Lack of subtlety hobbles “Badman”
A common lament among older moviegoers is that “they don’t make ’em like they used to.” This sentiment is a double-edged sword. While the wish for a certain degree of consistent craftsmanship that was part-and-parcel of studio filmmaking is understandable, the more complex subject matter dealt with in modern films has its appeal as well.
Julio Quintana’s Angel and the Badman, a remake of the 1947 John Wayne feature, is a squeaky clean, ham-fisted western of the sort that would be produced in Hollywood’s “used to” age. Painfully obvious in intent, this simplistic movie unabashedly drives home its themes with a sledgehammer, its metaphors obvious, a deft touch absent in its execution. With a decidedly Christian bent, this faith-based oater falls right in line with its distributor Angel Films’ mission to spread the word far and wide on movie screens around the world.
Quirt Evans (Zachary Levi) is the badman of the title. After lifting a cache of Confederate gold with his partners-in-crime Laredo (Neal McDonough), Tully (Maurice Greene) and Hondo (Jesus Carus), he decides to take the loot himself and leave the trio behind. However, he doesn’t get away scot-free and gets a bullet in his gut for his trouble. Thankfully, fate leads the wounded outlaw to the Worth farm where he’s taken in. The eldest daughter Penny (Meg Fraser) takes an immediate liking to him and sets out to bring him back to health.
And while her initial intent is to minister to his physical wounds, she eventually sets out to address his moral failings. Quoting scripture doesn’t go far but her acts of kindness toward him and others awaken something within the wayward stranger. Before long, Evans finds himself looking for ways to be of service to the Worths. However, this dulling of his violent nature may come back to haunt him once Laredo and the gang find out where he’s been holed up.
The script by Jamie Hernandez, Kevin Townsend and Christopher Tuffin is laden with one obvious piece of dialogue after another. At one point, Penny says, “God sent him to my corral for a reason,” referring to a lost stallion whose crossed her path. Of course, this applies to Evans, as do many other thinly-veiled references to lost souls and purposeless vagabonds. Meanwhile, overt acts of kindness throughout drive home the importance of the Golden Rule, this version of the old West hardly wil, but rather teeming with kindness.
Evans’ internal conflict ends up providing more dramatic dividends than expected. Levi does a capable job portraying the character’s inner struggle, convincing in displaying both his light and dark sides. Fraser does what she can with the one-note role she’s given and, if nothing else, makes just enough of an impression to convince us Evans would turn over a new leaf for Penny.
However, Quintana’s lack of attention to detail dooms the film to having an aesthetic akin to a high school play. The sets are newly built and have not been weathered properly, while everyone’s clothes are clean and neatly tailored. As for the people themselves, they’re so well put together, they look as if they’re able to take two baths a day, three on Sundays. A true period piece, this is not.
The overall moral of the story seems is that in order to get what you want, faith and/or force must be applied. While it’s fine to pray and put your trust in the lord, being able to draw and shoot down a mangy varmint comes in handy as well. Angel and the Badman doesn’t take kindly to subtlety. It’s much more comfortable delivering its theme right between the viewers’ eyes. In Theaters.
Hathaway shines in uneven Verity
I’d be hard-pressed to name a recent movie as silly as Michael Showalter’s Verity, but then again, that’s part of its charm, at least for fans of overwrought potboilers. The movie is an adaptation of a novel by Colleen Hoover, a popular purveyor of such dreck … wait, “literature.” The film moves, oblivious to how ridiculous it is, with a sense of confidence that’s commendable if ill-founded and as a result, sweeps you along, up to a point. Of course, where that point is varies with each viewer as some will be completely immersed in the dramatic aspects of the story, while others will see it as an unintentional comedy of epic proportions.
Lowen Ashleigh (Dakota Johnson) is at the end of her rope. The struggling author, though published, is gaining no traction where her career is concerned. About to be evicted from her closet of an apartment in Manhattan, she’s grasping at straws. Fortuitously, one happens to present itself in the form of a ghostwriting assignment. Unbeknownst to the public, best-selling author Verity Crawford (Anne Hathaway) has suffered a traumatic car accident that has left her paralyzed. Her publishers are eager to have a popular series she’s begun finished. They’ve approached Ashleigh about taking over because she works in the same genre as Crawford. Recognizing a brass ring when she sees it, she grabs onto it.
