Movie review by Greg Carlson

Some of the conversations surrounding the theatrical release of “The Day the Earth Blew Up” (tagged offscreen in promotional material with the subtitle “A Looney Tunes Movie”) address the hard-to-believe fact that director Peter Browngardt’s film is the first entirely original animated feature using the legendary Warner Bros. cartoon characters. The designation disqualifies Joe Pytka’s 1996 “Space Jam,” Joe Dante’s 2003 “Looney Tunes: Back in Action,” and Malcolm D. Lee’s 2021 “Space Jam: A New Legacy,” all of which incorporated live action. Nerds will also recall several anthologies, including the Orson Welles-narrated documentary curiosity “Bugs Bunny: Superstar,” which arrived in 1975 to plenty of controversy over the dominant presence of Bob Clampett, who exaggerated the extent of his original Looney Tunes contributions to the dismay of many, including Chuck Jones.

Starring the stable’s second and third most durable players – Porky Pig (who debuted in “I Haven’t Got a Hat,” the 100th short in the series, released in 1935!) and Daffy Duck (who arrived in 1937’s “Porky’s Duck Hunt”) – “The Day the Earth Blew Up” strikes the tricky balance of edgy, oddball irreverence and family friendliness necessary for a contemporary outing. The screenplay, credited to a large group of writers led by Darrick Bachman, sets up a 1950s-style science fiction threat in the shape of an alien creature called the Invader (nicely voiced by Peter MacNicol). Porky and Daffy will eventually be assisted by Petunia Pig (Candi Milo), a flavor scientist working at the Goodie Gum factory where the boys take jobs that will allow them to repair their home following a failed inspection.

The rest of the plot centers on what at first appears to be an “Invasion of the Body Snatchers”-esque threat that sees unassuming citizens turned to mindless zombies as a result of space goo-infused chewing gum. Browngardt’s direction is consistently engaging and the pace finds a good rhythm pitched between the calmer, more personal business (including the terrific expository origin story featuring the towering, paternal weirdo Farmer Jim) and the frenzied mania that follows Daffy wherever he goes. The blossoming romance between Porky and Petunia works fine, although she occasionally gets short shrift in the bromantic shadow of her more popular companions.

Longtime WB animation fans have debated the decision to eschew cameo appearances from Bugs Bunny and other popular characters, but minus the absence of a desperately desired Marvin the Martian, I admire and appreciate the way that Browngardt stays true to the Looney Tunes ethos without bowing to any pressure that would load up the cast and dilute the film’s focus on the Porky/Daffy relationship. Eric Bauza voices both leads and he is as good as it gets in a world without Mel Blanc. It is also great fun to see our intrepid barnyard buddies interact with more humans than typical in the classic shorts. The design of the people exudes a very distinct Spümcø influence that triggers plenty of laughs. The godlike otherworldliness of Farmer Jim and the officious mean-spiritedness of municipal housing authority Mrs. Grecht are especially satisfying.

“The Day the Earth Blew Up” is not perfect but it is very good. Alongside fresh brand expansions like Max Winston’s stop-motion sensation “Daffy in Wackyland” (another Looney Tunes first), the dedication of the current creative class serving the legacy and tradition of what Winston accurately calls “ … some of the best American art ever made, in any genre” points toward a very bright future. Even as recent reports announced the utterly baffling possibility that Warner might sell the Looney Tunes brand,  the potential Ketchup Entertainment reprieve from David Zaslav’s disastrous mishandling of “Coyote vs. Acme” offers hope that our Looney Tunes dreams will continue.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

The opening night showcase of the 2025 Fargo Film Festival is Jennifer Tiexiera and Guy Mossman’s excellent documentary feature “Speak.” The movie premiered during the Sundance Film Festival as part of the U.S. Documentary Competition section and now seeks wider distribution while it screens in select festivals. Many locals already know of the film’s special community connection. One of the five central subjects is current Moorhead High School senior Sam Schaefer, who is joined by four other teenagers competing in the National Speech and Debate Association tournament that will potentially see one of them crowned the victor in the Original Oratory category.

