The result is an occasionally clunky yet charming smashing together of the vast universe Lucas created decades ago with an early Spielbergian sensibility that manages to mostly win you over. It’s no “Andor,” which remains the best Star Wars show to date, and one of the best, most incisive works in the franchise writ large. Of course, besting that will always be a mighty high bar to clear. Instead of trying, “Skeleton Crew” has different, more humanist and humble aspirations rather than potently political ones. Yes, there are no actual wheels on their flying bikes and the tone isn’t as balanced as Spielberg’s films, though it has heart where it counts. It will most appeal to younger viewers, but adults who remember the Amblin era may too get swept up in it.

Namely, “Skeleton Crew” offers up just enough hints of darkness to give the story stakes, with “The Goonies” serving as another clear reference. Unfortunately, it doesn’t always fully live up to this, often following a safe structure with little in the way of genuine intrigue. In the first three episodes of eight shared with critics, the show falls into a pattern of clear deceptions and quick resolutions you can see coming from lightyears away. While meant for younger viewers, this blunt and inelegant approach underestimates their ability to enjoy multifaceted storytelling. At the same time, for all the ways it falls short, “Skeleton Crew” boasts good narrative bones and a playful mind it can largely call its own in a galaxy that doesn’t feel quite so far, far away.

Created by head writers Jon Watts and Christopher Ford, the duo most known for the recent hit-and-miss Marvel film “Spider-Man: Homecoming,” they drop us into a Star Wars story that is set during a familiar time. Specifically, we are in the New Republic era after the fall of the Empire in “Return of the Jedi” in the same general time frame as the initially good fun “The Mandalorian” and the painfully exposition-heavy “Ahsoka.” However, and most refreshingly, the series feels unburdened from the tiresome requirements of connecting to the many other parts of this universe. At least for now, it’s something that can just be a little silly and focused on its own story. Following a quick yet effectively well-staged opening space battle where pirates take a ship in search of treasure, blasting their way through an unsuspecting crew before a mutiny arises, we are whisked away to the isolated home planet of Wim (Ravi Cabot-Conyers), Fern (Ryan Kiera Armstrong), KB (Kyriana Kratter) and Neel (Robert Timothy Smith). It is there they must navigate even more perilous challenges: the suburbs, tests at school and absent parents.

Namely, both Fern and Wim, while not friends initially, are united in that both of their parents, played by the great duo of “The Banshees of Inisherin” star Kerry Condon and TV On The Radio’s Tunde Adebimpe respectively, are generally focused more on work than they are their children. This will soon prove untenable when said kids make a surprising discovery that sends them into the universe behind the barrier that has been created to hide their planet from anyone outside it. This provides an interesting undercurrent about how this planet cut itself off from a galaxy that is still full of people struggling to get by, but it also leans heavily into the mirthful above all else. For all the ways this can feel like a missed opportunity, it’s hard to complain too much when flying along with the blue, elephantine alien being Neel. Of all the youthful characters, he is the most fun, with the combination of CGI and practical effects in his design proving to be truly seamless. Even as other effects are rougher around the edges if you look too close, it’s the interactions between Neel and the rest of the young crew as they get into trouble that makes this forgivable.

Initially, there are parts of this small-scale corner of “Skeleton Crew” that almost resemble the underrated recent sci-fi anthology series “Tales From the Loop” in how it takes familiar genre elements and makes them feel more immersively ordinary as opposed to purely adventurous. It is not quite as thoughtful and interested in existential questions as that was, though this is a sacrifice that must be made for its more charming core to shine through. At the center of this is Wim who, in addition to relatably having trouble catching the school bus on time before a test, is a winning character whose fascination with the Jedi and a desire for greater adventure outside his mundane life holds the story together. To a lonely kid like him, the Jedi are mostly just myths that can bring him meaning on his journey. However, the reality is far more complicated than that.

It lightly recalls the strongest parts of “The Force Awakens” and “The Last Jedi” with the healthy skepticism they brought about the universe’s Jedi mythology (before all this was abandoned in the utterly soulless “The Last Jedi” for cheap callbacks). Thankfully, this is a show that doesn’t take itself or its glorified Space Wizards too seriously as it launches its characters into space. There are fleeting hints of a more potentially subversive thematic undercurrent surrounding who gets left behind in this new Jedi order, but it also isn’t afraid to poke fun at itself in key moments. Though Star Wars as a whole is in a shaky place with the upcoming Rey movie recently being pulled from the release calendar and “The Acolyte” being canceled outright, it’s good to see a series like “Skeleton Crew” is willing to shake things up rather than just reheat familiar stories.

Namely, this is where Jude Law’s Jod Na Nawood (or Crimson Jack for those who don’t want to say that mouthful of a name) comes in. He’s a loner the lost kids soon encounter after finding themselves in a mighty tough spot. Without tipping anything off, we quickly piece together he is more than what he seems to be even if the kids take far longer to catch up. Wim hopes he might be a Jedi like he read about in his stories even as Jod is more akin to a Han Solo figure while still bringing his own distinct layers. Law is excellent in the role as, in addition to clearly having a ball playing around in what is a space pirate adventure, he brings the needed bits of gravitas and charisma to balance out the more youthful innocence of his co-stars. Reuniting with his “Peter Pan & Wendy” collaborator David Lowery, who directs the second and third episodes, he plays a more likable pirate who may bring more trouble for the young kids than they realize.

