Anyone hoping that Ben Wheatley might bring some of the exuberant personality and boundary-pushing creativity on display in films like “Kill List” and “In the Earth” to his for-hire gig directing the dismally boring “Meg 2: The Trench” should find different cinematic waters to swim in. Much as in his atrocious remake of “Rebecca” in 2020, Wheatley mostly phones it in here, and he does so on a rotary land line. At least until the final half-hour, when he’s finally free to unleash some monstrous chaos, this is one of the dullest films of the year, a plodding, poorly made giant shark movie that inexplicably lets the giant shark take a backseat to an evil underwater drilling operation. This thing just has no teeth.

Never really allowed to have the winking fun that he is in his best action parts, Jason Statham looks visibly bored this time as Jonas, the deep-sea diver employee of the Zhang Institute, the facility that discovered the continued existence of a prehistoric predator known as the Megalodon in the first film. The sequel reveals that the research facility has even kept one in captivity to continue to study it. Jiu-ming (an inconsistent Wu Jing), the head of the institute, is even convinced that he can train the megalodon, but everything goes wrong when it escapes and … no, this is not just a shark-escape-attack movie, although you’ll wish it was as simple as that.

Instead of focusing on the fugitive meg—who escapes hysterically easily while the crew is focused on something else—the script by Jon Hoeber, Erich Hoeber, and Dean Georgaris sends Jonas and his crew deep into the ocean to the trench that the megalodons have called home for centuries. On their way into the murky, poorly shot ocean—seriously, Wheatley’s answer to recreating underwater photography is just to turn the lighting down—they discover other megalodons, but that’s nothing compared to the evil humans who also happen to be in the trench, mining it for resources. Yes, Jonas and his team basically stumble onto an illegal operation in the middle of the ocean, which leads to their vessels being destroyed. A sequence in which they’re forced to walk the ocean floor to a facility is one of the most poorly executed in years. It almost felt real-time.

A few personality-less characters get chomped or blown up but most of the faux tension is saved for Mei-ying (Sophia Cai), who survived the first film and becomes the main creature that Jonas tries to keep alive. It’s barely a spoiler to say that Jonas, Jiu-ming, Mei-ying and a few others eventually make it back above the surface, fleeing the facility that is now overrun with soldiers for reasons I couldn’t possibly care enough to explain. They head to a resort called Fun Island, and almost 90 minutes into this mess, “The Trench” finally gets a little fun. You see, the underwater explosions destroyed the temperature shield that had kept things like a giant octopus away from tourists. Finally, Wheatley and his team get to have a little fun, but it’s far too little and far too late.

Even the action-heavy final section of “The Trench” barely seems like a production that’s trying to have a good time. How do you make a movie about a jet-skiing Jason Statham throwing harpoons at giant sharks and do with such little joy? This is a bizarrely inert film with none of Wheatley’s dark sense of humor or vicious skill with horror. It’s almost like when he found out that he couldn’t make it R-rated, he just gave up on doing anything interesting at all. Cliff Curtis and Page Kennedy develop a strange buddy-comedy-action vibe late in the proceedings that almost works, but it feels a different movie from the rest of the action. Absolutely nothing here has stakes—so many people in Jonas’ world die with barely a nod to the fact they ever existed—and anyone who has ever seen a movie knows who’s going to make it to the final scene.

Of course, that’s not always a problem. We go to giant shark movies knowing that Jason Statham is going to save the day. So it becomes about execution instead of originality, and maybe that’s why Wheatley falls so flat here. It seems like he needs to be able to play with narrative to be effective, and when he’s forced into a traditional structure like he is here then he can’t put his heart into it. He just checks out and goes through the motions.  

Early in the film, Jiuming gives a speech with a quote about how man is only limited by his imagination. Too bad the movie that follows has so little of it.

In theaters now.

Many films that tackle Black stories prioritize plight, treating their characters as inconsequential stand-ins for a thesis on trauma and pain. More successful, powerful films devote their narrative effort to how characters move through their environments. They afford their subjects agency and identity, rendering them as individuals instead of thoughtless symbols of the Black experience. It’s a nuanced distinction, but prioritizing character relays a deeper level of understanding and empathy, which Clement Virgo’s “Brother” executes poignantly.

