Drive-Away Dolls

Director: Ethan Coen
Starring: Margaret Qualley, Geraldine Viswanathan, Beanie Feldstein, Colman Domingo, Pedro Pascal, Bill Camp, Joey Slotnick, C.J. Wilson, Annie Gonzalez, Matt Damon
Running Time: 84 min.
Rating: R

★★½ (out of ★★★★) 

Drive-Away Dolls is an entertainingly bad comedy from a talented director who makes it more tolerable than it has any right being. So much so that while watching you can't help but consider just how much worse this could have turned out with someone other than Ethan Coen at the controls. It's primarily about this bond between two lesbian friends, with the crime caper they've unwittingly walked into finishing a close second. And while Coen and co-writer Tricia Cooke intended this to be released as Henry James' Drive-Away Dykes, it's no surprise to anyone why the studio wouldn't gamble on that title, which is actually more in line with the film's wacky tone. 

The movie's at its lowest when drowning in crude humor that occasionally feels dated even for the decade it's supposed to take place. But the real kicker is that the characters are fully developed and a smattering of jokes land, even if cringing viewers may find themselves wishing it were somehow less polished. Maybe if this wasn't well made, the scene transitions weren't so inventive or it didn't contain such good performances, an outright dismissal would feel easier. Unfortunately, it's still a mess, straddling genres while seemingly targeting two entirely different audiences.

It's 1999 in Philadelphia when Jamie (Qualley) and her best friend Marian (Viswanathan) make plans for a road trip to Tallahassee, Florida after Jamie's ugly break-up with girlfriend Sukie (Beanie Feldstein). But when drive away car service owner Curlie (Bill Camp) accidentally leases the girls a vehicle already booked by criminals Arliss (Joey Sotnick), Flint (C.J. Wilson) and The Chief (Colman Domingo), they're unknowingly stuck with cargo stolen from an eccentric collector (Pedro Pascal). 

While Jamie tries to get the straight-laced Marian to loosen up by taking detours to lesbian bars and parties, a determined Arliss and Flint are hot on their trail, determined to retrieve that mysterious suitcase and bag in the car's trunk, both of which are scandalously linked to conservative Senator Gary Channel (Matt Damon). But the inept, bumbling crooks are in for more than they bargained for as Jamie and Marian remain a few steps ahead. 

Playing more like a parody of a Coen brothers picture than the genuine article, it's best compared to their more satirical efforts like Burn After Reading or Hail Caesar!, even if shades of Fargo unexpectedly sneak in. While a cleverly shot opening sequence featuring Pedro Pascal's character hints at more comic intrigue than we actually get, certain details involving the retrieval of this contraband are funny. Most notably the scenes with these feuding, incompetent criminals and a memorable encounter with a local girls' soccer team. Beanie Feldstein also gives an off-the-wall supporting performance as Jamie's crazed ex that feels like the kind of role her brother would have played in 2007.  

Everything takes a backseat to the relationship between polar opposites Jamie and Marian, who realize through their witty banter and misadventures that they share more in common than originally assumed. That most of those exchanges pay off with some sort of visual sex gag is no fault of the actresses, who do their best with the material. In Viswanathan's case, she rises above this, giving a more sarcastically muted turn that grounds the movie and gives it a moral center. Sporting a Texas drawl, Qualley has fun as Jamie, and while the character is too much, Viswanathan at least ensures Marian's exasperated demeanor reflects that.

In addition to a really bizarre, uncredited big name celebrity cameo, Matt Damon makes the most of his brief screen time as a Senator on the brink of being embarrassingly exposed in more ways than one. But anyone expecting a mystery on the level of Pulp Fiction's briefcase may be disappointed by a reveal that's disgustingly humorous, but par the course for this script. Amusing to a point, you just can't help but roll your eyes, realizing how it sums up the whole effort in a nutshell.

Clocking in at a bearably brisk 84 minutes, Drive-Away Dolls is a minor letdown that ranks on the lower end of either Coen brothers' filmography, managing at least to team up two up and coming actresses who deliver the goods. But fans anticipating another cult classic should probably readjust their expectations to prepare for something closer to a queer American Pie. Everyone else will just be left scratching their heads, wondering why this didn't quite come together like it should.    

Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

Director: George C. Wolfe
Starring: Viola Davis, Chadwick Boseman, Glynn Turman, Colman Domingo, Michael Potts, Jonny Coyne, Taylour Paige, Jeremy Shamos, Dusan Brown
Running Time: 94 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Based upon August Wilson's acclaimed 1982 play, Ma Rainey's Black Bottom is an entertaining, eye-opening spectacle that examines the plight of two strong-willed African American musicians fighting for what's owed to them in a business and society holding them down. They're both essentially battling for the same cause, even as the personal histories that have shaped their present serve as further roadblocks, preventing them from forming the most basically cordial working relationships, especially with each other. Operating under the thumb of white record producers looking to get rich off their talents, anyone familar with the power imbalance at work here could imagine another film told entirely from the vantage point of these executives. 