Tiexiera and Mossman alternate between the preparation that goes into the high-pressure and high-stakes preliminary speech meets and biographical profiles introducing personal details for each of the five students. Along with Schaefer, who addresses issues of sexuality and experiences of being othered, we meet Noah Chao-Detiveaux, Noor Garoui, Mfaz Mohamed Ali, and Esther Oyetunji. All are, to one degree or another, gregarious and comfortable in the spotlight (which, one supposes, makes sense for elite forensics participants). The filmmakers connect viewers to the larger support systems of friends, family, and the dedicated teachers, mentors and coaches who help develop polished and poised performances.

“Speak.” will remind cinephiles of movies like Jeffrey Blitz’s 2002 documentary “Spellbound,” which tracked eight kids through the 1999 Scripps National Spelling Bee. Blitz described the influence of “And Then There Were None” on his film, and the same thought could be applied to the way that Tiexiera and Mossman naturally build suspense as we get closer and closer to the final rounds. The filmmakers excel at aligning the viewer with the highs/lows and the energy and adrenaline experienced by the subjects. Better yet, “Speak.” is an emotionally stirring testament to love, empathy, and genuine care for one another. It is also an important antidote and reasoned response to the current climate of fear, anger, and cruelty perpetuated by our so-called leaders.

As the official NSDA site explains, “Oratory is not simply an essay about the topic—it is a well researched and organized presentation with evidence, logic, emotional appeals, and sometimes humor to convey a message.” As expressed in the documentary, frequently selected topics in the current incarnation of Original Oratory, and the depth with which those topics are explored, will astonish many viewers who may have at one time participated in high school or undergraduate speech. Some, like Noah’s complex deconstruction of death-with-dignity and right-to-die philosophy as viewed through the personal lens of his mother’s suicide, are bold and unapologetic in their embrace of controversy.

Others, like Sam’s insightful examination of the harmful falsehoods perpetuated by nostalgic fantasies of the “good old days,” launch toward a sophisticated critique of the bullies who seek to erase and dismantle the histories of those who aren’t conservative, white, and straight. Esther, who could make history as the first three-time consecutive category champion in the modern NSDA tournament (which dates to 1931), also chooses a politically-oriented path, exposing the hypocrisy of representatives who claim to protect children but do nothing to enact real change. The superior quality of these speeches and the humanity and compassion of their authors offer us a sense of hope that these kids are making a real difference.

“Speak.” screens on Tuesday, March 18 at 7 p.m. at the Fargo Theatre. Sam Schaefer and Rebecca Meyer-Larson will join Fargo Film Festival host Kendra O’Brien for a Q & A following the movie. Tickets are on sale at www.fargotheatre.org and the Fargo Theatre box office. 

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Joon-ho Bong’s highly anticipated follow-up to the game-changing Oscar-winner “Parasite” was set to arrive in theaters last year, but the 2023 SAG-AFTRA strike pushed the date. Was the wait worth it? Longtime Bong fans and admirers – the sort who groove on “The Host,” “Snowpiercer” and “Okja,” in particular – will find much to love in the imaginative filmmaker’s adaptation of Edward Ashton’s 2022 novel “Mickey7,” upgraded onscreen to “Mickey 17.” Those looking for another “Parasite,” however, will need to temper expectations, despite the presence of several Bong hallmarks, including some searing class commentary and plenty of pitch-black comedy.

Robert Pattinson is fantastic as the title character and his subsequent incarnation. In a science fiction future, Mickey Barnes signs up to be an “Expendable” (with a capital E) following a series of bad choices and worse luck involving partner and pal Timo (Steven Yeun). Foolishly failing to read his employment contract’s fine print (comic voiceover narration allows us to hear Mickey’s thoughts throughout the movie), our protagonist is placed in grave situations during the colonization of an ice planet called Niflheim. Each time he dies, the company “reprints” a new iteration, uploading Mickey’s consciousness into a fresh body.