It’s this dynamic between Law and the kids, as well as a delightfully gruff robot voiced by Nick Frost, that gives “Skeleton Crew” its greatest spark. While by no means the first or even the best most recent work to attempt to put itself in conversation with Spielberg’s films, you can still get a sense of that sincere charm in not just these characters bouncing off each other, but the way the camera lingers on plants in the woods as a light shines through them or a rather familiar plastic tunnel being used for a space ferry down to a remote outpost. These small details not only bring a film like “E.T.” back into the mind but serve as the texture to the universe “Skeleton Crew” is setting out to reintroduce us to. It’s got potential to continue to succeed in doing so as long as those kids don’t phone home too soon. After all, there are plenty more adventures to be had. To paraphrase another Star Wars scoundrel with a heart of gold, here’s hoping this is where the fun begins.

The “Star Wars: Skeleton Crew” two-episode premiere is now available to stream on Disney+.

The post ‘Star Wars: Skeleton Crew’ Review: Jude Law Boosts a Charming but Wonky Sci-Fi Romp appeared first on TheWrap.

The arrival of Netflix’s “The Madness” couldn’t be more timely if it tried. Anchored by Colman Domingo, the 8-episode limited series created by Stephen Belber and co-showrun with VJ Boyd kicks off its premise in pretty short order: When media pundit Muncie Daniels (Domingo) becomes the prime suspect in the murder case of a notable white supremacist in the Poconos woods, he must work to clear his name and protect his estranged family — a gripping setup that transpires at a breakneck pace within the show’s first 20 minutes.

From there, Muncie falls deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole of this messed-up wonderland, eventually subsuming both him and his family. Nearly ex-wife Elena (Marsha Stephanie Blake) is extremely hesitant to dive back into any consistent communication even with the newfound extenuating circumstances. Demetrius (Thaddeus J. Mixson), Muncie’s son, is still processing the two’s impending separation. Daughter Kallie (Gabrielle Graham) is reluctant to connect after Muncie’s absentee nature left her alone throughout critical portions of her life. Yet in this dysfunction, “The Madness” springs to life whenever Muncie is bouncing off his family and friends like lawyer Kwesi (Deon Cole) or trusted confidant Isiah (a most welcome Stephen McKinley Henderson). These tangible, strongly realized relationships help to keep “The Madness” grounded as it begins to spin up and out of its central thriller conceit. The scope eventually widens to include law enforcement in the form of FBI Agent Franco Quinones (the ever-wonderful John Ortiz) and the supremacist’s ex-wife Lucie (Tamsin Topolski).

“The Madness” finds its premise straining in the middle section as it moves away from the character dynamics of Muncie and his family in favor of building up its central mystery. Weighty topics aren’t off-limits, with an exploration into both the left and right sides of the political extreme, the influence of mega-corporations, disinformation campaigns and more. Most of these subjects are often personified by new characters who appear throughout this stretch, and “The Madness” introduces these new shadow-shrouded figures in a way that mirrors video game logic, positioning the character as a new boss fight for Muncie to solve before facing the next foe. That’s made worse for wear by having the show communicate their perceived threat level instead of showing it, or by not providing enough substance to them to care about why he’s facing off against them outside of clearing his name. The stakes and tone are muddled as a result.

Fortunately, “The Madness” remains watchable thanks to Domingo, who could find a way to make reading the phonebook a masterwork of craft. The show is (smartly) constructed entirely around his presence. Styled in a striking coat that feels like an intentional reference to the iconic outerwear of “Three Days of the Condor,” Domingo’s central presence is frequently literalized by director Clément Virgo, placing the star in the dead center of the frame. Everything in this world orients itself around Muncie, so why not extend that to the look of the series, too? Domingo’s given plenty to do in the show, exemplifying an everyman-style performance in the spirit of Harrison Ford in “The Fugitive” or Robert Redford in the aforementioned “Condor.” Even when, well, the madness of “The Madness” unfolds, Domingo’s performance is a steady hand; the same charisma that’s made him endlessly watchable in recent years is on display in spades.

But where Domingo is best is playing off the respective members of his family. The relationship between him and Graham is among the series’ richest as the two slowly work to find common ground after years apart. Unsurprisingly, “The Madness” roars back to life down the stretch as the Daniels family begins to band together, allowing Blake, Mixson and Graham to have plenty of star-studded moments. The rad bromance between Domingo and Ortiz is also notable for how effortlessly the relationship feels, a perfect exemplification of Philly’s brotherly love. Topolski plays Lucie like an open wound and finds adequate depth accordingly. The series also gets a lot out of supporting cast members who dot the back half, including Bradley Whitford and Alison Wright, the latter of whom is (clearly) having a ball in a part that’s got more in common with her tenure on “The Americans” than you might think.

It’s difficult to tell whether or not “The Madness” will age well enough to be considered a classic conspiracy thriller for this era. Instead, the show’s legacy could and should go down as a star vehicle for Colman Domingo, who continues to show he’s a tour de force no matter the material. That’s something we won’t need the benefit of hindsight on, no matter how much our conspiracy thrillers continue to shift in the years to come.

“The Madness” is now streaming on Netflix.

The post ‘The Madness’ Review: Colman Domingo Anchors Netflix’s Timely but Overstuffed Political Thriller appeared first on TheWrap.

Unfortunately, beneath the polished exterior lies a reheated platter of worn-out tropes that already felt tired 10 years ago. Harried technicians stare anxiously at garbled video calls on their computers while agents rush between their offices, exchanging clipped, clichéd dialogue in hushed whispers. It’s a storytelling shorthand we’ve seen far too many times for it to feel new or compelling.

