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The Hitman's Bodyguard ( 2017 )
Ratings: IMDB: N/A Metascore: N/A RT: N/A
Released: August 18, 2017
Runtime: 118 mins
Genres: Action
Countries: Bulgaria China Netherlands USA
Director: Patrick Hughes
Actors: Gary Oldman Georgie Glen Richard E. Grant Rod Hallett Yuri Kolokolnikov Elodie Yung
Roy Hill Ryan Reynolds Samuel L. Jackson Tsuwayuki Saotome
Logan Lucky ( 2017 )
Logan Lucky: Two brothers attempt to pull off a heist during a NASCAR race in North Carolina.
The Snowman ( 2017 )
The Snowman: Detective Harry Hole investigates the disappearance of a woman whose pink scarf is found wrapped around an ominous-looking snowman.
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets (2017)
Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets: A dark force threatens Alpha, a vast metropolis and home to species from a thousand planets. Special operatives Valerian and Laureline must race to identify the marauding menace and safeguard not just Alpha, but the future of the universe.
A Question of Faith (2017)
If heavy-handedness were recognized as a desirable narrative technique, then Watch A Question of Faith full movie online would certainly be an awards contender. By forcing together disparate characters based primarily on coincidence and thematic exigencies, the filmmakers succeed in driving home both their religious and social convictions, unrelated as they may be. First however, they need to establish how good, decent people can fall from grace despite their best intentions. Serving as the associate pastor of a large Atlanta-area African-American Baptist church, David Newman (Richard T. Jones) has a lot on his plate. With a major construction project to expand church facilities pending before the congregation’s board and his upcoming installation as senior pastor to replace his father looming, David can find little time for his wife Theresa (Kim Fields), teenage son Junior (James Hooper) and youngest child Eric (Caleb T. Thomas). Across town, construction contractor John Danielson (C. Thomas Howell) has problems of his own, with his business facing bankruptcy and the bank threatening to foreclose on the home he shares with his wife Mary (Renee O'Connor) and teenage daughter Michelle (Amber Thompson). He’s pinned his remaining hopes on Michelle landing a recording contract with a major gospel music label, relentlessly pushing her to repeatedly rehearse with their church choir. When Michelle collapses from congenital heart failure during her audition, John and Mary’s priorities shift to supporting their daughter while she awaits a suitable transplant donor. The fates of these two families are joined when tragedy suddenly strikes the Newmans as well and Eric ends up in a hospital intensive care unit, barely clinging to life. Borrowing the intersecting storylines technique common to many a low-budget independent film, screenwriter Ty Manns also introduces Latina teen Maria (Karen Valero), who ultimately bears responsibility for Eric’s critical condition, to the complete bewilderment of her mother Kate (Jaci Velasquez). Each facing monumental personal catastrophes, David, John and Maria must all struggle with their faith, examining how God’s plan for them will emerge from such dire circumstances. Filmmaker Kevan Otto appears well within his comfort zone with his latest feature, after writing or directing the likes of Christian-focused releases What Would Jesus Do? and Grace of God, among others. Besides the religious themes, Otto and Manns have practical issues on their minds as well, sending stern messages about the perils of texting and driving, as well as the virtues of voluntary organ donation. The castmembers take this awkwardly integrated proselytizing in stride, gamely delivering serious-faced sermons on their assigned topics. The not-coincidentally named pastor Newman ends up on the receiving end of much of this haranguing, and Jones manages to make his character’s change of heart appear almost believable. Fields as his steadfast wife deserves the pastor’s job herself for displaying such clear-eyed compassion toward her husband and family in the midst of tragedy. Despite a great deal of bluster, Howell doesn’t really have much to say, but makes for a suitable example of faith regained.
Murder on the Orient Express (2017)
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“Watch Murder on the Orient Express Full Movie Online,” which was published in 1934, and turned into a Sidney Lumet film forty years later, retains a certain cachet as one of Christie’s most ingenious works. I was alarmed to realize, upon grinding through it once again, that ingenuity is all it has. The characters are perfunctory; their actions are described in galumphing style (“Hector MacQueen leaned forward interestedly”); the ethnic stereotyping is an embarrassment (“A big, swarthy Italian was picking his teeth with gusto”); and the Queen of Crime, as she is worshipfully known, cannot resist slipping into breathless italics at the prospect of something significant (“Neatly folded on the top of the case was a thin scarlet silk kimono embroidered with dragons”).
