Blonde

Director: Andrew Dominik
Starring: Ana de Armas, Adrien Brody, Bobby Cannavale, Xavier Samuel, Julianne Nicholson, Evan Williams, Toby Huss, David Warshofsky, Caspar Phillipson, Dan Butler, Lily Fisher, Sara Paxton, Rebecca Wisocky, Tygh Runyan, Scoot McNairy
Running Time: 166 min.
Rating: NC-17

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)  

Before you even get to the rape, physical abuse and talking fetuses, writer/director Andrew Dominik's pulverizing fictional biography of Marilyn Monroe, Blonde, starts at the very beginning. With Norma Jeane's mentally ill mother driving straight into a raging fire with her terrified daughter in the front seat. It may as well be a metaphor for the vitriol that awaited Dominik upon the release of Netflix's NC-17 adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates' 2000 novel, which is less an account of Monroe's life than speculative fantasy assembled from fractured puzzle pieces of it. None of those aforementioned events occurred as presented, whatever truth existing in them sensationalized and reshaped to facilitate Dominik's descent into the star's troubled psyche. 

Far from a straightforward biopic that could share a double bill with Baz Luhrmann's Elvis, it's closer to a surrealistic Lynchian nightmare many have already categorized as a cross between some lost Marilyn snuff film and The Last Temptation of Christ. She's victimized throughout, and though it's not based on historical fact, the specificity of events and unflinching manner in which her suffering's presented could lead some to falsely assume it was. Even if it doesn't endure as the definitive word on the star, she'll always be associated with it, shining the spotlight on a filmmaker's moral responsibility when tackling a real person's life.   

No one can watch this and say it isn't well made or that Ana de Armas doesn't give the performance of her career, empowering Marilyn with a depth and complexity everyone always suspected she had, even when Dominik seems to be going in an entirely different direction. But more than any other examination of the star, we really get inside her head, heavily exploring that marker separating Norma Jeane from her manufactured Hollywood alter ago. When the cameras aren't rolling, Monroe's still the wide-eyed, innocent we see at the film's start, playing make believe as a blonde bombshell. Her helpless upbringing required this survival mechanism, a detail Dominik drills into us for almost 3 hours with scenarios that reflect a sort of truth that's aggressively discomforting

Opening as she turns seven years old in 1933, a young Norma Jeane Mortenson (Lily Fisher) is shown a framed picture of a man her mentally unstable mom Gladys (Julianne Nicholson) claims is her father, a big shot Hollywood mogul. But when the police halt Glady's delusional plans to bring Norma Jeane up to see him in the middle of a fire, she snaps, leading to a violent breakdown that sends Gladys to a mental hospital and her daughter to an orphanage. Norma Jeane reemerges in the 1940's as pinup girl "Marilyn Monroe," aspiring to break into acting despite not being seen for anything other than her looks. 

After being raped by a studio president referred to as Mr. Z (David Warshofsky), Marilyn soon turns all the inner pain and childhood trauma toward acting, and as her film career ascends, she becomes romantically entangled with Hollywood offspring Cass Chaplin (Xavier Samuel) and Eddy Robinson Jr. (Evan Williams). Unsuccessful marriages to an ex-athlete (Bobby Cannavale) and a playwright (Adrien Brody) leave her emotionally shattered, while she's later dehumanized by an eventual affair with the The President (Caspar Phillipson). Through this, Marilyn still clings to the hope of meeting her mythical, estranged father, an increasingly unlikely prospect amidst the abuse, humiliation and mistreatment she endures from nearly every man who enters her doomed life.  

Since the entire film revolves around fictional events people already believed could be true, seeing it depicted on screen runs the risk of further substantiating them. The fact that the actual names of some major players weren't used (likely for legal reasons) does speak to a certain double standard, reinforcing the idea that's she's still being exploited long after her death. But as unfair as it may seem, the creative license Dominik takes isn't far off from what was seen in something like The Social Network, with the only difference being that the subject here is deceased and and has a history of being dragged through the mud by the media.