The dopey Mickey is not, shall we say, the sharpest laser in the holster, and Pattinson plays him with a winning blend of gullibility, industriousness, and fatalism. The character gets a real boost from the presence of the wonderful Naomie Ackie, whose security agent Nasha Barridge is so much more than merely a Manic Pixie Dream Girl-style love interest. Before she makes decisions pivotal to the mechanics of the entire plot, Nasha indulges in one of recent cinema’s most entertaining threesomes when she realizes Mickeys 17 and 18 exist simultaneously as illegal “Multiples” (with a capital M). Leave it to Bong to make some time for some space horniness.

Bong, unworried and unhurried when it comes to propelling the plot forward in the most  conventional or expected manner, introduces Mickey’s magic when a bunch of Niflheim aliens called creepers spare his life. The creepers, which come in multiple sizes according to their age, look like tardigrades crossed with bison, or at least the senior-most one does. Mickey eventually communicates with the creeper leader through a translation gadget, allowing Bong to emphasize that the real enemy is very often not the skittering, unearthly monster but the rapacious capitalist hellbent on expanding his power.

If that description sounds familiar, you might laugh and cry at Mark Ruffalo’s unhinged politician Kenneth Marshall, whose phony piety and quick outbursts feel like a cross between a charlatan televangelist and a certain world leader (Marshall’s slavish followers even don red hats). Sharing DNA with Ruffalo’s rakish attorney Duncan Wedderburn from “Poor Things,” Marshall is abetted/controlled by his calculating wife Ylfa (Toni Collette, holding her own in the maelstrom). Some of the action involving the Marshalls threatens to leave the rails. And Bong always chooses the more-is-more path when a number of quiet character moments for several members of the supporting cast were sorely needed. Even so, “Mickey 17” deserves a look.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Writer/director/performer Katarina Zhu’s feature debut “Bunnylovr” premiered to mixed reviews in the U.S. Dramatic Competition section of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival. Despite the lack of critical consensus, the movie succeeds as a portrait of loneliness and isolation intensified by our reliance on the technology that is supposed to facilitate connection but only alienates us from the warmth and intimacy we desire and need. Several of the responses immediately following the initial screenings took Zhu’s narrative to task, with more than one critic applying the questionable claim that “Bunnylovr” is dull and aimless. For the record, I was never bored by Zhu’s frequently languid storytelling approach.

“Bunnylovr” explores key relationships in the day-to-day life of Zhu’s camgirl Rebecca, who depends on computer-mediated sex work to make ends meet in New York City. The recent spotlight on “Anora” has elevated discourse around cinematic depictions of the category (in the broadest sense), but several movies, including Daniel Goldhaber’s “Cam,” Ben Hozie’s “PVT Chat,” and Jacques Audiard’s “Paris, 13th District” are just a few recent features that have incorporated camming. What distinguishes “Bunnylovr” from those films is Zhu’s interest in character over plot.

Rebecca, or Becca, as she is just as likely to be called, reconnects with her estranged dad William (an excellent Perry Yung) following a seemingly chance encounter on the street. William, now grappling with a terminal medical diagnosis, used to join forces with his daughter to cheat at card games. This clever bit of personal history links the two to some classic onscreen parent/child con artists, including Charles Coburn/Barbara Stanwyck in “The Lady Eve” and Ryan/Tatum O’Neal in “Paper Moon.” Zhu, however, chooses not to develop that particular dimension beyond their most basic hints at the generational source of Becca’s ability to grind and hustle.

Zhu also introduces a few of Becca’s other friends, acquaintances, and lovers. The director’s fellow NYU classmate Rachel Sennott, who is also one of the film’s co-producers, plays Becca’s pal Bella, a painter with enough wealth and privilege (as compared to Becca) to complicate and frustrate the friendship. Jack Kilmer appears as Becca’s ex. He and Zhu play some fine moments as people figuring out how to move on even though they might not be ready to stop having sex with each other. But the most dominant figure in Becca’s world is John (Austin Amelio), a client whose unpredictable overtures and increasingly unsettling obsession with our protagonist push into darker territory.

