Based on a 2001 British made-for-TV movie, Danny Boyle’s Trance casts X-Men: First Class’ James McAvoy (presumably standing in for Ewan McGregor) as Simon, an art auctioneer who becomes a media hero for foiling the heist of an über-valuable painting, yet pays the price when the would-be thief, Franck (Vincent Cassel, Jason Bourne), comes looking for it.

Trouble is, the knock to the noggin Franck gives Simon during the fray results in a bout of amnesia. To jog the priceless artwork’s location from the recesses of Simon’s mind, Franck sends him to a hypnotherapist (Rosario Dawson, Sin City).

From then on, viewers can question how much of what Boyle shows you can be trusted, as fragments of their hypnotizing sessions bleed into reality, and vice versa. While some may call this approach a mind-fuck, Trance emerges as too much of a mess to earn that badge.

Boyle sandwiched this baby in between his two-year planning stint as artistic director for the 2012 Olympics in London, and it shows. Whereas every twist and turn and layer of Christopher Nolan’s then-recent Inception felt meticulously graphed and charted and calculated, Trance feels as if its script pages were thrown into the air, and whatever Boyle caught, he shot and edited in that order.

The result is minor Boyle (as opposed to the major likes of Trainspotting). I admire sequences of the film while being somewhat cold on it as a whole. The theatricality of certain scenes is one plus, bearing influence of Boyle’s other Olympics side project, a UK stage production of a radically rebuilt Frankenstein. I think in particular of a scene where Simon hears Franck and his goons plotting against him in a loft above; he and we see the bad guys only as larger-than-life silhouettes amid butterscotch-colored light — a gorgeously structured image in a movie teeming with ugly deeds.

At least one of those scenes springs with a smidgen of goodwill, but it’s an unintended howler. I won’t spoil it, but you’ll know it when you see it. Or hear it, rather — just listen for the sound of an electric razor buzzing to life.

Art and artifice are Boyle’s ultimate themes, and he joyously maneuvers his characters so we’re constantly wondering, “Who’s manipulating whom?” The answer is that Boyle is manipulating his audience, but not skillfully enough that most viewers will be in the mood to be shifted and shoved. Trance is too slick and too empty for its own good. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Nefarious sells itself as a demonic-possession horror thriller. However, like Kirk Cameron’s Saving Christmas presenting as a family comedy, only to reveal itself as a two-person sermon on evangelical Christianity, so is Nefarious. Thou shall not bear false witness and all …

Serial killer Edward Wayne Brady (Sean Patrick Flanery, Saw 3D) is hours away from a blind date with the electric chair. Arriving at the prison, Dr. Martin (Jordan Belfi, Surrogates) is assigned to give Brady a psych evaluation, because the law states if he is insane, he cannot be executed. Seems like a big ol’ box that could’ve been checked anytime before the felon’s last day on earth, but just go with it.

Right away, Brady tells “ignorant sack of meat” Dr. Martin four incredibly bonkers things:
1. He wants to be executed.
2. But he can’t be killed.
3. Because he’s the devil.
4. Furthermore, the doc will commit three murders before the night’s through.

That’s a terrific setup, full of story possibilities. Instead, Brady and Martin sit and debate theology for an hour, with only the occasional potty, phone and/or smoke break for the doc. Brady not only works at convincing Martin of supernatural evil, but tries to get Martin to let the satanic spirit inhabit him and write the “dark gospel.” Their elongated conversation entails the kind of philosophical blabbering and muddy analogies one witnesses through clips of fundamentalist preachers at the pulpit or from the mentally ill on street corners, both using a ton of words to talk ’round and ’round the same circle.

I bear no built-in opposition to faith-based films … when they function as a movie first and impart a lesson second. Good examples of this can be found in the feature adaptations of Ted Dekker’s House and Thr3e (not to mention Dekker’s novels themselves). His stories are constructed with propulsive suspense, and viewers leave with a clear understanding of his message and beliefs without feeling like their head was held under bathwater by someone shouting demands for their repentance. (Another? William Friedkin’s The Exorcist. No, really.)

Shot in Oklahoma, Nefarious comes from Chuck Konzelman and Cary Solomon, who have found box-office riches with God’s Not Dead, God’s Not Dead 2, God’s Not Dead: We the People and — eventually, I presume — Are You There, Margaret? It’s Me, God, Still Not Dead. While I haven’t seen any of those, I can say Nefarious’ preaching-to-the-choir moralizing struck me in an off-putting way I couldn’t put my finger on. Afterward (via Google, as the screener had no credits), I understood why: It’s based on a book by Steve Deace, the conservative talk show host, college dropout and election denier who rallies against “COVID-19 tyranny” and pronouns — the kind of hateful, ignorant, boogeyman politics that unfortunately seep into “the church” these days.

Speaking of fire and brimstone, Flanery admirably devotes his blinking, twitchy, stammering all to his performance. While he obviously has the showier part, he wipes the acting floor with Belfi, who at times seems to be impersonating Ben Stiller impersonating Tom Cruise, but seriously. Rounding out the cast is Deace’s boss, inflammatory, fact-bending conspiracy theorist Glenn Beck, playing himself. Judging from Beck’s extended, last-scene cameo to essentially plug Deace’s novel, the sartorial choices of multishirted serpent Steve Bannon have rubbed off on him, because I counted no fewer than four layers covering his torso. —Rod Lott

Opens in theaters April 14.

