bill Kirstein and Keenan Flynn.But the movie lives and dies with its lead actors, Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum. As lovers who are only mildly mismatched, they never seem to falter, no matter what potentially stupefying paces the movie puts them through.Johansson is Kelly Jones, or rather, “Kelly Jones,” a perky, persistent, charmingly dissembling advertising executive whose pitches are often as phony as her name. Her ignoble hidden past is one reason she accepts a pitch from a shady White House operative, Moe Berkus (Woody Harrelson, slipping into comedic disreputability like he’s putting on a comfortable smoking jacket), who knows all about her and offers to make that past disappear if she successfully markets the Apollo 11 mission.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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      ‘Dandelion’ Review: The Notes in Between

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      KiKi Layne stars as a struggling musician who meets a rakish Scottish singer (Thomas Doherty) while on the road.Nicole Riegel’s “Dandelion” is a lyrical film in a couple of senses. It’s about a pivotal stretch of time for a Midwestern musician named Dandelion (KiKi Layne), whose experiences will probably inform the lyrics she will write and sing. And it’s filmed in an artful way that tunes into her sensations and feelings — not just at moments of outright drama, but also the many notes in between.The movie begins in Cincinnati, where Dandelion has a standing gig at a cavernous hotel bar, playing background music for the gabby patrons. Then she goes home and works more, as the caretaker of her ailing mother, Jean (Melanie Nicholls-King).After they have an especially nasty argument, Dandelion drives off, all the way to an open-mic contest in South Dakota. There she meets a rakish Scottish singer, Casey (Thomas Doherty), who brings her into his circle of jamming friends and also flirts madly. (The song credits include Bryce and Aaron Dessner of the National.)You may think you’ve heard this song before — two musicians tumble into love and duets — but maybe not quite like Riegel arranges it. Their time together — nature walks, motorcycle rides, cuddling — really does feel like time they spend together, rather than some perfectly staged romantic vision. Moments between them can be warm, silent, awkward or serene. Riegel and the cinematographer, Lauren Guiteras, use the camera like a vessel for Dandelion’s sense memories.The cleareyed movie also nails how one can initially overlook a lover’s deception. In the end, “Dandelion” feels like one artist’s emotional prequel, leaving us wishing for even more.DandelionRated R for sexuality, nudity and sharp language. Running time: 1 hour 53 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘The Convert’ Review: The British Are Coming

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      Guy Pearce plays a minister who arrives in New Zealand and finds his allegiances change in this antipodean western set in the 19th century.Near the start of “The Convert,” a minister named Thomas Munro (Guy Pearce) delivers a benediction aboard a ship. Some men, he says, would flinch if they knew just how vast the Earth is. “The Convert,” naturally, charts the course of Munro’s own education in the wide world. It is 1830, and he is on the Tasman Sea bound for New Zealand. The leaders of an emerging British town have paid for him to be brought there to run a church. But once he arrives and encounters the local Maori — and sees the murderous indifference with which the British treat them — his allegiances change.In a welcome twist, “The Convert,” directed by Lee Tamahori, does not patronizingly tell the story of a violent colonizer who begins to sympathize with an uncomplicated, passive Indigenous population. Much of the drama concerns conflict among the Maori themselves. That their dialogue is sometimes subtitled and sometimes not is indicative of the movie’s — and maybe the screenwriters’ — tentative perspective.Not long after first going ashore, Munro finds himself bargaining with Akatarewa (Lawrence Makoare), a violent chief, to save the life of a young woman, Rangimai (Tioreore Ngatai-Melbourne). Along with Charlotte (Jacqueline McKenzie), a white widow who previously lived among the Maori, Rangimai becomes one of Munro’s conduits to Maori customs, and eventually a key to his efforts to secure Indigenous unity against British encroachment.There is more plot — the framing of a grocer for a coldblooded killing; a perfunctory romance; a bloody climactic battle — but the real star of this Kiwi western is the setting. The lush forests and stark, black sand beaches, shot in locations near those used in “The Piano,” help make “The Convert” more than a message movie.The ConvertNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 59 minutes. In theaters and available to rent or buy on most major platforms. More

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      ‘Longlegs’ Review: Daddy Danger