The way that John insinuates himself into Becca’s personal life crosses boundaries that will cause some viewers to scream at the checklist of bad choices and red flags. Some of the latter require a significant suspension of disbelief; John sends a live pet rabbit to Becca as a gift, a gesture which will factor in some of the movie’s most uncomfortable scenes. The “A for effort” risks don’t pay off in every respect, but on the journey of self-discovery undertaken by Becca, Zhu’s interest in contemplating consent, autonomy, and slippery power and gender dynamics in the transactional space of online sex work and IRL contact make “Bunnylovr” worth seeking out.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Of the sixteen features I saw during the 2025 Sundance Film Festival, none left as big an impression as filmmaker/artist Kahlil Joseph’s astonishing “BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions.” Behind-the-scenes controversy, documented more thoroughly elsewhere, confirms the kind of drama worthy of a movie plot – the film was briefly removed from the schedule, only to return at what seemed like the last minute following a buyout by Rich Spirit and BN Media (the movie was originally handled by A24 and Participant). No matter what maneuvers were happening out of the public eye, the world premiere of the film substantiated its power and justified a grateful sigh of relief that we were able to see it. “BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions” is one of the best films of 2025.

Joseph, a veteran music video director known for collaborations with Flying Lotus, Kendrick Lamar, FKA Twigs, Shabazz Palaces and Beyonce, spoke during the post-screening Q & A about the movie as a metaphorical mixtape or album with individual tracks that ultimately cohere into an overarching conceptual framework. Joseph also expressed hope that the movie would eventually be available to watch at no cost to the viewer. Along with Joseph, eight artists are identified for featured contributions to the movie. Additionally, Joseph shares writing credits with Sheba Anyanwu, Kristen Adele Calhoun, Madebo Fatunde, Irvin Hunt, Elodie Saint-Louis and Saidiya Hartman. In other words, “BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions” is a seriously stacked collaboration.

So what else is “BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions” and how will audiences grapple with it? In the Sundance program notes written by Shari Frilot, the movie is identified as an extension of the installation project Joseph first introduced in the New Frontier section of the 2020 festival. Frilot goes on to describe the movie as “A boldly inventive feature film, firmly rooted in an encyclopedic survey of a people manifesting a generative world history that sidesteps empire … “ Currently, the brief and perfunctory Wikipedia article about the movie describes it as a drama, but that reductive limitation is laughable in light of the film’s deep and sprawling vision.

Hardly classifiable as merely a drama, “BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions” is closer to a personal essay, combining photographs, video clips, and multimedia elements with the fictionalized story of an undercover journalist traveling on a technologically advanced ocean liner called the Nautica. That storyline makes room for the viewers to breathe. With dazzling experimental leaps, Joseph also presents entries, complete with page numbers, from “Africana: The Encyclopedia of the African and African-American Experience.” Originally conceived by W. E. B. Du Bois and ultimately brought to multivolume fruition decades later by editors Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and Kwame Anthony Appiah, the articles combine with the movie’s other pieces to announce what Frliot calls “ … seminal insight into the distinct phenomenon of what it means to occupy a state of being intoxicated with freedom.”

Needless to say, the phenomenal imagination of a work arguing for a more complete American and world history sparks with urgency. It was essential yesterday, is essential today, and will be essential tomorrow. Joseph guards against the insidious attempt at erasure being practiced (as the popular saying goes, “in real time”) by an openly racist and profoundly misguided leader keen to dismantle Black culture and achievement. The Afro-futurism and mind-altering science fiction of “BLKNWS” should inspire anyone who engages with its unique, time-transcending wavelength.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Writer/director/performer Eva Victor’s feature debut “Sorry, Baby” was one of the big 2025 Sundance success stories. Audiences connected with the film’s perfect blend of acidity and tenderness. Victor received the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award for the movie’s fantastic script. And following serious interest from Searchlight, Neon, and others, worldwide distribution rights were acquired by A24 for a sum reportedly in the neighborhood of 8 million dollars. This bright spot occurs during a particularly precarious state of affairs for independent cinema. No matter the eventual box office outcome, Victor’s victory is well-deserved. “Sorry, Baby” was one of the very best of the sixteen Sundance world premieres I had the opportunity to see.