Dominik isn't making attempts to alter any preconceived notions, instead taking a fever dream approach to the material that was bound to polarize. In certain instances, his timing couldn't have been worse given the current climate, especially those scenes involving abortion and miscarriage. But while he invites these controversies with his "anti-biopic," little of that has any relevance to the film's actual quality, as it's beautifully made and compulsively watchable. Dominik's no stranger to celebrity deconstruction, having already helmed The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, a movie as long as its title. This is even longer, and even while flirting with repetitiveness, it's edited well enough not to feel at all like a slog.

None of that makes this any easier to watch, not that it's intended to be. It leans further into the idea of men viewing Marilyn as a sex object than was even anticipated, no matter how much trauma and genuine emotion she poured into her craft. The moments where she's portrayed as a student of the game with unlimited intellectual capacity are fleeting since everyone saw "Marilyn Monroe" instead. The framing device involving her estranged, Clark Gable lookalike father is another fabrication, but it's Blonde's best, intrinsically tied to a stuffed animal that emerges as the film's answer to Citizen Kane's "Rosebud." And for anyone who didn't get the memo she has daddy issues, her incessantly calling all her lovers "daddy" should quickly clear that up. 

Alternating between monochrome and color and shifting aspect ratios, cinematographer Chayse Irvin gives the film a stylized look that compellingly reflects the dueling identities of its subject, with Nick Cave and Warren Ellis' hypnotic score matching that disorientation. An early Marilyn audition scene is enthralling to watch, before turning painfully uncomfortable and hopeless when we see the male studio executives' reaction to it, reaffirming that even behind her back she's enduring some form of abuse. Dominik also comes up with some unnerving visual tricks that further convey Marilyn's  objectified existence, with ogling, cackling, distorted faces leering her down, horrifyingly transforming the Some Like it Hot premiere into a lost Twilight Zone episode.

Dominik covers a lot of ground with Marilyn's relationships and marriages, while impressively needing only a few scenes to convey how they develop and quickly end. She probably seems "happiest" and least burdened with the celebrity twins, at least before the tidal wave of fame comes crushing down. If first husband DiMaggio (well played by Cannavale), reveals himself to be a controlling, abusive brute, Arthur Miller's an anomaly for being the only kind male figure in Marilyn's life who outwardly recognizes her humanity. Brody's performance as the hyper intellectual Miller is subtly exceptional and there's something special about this section that even the film's most vehement opponents would admit is its high point. Unfortunately, by the time Marilyn weds him, she's already drowning in prescription pills and alcohol, prone to wild mood swings. 

While the talking CGI fetus has been heavily criticized for pedaling in tasteless shock value, the circumstances and fallout surrounding Marilyn's decision to abort aren't brushed under the rug and it's highlighted as a traumatic, life-altering event she understandably can't move beyond. The plot would be offensive only if the screenplay relegated it to an afterthought, even as it's easy to recognize none of this is a pleasant sit. Equally unpleasant is Marilyn's affair with JFK, here is encapsulated in a one night rape when she's literally dragged to the President's suite like a slab of meat by Secret Service. 

On content alone, this doesn't deserve an NC-17 (it's easy to name check numerous film titles with more nudity, sex, violence and language), but you needn't look further than the JFK scene to understand why. It's just a bridge too far for the MPAA, whose members probably scoff at consensual sex scenes, much less a non-consensual one as discomforting and disturbing as this. But few directors would have the guts to even fictionally depict the 35th President as a rapist, dispelling accusations that the movie is some kind of Marilyn hit job. Still, it's not hard to believe the rating designation is at least partially responsible for throwing gasoline on the furor that was already erupting over the picture.

Under different circumstances, Ana de Armas would be a strong Best Actress contender, and still could be. Strangely enough, it's the Marilyn performance everyone's always wanted, just not in the film we envisioned it would occur. It's hardly noteworthy when her Cuban accent occasionally slips through, but amazing how she simultaneously captures the breathy, seductive qualities of Marilyn and the insecurity and pain tormenting Norma Jeane, sometimes within a single scene. And it's also surprising how much de Armas does physically resemble her in certain iconic Monroe moments where you nearly have to do a double take. As disturbed mother, Gladys, Julianne Nicholson is haunting, going on an absolute tear in the film's opening section, then again later when her character returns in a far different capacity. 