Though her payday will be a big one, she doesn’t realize the price she’ll have to pay to get it. Moving into the Crawford’s home, she soon finds herself attracted to Verity’s husband, Jeremy (Josh Hartnett), his effortless charm drawing her in. More troubling is reading the author’s unfinished manuscript, copious notes and disturbing diary which reveal a disturbing dark side. Adding to her stress, she starts to think, upon observing her incapacitated employer, that perhaps everything isn’t quite what it seems where her “crippling accident” is concerned.
Any fun to be had with the film comes from the fact that, as outlandish as it is, the story is performed without a sense of irony. Playing it straight throughout, the three principals deliver sincere performances that only heighten the ridiculous nature of the movie. Hathaway seems to be having the most fun, playing to the hilt the heinous nature of her character, an ever-present evil gleam in her eye. If she had a moustache, I’m sure she’d have twirled it.
As a result, Johnson and Hartnett feel like also-rans though they do the best with what they have to work with. That their characters wind up together is the least surprising thing about the film. What is, however, is the lack of chemistry between them. The two actors go through the motions, and I’m sure they both had a good time doing so, but there’s nary a spark between them, resulting in the story’s sordid sexy sequences falling flat.
The third-act twist is a doozy, an impossible-to-predict, out-of-left-field-turnaround that has to be applauded for its audaciousness. In retrospect, it proves to be the most entertaining aspect of the movie. Yet, it comes too late and its repercussions go unexplored, the film ending on a narratively cruel, disappointing note.
Bad movies can be fun, and there’s no question Verity is engaging on that level for most of the time. Fans of Hoover’s novel will likely be pleased, while those who like real novels who’ve been dragged to this film will lose count of the number of times they roll their eyes. If nothing else, you likely won’t be bored by the movie. You may walk out of it a bit dumber, but bored, not a chance. In Theaters.
Unabomber: The making of a monster
The popularity of the true crime genre and the widespread fascination with serial killers proves I’m not alone where being fascinated by how people become who they are is concerned. Like many others, I don’t believe people are born inherently bad but that their environment and those who raise them – or don’t – shape them into the people they become. While these are groundbreaking conclusions, they still, on an individual basis, are intriguing.
These questions and concepts lie at the core of Janus Metz’s Unabomber, a fascinating biopic that examines the formative years of Theodore Kaczynski, as well as the efforts to capture him. Taut and smart, the movie is a compelling look at the warping of a brilliant mind, as well an examination of how great promise can be turned into dangerous psychosis. Briskly told and constantly surprising, a captivating performance from Jacob Tremblay and strong support from screen vet Russell Crowe make for an intriguing cat-an-mouse game between master and pupil that leads to tragic results.
Alternating between two parallel storylines, the film opens in 1995, with FBI agent Joanne Miller (Shailene Woodley) trying to determine the identity of the Unabomber. Starting in 1978, the postal terrorist had killed three and injured numerous others with homemade bombs sent through the mail. Just why this is happening and how his victims are chosen remains a mystery but Miller, applying behavioral science to scant clues, has hopes of finding out who’s behind these attacks. What she needs is a big break.
Harvard, circa 1958, is the setting for the other plotline, with 16-year-old Kaczynski (Tremblay) eagerly arriving at the Ivy League school. He’s immediately taken with the work of his psychology professor Henry Murray (Crowe) who’s looking for volunteers for a case study he’s conducting. Hired by the government to determine why people act as they do, he hopes “to build a model of man’s thinking” through observing his subjects’ reactions to particular situations. Eager to find out more, Kaczynski volunteers to take part in the study.
What unfolds is a composition and an unraveling. Through Murray’s experiments and manipulation, we witness Kaczynski developing into an angry, anti-social loner, intent on destroying American society to create his own vision of a fair and moral world. This is an initially slow process that quickly ramps up once the young man realizes what’s happening and begins to tinker with his and others’ personalities. His initial endgame is a genuine surprise and will likely knock viewers for a loop.
As we see Kaczynski molded into the killer he will become, Miller employs her own psychological approach to identify him. With the small pieces of information she has and the behavior exhibited in the making of the bombs and their deployment, she’s able to create a profile of the man we’ve seen created, leading to his capture. Even though we know how the story ends, seeing how his apprehension came about is fascinating as one unlikely development dovetails into another, resulting in a domino effect that leads Miller to her prey.
While the story is innately compelling, the brisk pacing Metz employs makes for a film barely allows the viewer to process each development before another is revealed. Part crime procedural, part character study, Unabomber manages to frighten in myriad ways while driving home the tragedy and folly of Kaczynski’s life. All that’s left at the end is conjecture and regret, as the amount of good he may have contributed was ruined by hubris and delusion. Streaming on Netflix.
This article appears in October 1-7, 2026.
