If you want proof that the Marvel Cinematic Universe sucks the creativity out of good directors like a Hollywood vampire, watch “Freaky Tales.”
Directed by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, who helmed 2019’s lifeless “Captain Marvel,” their latest movie has, um, flecks of the supernatural heroism and urban vigilante justice that we associate with the comic book genre.
movie reviewFREAKY TALES
Running time: 106 minutes. Rated R (strong bloody violence, language throughout including slurs, sexual content and drug use).
However, unlike many of those bland caped behemoths, “Freaky Tales,” which had its world premiere Thursday night at the Sundance Film Festival, also boasts enough forceful, nerdy personality to fill the San Francisco Bay.
The captivatingly strange movie is set in 1987 Oakland, Calif., and is structured episodically — like “Trilogy of Terror” or “The Twilight Zone Movie” — in four parts.
Those frightening comparisons, though — and the movie’s title, actually — are misleading. “Freaky Tales” isn’t horror at all, but rather a reference to the rapper Too Short’s 1987 hip-hop song of the same name. At most, audiences feel a sense of unease here.
As it happens, Too Short is a major character, as are other real-life Cali figures: the girl duo Danger Zone and Golden State Warrior Sleepy Floyd. They’re whisked into a violent, occasionally rousing, fantasy in which true events merge boisterously with the ludicrous.
The craziness begins right off the bat when a narrator tells us, “Oakland in ‘87 was hella wild,” and adds that residents are being overtaken by “cosmic green s – – t” that makes them act out. It reminded me of the pink subterranean slime in “Ghostbusters 2” only not so burdensomely moronic.
Then, each section confronts some form of injustice with an eye for entertainment instead of preachiness.
In part one, the regulars of a punk rock bar get their revenge on a group of neo-Nazi skinheads who’ve been tormenting them. After that, Danger Zone battles misogyny at work at an ice-cream parlor and onstage at a club. Entering with the well-honed intensity of a Mandalorian, Pedro Pascal plays a hitman who’s trying to get out of the biz to be with his wife and baby. And Jay Ellis’ Sleepy Floyd goes on a (fictional) rampage on the night he (really) scored 51 points in one game.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, we start to ponder exactly what all of this mostly enjoyable lunacy will amount to — or if it’s just a self-indulgent composite of Fleck’s personal obsessions.
The first two parts are fun and youthful, and have likable performances from Jack Champion, Ji-young Yoo, Normani Kordei Hamilton and Dominique Thorne, but end abruptly — like madly wrapping presents at 10 a.m. on Christmas morning.
However, during Pascal’s brooding portion (which has a hilarious cameo from Tom Hanks), the puzzle begins to come into view. While I wish there were more shrewdly assembled pieces that led to a huge “Wow! I get it!” moment, the “John Wick”-y final battle in Part Four is a fantastic orgy of balletic bloodletting.
Even though you definitely don’t leave contemplating the narrative, the detailed and authentic ‘80s aesthetic conjures a spell.
The effect is akin to having found a dusty old VHS tape that was lost for decades in your garage. You’re happy to see it, even if you’re not sure why.
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