‘Vulcanizadora' Review: Guilt Trip
'Can you imagine that? Being nervous forever?' The two are hiking through a Michigan forest en route to a terrible, as yet unrevealed destination, and viewers familiar with Potrykus's work will feel a stab of amusement: Perpetual unease is a state he has always imagined with exquisite precision.
Revisiting the losers we met a decade ago in 'Buzzard,' 'Vulcanizadora' wonders where slackers go when their adolescent behaviors no longer serve. Nowhere good, is the answer, as these pitiable, middle-aged misfits gradually reveal lives that are likely unsalvageable. Marty, a small-time crook, is facing a second stint in prison and living in his childhood basement. Derek is divorced, estranged from his young son (played by Potrykus's real son, Solo) and unreliably medicated. Both are depleted from past mistakes and on the verge of making one of the worst imaginable. When everyone thinks you're a no-count, then nothing you do can ever count.
Potrykus, though — an inveterate hand-to-mouth practitioner — persists in treating the lost and the left-behind as if they matter, and his signature empathy is pronounced here. As is his fascination with fire as an arbiter of emotional disturbance: Like the pyromaniac of 'Ape' (2014), Marty may be an arsonist, and his emphatic wretchedness finds expression in a lingering, hauntingly surreal close-up of black snake fireworks slowly uncoiling.
Spasmodically funny, though hardly a comedy, 'Vulcanizadora' is raw, moving and, briefly, horrifying. In the press notes, Potrykus admits to having worried that becoming a father would cause him to soften and 'start telling stories of hope and inspiration.' That may be the funniest joke of all.
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Boston Globe
10-07-2025
- Boston Globe
A ‘Back to the Future' that reminds you of the past
Wherever that DeLorean took me, it would surely be a better time and place. But the universe had other plans, so here are a few thoughts: Advertisement 'Back to the Future' is a throwback in more than one sense. It can no longer be assumed that a stage musical drawn from a nonmusical hit movie will be dreck. The 2017 Broadway musical adaptation of 'Groundhog Day' was pretty good. The 2019 Broadway musical adaptation of very good. The musical adaptation of ' But 'Back to the Future: The Musical' reminds you why journeys from screen to stage are often a bad idea, destined to land with a splat: Because they are driven, so to speak, by the imperatives of the box office rather than any kind of artistic inspiration or aspiration. Advertisement The best adaptations have something to say. 'Back to the Future' doesn't have much more to say than: Give us your money. While there are some changes from the movie, a chief problem with this touring production is that That narrows the interpretive range any of the performers can traverse. While the cast is certainly game, their struggles to make something fresh out of something so pre-fabricated, such an industrial product, are evident. Lucas Hallauer, who physically resembles the younger Fox, plays restless teenager Marty McFly. Marty is rightly embarrassed by his parents, the ultra-wimpy George (Mike Bindeman, seemingly trying to out-geek Crispin Glover) and slovenly Lorraine (Zan Berube). It's 1985, fully three decades after high school, but George is still being pushed around by Biff (Nathaniel Hackmann), the hulking, none-too-bright fellow who bullied George back then and still has designs on Lorraine. Within that stifling environment, Marty is understandably eager for adventure. An opportunity for that presents itself when nuclear physicist/mad scientist Doc Brown (David Josefberg) enlists him to help in an attempt to travel through time in the aforementioned DeLorean. ( But when Doc experiences radiation poisoning while handling plutonium, Marty tries to go for help in the DeLorean, then accidentally stomps on the accelerator too hard and ends up back in 1955. There he encounters his father, George, and his mother, Lorraine, both of them teenagers. George is the same hapless nerd, but Lorraine is … different. Advertisement She always told Marty and his siblings that she was prim and proper when she was in high school. Marty discovers that she was neither. Soon he is experiencing the Freudian nightmare of being hit on by his mom. For reasons that have to do with the space-time continuum, Marty's very existence hinges on whether he can get George and Lorraine to fall in love. For Marty to be returned to 1985 – to go back to the future — he and the 1955 version of Doc Brown need to harness the power of a lightning strike on town's clocktower. The nonstop musical and video bombardment in 'Back to the Future' seems designed to pummel the audience into submission and persuade them that their money was well spent. But it comes across as a sign of desperation in the effort to create a live simulacrum of a beloved movie. A joke in which 1955 George is perplexed by Marty's use of the word 'heavy,' which is not funny the first time, is for some reason brought back a second time. There is some Boston-based pandering: a Tom Brady reference, a throwaway line about the 'Green Monstah.' One number features the chorus in top hats and tails, for some reason. It should be noted, however, that the chorus is first-rate, the best thing about this 'Back to the Future.' It's far from the first time that has been true in a production that's arrived in Boston from Broadway. Advertisement In the number that opens Act Two, Doc Brown sings 'I can't wait to be/In the 21st century!' You might want to reconsider that, Doc. BACK TO THE FUTURE: THE MUSICAL Book by Bob Gale. Music and lyrics by Alan Silvestri and Glen Ballard. Directed by John Rando. Choreography, Chris Bailey. Presented by Broadway In Boston. At Citizens Opera House, Boston. Through July 20. Tickets from $40. Don Aucoin can be reached at