A more extreme escalation of the horror and isolation of last year's Spencer than a snapshot along the lines of My Week With Marilyn, Dominik vaguely operates within the guardrails of an acceptable chronological timeline while incorporating the sensationalized events of Oates' novel. The biggest bone of contention will be that Marilyn had a troubled life, just not this troubled, and there are aspects to her that go ignored. But the film's an adaptation so any argument regarding its truthfulness should probably be settled in an actual court rather than one of public opinion. It succeeds in painting a nightmarish, hypnotizing portrait of the star's hellish existence from her own perspective, leaving no doubt how far this intends to go in its final, unrelenting minutes. 

If all Marilyn wanted was to be was respected for her intellect and acting skills, it's cruelly ironic that this film's release may have just permanently derailed that, no matter how impressive the filmmaking. There seems to be a disconnect amongst viewers regarding what they felt the goals should have been going in, as this is undeniably difficult and definitely not for everyone. But a safer, more grounded approach that's superficially respectful to Marilyn's memory could have easily resulted in the kind of safe biopic everyone complains about anyway. Blonde is far less forgettable, taking the gloves off and in the process starting a controversial conversation about how celebrities are perceived and consumed.     

Deep Water

Director: Adrian Lyne
Starring: Ben Affleck, Ana de Armas, Tracy Letts, Grace Jenkins, Rachel Blanchard, Kristen Connolly, Jacob Elordi, Lil Rel Howery, Brendan C. Miller, Finn Wittrock 
Running Time: 115 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

A man watches his wife flaunt her extra-marital affairs about town, outwardly accepting that she can do whatever she wants in their open relationship, even while he's viewed as an emasculated joke by their friends. Slowly, he grows tired of this humiliating arrangement and a rage builds inside. No longer able  to contain himself, it's only a matter of time before he snaps. But enough already about Will Smith's marriage. Adrian Lyne's latest erotic thriller, Deep Water, finds the 81 year-old director back in territory reminiscent of some of his most notable and controversial efforts, such as 9½ Weeks, Fatal Attraction, Indecent Proposal and Unfaithful. 

The tone here isn't nearly as sure-footed, but as far as B-movie sleaze goes, it's actually a lot of fun. Of course, this is more of a good time if you're receptive to the idea of watching a darkly comedic parody of those aforementioned films, which some would accuse of already being spoofs of sorts. That it looks great, is well made and carried by two stars as talented as they are famous helps a lot, with both actors totally game and aware of the type of project they're in, committing themselves accordingly.

Vic Van Allen (Ben Affleck) is a wealthy, retired robotics engineer living with his wife, Melinda (Ana de Armas) and their young daughter Trixie (Grace Jenkins) in the small town of Little Wesley, Louisiana. Their combative, almost entirely loveless union is built upon a mostly unspoken arrangement that seems to benefit her far more than he. It's basically understood, even by friends who know them, that they're in an open marriage where she can comfortably take on as many lovers as she wishes just so long as she doesn't abandon her family. 

The flirty, extroverted Melinda relishes attention from men, publicly throwing herself at each new one she encounters as a sullen, morose Vic stands in the corner at parties, seething with jealousy. With his role how relegated to making dinner for her various boyfriends, he's finally had a enough. After Vic makes a not so thinly veiled threat against Melinda's current flame, younger musician, Joel Dash (Brendan C. Miller), about having previously killed one of her ex-lovers, their marriage is now on shakier ground than ever. And when her latest boyfriend ends up dead in a swimming pool, suspicion turns toward Vic, who may or may not be harboring a dark secret that threatens to unravel their already toxic relationship.      

Most of the opening hour sees sulking, dejected Affleck as Vic almost sleepwalking through his wife's very public displays of infidelity. If an open marriage arrangement was made, he was either the last on Earth to find out or entirely uncomfortable with the ground rules. It turns out to be the latter, and whatever sympathy anyone could muster for him having to watch his wife throw herself at every man in town evaporates a lot faster than you'd expect. She's a handful for sure, fiery and and wildly unpredictable, but if he really cared that much he'd just leave, so a good portion of the film is spent waiting for him to explode. 