Indeed, recent history has seen a veritable bumper crop of TV spy fare pop up. Whether AMC’s “The Night Manager,” Apple’s “Slow Horses,” Prime Video’s just-concluded “Jack Ryan” or Peacock’s just-launched adaptation of “The Day of the Jackal,” viewers certainly have no shortage of options at the moment. “The Agency” can’t help but suffer in comparison, lacking the ingenuity or depth to stand out in a crowded field of superior dramas.

Debuting on Nov. 29 with the first two 10 episodes, the George Clooney-produced remake of the French series “Le Bureau des Légendes” (a.k.a. “The Bureau”) has an impressive pedigree, for sure. That, coupled with the star power of Michael Fassbender, Jodie Turner-Smith and Jeffrey Wright in key roles should have been enough to land it in must-watch territory, but it’s weighed down by a sluggish narrative that struggles to match the undeniable visual flair.

The concept is an intriguing one, for sure: Fassbender is “Martian,” a veteran CIA operative emerging from years undercover and grappling with the lingering fractures of his dual lives. At season’s start, we’re introduced to the dynamic between Martian and Turner-Smith’s Dr. Sami Zahir, someone he got a bit too close to and is having a really hard time leaving behind.

While there’s an ongoing story about a CIA asset code-named “Coyote” who’s been captured overseas, it’s the Fassbender-Smith relationship that makes up the emotional core of the early episodes, but so far the storyline is a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Helming the first two episodes, feature director Joe Wright crafts a lush cinematic environment rich in shadows and texture that imbues the production with an immediate air of prestige. But while the aesthetics are undoubtedly impressive, the storytelling fails to keep stride.

What should feel like an intricate game of cat-and-mouse instead ends up as a tangled mess of world-weary intelligence jargon and subplots that fail to coalesce into something more significant. Most damningly, there’s a noticeable absence of tension, replaced by an uneven pace that never quite finds its footing.

While always imminently watchable, Michael Fassbender ends up as something of a double-edged sword here. On the one hand, he’s the kind of actor who can convey a world of inner conflict with just a glance. On the other, the character’s very nature as a man defined by secrecy and detachment renders him frustratingly opaque.

Martian is meant to be a cipher, molded by years of living under false identities. While this is entirely appropriate from a thematic perspective, it inadvertently creates a wall between the audience and the character, leaving viewers with little to latch onto emotionally.

Even the impressive supporting cast, brimming with talent though it is, feels oddly underutilized. Wright and Richard Gere, playing high-ranking CIA honchos, lend gravitas but are often relegated to delivering exasperated exposition instead of driving the story forward.

As “The Agency” stretches out over a 10-episode first season, it isn’t until the closing moments of the third episode that a semblance of focus begins to crystallize. The resulting imbalance leads to a show that feels both overstuffed and underdeveloped, as if unsure which to prioritize: character study or plot mechanics.

Ultimately, while the ingredients are here for a standout spy drama — an impressive cast, a talented creative team, and a proven blueprint in “Le Bureau des Légendes” — the execution falters. At a time when the genre is flourishing with bold, innovative entries, “The Agency” feels hopelessly stuck in the past, recycling familiar beats without adding anything new to the conversation.

For those with an abiding appetite for espionage thrillers, the glossy production and flashy cast may warrant a watch, but it’s hard to recommend over the more engaging alternatives already available. While the French original boasted 50 episodes, it’s difficult to imagine this remake hitting that benchmark.

“The Agency” aims to delve into the shadowy world of spycraft, but it doesn’t quite manage to step out of the shadows of its competitors.

“The Agency” premieres Friday, Nov. 29, on Paramount+ With Showtime.

The post ‘The Agency’ Review: Michael Fassbender Can’t Save This Cliché-Heavy Spy Drama appeared first on TheWrap.

So Schur’s new Netflix series, “A Man on the Inside,” may surprise you. Sure, the comedy features another diverse cast with optimistic undertones, but it’s also unafraid to sit in its moments of silence to tackle some of life’s biggest questions in a delightfully uplifting way.

“A Man on the Inside” reunites Schur with lead Ted Danson (“The Good Place”). The project is based on Maite Alberdi’s 2020 Oscar-nominated documentary “The Mole Agent,” in which a man responds to a newspaper ad and becomes a spy in an assisted living community. Here, Danson plays a fictionalized version of that man, named Charles.

When we meet Charles he’s incredibly lonely. His wife has passed away, his daughter Emily (Mary Elizabeth Ellis) and three grandsons are far from his San Francisco home, and he passes his days in solitude with crosswords and solo meals. There’s a moving scene in the premiere that highlights that isolated tone, in which Charles doesn’t say a single word out loud for an entire day.

This abruptly changes when Charles responds to an ad and begins working with a private investigator named Julie (Lilah Richcreek Estrada). Suddenly, he’s the man on the inside of a colorful assisted living community, where a son has concerns about some thefts taking place.

Part of the fun is watching Charles badly embrace his shoe gum role, complete with code names, disguises and a tape recorder in which he highlights every wild observation. But within his new living space he’s also surrounded by a fun cast of characters played by seasoned actors like Sally Struthers, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Susan Ruttan and Margaret Avery. Through them, Charles realizes that friendships have been missing from his life, and he slowly finds new purpose and meaning in this next chapter.

Reining in all the wildness of the group is Stephanie Beatriz, who plays community manager Didi. It’s a much more caring and empathetic role for Beatriz than her previous deadpan Schur gig on “Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” Here, she plays the straight person to the others’ punchlines, grounding the show like a warm blanket. By Episode 6, which spotlights Didi and her unique plights at the center, you can’t help but root for her. Didi is the type of person you’d want taking care of your loved ones in such a situation, but you also really, really want to get her a cup of warm coffee.