Yahoo
12-06-2025
- Yahoo
‘SNL's' Mikey Day Has Knack for Getting Crazy Characters to Go Viral, But Says ‘I'm Not Really Sure Where This Stuff Comes From'
'SNL' fans know Mikey Day as the guy who turns up in a bunch of sketches every week, maybe as the father who gets into traffic arguments that require lots of hand gestures and signs or in a longstanding impression of Donald Trump Jr. Behind the camera, however, Day is increasingly known as someone who can help everyone from Kate McKinnon to Tom Hanks go viral — even if the average viewer of the long-running comedy showcase has no idea of his unique abilities. More from Variety Jimmy Fallon Says 'People Want You to Fail' When You're on 'SNL', Adds Dealing With Hate Is the 'Absolute Worst': 'You Can't Make Everyone Like You' 'SNL 50' Becomes Most-Watched Season in Three Years, Hitting 8.1 Million Average Viewers After One Week Andrea Mitchell on Rebuilding Faith in the News Media: 'Trust Is the Coin of the Realm, and We Have to Be the Gold Standard' Without Day and his writing partner, Streeter Seidell, there would be no David S. Pumpkins, the kooky Halloween figure who even made his way into an animated special at NBC, or Miss Rafferty, the strange woman who is often kidnapped by aliens. Last season, Day helped conceive of a sketch in which he played a man who looked a lot like the famous MTV cartoon figure — and even got 'SNL' mainstay Heidi Gardner to crack up on screen. 'It's crazy where the ideas originate,' says Day, 45 years old, during a recent interview. He has been with 'SNL' since 2013, the first three years as a writer. 'Sometimes, you can see something on TV that will just spark your idea, or you see a commercial, but oftentimes, I'm not really sure where this stuff comes from.' Day is trying to broaden his comedy experience. One of his most recent sketches had him getting undressed behind the 'Weekend Update' fake-news desk as his character scrambled to rid himself of perceived spider webs. 'I haven't really done this kind of thing, just an all-out physical piece where the laughs are coming from the physicality,' he says. 'It was just kind of a forum to just literally go crazy.' He says 'SNL' aficionados are likely to see him return to the show when its next season starts in the fall — putting to rest, hopefully, some of the usual glut of social -media guesswork about which cast members might depart the program during its summer hiatus. 'I want to work there for as long as I can,' he says. 'I want to work there until it's sad.' Day's on-screen run at the show, however, may have initially come as a surprise . He joined 'SNL' in 2013 strictly as a writer, recommended to producers by former cast members — and his former college classmates — Nasim Pedrad and Taran Killiam. After a few years filled with many sketch ideas and a few brief in-show appearances as a bit player, Day received some interesting news from 'SNL' executive Lorne Michaels. He was being made co-head writer and a cast member for 'Maya & Marty,' a summer-season sketch comedy showcase Michaels was producing around Marty Short and Maya Rudolph. Day didn't see the opportunity coming. 'It's very Lorne to casually drop this information,' he says. He started to stand out quickly. After the 'Maya & Marty' run, Day won a slot as a featured cast member of 'SNL.' By his fourth episode, he landed a big moment with Seidell when they came up with the now-legendary 'David S. Pumpkins' sketch, which features Hanks as a strange character, flanked by dancing skeletons played by Day and Bobby Moynihan, who keeps showing up in a haunted amusement ride. The skit was inspired by a Disney ride, says Day, the 'Tower of Terror' that puts people in a vestibule that keeps opening on scary scenes amid different drops. He remembers it from frequent visits to Disneyland when he was growing up. He also has an obsession 'with weird, flashy, stupid suits' which became another of the character's hallmarks. Hanks, Day recalls, had some questions. 'He was a little bit like, 'Who is this guy exactly?'' but 'brought that special magic that only Tom Hanks can bring.' The best part of that sketch, now a legendary one, is 'you don't know if it's going to work,' says Day. 'There are not really any jokes, you know what I'm saying? It's just some weird DNA. That fact that it worked with the SNL audience and the studio audience felt like a little victory.' Day keeps looking for new funny ideas, says Seidell, his primary collaborator. Day is 'always trying to invent new moves for himself that the audience hasn't seen,' he says, and is typically wiling to apply his humor to someone else's on-screen moment. 'He'll write a showcase sketch for a new cast member and give himself a tiny little part in it. Once he wrote a showcase sketch for a new cast member that he wasn't even in at all. I can't think of another instance of that happening.' Day and Seidell have written about nine different 'Miss Rafferty' sketches that star Kate McKinnon as a woman who has been kidnapped by aliens. The scenes usually have McKinnon discussing surprise bodily entanglements she's had with her captors and have proven popular enough that even Meryl Streep has taken part in one that was shown during the program's 50th anniversary special this year. 