THE BEGUILED

R, 94 minutes. Through tonight only at Niantic, Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Madison Art Cinemas. Sofia Coppola’s “The Beguiled,” particularly in its early scenes, eerily captures a mood of ominous beauty. It’s the summer of 1864 in rural Virginia, several years into the Civil War, and the Farnsworth Seminary — a boarding school for young Southern ladies, run by Miss Martha Farnsworth (Nicole Kidman) — is a remote island of women in a countryside torn by battle. One day, the school’s youngest remaining student (Oona Lawrence) discovers a wounded Union soldier (Colin Farrell) while hunting mushrooms in the woods nearby. Reluctantly, Miss Martha takes him in. “You are not a guest here,” she informs him. “You are a most unwelcome visitor.” As he recovers, his presence changes the climate of the house. The preteen girls are fascinated; the teenagers, particularly Alicia (Elle Fanning), practice their flirtation skills; and the two teachers, imperious Martha and lonely Edwina (Kirsten Dunst), struggle to hide their own fascination. They are all, in different ways, beguiled by this unwanted guest; and something in the film’s sultry quiet tells us that this can’t possibly end well. “The Beguiled,” based on a 1966 novel by Thomas Cullinan (previously filmed in 1971, starring Clint Eastwood and Geraldine Page), won the best director award at the Cannes Film Festival in May. It’s easy to see why: Coppola is a master of atmosphere, and the film flows like cool water from one exquisite scene to the next. You see the heat, as sunbeams spill into dusty interiors; you hear silky voices weaving together, set to a soundtrack of chirping crickets. And the actors pitch their roles perfectly: Kidman’s breathy calm; Farrell’s charm, just hinting at something dark within it; Fanning’s way of prettily arranging herself, showing off Alice’s newfound power; Dunst’s quiet melancholy. But is mood enough? Like so many of Coppola’s films, beauty is everything; the vision’s so entrancing that the story disappears. — Moira MacDonald, The Seattle Times

THE BIG SICK

largely autobiographical. When combined with the strong performances, especially from a positively electric Holly Hunter, this is a film that fires on all cylinders. Nanjiani plays himself, a Pakistani Muslim immigrant trying to make it as a stand-up on the Chicago comedy circuit. One night, a woman in the audience good-naturedly heckles him, leading to a conversation with her after he gets off stage. She turns out to be Emily (Zoe Kazan) and they soon become much more than upstaged performer and overly zealous crowd member. Because she’s a white American, he keeps her a secret from his family who only want him to marry a South Asian Muslim. His mother has made it her maternal mission to invite any available young Muslim women to “casually” drop by while the family is having dinner — yet it’s all to no avail. But, wait, there’s more. Kamail’s not just keeping his budding romance a secret; he can’t bring himself to tell his family that he’s no longer sure if he believes in all the tenets of Islam either. He’s not even praying five times a day anymore and hasn’t in a long time. The issue of being torn between two cultural worlds and two continents would be enough for most films of this type. But fate then throws Kumail and Emily a nearly knockout curveball that will change both of their lives, taking “The Big Sick” to another level. Directed by Michael Showalter, “The Big Sick” could have jumped headlong into the sap and melodrama. Instead, it balances the comedic, dramatic and melancholic with a juggler’s aplomb. What’s also remarkable about “The Big Sick,” which Nanjiani co-wrote with his real-life wife Emily V. Gordon, is how it gets beneath the one-dimensional American image of Asian and Muslim men as just either sexless IT geeks or gun-toting terrorists. Nanjiani creates South Asians who are real people, not punchlines, though there’s enough humor to keep the whole thing from becoming heavy-handed. — Cary Darling, Fort Worth Star-Telegram

CARS 3

H1/2 G, 109 minutes. Waterford, Stonington, Westbrook, Lisbon. The wheel on that screen keeps on turning, as a third installment of the “Cars” franchise rolls into theaters, in an obvious attempt to churn out more grist for the merchandising mill. It’s ironic then, that one of the plot points in the film involves the distasteful option that Lightning McQueen might have to sell out, slapping his number and likeness on everything from mud flaps to detergent. It’s part of the “brand,” his new sponsor purrs, and we’re to understand that this is bad; it takes away from McQueen’s individuality and personal freedom. And yet, what is a “Cars” sequel if not a brand extension? It certainly isn’t quite a movie. Directed by Brian Fee, it’s merely a sketch of a movie, a series of familiar tropes and characters known from the prior two “Cars” films, or the Disneyland ride, or perhaps a Happy Meal toy glimpsed once. Even if you’ve

never seen a “Cars” movie, you know the buck-toothed tow truck that could only be voiced by Larry the Cable Guy, one mister Tow Mater. Legendary racer Lightning McQueen (Owen Wilson) is a washed up old race car, made obsolete by the tricked out new rides that hit the speedway, equipped with new technology, new training and the willingness to talk smack. His nemesis is rookie Jackson Storm (Armie Hammer), and though Lightning should really hang up his tires, he insists that he’ll decide when he’s done. After a nasty crash, he snaps up a new sponsor, Sterling (Nathan Fillion), and starts trying to beat the young guns at their own game, with his own state-of-the-art training facility and trainer, Cruz (Cristela Alonzo). She’s the vehicular version of a SoulCycle instructor, urging her charges to push harder, while thinking of fluffy clouds. But Lightning is old school, and wants to get his wheels dirty, so the duo set off for some unconventional outdoor training. — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service