It’s just one example of how Schur expanded the characters from the original doc to offer a more nuanced look at the importance of having a strong community no matter where you are in life. The expansion takes some of the heavy lifting off Danson too, and allows for light but meaningful interactions as Didi grows suspicious of Charles.

Still, it’s Danson who truly shines, bringing genuine warmth and earnestness to the role of Charles in only the way Ted Danson can. It’s no wonder the role was developed and written with him in mind. Charles, an architect nerd and professor, cares deeply about the residents he befriends and carries an infectious enthusiasm for becoming an investigator. At the same time, he is grieving his wife and her final days dealing with dementia, a subject the show handles with absolute care.

No one with dementia is ever the butt of a joke, and the conversations surrounding patient care are grounded in reality. It’s a level of realism that Schur hasn’t always injected into his other series, but it works here when balanced with the overall tone of the show and the other characters within the story. You always want to return for more, even when unfortunate truths seep in.

Adding even more depth is the relationship between Charles and Emily, as the two struggle to connect. While Charles carries that burden inside, Emily is more vocal, particularly as she grieves both the loss of her mother and her sons, who are now media-obsessed teenagers and clueless about anything not on a screen.

As Charles learns to forge new connections and delights in his daily reports to Julie (who moonlights as Emily within the home for another layer of deceit), he also comes to life in a new way with his daughter. The result is a beautiful look at the adult-child and parent relationship at an age where things change drastically for both parties. It’s also a topic rarely explored on television.

In fact, as ratings shift and streamers opt for overall subscribers over target demos, “A Man on the Inside” is a great example of a series that might not have been made otherwise but delivers some powerful messages about aging. By the time the initial season wraps (and the door is open for more installments should Netflix wish), you’ll want to call your parents if you’re lucky enough to still have them around.

Or, if you have been wondering what’s next for you or how to move forward in the world the way it is in 2024, this is the kind of show that will motivate you to find your own purpose. The pandemic had us all shrinking inside and avoiding human connection. But as “A Man on the Inside” proves with each thoughtfully curated and heartfelt scene, it’s connecting with others that makes us human.

“A Man on the Inside” premieres Thursday, Nov. 21, on Netflix.

The post ‘A Man on the Inside’ Review: Ted Danson Is Delightfully Earnest in Mike Schur’s Netflix Comedy Series appeared first on TheWrap.

With Sony Pictures Television and Prime Video’s new eight-part “Cruel Intentions” series remake, author Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’ story finally hits the wall. Here, both setting and story seem outdated, with the writers’ bids to stay true to skeevier elements of the novel and (especially) 1999 movie conflicting with attempts to update storylines for a modern audience.

The show opens at a stately, vaguely Southern-looking mansion filled with overdressed young women — a promising start for fans of the similarly sorority-set “Scream Queens” or of “American Horror Story: Coven,” or even “The Bachelor.”

But the new “Cruel Intentions” does not yield any supernatural or crime thriller chills, or even enough backstabbing among romantic rivals to inspire us to pick a side. Instead, it focuses entirely on the inner workings of the sorority and its brother fraternity at a venerable Washington, D.C.-area university. The series even devotes a substantial storyline to the frat’s books being audited for frivolous party expenses.

Promised excitement, or at least beer pong, but we receive an Excel tutorial instead.

The sorority and fraternity hold parties where nobody has fun, because everyone is too worried Greek life will be disbanded due to a hazing incident the year before. To combat this possibility, snooty sorority president Caroline Merteuil (Sarah Catherine Hook, from Netflix’s “First Kill”) enlists her oversexed step brother, Lucien Belmont (Zac Burgess) to help lure the U.S. vice president’s freshman daughter, Annie (Savannah Lee Smith, from Max’s “Gossip Girl” reboot) as a member. Caroline knows that if Annie pledges her sorority, the university would not dare throw it out.

Show creators Phoebe Fisher and Sarah Goodman hired a more diverse cast than the 1999 film contained, and they give their characters motivations for their schemes beyond simply degrading women — the focus of too many iterations of this story. Yet amid these more progressive moves, Fisher and Goodman also, shockingly, retained the incest storyline from the movie.

Caroline and Lucien are just as flirtatious and touchy as Sarah Michelle Gellar’s Kathryn and Ryan Phillippe’s Sebastian were as stepsister and brother in the film. In this version, similar to the last, Caroline promises Lucien that he finally can have sex with her if he succeeds in seducing Annie.

Was it considered titillating 25 years ago to have step siblings lust for each other? Because now it plays less as a naughty sexual taboo than as pure, joyless trauma manifestation.

This setup also might have hit differently in the film because its tone was so winking, bordering on farce. Characters did and said outrageous things almost entirely to see the reactions of other characters, and the actors telegraphed throughout that they were mostly having a goof.

The streaming version rarely provokes laughs, as it tries to make characters more sympathetic by giving them frankly unnecessary backstories, in the process showing the novel was not elastic enough to accommodate the series format.

Caroline behaves callously toward her puppyish sorority lieutenant, CeCe (Sara Silva), and everyone else she finds beneath her. She behaves the way she does, and also snorts cocaine in secret, we are shown, because Caroline’s mother (Claire Forlani) is cold and demanding. But we prefer Gellar’s cardboard villain to a villain whose bad behavior is attributed to cliches.

Yet Caroline does emerge as sympathetic because Hook, like the rest of this show’s young leads, outshines this material. Hook subtly shows Caroline’s insecurities even when Caroline is at her most manipulative, through quick flashes of doubt or guilt that humanize the character in ways the writing does not.

