Movie reviews: 'Argylle' is an outrageous, twisty-turny idea trapped in a movie afraid to cut loose

Argylle: 2 ½ stars

English director Matthew Vaughn is best known for making high concept, high octane action movies like “Kick-Ass” and the “Kingsman” series. His new PG-13 rated spy spoof, “Argylle,” now playing in theatres, features his trademarked busy, stylistic action but feels like a toned-down—i.e. less violent, and less provocative—version of his previous work.

The chaotic story begins with Bryce Dallas Howard as bestselling but reclusive author Elly Conway. Her life is as sedated as the spy novels she writes are exciting. By day, she sends her main character, globe-trotting super-spy Argylle (Henry Cavill) and sidekicks Wyatt (John Cena) and Kiera (Ariana DeBose), off on adventures to do battle with femme fatale LaGrange (Dua Lipa) in hopes of taking down a global spy syndicate called the Directorate. After work, she spends quiet time at home with a “hot date,” her beloved cat Alfie (best spy movie cat since Blofeld's Solomon) by her side.

That quiet life is upended when she meets a real-deal Argylle type, Aidan (Sam Rockwell), an actual spy sent to keep her safe.

“What you write in your new book actually happened,” he says, “and you kicked a hornet’s nest you didn’t even know existed.”

Turns out there is a real Agent Argylle, some very bad people who are after her and Ritter (Bryan Cranston), an unhinged spy master who thinks her books are too close to reality for comfort.

Drawn into real-world espionage, she, Aiden and the cat are thrust into a world wilder, and certainly more dangerous, than anything in any of her books.

“If you want your life back,” says Aidan, “I can give it to you. I’m the good guy here.”

A mix-and-match of “Mission Impossible,” the James Bond franchise and buddy comedies, “Argylle” is a jumbled, confusing bit of semi-fun. Cartoonish and convoluted, the movie is stuffed with over-the-top spy action, a stacked A-list cast and a wise-cracking, scene-stealing performance from Rockwell, but never quite comes together. Loose ends strangle the story’s forward motion, Vaughn occasionally falls into the movie’s deep plot holes, and there are so many twists, not even Chubby Checker could keep up.

It isn’t until the films last half hour, of an over-long 139-minute running time, that Vaughn stages two eye-popping action sequences. A “deadly” dance number and an untraditional figure skating routine are fun, and have the kind of over-the-top energy you expect from Vaughn. Both sequences entertain the eye, but also highlight what the rest of the movie so desperately lacks.

Rockwell’s live-wire performance provides most of the film’s laughs, but they are few and far between. As for the rest of the cast, most are underused. And you have to wonder why some of them—including Samuel L. Jackson and Richard E. Grant—even bothered to show up.

“Argylle” is errs on the side of PG-13. It is an outrageous, twisty-turny idea trapped in a movie that is afraid to really cut loose.

The Greatest Night in Pop: 3 ½ stars

If a bomb dropped on A&M Recording Studios in Hollywood on January 28, 1985, the Billboard charts may never have recovered. Save for superstars Prince and Madonna, the entirety of American pop music royalty, 46 performers in total, gathered to check their egos at the door, and record “We Are the World,” the American answer to Bob Geldof’s supergroup charity single “Do They Know it’s Christmas?”

The song became the fastest-selling U.S. pop single in history, selling 20 million copies, and raising tens-of-millions for humanitarian aid under the umbrella of United Support of Artists for Africa (USA for Africa). A new documentary called “The Greatest Night in Pop,” now streaming on Netflix, takes us behind the scenes of the historic recording session.

In the opening third of the film, director Bao Nguyen sets the stage, “Behind the Music” style, using archival footage and new talking head interviews with the major players, to teleport the viewer back to the heady days of the original Macintosh personal computer and when “Purple Rain” made Prince the first artist to score a number one song, album and movie at the same time in North America.

Music icon and activist Harry Belafonte noted the success of Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” to raise awareness and funds to fight famine in Africa, and put into motion the idea that would become “We Are the World.” In short order, fundraiser and music agent Ken Kragen came on board, raided his Rolodex, and brought together Lionel Ritchie, Michael Jackson and producer Quincy Jones to create a song to be sung by an all-star choir.