Her indifference to his anger is evident when she first brings home her "piano teacher," Charlie (Jacob Elordi) and then college ex Tony (Finn Wittrock), both of whom send Vic over the deep end. Leaving Melinda is too simple a solution and against his supposed principles, so if he can't have her all to himself, we can figure out the rest. When the film's major centerpiece incident occurs and nosy neighbor Don Wilson (Tracy Letts) becomes obsessed with proving Vic's a murderer, much to his wife Kelly's (Kristen Connolly) justifiable embarrassment.

While many have given Affleck a tough time for taking on troubled, middle-aged sad sack roles like this, he's really exceptional at it, especially here when given very little dialogue in the picture's first half, instead revealing most of Vic's inner plight through depressive body language and facial expressions. And after breaking through in Knives Out and outright stealing No Time to Die, this further extends Ana de Armas' streak as one of the most exciting actresses around. Bringing a wildly devious, frenetic energy to Melinda's every scene, de Armas is completely convincing as this woman entirely uninterested in being controlled by her husband or anyone else. You almost get the impression that Vic could kill not only half the men in this small town, but most of Louisiana, and Melinda still wouldn't run out of candidates to sleep with just because she can.

As absurd as the entire plot is at times, Lyne does really get a lot of little details right, like the social dynamic, as Vic and Melinda's friends look at their fractured marriage with both bewilderment and pity, at least when they're not partying. Watching, all we can think of is the adverse affect it's likely having on precocious daughter Trixie, who's stuck in the middle of this mess with two walking disasters for parents. 

Tracy Letts basically steals the show as the very suspicious Don, who's plagued by his unhealthy preoccupation with exposing Vic's potential guilt. It leads the story down a ridiculously compelling path, as he's good enough an actor to actually us that this pompous windbag of a character would take the dumb steps he does in the crazy last act. At the very least, it's no more far-fetched than believing Affleck as a retiree who amassed his great wealth from building guidance chips for drones, a detail that results in a lively political argument.  

That a long gestating project completed years ago was earmarked for a theatrical rollout before heading to Hulu shouldn't be taken as a damning indictment on its quality, especially since such a fate is commonplace now for mid-level adult dramas. If nothing else, it contains one of the more insane vehicular chase scenes in recent memory, featuring some extreme mountain biking and an important public service warning for anyone still on the fence about that whole texting while driving issue.  

That this is actually based on a 1957 Patricia Highsmith novel seems almost impossible to believe given how jarringly modern its story and setting feels. Having not read the book and going strictly by its synopsis, Zach Helm and Sam Levinson's screenplay doesn't seem to veer far from the source plot-wise, aside from a wacky ending. In this sense, Lyne deserve a lot of credit for updating the material to fit the type of 90's erotic thriller Deep Water is clearly being patterned after. While mileage may vary as to how successfully viewers think this was captured, it still harnesses something in that realm with more entertaining flare than expected.  

No Time to Die

Director: Cary Joji Fukunaga
Starring: Daniel Craig, Léa Seydoux, Rami Malek, Lashana Lynch, Ben Whishaw, Naomie Harris, Jeffrey Wright, Christoph Waltz, Ralph Fiennes, Billy Magnussen, Ana de Armas, David Dencik, Rory Kinnear, Dali Benssalah, Lisa-Dorah Sonnet
Running Time: 163 min.
Rating: PG-13

**The Following Review Contains Major Plot Spoilers For 'No Time to Die'**

★★★ (out of ★★★★) 

The first thing that jumps out at you after viewing the 25th Bond installment, No Time to Die is that it's really over. Daniel Craig's done as 007. We knew the day was coming, and yet, how it happens still manages to leave the kind of indelible mark that should separate this film from the pack. To an extent, it does, covering a lot of the same ground we've seen in many of Craig's previous outings while taking full advantage of a gargantuan, somewhat punishing running time to do so. It goes all out, but the most shocking revelation is that they chose to make a direct sequel to Spectre, which could be viewed as a victory for those appreciating series continuity. That's not a practice Bond producers have historically embraced, often moving from one entry to the next while only occasionally connecting the dots or leaving some Easter eggs behind.