“Brother” opens with brothers Francis (Aaron Pierre) and Michael (Lamar Johnson) climbing up electrical towers. Francis leads, instructing younger brother Michael to follow his every move. He signals that the buzzing will get louder the higher they climb, but all Michael needs to do is follow his example, and they’ll make it to the top. This vignette becomes a metaphor for their lives as “Brother” threads together three timelines: their childhoods, adolescence in high school, and young adult years. 

The sons of a single mother, a Caribbean immigrant to Scarborough, Canada, Francis and Michael couldn’t be more different. Francis is confident, physically imposing in height and musculature, and a leader among his family and peers. Michael is meek and reserved, a small fish in the pond of an increasingly hostile environment. As Francis finds himself straddling a life of family and ambition while walking a tightrope with a gang-affiliated friend group, the brothers begin facing questions of masculinity and tenacity as they age, coming face to face with the consequences of an anti-Black world in all its forms. 

Pierre and Johnson’s excellent chemistry is integral to the film’s success. They are believable as brothers not only through performance but also through the script’s ability to showcase the symbiotic relationship they have. One’s fear begets the vigilance of the other, just as one’s reservation influences the other’s proactivity. Pierre’s stoicism is a major marker of Francis’s strength against the odds, so when he breaks, showing tenderness and vulnerability, the moments hit with full impact. His indomitable facade doesn’t feel overly constructed or contrived, and Pierre performs each end of the spectrum with touching empathy in body and expression. 

Johnson, on the other hand, is always easy to read, constantly wearing his heart on his sleeve. Though Michael doesn’t intend to be seen, it can’t be helped, and this openness of character is precisely what incites so much love for him. He isn’t painted as a victim but as a dependent. And as we tour his life in Virgo’s three stages, it isn’t until we learn of Francis’ departure (the context of which isn’t explicitly revealed until the final act) that we see Michael come into his authority. He is the film’s emphatic core, driving the emotional weight and expressing it with sensitivity in its gravity, contrasting Francis’s stone-cold disposition.

As their neighborhood sees an uptick in gang violence, Francis withdraws. The brothers come of age during the 1990s hip-hop renaissance, as Michael’s dream is to be an emcee like Dr. Dre. Yet as he grows up, pulling further away from the family unit and into independence, the household is left rocked. Their mother, Ruth (Marsha Stephanie Blake), is a force of tough but tender love. Her ideas for the home are rigid, but her love for Michael and Francis butts against them in a typical head vs. heart dilemma. Blake gives a stunning performance as we view her development as much as Michael’s. From the boys’ childhood to Francis’ eventual departure, Ruth undergoes waves of change she can’t keep up with, and her relationship with Michael supplements the film’s heart after Francis leaves the picture.

Todor Kobakov’s spellbinding score glues the film’s emotional display to its stunning visuals. Played over meditative moments, the music brings “Brother” down to earth while warm versus cool color schemes paint the screen with damning dissonance. No feeling in “Brother” goes unfelt; every element of its filmmaking taps into the heart. As Michael navigates his memory, trying to reconcile ideas of masculinity against unforgiving circumstances, a study erupts: that of the spirit’s resolve and the immortality of familial love. “Brother” is a portrait of Black youth pitted against forces beyond their control. 

Now playing in theaters. 

“The Rosenbergs were small fish compared to Ted Hall.” – Joseph Albright, co-author of Bombshell: The Secret Story of America’s Unknown Atomic Spy Conspiracy (1997)

Considering the evidence about Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, executed for espionage on June 19, 1953, and about Ted Hall, the prodigy physicist recruited into the Manhattan Project at age 18, Albright is right. Ted Hall passed on far more crucial information to the Soviets and was never arrested (although he was interrogated by the FBI and harassed and trailed for years). The Rosenbergs were executed in a blaze of publicity, while Hall moved on to do important research at Sloan-Kettering and other institutions. He “hid” for decades. 

Years later, when his “spy” past was revealed in declassified documents, an elderly and very ill Ted Hall was interviewed by the BBC. When asked why he did what he did, Hall thinks for a long time before answering, “Compassion.” His action can only be understood in the context of his time, requiring a willingness to listen to where he was coming from. Things are not black and white (even saying these words would be treasonous to some). Steve James‘ documentary, “A Compassionate Spy,” takes Hall at his word (a little too much), but establishing what “compassion” meant in Hall’s particular context is the organizing principle of “A Compassionate Spy.”