Silva plays CeCe — essentially Selma Blair’s role in the movie — as naïve yet highly intelligent and loyal, a rare quality in this show’s fictional world. Smith gives Annie, the VP’s daughter, a regular-teen authenticity that her movie counterpart, Reese Witherspoon, could not pull off because she was already famous.

The biggest breakout is Burgess, a relatively unknown Aussie actor who sells us on his character over the course of several episodes. At first it is tough to buy Lucien, a Joseph Gordon-Levitt lookalike with a curly mullet, as irresistible to women. But Burgess brings such joy and good humor to the role that you start to welcome Lucien’s every appearance.

Our affection for Lucien cannot survive this show’s weird, abrupt ending, though. But hopefully, “Cruel Intentions” will be a springboard to greater things for its talented cast.

“Cruel Intentions” premieres on Prime Video on Thursday, Nov. 21.

The post ‘Cruel Intentions’ Review: Prime Video Reboot Is Too Boring to Offend appeared first on TheWrap.

Based on his novel of the same name, author Charles Yu brings to Hulu an adaptation of the satire that won him the National Book Award, with a bit of help from executive producer Taika Waititi, who directed the pilot. On the page, “Interior Chinatown” is a caustic indictment of Asian stereotypes in pop culture that doubles as a touching exploration of race and assimilation. Written in a screenplay format, Yu’s book felt primed for a TV reimagining, and who better to make it happen than the author himself, who wrote for HBO’s “Westworld”? Certainly, this series is canny in its playful and oft-acidic approach to the tropes and cliches that make broadcast TV so watchable yet culturally incurious. If only the execution more frequently matched up to the ideas on display.

As an unwitting background player in another character’s story, much of Willis’ life plays out like a cheekier version of “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead.” He works, he banters with his colleague (Ronny Chieng) and tries to console his parents (Diana Lin and Tzi Ma) as they grieve the death of his older brother, a kung fu star who had greater leading man energy than Willis has ever possessed. After witnessing the kidnapping, he can’t break through into the spotlight until it approaches him. Doors don’t open, phones don’t work and he’s all but ignored unless it’s pivotal to “Black & White.” People straight-up ignore him when he’s right in front of them if he’s not offering key exposition or a chance for the cops to be mildly racist.

“Black & White” is a hilariously blatant “Law & Order” rip-off, right down to having its own “duh-dun!” beat in the intro. Its undisputed stars are Detectives Sarah Green (Lisa Gilroy) and Miles Turner (Sullivan Jones), a white and Black duo who are forever in sync, finishing one another’s sentences and solving every “impossible crime” that lands their way. Yu has clearly watched a lot of crime procedurals, as evidenced by how spot-on these “on-air” sequences mirror the cliches of the beloved genre. The one-liners are a touch too mannered, the finding of clues too speedy, and the abject dismissal of cultural sensitivities highly on the nose. Being sent to cover cases in Chinatown is mostly an excuse for Det. Green, the ball-busting, dollar store Olivia Benson-type, to offer anti-Asian dog whistles that, frankly, aren’t far off how most procedurals cover Asian representation.

There is life on the show and everything outside of it, and for the most part, Willis is forced to be in the latter, seen as unnecessary to the narrative even though he’s the only witness of the initial crime. He can’t even call the police. They must come to him and declare him important to their story. His life in Chinatown is not devoid of meaning or richness, as his community thrives and reflects something far grander than the cesspool of crime and vaguely defined gang violence as assumed by the detectives. Still, everyone is in an assigned role they’re hoping to escape from: waiter to hero; mother to businesswoman; sidekick to competent waiter (the latter offers some great comedic moments for “The Daily Show” standout Ronnie Chieng.) It’s refreshing to see legendary character actors like Tzi Ma and Diana Lin get a chance to shine in roles worthy of their talents.

When the spotlight falls upon Willis and his home, the entire atmosphere shifts. Suddenly, it’s TV world, complete with lighting changes and an increased bustle in the scene that indicates we’re in the main, if noticeably unreal, world. These changes make for some fun commentary on how network TV glosses over or outright erases anything un-PG 13. Fight scenes are balletic in their choreography and hilariously bloodless until things escalate beyond network rules (and yes, there’s a Wilhelm Scream in there.) Nobody swears. There’s even product placement. The more cliched the “Black & White” scenes are, the more obvious it becomes that this is the norm for entertainment as a whole in how it sidelines stories and people who aren’t so easily boxed in by types and tropes.

“Interior Chinatown” is about exposing the outdated cliches of the medium, exposing the shoddy theatricalities of TV’s most well-worn ideas and how they, inadvertently or otherwise, lend themselves to leaning on garden-variety racism in lieu of something more interesting. That means replicating the worst excesses of the many “Law & Order” spinoffs and wannabes of the decades until they’re driven into the ground. While Yu does well to make this zip along energetically, it can feel didactic in places. The deliberately pointed dialogue has moments that seem there less to create a scene and more to project the themes for those in the cheap seats. The visuals do a strong enough job of showing Willis as the outsider, both literally and metaphorically, without having to have him say “I’m an outsider” repeatedly. Such details work better on the page.

“Interior Chinatown” is the work of a smart and genre-savvy team, and it manages to be entertaining as its own thing alongside its wider dissection of a deep-seated industry problem. While it doesn’t capture the radical freshness of the novel, Yu has wielded his ambitious work into something that sharply examines the oft-untold stories in-between the exposition and cases of the week.

All episodes of “Interior Chinatown” premiere Tuesday, Nov. 19, on Hulu.

The post ‘Interior Chinatown’ Review: Hulu Show Is a Cheeky Meta Spin on the Cop Procedural appeared first on TheWrap.

