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Elegance Bratton’s autobiographical story The Inspection is one of learning to accept love on one’s own terms. Ellis French (Jeremy Pope), a young gay man in New York, is rejected by his religious mother (Gabrielle Union) and left to fend for himself on the streets. Searching for a sense of self-worth and meaning, French enlists in the Marines, discovering some harsh realities while building bonds of camaraderie.

The Inspection is a relatively conventional boot-camp drama—recruit joins with lofty ideals, unprepared for what’s truly in store for them—elevated by Pope’s performance and Bratton’s understanding of conveying cathartic moments. Bratton heavily uses stylization and dream sequences, at times creating a feel that is less narrative drama and more a working through of his own internal trauma. There are moments of brutality, primarily doled out by recruits under the eye of drill instructor Leland Laws (Bokeem Woodbine), interspersed with moments of poignant reflection and connection.

Where The Inspection doesn’t quite come together is largely in the limited range of character dynamics, as the secondary characters, though critical to French’s development, receive only tentative spurts of development themselves. It’s truly a one-man narrative, which is perhaps fitting for a story focused on the process of coming to terms with finding love for oneself before negotiating the messy and sometimes difficult ways in which others love us. R, 95 min.

Wide release in theaters

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When thinking about wedding guests who might drive you crazy, a slew of characters come to mind. The new comedy The People We Hate at the Wedding showcases exactly who you wouldn’t want at your nuptials; unfortunately for viewers, that can be a bit annoying at times. 

The People We Hate at the Wedding, based on the book of the same name, tells the story of a blended family whose lack of communication leads to a whole big mess on the eldest daughter’s wedding day. From the jump, the film is cheesy and silly, slightly elevated from a Lifetime movie. As middle child Alice, Kristen Bell’s effortless charisma and enticing screen presence help carry the movie alongside Ben Platt’s surprisingly delightful comedic chops as the youngest brother. Cynthia Addai-Robinson is sweet to a fault as the somewhat naive eldest, Eloise, a character so set on having a great family reunion that her efforts become obnoxious. 

The movie has a brevity to it that makes the silliness and embarrassing antics pass by quickly, and it delivers a decent amount of chuckles and even some outright laughs. Those laughs are met with heavy moments that seem out of place at times, but they give the movie a bit more direction. The family is messy; Alice has an inappropriate workplace relationship and Paul has an uncomfortably pushy partner. But there are relatable pockets in the disarray, like Alice and Paul finding their older sister insufferable or growing up in the midwest with Taco Bell as a backdrop to some of their most precious memories. It’s a bit predictable, but if you’re looking for a sweet movie that’ll give you a laugh, and you don’t mind a little stupidity, this will do. R, 99 min.

Prime Video

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In Her Hands starts 19 months before the fall of Kabul in 2021, when the Taliban—whose territory surrounded the capital of Afghanistan—captured the city where 4.6 million people live. 

Tamana Ayazi and Marcel Mettelsiefen’s film centers on Zarifa Ghafari, the female mayor of Maidan Shahr, and her efforts to bring light to women’s rights and keep girls in school. The documentary, produced by Hillary and Chelsea Clinton, is a bold portrait of the youngest mayor in Afghanistan. We see her cry in front of citizens, helpless and frustrated, and we watch her mourn her father’s death, as he was shot in front of his house by the Taliban.

It isn’t a conventional biography by any means. We don’t know a lot about Ghafari’s childhood, background, or personal life. We are introduced to her bodyguard, Massoum, who believes in the future Ghafari can offer, and we also see locals who believe in the country’s conservatism. 

Various scenes in the documentary are tense—Massoum driving with a gun on his lap, Ghafari’s scorched hands reading a death threat, her and her mother holding on to one another on a boat—but we don’t see much of what Ghafari actually does. We see her talking to a sea of men in rooms or on the street, but we hardly get more than her impassioned speech. Scenes are short and abrupt; they move from one motion to the next. We are given a baseline understanding of Afghanistan’s struggles, but the viewer is often left with more questions than answers. The film is an introduction to Ghafari’s activism and career, but it shouldn’t be the end of it. 