Victor opens the story with a reunion between Agnes (played by the director) and grad school bestie Lydie (Naomi Ackie) in the rural house in the small New England hamlet near the university they attended. True to the literary themes associated with the story, Victor divides the segments of the story into chapters that preview various events with straightforward headings (“The Year with the Baby,” “The Year of the Good Sandwich,” “The Year When the Bad Thing Happened”). Covering what turns out to be about a half-decade span, the events unfold out of chronological order, a choice the filmmaker handles with a sharp organizational strategy in mind.

At the heart of “Sorry, Baby,” and lurking in plain sight in the logline that “Something bad happened to Agnes,” is the dawning realization that the fractured recounting of events mirrors the psychological processing and blacked-out gaps stemming from the sexual assault perpetrated by the professor and thesis advisor trusted by Agnes and her graduate cohort. The onscreen (and offscreen) presence of the writing mentor named Decker (Louis Cancelmi) is calibrated with precision. Victor has spoken about the desire to address the entirety of a harrowing and devastating experience without showing any violence. “Sorry, Baby” cracks the code, offering up a multitude of comic and tragic ways that Agnes works through ongoing trauma.

Among those dramatic choices is Victor’s masterstroke. Following the departure of Decker, Agnes ends up with her attacker’s old job and his old office. Cutting with and against the grain of that development and the mixed feelings it inspires in our protagonist, audience members are also as surprised as Agnes by some unexpected revelations from fellow student and creative rival Natasha (Kelly McCormack). Multi-talented filmmaker McCormack, a vocal public supporter of the #MeToo movement, is as wickedly funny as anything in the movie, which frequently laces the dark self-reflection and doubt with situational hijinks and droll wit.

Those latter two categories are supplied in part by Lucas Hedges, who plays Agnes’s neighbor Gavin. Gavin’s delight in the various kinds of attention paid to him by Agnes leads to several of the film’s most enjoyable exchanges. John Carroll Lynch, trying out an awesome accent, drops in for a humdinger of a single scene that practically defines the balance of laughter and pain sought and achieved by Victor. But the key relationship in the film is the one shared by Agnes and Lydie. Lydie’s willingness to challenge Agnes while wholly respecting her friend’s feelings unfolds with warmth and authenticity.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

To write with any degree of detail about filmmaker Drew Hancock’s “Companion” requires a spoiler alert. So if you have not seen the movie and hope to wring maximum enjoyment from the experience, I would strongly recommend that you stop reading and buy a ticket to the next available showing. With its diabolical, pitch-perfect marketing campaign to whet the appetite for what looks like artsy A24 or Neon-styled head games (the movie belongs to Warner under New Line Cinema), “Companion” works on nearly every level. The tongue-in-cheek reference in the trailer to “The Notebook” contrasts rather pointedly with the image of lead Sophie Thatcher’s arm on fire at a dinner table.

The authenticity of Thatcher’s outstanding recent performance in “Heretic” – she was raised in the Mormon faith but has left the church – will draw admirers of the 2024 release to the new movie. With a growing, horror-heavy filmography, Thatcher has been tagged as an emerging “scream queen,” but her chops are sharp enough to transcend the genre tag. In “Companion,” she plays Iris, introduced with an awkwardly adorable meet-cute flashback in a grocery store as the nervous girlfriend of Jack Quaid’s Josh. En route to a secluded lake cabin presumably owned by a wealthy Russian (played with gleeful, mustachioed sleaze by Rupert Friend), Hancock sets the table with economic exposition; we come to understand why Iris worries so much about what Josh’s friends think of her.