DESPICABLE ME 3

H1/2 PG, 90 minutes. Niantic, Mystic Luxury Cinemas, Waterford, Stonington, Westbrook, Lisbon. Though the Minions now have their own film (of the same name), they still pull back-up duty in the “Despicable Me” franchise, and yes, they are somewhat awkwardly shoehorned into “Despicable Me 3,” a serviceable stop on the inevitable way to “Despicable Me 4.” As a couple of hours of kidtertainment, you could do worse, but it’s nothing to write home about. “Despicable Me 3,” directed by Pierre Coffin, Eric Guillon and Kyle Balda, written by Cinco Paul and Ken Daurio, relies on pre-established audience familiarity with the characters and universe of the franchise, and then just throws subplots on top of subplots on top of that. Each story is so shallow that it feels like a series of shorts, with only the flimsiest of narrative threads stitching the whole thing together. Two new characters are introduced in this third installment: Balthazar Bratt, voiced by Trey Parker, is the antagonist, a washed up child actor from the ‘80s turned super-villain, with a serious axe to grind against the industry that rejected him as a pimply, pubescent teen. He’s got a mullet, a keytar, a purple suit with shoulder pads, and one heck of a music licensing budget (it’s packed with snippets of hits from Michael Jackson to Van Halen). The other new character is a sidekick, Dru (also Steve Carell), Gru’s long-lost twin brother. After losing their jobs, Gru, wife Lucy (Kristen Wiig) and their girls head to Fredonia to meet Dru, the head of the family pig farming business, which is actually a front for super-villainy, except Dru is terrible at it. While Gru shows him the ropes, the women-folk sample the local Fredonian culture, and go unicorn hunting. — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service

47 METERS DOWN

PG-13. 89 minutes. Through tonight only at Lisbon. Still playing at Westbrook. After the surprising success of last year’s “girl with shark” thriller “The Shallows,” “47 Meters Down” seems to be posing the question, “what if ‘The Shallows’… but deep?” Because that’s exactly what it is, and it even tells you how deep right there in the title. This time there are two girls, not just the one, though star Mandy Moore is ostensibly the lead in this claustrophobic underwater nightmare, directed by Johannes Roberts, written by Roberts and Ernest Riera. Back in ‘75, “Jaws” inspired audiences to stay out of the water, and thanks to “47 Meters Down,” cage-diving might see a dip in popularity this summer. If there’s a message to be found in this film, it’s to never do things that scare you. It’s not worth the risk. Just stay at the resort, sipping cocktails at the pool. Being boring is better than being chum. Fear of “boring” is what gets Lisa (Moore) into the water, against her better instincts, with her adventuresome sister Kate (Claire Holt). The “b-word” was levied against her during a breakup, and that insult is what drives her to wildly overcorrect, setting off for a day trip cage diving with great whites with no SCUBA certification, in an unlicensed rust trap of a boat. Kate and Lisa have 30 seconds of a good time before they’re trapped in the cage on the ocean floor, surrounded by massive sharks. Tourism: don’t do it! — Katie Walsh, Tribune News Service

THE HERO

R, 96 minutes. Through tonight only at Stonington. “The Hero” begins with Sam Elliott’s character, a veteran actor, reading a voice-over about barbecue sauce, and that’s when it hit me: Sam Elliott’s voice is barbecue sauce. Pour it on any movie — and oh, that voice does pour, in thick, velvety dollops — and it tastes better. Not that “The Hero” would taste terrible without him, but it might have felt a little generic; this is the sort of small-scale story of a Man Looking Back On His Choices that you’ve probably seen before. Lee Hayden (like Elliott, for whom the role was written) is known for his work in iconic movie Westerns, but life has taken a few unexpected turns; he’s now divorced (his ex is played by Katharine Ross, Elliott’s real-life wife), estranged from his daughter (Krysten Ritter) and spends his not-toobusy days smoking weed with a pal (Nick Offerman). A cancer diagnosis, at the beginning of the film, changes his life, as does a relationship with Charlotte (Laura Prepon), a stand-up comedian who’s