Once the Taliban take over the city and Kabul falls, the viewer is thrown into the midst of the conflict and expected to hang on. PG-13, 92 min.

Netflix, limited release in theaters

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Addiction, eye color, boob shape, serotonin deficits: we’re all encumbered by our genetic hand-me-downs. Sometimes, all they require is therapy and/or time to sort out. Sometimes, like for Maren (Taylor Russell) and Lee (Timothée Chalamet) in Bones and All, it’s a bit more complicated. Or as Maren’s pedo-vibey, would-be mentor Sully (Mark Rylance) puts it: “I ate my own granddad while we were waiting on the undertaker.” For cannibals, it’s a lot more complicated. 

Despite its preponderance of blood and guts and sinew-slathering, bone-smacking gore, Bones and All isn’t exactly a movie about cannibalism. Based on the novel by Camille DeAngelis and directed by Luca Guadagnino (screenplay by David Kajganich), it’s more about trying to survive when your damage has no cure and is embedded in your very DNA. And, in the case of Maren and Lee, when your non-cannibal parent leaves you to figure it out on your lonesome because they can no longer deal with you snacking on the neighbors. 

Maren’s father (André Holland) leaves Maren on her own following a sleepover gone very wrong. He leaves behind a cassette and a birth certificate. These are clues that set Maren on a picaresque adventure across the country in search of the mother she’s never known but who shared her dietary proclivities. Along the way, she learns to smell out other “eaters,” Rylance’s grotesquely paternal Sully and Chalamet’s fiercely protective Lee predominant among them. 

Chalamet and Russell deftly navigate this over-the-top horror, buddy comedy, coming-of-age drama, and sweet romance. As for Rylance, he is an International Treasure for his ability to sell the relatability of anyone, even a gross old man in tighty-whities up to his chin in the innards of somebody’s dead grandma. R, 130 min.

Wide release in theaters

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With The Last Manhunt, the epic story of Willie Boy the Desert Runner reclaims the narrative of a Native hero long portrayed by white men as a bloodthirsty child kidnapper.

Helmed by director Christian Camargo with a story by Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett, the 1909-set western explores an intricate, vibrant world on the cusp of annihilation thanks to the violent nationalistic genocide perpetrated in the name of “Manifest Destiny.” Somewhere in hell, John Wayne is fuming like 45 after the midterms. 

History is agreed on the fundamental events that sparked the titular manhunt (although the script alters some of the names). In 1909, Willie Boy (Martin Sensmeier) and Carlotta (Mainei Kinimaka), both members of the same tribe, are in love. Her father Mike (Zahn McClarnon) forbids their union because they are cousins. There’s a brutal confrontation and horrific accident. Willie Boy and Carlotta are forced to flee into the Mojave. 

They travel some 600 miles in 27 days across unbroken desert, eluding a posse of heavily armed white lawmen and Native scouts. What they can’t fight is a reporter (Mojean Aria) determined to make his name by painting Willie Boy as a homicidal predator who has abducted a child. Willie Boy and Carlotta have the skills to survive in the desert, but they’re no match for the historical forces they’re caught up in. 

In Camargo’s austere, visually stunning release, the story is at once an epic romance and gripping thriller. It’s also a reverent portrayal of Native traditions in the Chemehuevi Valley at the turn of the century. The story of Carlotta and Willie Boy is at times Romeo and Juliet-esque, but it also highlights in merciless terms how the west was not won but brutally stolen. Early among many powerful scenes, we see McClarnon’s Mike—chief of a tribe that counts 26 members left—leading a ceremony of “Salt Songs,” prayers for the dead. In the circle of chants and drumming, The Last Manhunt spins an elegy for how the west was killed, or at least the west as it existed for the ancestors of Willie Boy and Carlotta. McClarnon is simultaneously soaked in grief and defiance. Salt Songs may be for the dead, but the reverence for tradition and historical fact in The Last Manhunt shows that—against all odds—culture endures. R, 103 min.