A whole bunch of revelations follow in rapid succession. Iris is, of course, the companion of the title – a sophisticated, app-controlled simulacrum purchased by Josh for a domestic partnership that includes uninhibited sex on demand. Unaware of her android status until a wicked twist awakens a conscience, Iris is the next-gen mashup of Ira Levin’s “Stepford Wives” and the replicants (especially Pris and Roy) of “Blade Runner.” At its most engrossing, the movie’s spin on consent and agency in the incel-saturated climate of “tradwife” misogyny and fascism embraced by the current occupiers of the White House opens the door to multiple layers of juicy subtext.

In terms of plot mechanics, “Companion” sticks close to the chapters in the horror playbook that describe escalating body counts. Hancock carefully metes out the ultra-violence. One roadside beatdown, which immediately follows what could be Thatcher’s funniest bit in the whole movie, is a stomach-turning masterclass in blunt force trauma. The director also swaps Chekhov’s gun for an electric corkscrew, which may or may not be a sly comment on the dangers of too much technology. Regardless, the AI discourse is here to stay for the foreseeable future. Hancock’s movie, better with multiple viewings, may not be the most intellectually inclined of the emerging class, but it is well-programmed for entertainment.

Kogonada’s 2021 “After Yang” set the bar for cinematic stories about the ethics of “techno sapien” servitude. Last year, S.K. Dale directed “Subservience,” a science fiction-infused thriller that considers themes of sentience emerging from interactions between humans and eroticized, hyper-realistic constructions. But it was another 2024 movie, Scooter McCrae’s controversial and divisive “Black Eyed Susan,” that reached into the darkest heart of rape culture. Overall, the reviews for McCrae’s low budget provocation revealed a wide range of opinion on the movie’s relative success or failure, but it might be the most thought-provoking companion to “Companion.”

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Now streaming on MUBI, Elizabeth Sankey’s essay film “Witches” morphs from what at first appears to be a feminist deconstruction of movie and television representations of the title figures into a wrenching and penetrating examination of the way that centuries of cultural expectations revolving around motherhood have taken an unfair toll on women. Presenting her arguments through a series of chapter headings enumerated as a series of ancient spells/protections/incantations, Sankey demonstrates a command of the form by synthesizing two seemingly unrelated subjects: witchcraft and perinatal depression. The abrupt pivot away from the assessment of screen witches in all of their beauty and ugliness initially unbalances the viewer, but Sankey’s thesis comes into a focus so sharp that skeptics should be fully convinced by the movie’s end.

The clips that Sankey selects for the purposes of illustrating a variety of claims come from some of the usual suspects as well as a handful of lesser known (but no less inspired) properties. Just to name a few, “Häxan,” “The Wizard of Oz,” “I Married a Witch,” “The Witches of Eastwick,” “The Craft,” “Hocus Pocus,” and “Practical Magic” are cut alongside “Bell, Book and Candle,” “Onibaba,” “The Love Witch,” “The Witch,” and multiple adaptations of “Macbeth.” Several others, including “The Snake Pit,” “Rosemary’s Baby,” “A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors,” and “Girl, Interrupted” link to questions about societal treatment of women experiencing mental illness. Under Sankey’s scrutiny, this latter category materializes into a reality more ominous and terrifying than anything conjured in a folktale.

Sankey opens up about her own post-birth struggles, addressing viewers with a stirring combination of vulnerability and candor. She describes the disequilibrium that ultimately brought her to a secure inpatient unit equipped to address the unique challenges faced by many new mothers. One particularly sobering statistic is noted in the movie: the tiny number of dedicated facilities in the United States is dwarfed by the number in the UK. Sankey delivers the clear-eyed explanation for the disparity through the story of Dr. Daksha Emson, a brilliant psychiatrist who killed her baby and herself. Daksha’s husband David, one of the few men to speak on camera with Sankey, points out another link between witches and women with perinatal depression: the ability to hide, even from those closest to you.