Writer and producer Mindy Kaling gave a unique perspective on female empowerment in a university setting when “The Sex Lives of College Girls” first premiered on Max in 2021. Now entering its third season, the series has seen better days and delivered more enjoyable laughs. However, the bones of what made the series such a fun watch are still there, albeit a little stripped at the center.

When last we saw Essex College roommates Kimberly (Pauline Chalamet), Bela (Amrit Kaur), Whitney (Alyah Chanelle Scott) and Leighton (Reneé Rapp), Kimberly and Whitney’s friendship was on the rocks. Kimberly started dating Bela’s ex-boyfriend Canaan (Christopher Meyer), and the two women’s dilemma created friction between the group. Whitney moved in with a sorority, and Kimberly was forced to confront her feelings towards Canaan to see if it was worth losing Whitney over.

Season 3 starts with a new school year and new problems stemming from how split the friendship circle was before summer began. But do not worry; Whitney and Kimberly’s messy situation gets resolved rather quickly. Not everything is back to normal at Essex, however, as Leighton makes a dramatic decision that changes group dynamics forever.

After a surprisingly short stint in the season for Reneé Rapp’s character — given the actor’s desire to focus on her music career — the core four is no more. Kimberly, Bela and Whitney encounter the prospect of facing college without their wealthy and sexually experienced friend. More drama comes about upon the realization that they have a new roommate, Kacey (Gracie Lawrence), a lovely but condescending virgin who transfers to Essex to be with her long-term boyfriend.

“The Sex Lives of College Girls” initially grabbed viewers’ attention when it debuted in 2021 for its Gen Z perspective on modern feminism, sexually charged co-eds and the power of female friendship. Some of those qualities still exist in Season 3, though there’s an empty feeling without Rapp’s presence that leaves a lot on the table for the once-great series. Some storylines are short-changed, some are wrapped up in a bow minutes after the drama ensues, and some don’t materialize any reasonable finality.

This is a show that once provided space for some guest stars to flourish, like Sherri Shepherd, who plays Whitney’s mother and also an influential U.S. senator. Actors Charlie Hall, Gavin Leatherwood and Mitchell Slaggert all cut their teeth as the attractive guys that many of the girls in school wanted to date. But this new season leaves a void in this area, where much of the focus calls back to uneven plot points surrounding the remaining three leading female characters and some new additions to the cast.

The season isn’t without its moments, including a wild sequence in which Bela has an unusual affair with the school’s mascot — mask remaining on. Kimberly attempts to be adventurous by dating a bisexual man, while Whitney finds juggling academics, soccer and multiple situationships a little difficult to handle.

The series does have “sex” in the title, after all.

Writer and producer Mindy Kaling helped create “The Sex Lives of College Girls” with Justin Noble and returns as a writer on some episodes in Season 3. Her idiosyncratic wit and affinity for pop culture references are incorporated all over this season, including a hysterical Y2K party the girls attend that features mostly ’90s costumes, a fake countdown to midnight, and a total blackout to depict what many Millennials like Kaling remember about the threat of a technology meltdown once the clock struck midnight.

Kaling’s eponymous sitcom, “The Mindy Project,” never found its footing after actor Chris Messina left the series and returned on rare occasions for infrequent cameo appearances. Much of the same can sadly be said about “The Sex Lives of College Girls,” as Rapp’s absence makes the viewer’s heart grow fonder for the magnetic chemistry among the original four leads. That feeling is sorely missed in Season 3, and though the laughs still pop up from time to time, the show might need to do some heavy lifting to find its footing yet again.

Because Rapp left the series, some of the focus turns to new cast members like Lawrence, who gets some time in the limelight as a phenomenal singer whose aspirations are cut short by a drama coach who casts Kacey in a small role in a school theater production. Ilia Isorelýs Paulino’s character Lila, the brash and confident barista Kimberly works with, sees a delightfully expanded role in this newest season.

The girls also find themselves in some sexually charged situations that might turn into more than just flings, introducing more signature male eye candy for fans to enjoy.

“The Sex Lives of College Girls” Season 3 premieres Thursday, Nov. 21, on Max.

The post ‘The Sex Lives of College Girls’ Season 3 Review: Reneé Rapp’s Exit Impacts Once Hysterical Max Comedy appeared first on TheWrap.

“Landman” is that. And what’s pleasantly surprising about this Permian Basin blend of big business brinkmanship, family conflict and horrific on-the-job accidents is that it’s so damn funny.

Most of the laughs are intentional, too. A rich deposit of them should be credited to star Billy Bob Thornton, who can deliver astute lessons in petrochemical economics one minute then tell a bartender “I quit drinkin’, I’ll stick with beer” the next. The “Goliath” and “Bad Santa” star maintains exasperation in his drawl throughout and doesn’t waste a second resetting tone from heartfelt to pissed off to sarcastic, reliably punctuating all of it with redolent cusswords.

Tommy Norris is a perfect conveyor belt for the actor’s bristling intelligence, redneck charm and instinctual subversiveness. Tommy is the title landman, an on-the-ground oil patch manager tasked with everything from negotiating drilling leases with Mexican drug cartels to doing his best to see that widows of burned alive rig workers are somewhat compensated.

Midland-based Tommy works for a small but lucrative outfit, MTex Oil. The owner, Fort Worth businessman Monty Miller (Jon Hamm) and his wife Cami (Demi Moore) don’t have a whole lot to do in the first five episodes Paramount+ provided to critics. But you hardly miss them, what with all the drama — and dramedy — Tommy has to deal with every living second of every, 90 degree-plus spring day.