From the writing of the tune and the machinations involved in recruiting the A-list talent, made somewhat easier by scheduling the session after the American Music Awards ceremony when virtually the entire music industry was in Los Angeles for the event, to the placement of the microphones and Jones’ famous “Check your ego at the door” sign, Nguyen breezes through the events leading up to the actual recording.

It is a straightforward setting of the scene, that leads into the remarkable footage taken on the night, as some of the most famous people in the world came together to learn and record a song while also shooting the music video that would accompany the release.

It’s here the documentary becomes something more than an episode of “I Love the ‘80s.” The footage unveils the effort, the raw talent and spirit of camaraderie among the legends, who almost immediately becomes starstruck fans, asking their idols for autographs in between takes and expressing shyness about singing in front of music legends like Ray Charles and Bob Dylan.

There are funny moments—Cyndi Lauper’s many necklaces are identified as the strange sound ruining take after take—some unexpected ones—Bob Dylan’s vocal insecurity, for instance—and touching scenes of the artists overcome by emotion, including Diana Ross who cried when it was all done. “I don’t want this to be over,” she said as equipment is packed up around her.

At the helm is Jones. To manage the talent, the egos and insecurity of a roomful of superstars, Huey Lewis notes, “You gotta be more than a great musician, you have to be a psychiatrist,” and it is remarkable to watch Jones mollycoddle, push and prod this group. He knows what he wants and always seems to know how to get it. It’s a remarkable peak into the work of a virtuoso.

“The Greatest Night in Pop” is an exercise in nostalgia and certainly doesn’t reinvent the music documentary form, but the work of the collected musicians on that one special night remains as inspiring today as it was 39 years ago.

Fitting In: 3 stars

A quote from French existentialist philosopher Simon de Beauvoir sets up the tone of writer/director Molly McGlynn’s semi-autobiographical sex comedy “Fitting In.”

“The body is not a thing,” reads the title card, “but a situation.” It’s the perfect sentiment to set the stage for this raunchy, reproductive health coming-of-age film.

16-year-old Lindy (Maddie Ziegler) lives with her therapist mom Rita (Emily Hampshire) in Sudbury, Ontario. Abandoned by her father years ago, she and Rita has survived and thrived, and now Lindy finds herself in a new high school with supportive BFF Vivian (Djouliet Amara) and new boyfriend Adam (D’Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai).

In anticipation of being intimate with Adam, she makes an appointment with a gynecologist to get a prescription for birth control pills. She’s never had a period, so the doctor refers her to a male specialist who, after a routine examination, matter-of-factly drops a bomb. She has Mayer-Rokitansky-Kuster-Hauser syndrome, which means she was born without a uterus, and will never be able to give birth or “have sex without manual or surgical assistance.”

The news devastates her, leaving her shamed and anxious, unwilling to accept help from Rita or her friends. Overwhelmed by doctors who prescribe dilatators—”It’s like vagina bootcamp!”— her carefully crafted life begins to fall apart. There is tension at home, she quits the track team and, when she recoils from physical contact, her relationship with Adam becomes frayed.

“Pretty much my worst nightmare is people finding out,” she says.

The only person she feels comfortable confiding in is Jax (Ki Griffin), a nonbinary and intersex schoolmate whose relationship with their body goes a long way to ease Lindy along on her journey to defining her sexual identity. “I don’t feel like an object of medicine anymore,” Jax says. “I feel like being intersex gives me a superpower. To own who you are, however you define yourself, is up to you. No one should ever make you feel ashamed of that.”

Frank and funny, “Fitting In” is being described as a “traumedy,” a portmanteau of trauma and comedy. Director McGlynn certainly captures the struggle of Lindy’s situation but does so with relatable humour. Much of that comes courtesy of Ziegler, whose on-screen naturalness makes her an audience surrogate, guiding us through the ups-and-downs of Lindy’s life. From vulnerable and edgy to self-possessed and impulsive, Ziegler captures the chaotic inner workings of a teen coping with a life changing situation.

Much of “Fitting In” works well. McGlynn shows a deft hand with the scenes involving gynecological health care visits and details the alienating manner in which the male doctors advise their female patients. The teen scenes feel realistic, and the “big teen movie speech,” where Lindy finally finds a way to express herself, has a nice vindicating feel, but at 106 minutes the material overall feels stretched a bit too thin.