With the Ocean’s Eleven franchise long folded, Scott Caan isn’t getting the calls from Hollywood he used to (and deserves), so he’s doing something about it. In One Day as a Lion, he’s written himself a meaty part as a man so desperate to save his teenaged child from a life behind bars, he’s willing to murder a stranger. Caan’s taken the word-processor route thrice before; the difference here is he’s ceded the director’s chair to someone else: John Swab, the on-the-rise filmmaker behind 2022’s impressive sex-worker thriller Candy Land (which gets a visual and an aural Easter egg).

Caan’s cash-strapped Jackie Powers has three days to hire a lawyer for his wrongly arrested son’s juvenile detention hearing. Luckily (?), a local “degenerate cowboy” (J.K. Simmons, Spider-Man) has gambled himself into $100,000 debt to an Oklahoma crime lord (Frank Grillo, The Purge: Anarchy), so Jackie reluctantly agrees to commit the hit. He fails, spectacularly, accidentally killing a bystander in the process. This sends Jackie with nowhere to go but on the run, kidnapping the lone witness, Lola (Marianne Rendón, Charlie Says).

Did I mention this is largely played for laughs? And would you believe it largely works? (Unmemorable and potentially problematic title notwithstanding.)

Looking more and more like his father by the day, Caan is gracious and likable, despite shooting that innocent man to death in the opening scene. (It helps you never see the victim once he takes the bullet — outta sight, outta mind, right?) However skewed Jackie’s moral code may be, he at least tries to do the right thing, thereby earning the audiences’ goodwill. At his side, not always willingly, Rendón’s dry, droll waitress gets the Lion’s share of the best lines. Where the pair ends up isn’t warranted, in part because the ending is so abrupt and anti-climactic, it feels like a penultimate scene that somehow got freeze-framed. Cue credits!

With a mix of actors known and not, the cast is solid. Brief bits by Virginia Madsen and Taryn Manning as, respectively, Lola’s mom and Jackie’s ex-wife, enliven an already fun film. It almost goes without saying Simmons is never not terrific. Shot in Swab’s Sooner State hometown of Tulsa and surrounding small towns, A Lion for a Day aptly uses its setting to serve the story, and the orange-and-yellow saturation of scenes help viewers feel Oklahoma’s oppressive summer heat.

Those triple-digit degrees are brutal, trust me. They’re to blame for Sylvester Stallone’s Tulsa King TV series retreating to L.A. for season 2. Come to think of it, A Lion for a Day’s tale of cowboys and criminals shares so much DNA, it could be a backdoor pilot for a secondary Tulsa King character’s spin-off. That’s not a knock; it’s a recommendation. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Single mom Karen has a new gig as a factory’s night-shift custodian. Day 1 is a doozy — and not because she has to scrub toilets. Rather, the warehouse is infiltrated by a few Halloween-masked men who want to punch her clock for good. You probably guessed as much from the film’s title, Hunt Her, Kill Her. I presume the tweak of the military term “hunter-killer” is intentional, as these guys clearly are on a mission; the reason, simple to suss out.

Played by Natalie Terrazzino in her first feature credit, Karen is not the most relatable protagonist. Then again, co-directors Greg Swinson and Ryan Thiessen (Five Across the Eyes) didn’t construct the movie for depth. A simple stalking exercise, the well-shot Hunt Her, Kill Her would work better if the warehouse were more labyrinthian or better spatially established to liven the routine. I’m certain it’d be tiring to chase or be chased by someone for an hour, but now I know it can be tiring to watch, too. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Directing the sequel to a film you previously starred in? Makes sense given Pitch Perfect’s formula. How about reviving America’s most recognizable trio of woman super-spies? Sure, singing and espionage go hand in hand. But helming the origin story of one of the weirdest roadside attractions … fuck it, why not?

Elizabeth Banks’ Cocaine Bear is — perhaps needless to say — a strange beast. Imagine if Kangaroo Jack mated with Final Destination, and then the baby blew at least 200 rails. What follows is a mostly fun romp with a few too many storylines that sobers the woodland rage before it really takes off.

Cocaine Bear wastes no time getting its truth out of the way. A drug smuggler accidentally plummets to his death while offloading hundreds of ounces of Colombian sugar. Shortly thereafter, a black bear eats it. And thus ends the film’s historical ties. Instead of dying from a massive overdose, the bear (aka “Pablo Escobear”) goes on a daylong rampage that would make Tony Montana jealous.

Meanwhile, a mother tries to find her school-ditching daughter; three delinquents stumble upon a portion of the coke; a grieving widower goes on a recovery mission with his drug-pin father’s muscle; a detective tries to execute the biggest narcotics bust across Tennessee and Georgia; and at least three other tangents too many rounds out this black comedy of errors.

When Cocaine Bear’s at its best, it’s a gorgeous, gory and gag-filled mess. Dismembered legs, tragic timing and a monster coked out of its gourd is hilarious, albeit rarely terrifying. By the time the film’s star crashes into premature hibernation, fatal whoopsies might have a higher body count than the bear itself.

Unfortunately, screenwriter Jimmy Warden’s compulsion to build intrigue through needless characters detracts from what the tagline asked we “get in line” to see. It has as big a cast as It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World with about an eighth of the charm. It’s saved by a few clutch performances, notably comedian Scott Seiss, Margo Martindale and the late, great Ray Liotta.

Cocaine Bear’s first hit is hard to beat, but each subsequent line is met with diminishing returns, save a ridiculous ambulance chase. The film is a reminder, however, that creature features should never take themselves too seriously. Plus, it opens up the door for other insane, drug-induced animals to follow. Ketamine Koala or Shroom Shark, anybody? Hell, Tusko, an elephant that died after being injected with 279mg of LSD in 1962, could very well be Cocaine Bear’s spiritual successor. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.