Wide release in theaters

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Mudlark Theater in Evanston presents The Marvelous Land of Oz, a musical adapted from L. Frank Baum’s second Oz book by Anthony Whitaker. Baum’s story follows Tip, an orphan who goes in search of the long-lost Princess Ozma with companions Jack Pumpkinhead, Wogglebug, and Saw-Horse (with guest appearances by old friends the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman). But he discovers (spoiler alert!) that she is he, and he is she—proof that gender fluidity and trans identity have been a part of youth literature for a long time. Whitaker’s musical, presented in 2013 at New American Folk Theatre, is the first to be produced on Mudlark’s mainstage in 15 years, and it’s very much in keeping with the youth-oriented company’s emphasis on centering stories from traditionally marginalized communities. It opens tonight at 7 PM at the company’s Red Curtain Theater (1417 Hinman, Evanston) and continues Saturday 3 and 7 PM and Sun 3 PM; tickets are $17, and there is also the option to access a prepaid “pay it forward” ticket (or make a gift of such a ticket yourself) at mudlarktheater.org.

Visceral Dance Chicago continues its season with Within, an evening of work connecting the professional company with the trainee program, the studio company, and the work-study programs, choreographed by ten different artists. It fits with the mission for company founder Nick Pupillo, who told Reader contributor Irene Hsiao in 2020, “My dream was to create a space that was inclusive in every way, diverse, but really personable and connected.” Performances tonight begin at 8 PM at the Ann Barzel Theater at Visceral Dance Center (3121 N. Rockwell), and continue Saturday 8 PM and Sunday 3 PM. Tickets are $20 at visceraldance.com.

More dance: Moonwater Dance Chicago wants to Take Up Space with the return of their annual celebration of women choreographers and artists. This year, they’re at Trigger Chicago (2810 W. Addison), and the lineup includes work from Moonwater, Peckish Rhodes Performing Arts Society, Hot Crowd, Trifecta Dance Collective, and Jackie Nowicki of NOW Dance Project. Curtain is 7:30 PM and tickets are $25-$50 at moonwaterdanceproject.com.

Token Theatre, dedicated to challenging stereotypes about Asian Americans, got its start two years ago with a virtual production of Zac Efron, written by cofounders David Rhee and Wai Yim. Tonight at 10 PM and tomorrow at 2 and 4:30 PM, they present When the Sun Melts Away at the Greenhouse Theater Center (2257 N. Lincoln). Inspired by 14th-century Kashmiri poet Lal Ded, the ensemble-devised piece (created by Simran Deokule, Coco Huang, Juliet Huneke, Karina Patel, and Emily Zhang, and directed by Patel) uses Ded’s admonition to “focus on the self” rather than the external as a point of exploration. Artistic director Rhee says, “Lal Ded’s powerful words perfectly encapsulate what so many Asian Americans experience—finding, and sometimes losing, yourself in another world that feels just as nonsensical as your own.” Tickets are $10 and can be reserved at tokentheatre.net.

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With The Last Manhunt, the epic story of Willie Boy the Desert Runner reclaims the narrative of a Native hero long portrayed by white men as a bloodthirsty child kidnapper.

Helmed by director Christian Camargo with a story by Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett, the 1909-set western explores an intricate, vibrant world on the cusp of annihilation thanks to the violent nationalistic genocide perpetrated in the name of “Manifest Destiny.” Somewhere in hell, John Wayne is fuming like 45 after the midterms. 

History is agreed on the fundamental events that sparked the titular manhunt (although the script alters some of the names). In 1909, Willie Boy (Martin Sensmeier) and Carlotta (Mainei Kinimaka), both members of the same tribe, are in love. Her father Mike (Zahn McClarnon) forbids their union because they are cousins. There’s a brutal confrontation and horrific accident. Willie Boy and Carlotta are forced to flee into the Mojave. 