You'd think all this suggests a forward-looking franchise, but the opposite's true, as different directors have conformed to a traditional 007 template that's been strikingly similar in tone, plot and execution. Cary Fukunaga rarely breaks from it, giving us the usual hits and misses we've grown to expect and have associated with this Bond run. There are some absolutely spectacular sequences followed by others that don't quite work, with the latter magnified by a bloated length filled with expository scenes that sometimes halts the momentum. But if Spectre dissenters can get past this picking up where that mildly received entry left off, it's satisfying in a lot of ways. Unlikely to supplant either Skyfall or Casino Royale as a definitive favorite, it should still justifiably impress many fans by further emphasizing just how much Craig's brought to the table during his Bond reign.

After a chilling flashback shows a young Madeleine Swann witnessing the death of her mother at the hands of future bio-terrorist Lyutsifer Safin (Rami Malek), we flashforward to the present where James Bond (Craig) is vacationing in Matera with Madeleine (Léa Seydoux) following the capture and imprisonment of Blofeld (Christoph Waltz). But when Bond's trip to Vesper Lynd's grave leads to a violent ambush by a group of mercenaries, he leaves Madeleine behind, believing she betrayed him. 

It's now five years later when a retired Bond is contacted in Jamaica by Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright) and his new colleague Logan Ash (Billy Magnussen) regarding a bioweapon that's been developed by kidnapped MI6 scientist Dr. Valdo Obruchev (David Dencik). Despite warnings from his 007 successor, Nomi (Lashana Lynch) not to get involved, Bond agrees to help Leiter, stepping out of retirement and on a head-to-head collision with the dangerous Safin. Initially picking off Spectre agents, he has a much more ambitious, demented plan of world domination in store, intending to use Madeleine as a pawn in that game. Terrifyingly obsessed with finishing the trauma he inflicted on her as a child, it'll be up to Bond to get to him first. 

A nearly half-hour prologue that features the snowbound Safin/Madeleine home invasion flashback sequence is unnerving and suspenseful in all the right ways, letting us know under no uncertain terms that what happens here will reverberate through the rest of the narrative and pay off later. And it mostly does. The surprise attack on Bond and call-back to Eva Green's Vesper Lynd might be the first time we've seen him attempt to process her death, serving as sort of a catharsis for fans who finally receive open acknowledgment from the many screenwriters credited on this project of her enduring impact on 007 and the franchise as a whole. 

Of course, the cruel joke here is that all this Vesper reverence occurs in a movie where Léa Sedoux is given the enormous role many would have liked to see reserved for Green had she continued past Casino Royale. There really wasn't any reason to believe Seydoux's character would even be back following Spectre, much less be such a focus that she seems to get as much screen time as Craig. But while still not sharing the greatest chemistry with him, she does give a much stronger performance in her second outing, and that's while being given about four or five times more to do this time around.

After an exhilarating opening and promising set-up, the action starts settling into a more predictable rhythm, with some occasional greatness thrown in. A typically inventive opening title sequence accompanied by Billie Eilish's serviceable but somewhat sleepy main theme leads us into Bond's re-emergence as an MI6 agent, which M. (Ralph Fiennes) resists. If the latter's carelessness can at least be partially blamed for the calamity that brought him back, the usual attempts to establish Bond as this reckless rule breaker who'd rather die than do things "by the book" are offset by all the pull and support he still has within the agency.

Since it's basically established that Moneypenny (Naomie Harris) and Q (Ben Whishaw) will do anything for Bond, retired or not, this leaves the only potential conflict within the ranks to be with his 00 stand-in, Nomi, well played by Lashana Lynch. Any fans bent out of shape that he's somehow been "replaced" should know it seems to be in title only, and not for long. She's very much a supporting player in Bond's story and at times seems as much on his side as Felix, Penny or Q, and probably even more than M. 