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      Nicolas Cage plays the cheery evil entity behind multiple murders in this weakly plotted, strongly styled chiller.Any horror movie that opens, as “Longlegs” does, with a quotation from a British glam-rock hit of the 1970s, suggests a filmmaker with, at the very least, an offbeat sensibility. Even so, this latest feature from the abundantly talented writer and director Osgood Perkins is a puzzler: Stuffed to the rafters with serial-killer clichés — coded messages, creepy dolls, satanic symbols, an androgynous maniac — the plot plays like a sampler of many, more coherent precursors. There’s even a minion dressed as a nun.And that’s before we attempt to process Nicolas Cage (who else?) as the titular nut case. His appearances are brief, but resounding — and, as can happen with Cage, waver on the brink of parody. Much like the film itself, righted in part by the magnificently bleak mood and prickling sense of premonition that emerge from Andrés Arochi’s mold-colored images. This man can make a deserted, plastic-draped lair look as ominous as hell’s anteroom.Preparing to enter is Lee Harker (Maika Monroe), a rather green F.B.I. agent on the trail of a serial killer who somehow persuades fathers to slaughter their families and then commit suicide. Coded notes, signed “Longlegs,” are left at the crime scenes and law enforcement is stymied. But Lee, who had a disturbing encounter with Longlegs as a child, appears to have a psychic connection with the monster. So, too, does her mother (Alicia Witt), and the two’s haunted, wary relationship thrums with unspoken secrets.Set in Oregon in the 1990s, “Longlegs” wrestles to maintain its eerily menacing tone. The movie’s echoing spaces — a snowy landscape, Lee’s wondrously gloomy home — and wily performances (especially from Kiernan Shipka as an institutionalized survivor of the killings) are too often undercut by a strangely off-kilter comedy. Much of this resides in Longlegs himself, an apparent victim of botched plastic surgery whom Cage plays as a rhyming-and-singing lunatic beneath a frizzed gray wig. In one amusing scene, as Longlegs enters a hardware store sporting what appear to be slippers and a housedress, he resembles nothing so much as a bizarre amalgam of Buffalo Bill and Tootsie. He should have been a breeze to catch.Scenes like this one (which benefits from a dry cameo by the director’s daughter, Bea Perkins, as a spectacularly unfazed clerk), in common with random moments throughout the movie, have a dottiness that seems intentional and suggests that Perkins might be messing with us. As chilling and stylish as it is, “Longlegs” is a frustrating pleasure. In films like “I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives In the House” (2016) and “The Blackcoats Daughter” (2017), Perkins allowed his gift for ominousness and insinuation to take center stage. Here, we’re never quite sure if his tongue is in his cheek or his hand is on his heart.LonglegsRated R for malevolence, madness and mass murder. Running time: 1 hour 41 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Sing Sing’ Review: Divine Interventions

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      A deep-tissue turn by Colman Domingo and a breakout performance by Clarence Maclin lift this moving drama about a prison theater program.Spoken by the two key characters in the prison-set drama “Sing Sing,” the word “beloved” is as moving as it is unexpected. It uplifts and gently shatters. It makes a case for the deep respect and deeper amity forged in a theater program set up at the eponymous maximum-security facility.Colman Domingo imbues his character John Whitfield, a.k.a. Divine G, with a steadfast compassion but also the tamped-down frustrations of a man convicted of a crime he says he didn’t commit. And Clarence Maclin — a formerly incarcerated newcomer whose story, along with that of the actual Whitfield, the film is built upon — burrows into his former self in a finessed and fierce performance as Divine Eye, the prison-yard alpha who auditions for Sing Sing’s Rehabilitation Through the Arts theater program. That program is the movie’s other star.The film, directed by Greg Kwedar from a script written with Clint Bentley, orbits the prickly relationship between G, a much-respected member of the R.T.A. ensemble, and Eye. We first meet Eye shaking down a wan mark and conducting his drug business in the prison yard. G and his best friend, Mike Mike (Sean San José in a poignant turn), watch, waiting to gauge Eye’s genuine interest in the acting program. There’s a long wait-list.A published writer, G spends his time away from the rehearsal room in the library or at his typewriter building his clemency appeal or researching the cases of fellow inmates. Eye, possessing a gap-tooth smile he’s slow to reveal, is a psychological pugilist looking for the soft spot to land the hurtful punch.From the jump, Eye challenges G’s standing. He’s the prince of the hard gaze. Nothing sits right with him. He thinks the warm-ups are goofy. (They are until they aren’t.) When a fellow actor crosses behind him during the blocking of a scene, he’s ready to pummel.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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      ‘Eno’ Review: Creativity, 52 Billion Billion Ways

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      A new documentary about the groundbreaking artist Brian Eno breaks its own ground, too.The key to “Eno” comes near the beginning of the film — at least, the beginning of the first version I saw. The musician Brian Eno, the documentary’s subject, notes that the fun of the kind of art he makes is that it’s a two-way street. “The audience’s brain does the cooking and keeps seeing relationships,” he says.Most movies are made up of juxtapositions of scenes, carefully selected and designed by the editor. But “Eno,” directed by Gary Hustwit, turns that convention on its head. Writ large, it’s a meditation on creativity. But every version of the movie you see is different, generated by a set of rules that dictate some things about the film, while leaving others to chance. (I’ve seen it twice, and maybe half the same material appeared across both films.)Eno, one of the most innovative and celebrated musicians and producers of his generation, has fiddled with randomness in his musical practice for decades, often propelled along by new technologies. He agreed to participate in “Eno” only if it, too, could be an example of what he and others have long called generative art.The word “generative” has become associated with artificial intelligence, but that’s not what’s going on with “Eno.” Instead, the film runs on a code-based decision tree that forks every so often in a new path, created for software named Brain One (an anagram for Brian Eno). Brain One, programmed by the artist Brendan Dawes, generates a new version of the film on the fly every time the algorithm is run. Dawes’s system selects from a database of 30 hours of new interviews with Eno and 500 hours of film from his personal archive and, following a system of rules set down by the filmmakers with code, creating a new film. According to the filmmakers, there are 52 quintillion (that is, 52 billion billion) possible combinations, which means the chances of Brain One generating two exact copies of “Eno” are so small as to be functionally zero.This method is unusual, even unique, among feature-length films. Movies are linear media, designed to begin at the beginning and proceed in an orderly, predictable fashion until the end. The same footage appears in the same order every time you watch.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