Much of that hypothetical picture would focus on how these bosses are doing the black musicians a favor while getting nothing but aggravation in return."Difficult" would undoubtedly be a frequent descriptor used by these men to describe how their contracted property won't bend to their will, even as the title character gladly wears that as a badge of honor. But such a film is entirely unnecessary since director George C. Wolfe seems to have already made it. Considering who was calling the shots, these musicians were always going to be relegated to supporting players in their own careers, without being granted the dignity of such an explanation.   

Unsurprisingly, Chadwick Boseman's performance would be receiving this level of praise regardless of whether it marked the final time we saw him on screen. His character proves to be the driving engine as he takes this cocky, smooth talking, hotheaded upstart musician on a tumultuous journey instigated by a pain and anguish we've only begun to partially comprehend, until it engulfs every frame, swallowing everyone and everything around it. His self-justification grows deeper and darker, threatening to explode at any moment, until it actually does.The film peaks at just the right time before making an early exit but it's the two Oscar-nominated turns that carry the picture. Thinking we know where all this is going until it's actually there, the finale is challenging to watch, all but confirming that the more things change, the more they haven't changed at all.         

It's 1927 and popular blues singer Ma Rainey (Viola Davis) is under contract to Paramount when manager Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) schedules her for a recording session in Chicago with her Georgia Jazz Band members, Toledo (Glynn Turman), Cutler (Colman Domingo), Slow Drag (Michael Potts) and overconfident trumpeter Levee Green (Boseman). Hoping to break away from the band and land his own deal, Levee shows his original compositions to producer Mel Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne), to nearly everyone's disapproval. Ma is especially angered by his ambitions, believing a proven track record of success has afforded her the final say over him, the rest of the band and producers. 

Showing up late with girlfriend Dussie Mae (Taylour Paige) and 14 year-old nephew Sylvester (Dusan Brown), Ma demands the latter speak the album's opening narration despite his serious stutter, determined to have everyone wait until he gets it right. This instigates a battle of wills between her and the producers, as well as with Levee, who's not only underming Ma's authority with his own musical arrangments, but also seems to have designs on Dussie Mae. As tensions between Levee and the other band members threaten to boil over, disturbing revelations about his childhood come to light, sending his quick temper careening out of control.

Ma's strong stage presence, powerful voice and overwhelming personality may make it seem on the surface as if she's enormously successful enough to do what she wants, when in actuality this is the 1920's and white male label heads view her strictly as a monetary investment. She only seems to be in charge because everything's a fight to prevent them from walking all over her, at points even explicitly stating these men wouldn't pay her any mind if not for the singing that makes them money. And she's right.

Whether it's her bosses withholding money or trying to creatively call the shots, Ma has adopted this attitude as a survival mechanism, well aware that the career consequences could be far worse if she didn't fight for her fair share. For Davis, this role's a homecoming of sorts, having aleady won an Oscar and Tony for her role in Wilson's Fences, but this is an entirely different, brasher, more over-the-top role that requires a nuance few others could have brought to the more heavily dramatic moments. There's a lot of pain behind Ma's posturing and toughness so the real mastery in Davis' carefully calibrated performance comes when she allows us a peak behind that facade to earn a glimpse of it.

Knowing talent alone won't be nearly enough to overcome the prejudice, the flashy, egotistical Levee instantly becomes a threat to Ma's dominance, staking his claim to the spotlight. But regardless of how talented he considers himself, his attitude and temper get in the way. If the general feeling amongst the band members is that they can barely tolerate someone who hasn't paid his dues in the business, they eventually find out he's paid them in life, and then some. The entire story rests with Boseman's performance, to the point that everything else feels like a warm-up until Levee's triggered by the other band members about his "sucking up" to the white man. This leads to an emotional explosion, as well as some painful confessions about his upbringing that knock his bandmates on their heels. And the tensions only worsen from there. 

With a glimmer in his eye and a self-deprecating smile, Boseman initially disarms you, but at a certain point that turns, sending Levee over an edge he won't return from for the film's duration, lashing out in wildly unpredictable ways. The religious, mild-mannered Cutler, whose honest attempts to play peacemaker with Levee, Ma and the producers fall short. Colman Domingo's subtly effective in creating an impression that Cutler's put out these fires within the band before and whatever problems exist should take a backseat to the music he clearly loves. Glynn Turman is equally memorable as the mid-mannered Toledo, offering experience and wisdom Levee would have been wise to listen to if he wasn't already so far gone, well on his way down a path to inevitable violence.

In joining the many stage-to-screen productions in the past year such as One Night in Miami and The Father, this probably feels like the stagiest, if only due to the musical component and the fact its monologues are far lengthier. But clocking in at just over and hour and a half, Wolfe and writer Ruben Santiago-Hudson really keep it moving, with the story itself speaking volumes. The characters mistakenly direct all their rage at each other, while the true tragedy comes in the realization they may not have had much of a choice. The very last scene confirms Ma's dire prediction, with her and Levee proving to be no more or less expendable than the rest, as the label executives were only ever going to see one thing, no matter how hard they were pushed to think otherwise.