Ana de Armas' show-stealing turn as Paloma, a CIA agent assisting Bond in infiltrating a Spectre party in Cuba, is hands down the best performance in the film, supporting or otherwise. Playing a character claiming to only have three weeks training, she quickly wins us over as this bubbly, hyperactive, nervous personality who throws caution to the wind while also having a great sense of humor. Unlike any previous "Bond Girl" it almost feels demeaning to refer to her as such, as de Armas cultivates this easy, effortless flirty rapport with Craig that no one's quite had until now.

Full of surprises, the kick-ass Paloma proves to not only be deceptively dangerous, but the consummate pro whose unusual approach belies an almost astounding level of competence. Her stay lasts only about 20 minutes but does de Armas ever make the most what should be a throwaway role. That the film never fully regains that same energy following her exit should serve as a sign that this is the kind of fresh, contemporary character producers should be thinking about when considering directions the franchise could potentially go.  

If there's a drawback in the screenplay, it's that viewers will feel as if they're far ahead of Bond and the other characters in terms of the plot. There are points where it seems we're literally waiting for them to catch up to the grand scheme (which is no less absurd than some others in the franchise) and who's behind it. That's not to say there aren't still some really great moments like Bond's prison encounter with Blofeld or his emotionally charged reunion with Madeleine, now with a young daughter named Mathilde (Lisa-Dorah Sonnet). While it's not exactly a shocker whose child this is, the idea of Bond as a father has been unexplored, infusing the proceedings with a welcome dynamic that raises the stakes considerably, adding a fair amount of tension to what's already a strong final act.

Largely absent through much of the film's middle portion, Rami Malek's disturbed, disfigured Safin doesn't get as much screen time as you'd expect, but it still kind of works, building up the myth of this character until he finally unleashes hell on Bond. Judging by the end result, he almost has to be considered one of 007's more formidable challengers, with a fairly intriguing backstory that enables Malek to calmly, creepily get under his adversary's skin as a villain completely convinced he's the victimized, misunderstood hero. 

Saffin may not fully succeed in his global plan, he's able to do something no one has in setting off a chain of events that eventually take out Bond. The image of a shot, poisoned 007 standing atop Safin's headquarters as the missiles descend upon the island is about as emotional an end to Craig's run that you could imagine, especially given what Bond leaves behind. And like Spectre before it, the look of this island station is awe-inspiring, with production designer Mark Tildesley successfully paying homage to some of the franchise's classic settings of decade's past. All of it converges as a fitting close for Craig, who's always been underappreciated in the role, his performances wrongly perceived as being only as good as the entries in which he's appeared. It's a problem that plagued his predecessors, but no actor since Connery has done more to overcome it.

If it took Craig's exit from this notoriously risk-averse property to give us something completely different and unexpected, so be it. While they weren't really given much of a choice considering the circumstances, any serious backlash will be offset by the inevitability that this series will soon get a fresh coat of paint anyway, if not a hard reboot that goes beyond the recasting of its iconic protagonist. Whether that's something to look forward to is debatable, as we can certainly do a whole lot worse than No Time to Die. Either way, it carries a great sense of finality, sending 007 out on top and making it very clear that the Bond we've known for the past fifteen years is gone. What's left in his wake is a mixture of dread and anticipation for what's next.                    

Knives Out

Director: Rian Johnson
Starring: Daniel Craig, Chris Evans, Ana de Armas, Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael Shannon, Don Johnson, Toni Collette, Lakeith Stanfield, Katherine Langford, Jaeden Martell, Christopher Plummer, Frank Oz, K Callan, Noah Segan, M. Emmet Walsh
Running Time: 130 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

**Warning: The Following Review Contains Major Plot Spoilers**

Rian Johnson's Knives Out distinguishes itself from just about any other recent mainstream film by filling a massive void. It actually feels necessary, resurrecting a sub-genre many have probably forgotten even existed. And in the process, he not only improves the formula, but reminds us just how thrilling a good old fashioned murder mystery can be, especially when executed with this much precision and ingenuity. It's easy to believe there are fewer big screen mysteries because the level of difficulty is so high, both in delivering a satisfying, unpredictable script and directing so many different actors sharing the same scenes. Johnson greatly excels at this, and while its closest cinematic relatives would seem to be something like Clue or Deathtrap, you'd have to be careful not to similarly categorize this as a "whodunnit?"

