I have grown weary, over the course of his three-decade career, of attempting to explain George Michael to themwhats who insist on reducing a multifaceted career to some variation of peak-80s-culture punchline, aka, the guy with the hair in the shorts dispensing such lyric gems as “Wake me up, before you go go.” Oh ye of, forgive me, little faith. You’d expect a documentary made by George Michael himself (this is his final work before his death in 2016) to be at least a little flattering to the subject, and so Freedom Uncut is, as everyone from supermodels (Naomi, Cindy, Linda) to superstars (Elton, Aretha, Stevie, Mary J.) speak to Michael’s music, his musical legacy, and the spellbinding persona he created to fill arenas (and ultimately refused to market resulting in a massive legal fracas with Sony). But Freedom is also a can’t-look-away chronicle of the 1980s, the decade that saw the superstar ascents of Annie Lennox, Prince, and Madonna, and Michael Jackson as a thrilling solo artist who could not be beat. Watching the 80s through the lenses of its superstars is its own glossy and compelling reward, but Freedom also depicts the carnage of the decade, when the HIV virus tore through the world without mercy or viable treatment, targeting Michael’s first love, Anselmo Feleppa, among its other victims. At one point we see footage of David Bowie beaming backstage while Michael does a tribute to Freddie Mercury, the arena crowd singing along in massive unison to “Somebody to Love.” Like all the music packed into Freedom, it warrants setting your speakers and whatnot, all of them, to stun. This one in particular: Michael is singing a tribute to a man who died of AIDS. And he is singing it to Anselmo, knowing full well that they might be separated by the same disease. Michael calls it the “loudest prayer” he ever made. It’s still worth turning up. 87 min.

Wide release in theaters

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Brian is a solitary eccentric living on a shambling property in rural Wales. He passes his days in his workshop cobbling together inventions that seldom work and no one asks for or needs, such as a flying grandfather clock that never leaves the ground but does burst into flames. Undaunted, Brian decides to up the ante by building a robot, which, miraculously, comes to life. Charles has a mannequin head, rubber gloves for hands, and a washing-machine torso. But the rest of him is quite obviously human. His hodgepodge construction neatly describes the disjointedness of the film he’s in.

A crazy quilt of Pinocchio, Wallace and Gromit, Rain Man, and a dozen other movies and books, this is a film that can’t settle on a tone or approach. Mockumentary one minute, fairy tale the next, it expects the viewer to embrace characters who are clearly troubled and to accept their quotidian challenges as endearing. The filmmakers confuse saccharine sentimentality for actual emotion by resting their elbows on the scale any time Brian (David Earl) or Charles (Chris Hayward) are to be sympathized with in their travails. No matter how badly they’re picked on or maligned, their troubles never feel believable because the stakes are so low and their eventual triumph is never in less than zero doubt. By the time Brian packs Charles off on a train to see the world, I’d long since hightailed it out of town. PG, 90 min.

Wide release in theaters

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Constrained in a single hotel room, Sophie Hyde’s Good Luck to You, Leo Grande delivers a shockingly touching view into the sex lives of the widowed through Nancy Stokes (Emma Thompson)—a reserved schoolteacher looking to finally find sexual satisfaction after losing her spouse. Finding herself alone after decades of marriage, Nancy hires an escort, Leo Grande (Daryl McCormack), to at last experience sexual fulfillment, and more specifically, an orgasm. Despite some slight naivete and contrived elements, this two-hander is an attention-grabbing dramedy with a refined touch of humor that carries you through the film. 

Due to the nature of this chamber film, Good Luck to You, Leo Grande leans heavily on the performances of both Thompson and McCormack. The film’s mastery rests in the juxtaposition of these two wildly different characters and how they explore sex, emotions, and grief. The clash between Thompson’s nervous widow and McCormack’s confident sex worker incites a dialogue that reminds us that it’s never too late to break out of our shells. Leo’s sexual freedom highlights the repressive expectations of marriage that Nancy felt suffocated by. Now suddenly, given the chance at sexual freedom, Nancy’s buried vulnerability is exposed with the help of an unlikely companion. And the result is startlingly honest.

Good Luck to You, Leo Grande is a sentimental film from writer Katy Brand that shines even brighter thanks to the film’s limited setting. The performances incite a contrasting dialogue designed to stir the audience’s emotions. The film steadily unfolds until all the cards fall flat on the table, and Thompson’s Nancy can begin her life again. R, 97 min.

Streaming on Hulu

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Jurassic World: Dominion, the sixth installment in the Jurassic Parkfranchise, sets up a dual storyline by bringing back the stars of the original film—Dr. Ellie Sattler (Laura Dern), Dr. Alan Grant (Sam Neill), and Dr. Ian Malcolm (Jeff Goldblum)—and pairing them with the heroes of the current trilogy: former Jurassic World staffers and current dinosaur conservationists Owen Grady (Chris Pratt) and Claire Dearing (Bryce Dallas Howard).