Given that Christie’s books have sold more than two billion copies, there’s no impugning the taste of her fans, but the fact remains that, in many of her stories, the murder should technically be logged as the second death, the life of the prose having been snuffed out long before that of the victim. Compare Georges Simenon, the creator of Inspector Maigret. He may not have been the commercial equal of Dame Agatha, with sales as paltry as half a billion copies, yet he outdid her in industry—he produced more than four hundred novels, to her sixty-six—and in pretty much everything else, displaying a frighteningly intimate acquaintance with mortal weakness for which she could only grope. If you have just started a Christie, and somebody tells you the murderer’s name, there is no reason to go on reading. With a Simenon, there is no reason to stop.
All of which means that Kenneth Branagh, the director of the new “Murder on the Orient Express,” and Michael Green, his screenwriter, are free to do as they like. There is nothing to desecrate, and younger viewers will not recall, let alone cleave to, the 1974 version, which starred Albert Finney as Hercule Poirot, the dandyish Belgian detective. So what has changed? Well, we are still in the mid-nineteen-thirties, Branagh being loath to scrape off the period charms that encrust the story. I see his point. For those of us whose main concern, as we board a train, is whether or not we will get a seat, there will always be something dreamily bracing about the sight of the rich and lazy wondering what cocktail to sip in the restaurant car. And the clothes! Judi Dench, as the frosty Princess Dragomiroff, arrives in feathers and fur, and coat fetishists will swoon: Poirot’s has a collar of the rarest Astrakhan, while that of the villainous Ratchett (Johnny Depp) appears to have been stitched from the hide of a well-bred mammoth.
The opening page of the book finds Poirot in Aleppo, and I was hoping that the movie might pay tribute, by way of imaginative reconstruction, to that all but ruined city. Sadly not. Instead, we begin in Jerusalem and skip to Istanbul, from where the Orient Express sets off on its long and winding route to the grayer delights of the Occident. An avalanche stops it on its tracks. Ratchett is discovered dead, unmourned, and Poirot ascertains that the solution to the crime must lie within a single locked carriage, which, like a mobile country house, contains first-class passengers and a sprinkling of the lower orders. Under his unfoolable eye, it will become the carriage of justice.
According to the end credits, Poirot is played by Branagh himself. So it was him. I was glad to have the mystery cleared up, having spent the previous two hours gazing at a vast expanse of salty mustache and trying to work out who, or what, might possibly be hiding behind it. Listening to him feels like chatting with your neighbor over the garden hedge, and it’s all too easy to be distracted by the foliage, I’m afraid, as he maunders on about knife wounds and sleeping potions and missing kimonos. The clues are at once vital, finicky, and dull, and Branagh, perhaps fearful that his tale might be sagging, peps it up with escapades that would have had Christie dropping her teapot. Poirot, who starts by fretting about boiled eggs, finds himself chasing a caped figure along a precarious bridge. He even gets a shot in the arm. The movie could use one, too.
Contriving somehow both to dawdle and to rush, “Murder on the Orient Express” is handsome, undemanding, and almost wholly bereft of purpose. Green adds some heavy-duty dialogue, in the final reel, about “the fracture of the human soul,” but Christie’s puzzles are too flimsy to bear such ruminative weight. If today’s moviegoers are lured in, it will be for the same reason, I suspect, that they came in 1974: to observe an all-star cast—could there be a more antiquated phrase?—at play. Lumet had Lauren Bacall, Sean Connery, John Gielgud, and Ingrid Bergman, who won an Oscar for her pains. Branagh has Depp, Dench, Penélope Cruz, Willem Dafoe, and Daisy Ridley, who don’t seem to be enjoying themselves half as lavishly as their predecessors did. The exception is Michelle Pfeiffer, as a husband-hunter, who yields glimpses of sadness behind her silken allure, and tells Poirot, at the explanatory climax, “You’re an awfully clever man.” He gathers the suspects together at the entrance to a tunnel, thus putting them at serious risk of being shunted from behind, and reveals the foreseeable truth. Again, I hate to offend Christie’s devotees, but she definitely cheats here, granting Poirot extraneous information that was in no way available on the train. He would claim, naturally, to be employing “ze leetle gray cells.” Yeah, right. More like ze leetle Google.
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