They travel some 600 miles in 27 days across unbroken desert, eluding a posse of heavily armed white lawmen and Native scouts. What they can’t fight is a reporter (Mojean Aria) determined to make his name by painting Willie Boy as a homicidal predator who has abducted a child. Willie Boy and Carlotta have the skills to survive in the desert, but they’re no match for the historical forces they’re caught up in. 

In Camargo’s austere, visually stunning release, the story is at once an epic romance and gripping thriller. It’s also a reverent portrayal of Native traditions in the Chemehuevi Valley at the turn of the century. The story of Carlotta and Willie Boy is at times Romeo and Juliet-esque, but it also highlights in merciless terms how the west was not won but brutally stolen. Early among many powerful scenes, we see McClarnon’s Mike—chief of a tribe that counts 26 members left—leading a ceremony of “Salt Songs,” prayers for the dead. In the circle of chants and drumming, The Last Manhunt spins an elegy for how the west was killed, or at least the west as it existed for the ancestors of Willie Boy and Carlotta. McClarnon is simultaneously soaked in grief and defiance. Salt Songs may be for the dead, but the reverence for tradition and historical fact in The Last Manhunt shows that—against all odds—culture endures. R, 103 min.

Wide release in theaters

Read More

Elegance Bratton’s autobiographical story The Inspection is one of learning to accept love on one’s own terms. Ellis French (Jeremy Pope), a young gay man in New York, is rejected by his religious mother (Gabrielle Union) and left to fend for himself on the streets. Searching for a sense of self-worth and meaning, French enlists in the Marines, discovering some harsh realities while building bonds of camaraderie.

The Inspection is a relatively conventional boot-camp drama—recruit joins with lofty ideals, unprepared for what’s truly in store for them—elevated by Pope’s performance and Bratton’s understanding of conveying cathartic moments. Bratton heavily uses stylization and dream sequences, at times creating a feel that is less narrative drama and more a working through of his own internal trauma. There are moments of brutality, primarily doled out by recruits under the eye of drill instructor Leland Laws (Bokeem Woodbine), interspersed with moments of poignant reflection and connection.

Where The Inspection doesn’t quite come together is largely in the limited range of character dynamics, as the secondary characters, though critical to French’s development, receive only tentative spurts of development themselves. It’s truly a one-man narrative, which is perhaps fitting for a story focused on the process of coming to terms with finding love for oneself before negotiating the messy and sometimes difficult ways in which others love us. R, 95 min.

Wide release in theaters

Read More

When thinking about wedding guests who might drive you crazy, a slew of characters come to mind. The new comedy The People We Hate at the Wedding showcases exactly who you wouldn’t want at your nuptials; unfortunately for viewers, that can be a bit annoying at times. 

The People We Hate at the Wedding, based on the book of the same name, tells the story of a blended family whose lack of communication leads to a whole big mess on the eldest daughter’s wedding day. From the jump, the film is cheesy and silly, slightly elevated from a Lifetime movie. As middle child Alice, Kristen Bell’s effortless charisma and enticing screen presence help carry the movie alongside Ben Platt’s surprisingly delightful comedic chops as the youngest brother. Cynthia Addai-Robinson is sweet to a fault as the somewhat naive eldest, Eloise, a character so set on having a great family reunion that her efforts become obnoxious. 

The movie has a brevity to it that makes the silliness and embarrassing antics pass by quickly, and it delivers a decent amount of chuckles and even some outright laughs. Those laughs are met with heavy moments that seem out of place at times, but they give the movie a bit more direction. The family is messy; Alice has an inappropriate workplace relationship and Paul has an uncomfortably pushy partner. But there are relatable pockets in the disarray, like Alice and Paul finding their older sister insufferable or growing up in the midwest with Taco Bell as a backdrop to some of their most precious memories. It’s a bit predictable, but if you’re looking for a sweet movie that’ll give you a laugh, and you don’t mind a little stupidity, this will do. R, 99 min.

Prime Video

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