Themes of man-made environmental destruction and the hubris of scientific development left unchecked to its unintended consequences permeate the film. Several years after the destruction of Isla Nubar and Jurassic World, dinosaurs have spread across the globe, precariously co-existing with humankind. Plagued by poaching, illegal breeding, and abuse, dinosaur protection is entrusted to the mega-conglomerate Biosyn. When a plague of prehistoric locusts seemingly tied to the firm threatens to disrupt the global food supply, our dual set of heroes set out to discover the true motivations of the firm.

Performances and editing are poor in parts—there were audible awkward laughs and groans from a friendly audience at moments during the screening I attended—but that’s largely not what these films have ever done well. The drama stems not from the relationships of the characters but from the various dinosaur chases that occur, and the comedic quipping of our characters as they try to escape their preposterous circumstances. And while there’s never really a sense of true danger for our heroes, we get just enough of the range of CGI dinosaurs and their weird traits to keep Jurassic World: Dominion entertaining. PG-13, 146 min.

Wide release in theaters

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Everyone knows that sex and violence sell. Less acknowledged is the fact that condemnation of sex and violence sells. Puritans enjoy the frisson of voyeurism; voyeurs wouldn’t have any taboos to pruriently violate without the opprobrium of puritans. What fun is a primal scene if you’re supposed to see it?

Facets’ Cinema Deathmatch: Round One luxuriates in the double pleasure of taboo with a double feature of gore for you to love and hate. The Running Man (1987) and Battle Royale (2000) both stage bloody spectacles that the viewer is supposed to simultaneously and self-consciously enjoy and condemn. They are movies that embrace their own self-aware hypocrisy. 

Both Running Man and Battle Royale fit into a long history of what might be called moral-panic entertainment. Exploitation cinema like Reefer Madness (1936), Anita: Swedish Nymphet (1973), and Unfriended (2014) encourage viewers to condemn up-to-the-minute iconically antisocial trends like drug use, free love, and social media bullying even as they enjoy the spectacle of sex, violence, chaos, and bad behavior. Reality television series like The Kardashians and The Bachelor are based on a similar dynamic; they feature shallow, messy, physically attractive protagonists you love to hate, and hate to love.

The Running Man borrows the scuzzy B-movie production look of exploitation cinema for a plot that foreshadows reality television contests. Set in the then-future authoritarian police-state dystopia of 2017, it features Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger), a police helicopter pilot who refuses to fire on civilian protesters. As punishment, he’s forced to become a contestant on The Running Man, a television game show in which convicts are chased down and executed by costumed celebrity stalkers.

The MC of The Running Man show within the movie is Damon Killian, played by real-life Family Feud MC Richard Dawson. Dawson seems to be having the time of his life hamming it up as a caricature of himself. Hysterically excited audience members rush up to kiss him as he announces executions and offers them Running Man board games. “Americans love television,” he tells Ben with carny candor. “They wean their kids on it. Listen. They love game shows, they love wrestling, they love sports and violence. So what do we do? We give ’em what they want!”

What they want is also what you, the viewer, want. Ben murders Killian right after that speech, and you’re supposed to cheer. 

For that matter the studio and television audience onscreen pivots seamlessly from rooting for Ben to die to rooting for Ben to murder. Killian urges an elderly lady named Agnes to choose which stalker she thinks will make the next kill. She hesitates, then decides to back Ben. “I can pick anyone I choose. And I choose . . . Ben Richards. That boy’s one mean motherfucker!” she exclaims. 

Soon everyone is betting on Ben, and the callous crowd in the dystopian future merges with the callous crowd watching a Schwarzenegger pic. Violent spectacle is immoral and shallow—unless you’re on the side of the hero, in which case it’s good, not-so-clean fun.

Battle Royale. Courtesy Facets

Battle Royale, like Running Man, is set in a near-future dystopia. This totalitarian state is especially focused on policing children; every year one high school class is chosen to be shipped to an island, where the students are equipped with weapons and forced to battle each other to the death until only one remains.

The battle is directed and controlled by teacher Kitano (Takeshi Kitano) who was bullied and humiliated by the students. Kitano tells the students they’re to blame for everything that’s gone wrong with the country because they lack discipline and respect; the blood and carnage is a moral lesson in proper manners. That’s how viewers are supposed to view the film as well. The bloody spectacle is an opportunity for you to be horrified at the bloody spectacle. Kitano’s own righteous death restores order and justice, just as Kitano sees the children decapitating each other as a restoration of order and justice. 

Cinema Deathmatch: Round One
The Running Man, 7 PM, Battle Royale, 9 PM, June 24; Facets, 1517 W. Fullerton; single ticket general admission $12, Facets members $10; double feature general admission $15, Facets members $13. facets.org/programs/cinema-deathmatch-round-one/

Critics sometimes say that films like Running Man and Battle Royale implicate the viewer. When you watch them, you’re supposed to recognize the ickiness of your own enjoyment of uber-violence. But isn’t the ickiness also part of the enjoyment? Moral panics work in part because people enjoy feeling pure, but also because they enjoy reveling in a debasement which they can both embrace and disavow. Do moral panic films critique those pleasures, or do they simply reproduce them? Perhaps there isn’t even a difference when part of the pleasure of The Running Man and Battle Royale is watching yourself watch your own corruption in the mirror of the screen.

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