Cocaine Bear (2023)

Director: Elizabeth Banks

Cast: Keri Russell, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Alden Ehrenreich, Ray Liotta

Have I Seen it Before: Nope.

Did I Like It: Christopher Miller and Phil Lord are associated with this, and they have a nearly unassailable track record of making bad ideas for films insanely watchable. Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) might have struggled, but that was rather pointedly not their fault. Here, they have an absolutely killer—perhaps too on the nose—pitch for a movie, so one wonders how they might fair.

However, I fear your mileage with this movie will be tied almost exclusively to the crowd with which you see the film. I saw it with a small crowd that was so primed for howling with every joke and explosion of ultra-violence, with any other movie they might have been astonishingly irritating.

But this kind of movie is so delightfully shameless in its execution, that the shamelessness of the audience only seemed like part and parcel with the whole experience. I even found myself crying out a few times, usually when something horrible happened to Margo Martindale, which, to be fair, was often enough. If the movie hadn’t had a wide release and more than few big stars, it might have been the stuff of midnight screenings for years to come.

Or maybe not. As it stands, I’m wondering if with me writing this review nearly a week after I saw the film and after it was released, the movie may have already collectively disappeared from our collective awareness. I’m certainly struggling to find at least 300 words to write on the subject. I can’t imagine I’m alone when I say that I appreciate funny, ultra-violent, mid-budget movies which don’t feel the need to break two hours in runtime.

So I don’t actually think I’m actually complaining about the film as I write that last part. The title of the film will likely linger in my memory for some time, but memories of the film itself might very well disappear entirely with another week’s distance.

Hannibal (2001)

Director: Ridley Scott

Cast: Anthony Hopkins, Julianne Moore, Ray Liotta, Frankie R. Faison

Have I Seen it Before: Sure. I wasn’t yet 17 when the film was release, but perpetually looking about five years older than I really am, I was able to buy a ticket for myself without much scrutiny at all.

And yet, I couldn’t even begin to guess when I last saw the film. For someone who’s taken to a <Hannibal Lecter podcast> in recent months, it’s odd just how little this film has lived in my memory all these years.

Did I Like It: For the first half of the film, I was struck by how faithful an adaptation this was of the original Thomas Harris novel. I’m not certain if that’s the most thorough praise, as Harris’ third Lecter novel isn’t quite his weakest entry, but it’s far, far from his strongest.

For what it is, things could be a lot worse. Is it a satisfying successor to The Silence of the Lambs (1991)? Certainly not, but then again, neither was the novel, so Scott and company are  at least hitting their target here. Performances are all around pretty good. Moore accomplishes the unenviable task of equating herself well, while having to be either the George Lazenby or Roger Moore to Jodie Foster’s Sean Connery. An uncredited Gary Oldman disappears into his part as the non-charming monster of the piece, but one can’t help but wonder if original choice Christopher Reeve might have made the proceedings even more unsettling than they already were. Hopkins himself—the main attraction—doesn’t feel like he is trying to eliminate the need for him to reprise the role again (Red Dragon (2002), I’m looking in your direction) and keeps the hammier parts of Lecter, but just barely.

The final act of the film, however is where a bad taste is left in my mouth. It is a thorough exercise in the practice of half measures. Starling and Lecter couldn’t become lovers, sure, although with the departure of Moore, maybe they could. The eventual comeuppance of Mason Verger is a great deal more satisfying in the novel, and trying to make Starling anything other than a tragic hero in this story is a flex that the preceding two hours can’t quite support. We’ll just have to take comfort in the knowledge that we did get to see Ray Liotta eat his own brain for a little bit.