There’s his moody college dropout son Cooper (Jacob Lofland), who insists on joining roughneck crews his father (and soon most viewers) know are more dangerous than the rattlesnakes beheaded throughout the season. The character is our guide into something the show does well: depicting the hard work and applied technology of oil extraction. Lofland plays Cooper as the piece’s most serious character, and he’s a pill. Even when luckless but lovely Ariana (Paulina Chávez) takes a shine to him, Cooper hardly knows what to do beyond mow her yard and fight with her relatives, many of whom he works with.

Tommy’s 17-year-old daughter Ainsley (Michelle Randolph from Sheridan’s lesser spinoff series “1923”) visits for what turns out to be a perpetual spring break. The bubbly blonde is congenitally incapable of wearing much more than a bikini — and often less, much to the discomfort of the other old guys her dad shares a not-big-enough company house with: James Jordan’s gruff petroleum engineer Dale and Colm Feore’s fidgety attorney Nathan.

She gets it from her mother, Ali Larter’s incorrigibly provocative Angela. Following an oil patch bust (Tommy notes he’s still half a million dollars in debt), Angela left the man she’s still hot for and remarried a hotel magnate. She shows up in Midland with the latter’s credit card — How do you like my $450K Western style remodel of your corporate frat house, Boys? — and determined to wrestle Tommy back into submission both in and out of the bedroom. Angela’s a laugh-and-a-half, and so far Larter’s dropped a few hints that she intends to make the character fully human. Whether or not that would be a shame depends on one’s enjoyment of her bigger-than-life antics.

Tommy has one other female problem, who is also a lawyer problem. Kayla Wallace (“When Calls the Heart”) plays a sharp-dressed corporate shark, rather unimaginatively named Rebecca Savage. She’s flown in from the big city to manage the numerous actionable disasters MTex keeps suffering under the landman’s watch. The smart, starchy Millennial, who takes offense at every good ol’ boy thing about oilmen, is probably there to scapegoat Tommy, too.

Can he win her over — and loosen her up — with his High Plains wisdom and one of those rattler decapitations? Hope so, because Wallace is too good a performer to remain a snooty stereotype.

Co-created with Texas Monthly journalist Christian Wallace (no relation to the actress, I’m assuming) and based on his “Boomtown” podcast, Sheridan’s latest series feels authentic despite a relentless gusher of tried-and-true entertainment gambits. While there’s a pro-fossil fuels bent to the discourse, almost every defense of the polluting enterprise is quickly counter-argued or undercut in some way. It’s smart, even informative, stuff.

But the show isn’t always as clever as its makers think. Many of the laugh lines feel overwritten and aren’t the only bits here that are as sexist as Texas is big. But the actresses clearly have a ball with them despite that.

When Ainsley complains to her mom, “How could he? She’s a f—ing brunette!” about an ex’s new squeeze, Randolph fully commits to the lame line and more than earns the laugh. That’s just the way the girls are down here in Texas, to quote the Ry Cooder/Flaco Jimenez recording which Sheridan seems to have taken as gospel.

Love or wince at some dialog, though, “Landman” is a triumph of enjoyable performances. It’s also a good example of incident-loaded plotting that’s grounded in workaday grit. Just when you think things are getting either too contrived or on-the-nose, a scene so intriguing or simply well done puts a smile on your face. It’s the TV equivalent of driving a gas guzzler without guilt.

“Landman” premieres Sunday, Nov. 17, on Paramount+.

The post ‘Landman’ Review: Taylor Sheridan’s Oil Industry Melodrama Is So Damn Funny appeared first on TheWrap.

Alex Cross first showed up on the big screen back in 1997, with Morgan Freeman in “Kiss the Girls,” followed by “Along Came a Spider,” named for the very first novel, with Freeman again, in 2001. And then in 2012, Tyler Perry took over in “Alex Cross,” controversially replacing Idris Elba.

With Aldis Hodge, “Cross,” the latest adaptation from Amazon’s Prime Video, finally gets it right.

Best known as hacker Alec Hardison in the “Leverage” franchise as well as Noah from the slavery-era series “Underground,” Hodge centers the emotional adrenaline rush of the eight-episode inaugural season of “Cross.” He can bring it all —acting, physicality, sexuality and more.

Mere moments into the very first episode, Alex suffers a devastating personal loss that greatly impacts both his life and work. As a father of two young children — boy Damon (Caleb Elijah) and daughter Janelle (Melody Hurd) — he can’t fully express his grief, making it harder to heal. Helping to pick up the slack is his grandmother Nana Mama, a stellar Juanita Jennings who brings both toughness and compassion to both Alex and his kids.

Unlike the other iterations of Alex Cross, there is no race neutrality here. Set in the nation’s capital of Washington, D.C., once known as “Chocolate City” for its high Black population, “Cross” embraces its setting and its roots, specifically the city’s famous mambo sauce and iconic Ben’s Chili Bowl, strongly leaning in where other versions ran away. Being Black and Blue, especially in D.C., is far from easy. That’s evident in the very first episode when foul play is suspected in the death of an ex-con-turned-activist, which the D.C. police department wants to write it off as a gang killing.

Out in the streets, Alex and his partner Sampson (Isaiah Mustafa of Old Spice commercial fame), who has also been his best friend since childhood, take the brunt of the “F the Police” sentiment from Emir Godspeed’s sister Malika and his many supporters. They are completely unaware that internally, Detective Cross is the one pushing D.C. Police Chief Anderson (Jennifer Wigmore, “Malory Towers”) to see Emir’s death as bigger. When one of Emir’s friends is killed, Chief Anderson doubles down on her original position. By refusing to accept the politically expedient open-and-shut case, Cross uncovers a serial killer who is at the center of the kidnapping of Shannon Whitmer (Eloise Mumford, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” “Chicago Fire”), a young white woman with loving parents.