An inaccurate "whodunnit?" hook would immediately set audiences up for a big reveal or ending twist that may or may not work depending upon whether we feel the culprit is suitably surprising. The players in Johnson's game don't feel like chess pieces to merely be moved across the board until we're left with a killer, but multi-dimensional characters whose motivations and actions make them interesting and complex enough to carry a morality tale all of their own. It's also doubles as a scathing, satirical commentary about wealth and privilege, rightfully earning every comparison it's gotten to Best Picture winner, Parasite, with which it would make an intriguing double-feature.

By getting the"who" question out the way by its mid-point, Johnson takes the pressure off, freeing the script up to focus instead on the "how" and "why." And it's there when you become completely absorbed by the story, recognizing that unlike previous ensemble mysteries, we actually have someone worth rooting for. The story's focus never leaves her, from the first frame up until the last, granting audiences one of the strongest protagonists you could hope to find at the center of such insanity.

When wealthy crime novelist Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is found dead with his throat slit in the family's Massachusetts mansion on his 85th birthday, an anonymous tip sends famed private detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) to the residence suspecting foul play. He's joined by Detective Elliott (Lakeith Stanfield) and Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan), local police who are more than ready to rule it a suicide as they begin questioning the eccentric Thrombeys, many of whom Blanc catches in lies and suspects would have strong motives to murder the ailing patriarch.

Leading up to his death, Harlan had seriously strained relationships with most of the family, mainly due to them freeloading off his fortune. He had just fired youngest son Walt (Michael Shannon) from his publishing company, threatened to expose that son-in-law Richard (Don Johnson) was cheating on daughter Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis) and cut off daughter-in-law and hippie lifestyle guru Joni's (Toni Colette's) allowance, which helps pay for granddaughter Meg's (Katherine Langford) college tuition. On the night of his death, he also had a heated verbal confrontation with black sheep grandson, Ransom (Chris Evans). His only confidante was Harlan's nurse and caregiver, Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas), who soon becomes Blanc's biggest ally in the investigation when he realizes she often hears and sees everything. But even she has a secret, along with an unfortunate propensity to vomit when lying. But as Blanc gets closer to the truth, the Thrombeys may instead end up tearing each other apart over the contents of Harlan's will.

Supposedly, one of Johnson's biggest inspirations writing this was the classic detective series, Columbo, and you can really see how that would be, as the blueprint does faintly echo the style of mysteries you'd expect to see on that show, one of tv's most underrated crime dramas. In it, a seemingly clueless, schlubby-looking title murder detective (incomparably played by Peter Falk) would brilliantly connect all these dots to eventually come to the conclusion of how exactly the perpetrator committed the crime. That person's identity can often be telegraphed early on, making the details the reveal the main event, heavily favoring character development over a traditional "whodunnit."

That series, and especially its classic Steve Spielberg-helmed episode, "Murder By The Book" couldn't have been far from Johnson's mind when deciding to tackle this. Unlike Columbo, Blanc at least seems superficially competent and smoother, if initially unremarkable, as he observes the local officers question each lying family member. We not only get a glimpse of the detective's low-key shrewdness in these moments, but also the clueless and somewhat hilarious selfishness of this dysfunctional family. It's early into the story when we realize Harlan was justifiably sick of all of them, most of whom just so happen to have convenient alibis of some sort. But while the Thrombeys claim they view his nurse Marta as a member of their family and would do anything to help her, the validity of that promise gets shakier the more information we glean about what they truly value.