'That was another one where I had no ideas if it would work,' says Day. As for Streep's participation? Even the writer seems surprised. 'Wild.' One recent success took years to get on the show. Audiences reacted instantly to a sketch last season featuring Day and Ryan Gosling as two men who looked just like Beavis and Butt-head, the two animated MTV characters. And yet, internally, the concept took a long time to get ready for late night. Day and Seidell tinkered with the concept over what may be as much as five years. Maybe the conversation taking place around the duo needed to be more serious and less shocking. Maybe the set needed to be adjusted. They once tried the sketch when Jonah Hill hosted, but, says Day, 'the sketch itself wasn't there yet.' They tried it once with Oscar Isaac was the guest, but it never even got to dress rehearsal, because the set requirements were too big during a week where there were a lot of sketches. 'We were all going to give up on it,' says Day, until Ryan Gosling came for another hosting stint. 'He changes our lives every time he hosts,' he adds. Day says 'SNL' keeps challenging him. Each week, he gets to try something different. 'You can literally write whatever your brain can come up with,' he says. The show is 'just very engineered, it feels like, to my ADD kind of brain.' But he's learned not to probe too deeply at the ideas that come up in his mind. 'When it works, it just kind of works.' 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Time Magazine
06-06-2025
- Time Magazine
The Life of Chuck Works Too Hard For Its Warm Fuzzies
Stories about the meaning of life tend to work at cross-purposes with the job of actually living it, particularly when they pedal hard to activate the tear ducts. Mike Flanagan's science-fiction life affirmer The Life of Chuck —adapted from a Stephen King novella—is an ambitious little film that has already earned some laurels: it was an audience favorite at last year's Toronto International Film Festival, winning the People's Choice Award. Thanks to a few key moments, and the strength of its actors, it's easy to see why audiences would warm to the film. But if you're immune to its charms, you won't be alone. From its cute-fake soundstage-town setting to the authoritative yet chummy voice-over narration (courtesy of Nick Offerman), The Life of Chuck works doggedly to give you the warm fuzzies—and a little bit of that fuzz goes a long way. The story is ingeniously—or pretentiously, depending on your mood—constructed to unspool backward, beginning with the third act and ending with the first. In the opening section, Chiwetel Ejiofor plays schoolteacher Marty, whose class is interrupted just as his students are digging into Walt Whitman's 'Song of Myself,' particularly its key phrase 'I contain multitudes.' A student gasps: she's just seen the news on her phone that part of California has fallen into the ocean. Then the internet shuts down altogether, possibly for good—the end times are near, maybe, and the world is getting ready. Marty sees a weird billboard, featuring a smiling man in a business suit and the words charles krantz, 39 great years!, and thanks chuck! (The missing comma in that last phrase is presumably just one of the mysteries of life.) Marty doesn't know who Chuck is, nor does anyone he asks. But this billboard, followed by other mysterious Chuck references, may hold the key to the end of the world. In the second act, we find out exactly who Chuck is: a pleasant accountant, played by Tom Hiddleston. And in the third—which is to say the first and final act—we learn Chuck's backstory, how he was orphaned at a young age and sent to live with his grandparents, Mark Hamill's gruff but kind bookkeeper Albie and his sensible but joyful homemaker wife Sarah, played by Mia Sara. Sarah loves to dance, and she teaches young Chuck—at this point played by an appealing child actor named Benjamin Pajak—her best moves. He's a natural, though something is holding him back. And he too will study that Walt Whitman poem: it will shape not only his destiny, but also that of the world. Because The Life of Chuck is based on a Stephen King story, all that heavy-duty supernatural pondering just comes with the territory. The problem is that Flanagan—known for eerie but subtle horror films like Hush and Oculus and Netflix series like Midnight Mass and The Haunting of Hill House —puts too many overly earnest quotation marks around what should be the most moving scenes. The score becomes grand and syrupy whenever there's a big emotional revelation; characters deliver solemn soliloquies on the orderly beauty of math. The Life of Chuck explores the joys and sorrows of a life well lived in the most precious way—though Hiddleston and Ejiofor succeed somewhat in counterbalancing the mawkishness. Ejiofor explains Carl Sagan's Cosmic Calendar with a Shakespearean authority that makes every word matter. And Hiddleston, in the second section, has an extended dance number that momentarily sends the movie soaring. As a street drummer (Taylor Gordon, also known as the Pocket Queen) beats out a fascinatin' rhythm, Hiddleston's Chuck taps, whirls, and moonwalks through a spontaneous routine that, for as long as it lasts, almost manages to connect you with the meaning of life. He's the spirit of Gene Kelly reincarnated in a regulation accountant's gray suit; when he's in motion, The Life of Chuck really is transcendent.