With fame as his ultimate motivator, this copycat killer is more dangerous than others.

Cross also navigates the emotional highs and lows of dating as a widower as he circles back to one-time school classmate Elle (Samantha Walkes) who runs a nonprofit. But work and life don’t separate that easily. Through her, he meets Ed Ramsey (“New Amsterdam” star Ryan Eggold), an eager to please rainmaker whom Cross begins to suspect is not the do-gooder he claims to be. At the same time, Cross finds himself targeted by a stalker, as an item belonging to his deceased wife Maria inexplicably appears in his family’s home, and flowers continually show up at both home and work. Hunting a serial killer and a stalker is hard and complex work. In the mix is also the nefarious ex-cop Bobby Trey (Johnny Ray Gill) who is an accomplice to many crimes yet beholden to no one.

It’s this complexity that greatly distinguishes this “Cross,” making it far more realized and gratifying than the previous attempts. Key to it all is that Prime Video and showrunner Ben Watkins treat the Black-led series with the same respect it has given “Reacher” and “Bosch,” a development that maybe Hollywood needed another decade to catch up to or that only a streamer could deliver. Everything about “Cross” is top-notch — writing, acting, cinematography, action, suspense. Amazon Studios and Prime Video knows it has a hit in “Cross” which is why Season 2 is already in the can.

With 30 novels of source material and a series format that gives it all room to breathe, the real sweet spot is that there could be a lot more “Cross” in our viewing future.

“Cross” premieres Thursday, Nov. 14, on Prime Video.

The post ‘Cross’ Review: Hollywood Finally Gets James Patterson’s Bestselling Detective Right appeared first on TheWrap.

To describe the show’s world is as simple as saying “‘Modern Family’ but the family is doctors,” or “‘Scrubs’ but they’re aware of the camera.” The Emmy-nominated Allison Tolman (“Fargo”) leads an ensemble of medical professionals as our Leslie Knope-esque overachieving supervising nurse Alex.

Along for the ride are fussy doctor David Alan Grier (“The Carmichael Show”), egotistical surgeon Josh Lawson (“Superstore”), fumbling nurse Mekki Leeper (“Jury Duty”), Brat-coded nurse Kahyun Kim (“Cocaine Bear”), deadpan nurse administrator Kaliko Kauahi (“Superstore”), and our Michael Scott/Ava Coleman-esque boss Wendi McLendon-Covey (“The Goldbergs”). Would you believe this lovable band of misfits deals with eccentric patients and interpersonal conflicts while learning lessons along the way?

Showrunner and co-creator Eric Ledgin has a history of writing these kinds of Michael Schur-feeling television comedies, including “Superstore,” “Rutherford Falls” and “American Auto.” Like these shows, “St. Denis Medical” traffics in a gently satirical but earnestly heartfelt view on American institutions and ideals. The systems that bind us also tie us, and the aggravating individuals that irk us also remind us of the power of small communities. If you like this kind of tonic, this version will go down pretty well.

But you have to sit through a particularly rough pilot to get there. Heavy on archetypes, the first episode is pitched at a garishly high register, insisting it’s already a part of your beloved television family. It reaches far beyond its grasp, leapfrogging over the fundamentals of both mockumentary comedy storytelling (small moments of authenticity contrasted by public-facing moments of “performance”) and comedy television sustainability (letting characters be and build organically), landing loudly and obviously.

It’s a pilot that knows it’s a pilot, if that makes sense; it knows it has only one chance to keep your attention and stay on the air, with a noticeable flop sweat desperation. But I was pleasantly surprised to find the show dramatically improves throughout the rest of the six episodes provided for review. “St. Denis Medical” pokes and prods at workplace messiness in ways I’ve never quite seen in any of its forebears mentioned.

Death is a fact of life in any hospital, and McLendon-Covey anchors one episode about the challenges of “professional grief” with equal parts self-aware sensitivity and oblivious recklessness. The nervy discomfort of race relations and intersectionality is poked perfectly in one standout episode, bolstered by a knockout guest star performance from Nico Santos (“Crazy Rich Asians”) and a headfirst dive into bald-faced idiocy from a standout Leeper. And Lawson, who’s probably playing the pound-for-pound funniest character of the series thus far, ends one episode with a staggering turn into pathos, causing immediate empathy toward someone we might write off as a one-note blowhard.

Essentially, there are two paths forged by “St. Denis Medical” in these six episodes. When the show walks toward archetypical, over-familiar, even inhuman feeling claptrap (squabbles over candy bars, teaching prisoners to be better people, bluntly stated will-they-won’t-they crushes), it pushes away when it’s meant to invite in, even feeling distasteful given the seriousness of the setting’s stakes.

But when the show takes steps toward specificity, nuance, and even reckoning with the seriousness of the hospital’s stakes, it starts to feel engaging and special. It makes me feel cautiously confident that the creative team is onto something great, as television ensemble comedies tend to need time on-the-job training to discover and hone what works beyond broad strokes on the page. Since “St. Denis Medical” reaches some of these heights in just six episodes, and if NBC gives it the time it needs to breathe more, we could have another wonderful mockumentary to add to the list.

And if not, well, even the formulaic stuff made me laugh semi-consistently. So maybe that’s enough for now.

“St. Denis Medical” premieres Tuesday, Nov. 12, on NBC and streams the next day on Peacock.

The post ‘St. Denis Medical’ Review: NBC Comedy Could Be the Next Great Mockumentary appeared first on TheWrap.