The more we discover about Marta, the easier it is to see why Harlan holds her in such high regard. Johnson's device of having the character vomit upon lying is crazily brilliant, adding another layer of tension to each scene she shares with Detective Blanc and eventually Chris Evans' obnoxious character, who eventually reveals himself as both more and less than he appears. When Johnson pulls the rug out from under us far earlier than expected and the narrative shifts to Marta's survival, she tries against her better judgment to hide her horrible mistake and survive in a shark tank full of loony Thrombeys. Of course, Blanc is more than a few steps ahead in recognizing she's the key to him piecing together the remains of the puzzle. And this is exactly the kind of quirky, outside-of-the-box role we've been waiting for Daniel Craig to take in his 007 off time, reminding just how much timing and range he demonstrates in supporting character parts, especially something as quirky and dryly comedic as this. 

Ana de Armas is the real discovery here as Marta, managing to remain the film's honest, moral center even when being forced into dishonesty. A shy medical caretaker who just wants to do right, what makes de Armas' performance special is how that quality consistently peaks through in all her actions and mannerisms, no matter how frightened the character seems or how unpredictably insane things get around her. Marta keeps finding these hidden reserves of strength, even as all the other reveal their weaknesses, embarassingly trying to manipulate her. Spoiled, black sheep Ransom tops that list, with Chris Evans relishing in this guy's inadequecies and stealing nearly every scene he's in, uproariously clashing with every member of his family, each of whom hate him a little more than the next. The feeling is more than mutual, leading to his now infamous scene in which he individually singles all of them out with a choice expletive.

Just as you've never seen Craig or Evans like this, Toni Colette similarly surprises as the irresponsible Joni, a flighty Gwyneth Paltrow-like lifestyle guru who owns a GOOP-like company. Her and daughter Meg are clearly set up as the most liberal of the clan, but despite a heated political argument with Don Johnson's ultra-conservative Richard, both reveal themselves as close-minded to Marta's situation as he is. That's most disappointingly true of Meg, whom Katherine Langford plays as her closest confidante, only to quickly turn when Harlan's fortune enters the equation, almost reflexively sucked into the vortex of her self-serving family. It also says a lot that Michael Shannon isn't playing the craziest or most unstable character, but still delivers his fair share of insanity as Harlan's entitled son.

It would almost be too easy if the Thrombeys were all just one-dimensionally terrible people, but they're not, with a few even demonstrating varying degrees of likability. It's that they're priorities are so messed up that make them the story's antagonists and allow us to root for their comeuppance in the end. They're not merely "suspects" and their alleged involvement in the crime, if you could even consider it one, is almost beside the point. This could have been aspect some viewers had problems with, especially those expecting the entire film to revolve around a reveal. We do we get something similar, but better, as Blanc gives a detailed explanation that makes logical sense, while revealing truths about its characters that confirm our investment in them.

The third act helps further establish Marta as the only trustworthy person in Harlan's life, even if no one in the family understands this, as shown by their immediate accusation that she must have been sleeping with him to be left everything in his will. And of course they would think that, given every relationship they've likely had in their lives transactionally revolved around sex or money, rendering them oblivious to how two people could share a connection that doesn't depend on either. Harlan realizes she made a big mistake, but an innocent one that would carry far worse consequences for her illegal immigrant family than a physically incapacitated octogenarian whose relatives treat him like garbage. And the true brilliance in Johnson's screenplay comes to light when we discover it wasn't her mistake at all, and Blanc's unraveling of Ransom's plan comes as a direct result of both her skills as a nurse and genuinely good heart.

When the film's sensational final minutes expose Ransom as the sociopath he is, but the rest are barely any better, as Marta stares down on them from the balcony of her newly bequeathed estate. The Thrombeys are left scrambling in their former driveway, finding themselves for the first time on the outside looking in. Or, exactly where they belong. It's a twist as worthy of Rod Serling as Agatha Christie, and a reminder of the tightrope walk required to successfully pull off socio-political satire. Johnson lets the characters take the reigns, and the rest organically falls into place, as the best genre deconstructions do. The right person is left standing because she's deserving. It's a kick in the gut and a reward for viewers paying attention to all the details. Not so bad for a director still inexplicably being raked over the coals for a certain "controversial" Star Wars entry. But with a razor-sharp script and an eclectic, super-talented cast all being used to their maximum potential, it's impossible to deny this as a far better platform for his talents. Bring on the sequel.