The documentary is primarily composed of long interviews with Joan Hall, Ted Hall’s wife for 50 years, now in her nineties. Two of their daughters join the conversation, going through their father’s letters, and sharing memories. Joan is a captivating interview subject. The past is still very close to her. She talks about events from 70 years ago as though they happened yesterday.

Authors and physicists are also interviewed, including the aforementioned Joseph Albright and Marcia Kunstel, co-authors of Bombshell, the first account of Ted Hall’s spy activities, written just before Hall died in 1999. Albright and Kunstel provide a wider perspective of the period, while Joan Hall takes us back to her politically active free-spirited youth. Ted Hall admitted in an interview he saw the world through “pinkish” glasses: As an atheist and a Socialist, he wanted the Russian Revolution to spread to the rest of the world. He wasn’t alone in this doomed hope.

The Manhattan Project was cloaked in secrecy; much was kept from even the scientists working in the labs. However, it was clear to Hall almost immediately that “something gruesome and horrible was being constructed.” He naively assumed that Russia—America’s ally at the time—would be looped into the research. He was a scientist and believed in sharing information. He also felt that America’s “monopoly” on this dangerous technology would be very bad for the world. Hall’s radical college friend, Saville Sax (who plays a large part in the narrative, and his two children are interviewed in the documentary), suggested Hall try to pass on details of the implosion bomb to the Russians. It didn’t take much convincing. Hall was legitimately (and rightfully) fearful of what would happen if this bomb was eventually dropped on actual people.

Two-time Oscar nominee Steve James is very good at establishing the context of World War II and its immediate aftermath, the start of the so-called Cold War, the propaganda of the Red Scare, and the wild fluctuations of the American Left. He uses archival footage (note the chilling “blooper” when President Truman starts laughing in the middle of announcing America dropped the bomb on Hiroshima) and propagandistic songs like “Atomic Power,” paranoia engulfing the “free world” after the war ended.

The true nature of the Soviet system, and Stalin’s monstrosities, were clear for many to see, despite the “useful idiots” parroting Soviet propaganda, sometimes in the pages of the New York Times (see: Pulitzer-Prize winner Walter Duranty). The cynical Molotov-Ribbentrop pact of 1939, in which Russia and Germany secretly decided to carve up Poland, sent shock waves. When Hitler invaded Russia in 1941, the pact was rendered null and void, but many onlookers never recovered from the betrayal. The Halls, however, felt betrayed much later when the Russians invaded Czechoslovakia to quash the “Prague Spring.” It’s important to underline that many people saw the truth 30 years earlier (see: George Orwell, who also saw the world through “pinkish” glasses but was clear-sighted enough to get the memo about what was happening in 1936-38 during his experiences in the Spanish Civil War.).

James uses re-enactments to show us Ted and Joan’s life. While they are gently and respectfully done, they’re unnecessary, particularly when you have as strong a storyteller as Joan Hall, who paints vivid pictures with her words. The re-enactments don’t serve the same purpose as the re-enactments in, say, Errol Morris’ “The Thin Blue Line,” where they underline the unreliability of witness testimony. Here, they are interruptions, not illuminations.

“A Compassionate Spy” is strongest in digging into the archives to give audiences who might not know this cultural history a real feel for what was happening. The Cold War didn’t just happen. It was built by Wall Street and industrialists (something which Ted Hall predicted during his time at Los Alamos). The very recent past where America was pro-Russia was unthinkable in the 70 years that followed. James shows fascinating clips from Michael Curtiz’s 1943 film “Mission to Moscow,” starring Walter Huston and Ann Harding, featuring a flattering portrait of Soviet society as well as a damn near cuddly Stalin. (If you’re interested in a deeper dive into Hollywood’s interpretation of Russia in the late ’30s and early ’40s, pre-Cold War, you should definitely check out Farran Smith Nehme’s in-depth essay Shadows of Russia: A history of the Soviet Union, as Hollywood saw it.)

James’ specific and empathetic gaze is felt in all of his documentaries: “Hoop Dreams,” “The Interrupters,” “Abacus: Small Enough to Jail,” and “Life Itself.” His interview subjects reveal themselves to the camera in intimate ways, a tribute to who he is as a person and an interviewer. “A Compassionate Spy” covers a lot of ground, and even with some missing nuance and a lack of skeptical or critical voices, it contains enough ambiguity—particularly from Ted Hall himself—to open up discussion on a wider ground.

Now playing in theaters.