The term “popcorn movie” generally refers to a more often than not popular film that is geared toward enjoyable entertainment. It can be comedic, adventurous, or action-packed. By definition, the motion picture in question shouldn’t require deep thinking or excessive analysis, instead providing lighthearted escapism not unlike snacking on popcorn at a movie theater.
One of the biggest complaints about going to theaters is the price of concessions, which is why Monday, Jan. 19 offers a good reason to get out of the house and see a movie. It has been dubbed National Popcorn Day, and depending on where you go, free or specially-priced bags or buckets of popcorn will be yours with your ticket. At the Dipson chain, including The Capital in Niagara Falls, free small bags of popcorn will be available with the price of admission. At the North Park Theatre in Buffalo, a large popcorn is half price.
At the local AMC Maple-Ridge 8, there are unlimited refills on any size popcorn that you purchase. At the area’s four Regal cinemas, if you wear a cinematic costume of any kind, you’ll receive a free large popcorn. You will need to explain your costume — it doesn’t have to be elaborate — to whoever will be checking such things.
One movie you might be watching at Regal’s Walden Galleria, Transit, or Quaker Crossing is the new “Dead Man’s Wire,” which is a remarkably precise throwback to the gritty films of the 1970s, especially 1975’s “Dog Day Afternoon.” Both films are about an aggrieved man lashing out at an element of corporate America. In “Dog Day Afternoon,” which has rightfully earned its place as a classic crime drama, Sonny Wortzik, played by Al Pacino, sets off a media circus after his attempt to rob a Brooklyn bank fails, and he is compelled to hold the bank’s employees hostage. He is trying to get money for his life partner Leon’s gender reassignment surgery.
In “Dead Man’s Wire,” which is based on a true story and played at September’s Toronto International Film Festival, an exceptional Bill Skarsgard stars as Tony Kiritsis, who is angry that a mortgage company executive has connived with others to shut him out of a possibly profitable deal involving land for a planned shopping center. One day in February 1977, Kiritsis walks into the offices of Meridian Mortgage in Indianapolis, Indiana, for an appointment, but he’s actually planning to take as a hostage the firm’s gruff and no-nonsense boss, M.L. Hall, until a deal is struck that will nullify what he believes are unacceptable business practices on the part of the company. However, the elderly gentleman isn’t at the office. He’s relaxing in warm and sunny Florida. It is February, after all. Hall is played by the legendary aforementioned Pacino, which is a terrific bit of casting.
Adjusting to the changed circumstances, Kiritsis grabs Hall’s son Richard, who is second-in-command, and wraps a wire connected to a shotgun around the man’s neck. One problem of any kind and the gun will go off. In front of news cameras, including one associated with a rookie reporter named Linda Page (played by a wonderful actress who goes by the name Myha’la), Richard is forced to accompany Kiritsis to the man’s apartment. The police, many of whom are friends of the hostage-taker, follow closely. He considers them good men.
His demands for having the situation end are: $5 million in cash, full immunity, and a complete apology from Meridian. What has especially disgusted Kiritsis is that he cleared the land – a once-neglected piece of out-of-the-way real estate – himself and had deals planned with prospective retail businesses. His claim is that once Meridian recognized the site’s true business potential, they played him for a fool and negotiated their own contracts, thus forcing Kiritsis to default on steep loan payments.
The tense and gripping movie progresses under the watchful eye of the celebrated director Gus Van Sant. He guides a taut screenplay by Austin Kolodney into a no-nonsense study of a man who is made to look foolish, the risks of corrupt capitalism, and the games some people are willing to play with other people’s lives, especially a person who believes in propriety regarding ethics and is willing to play by the rules. When he’s asked at one point if he has any kids, Kiritsis replies: “My businesses are my children.”
An always-on-edge Skarsgard, and a trapped and frightened Dacre Montgomery as the son, are both extraordinary, especially in their close-contact scenes together. One key character is a narrator of sorts, a radio disc jockey named Fred Temple. He’s a smooth and comfortable voice whose jazz music show is a sensible, mellow counterpoint to the dramatic goings-on. Coleman Domingo is stellar as Temple. From clothes to cars, the film has the look of the mid-seventies down perfectly. The movie is unfussy and riveting from start to finish.
And then there is Pacino. Reached by telephone, the father, a tough and uncompromising businessman, comes off as uncaring. In truth, it’s business, not personal. Utterly unemotional, he is portrayed by Pacino with icy aloofness. He briefly notes some missed payments but gives no indication that he considers that a good reason for his being disturbed. Richard is clearly the child of a man who doesn’t believe that familial love should interfere with a clearly defined business relationship. The phone call runs six minutes. Between the tonally distant Pacino and the nervous energy from Skarsgard, it’s as good an acting lesson as you will see. The audience is compelled to recognize the cold, brutal calculations at play, tough-minded financial calculations that Van Sant understands fully. There has to be a winner and a loser. Who wins and who loses is for you to discover.