Sankey sits across from many women who feel safe and brave enough to disclose firsthand anecdotes about the very worst days of their lives. The conversations are vulnerable and emotionally raw, but the unique sisterhood represents one more way in which Sankey reframes an understanding of witches. As pointed out by Alise Chaffins, Sankey draws a line between the accused women who confessed to the charges unfairly brought against them and the contemporary mothers experiencing internal torment. Chaffins writes, “When they were suffering from post-partum depression and, in some cases, post-partum psychosis, death seemed preferable to continuing to live as someone who could have such evil thoughts.”

At the conclusion of the principal story, Sankey reveals one last bit of cinematic magic to her viewers. The illusion is best discovered fresh and deserves to remain hidden for anyone who has yet to see the movie, but enthusiastic consumers of nonfiction filmmaking will appreciate the affinity Sankey shows for the work of fellow documentarians like Clio Barnard and Kitty Green. “Witches” is top-shelf filmmaking that happens to intersect with the filmmaker’s advocacy. Even viewers who have no personal experience with the topic will walk away with a clearer understanding and feelings of empathy.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

In a little more than a quarter of the 20th century spanning the 1930s, 1940s, and part of the 1950s, Humphrey Bogart built one of the quintessential American filmographies. Stubborn, tenacious, and devoted to his craft, the actor played plenty of thugs and toughs before the eventual turn that would establish leading man bona fides and open the door to a more satisfying range of roles. Belfast-born filmmaker Kathryn Ferguson, whose excellent “Nothing Compares” brought all the necessary fire and fury to the life of Sinead O’Connor, compiles a handsome and worthwhile overview of Bogie in “Bogart: Life Comes in Flashes.” The new feature may not unfold with the same degree of urgency as Ferguson’s look at the Irish pop music star (like Bogart, an iconoclast and legend in her own right), but it is still a terrific overview of one of the great Hollywood icons.

Ferguson bookends the movie at All Saints Episcopal Church in Beverly Hills with footage of Bogart’s memorial service in 1957, a spectacle of mourning attended by a constellation of friends including David Niven, Danny Kaye, Marlene Dietrich, Gregory Peck, Joan Bennett, Spencer Tracy, Gary Cooper, Errol Flynn and many others. In a fashion not unlike the recent Mark Cousins doc “My Name Is Alfred Hitchcock,” Ferguson aims to present as much information as possible in the words of her subject. As performed by Kerry Shale, whose approximation of Bogie is passable, the direct quotations allow the filmmaker to craft enough first-person point-of-view to keep viewers and fans – both casual and devoted – intrigued.

In addition to the voiceover by Shale, Ferguson also draws from the comments of a number of Bogart’s close associates and collaborators to fill in details about the man’s personality, politics and proclivities. The latter of those three categories certainly involved the consumption of a large quantity of alcohol. Ferguson connects many thematic dots by considering each of Bogart’s four marriages and how that particular quartet of women – Helen Menken, Mary Philips, Mayo Methot, and Lauren Bacall – influenced and shaped the actor’s world in public and in private. All four of Bogart’s wives were professional actors and Ferguson fully probes the dynamics of those partnerships.

Ferguson does not neglect the fifth important woman in Bogart’s life: his mother Maud Humphrey, the talented and well-compensated professional illustrator and suffragette whose lack of physical affection left her son with lasting resentment as much as it shaped his often unsentimental outlook. Perhaps enough time has passed (Bogart was born on Christmas Day of 1899) that Bogart and Bacall’s son Stephen, who supported and contributed to the project in collaboration with Humphrey Bogart Estate CEO Robbert de Klerk, felt comfortable cracking the door open a bit more than the typical “authorized” feature.

“Flashes” is not designed or deployed as an in-depth critical biography. Only the career highlights and touchstone movies are addressed; given Bogart’s prolific output, it would be marvelous to see a multipart series covering those big titles as well as the less-discussed but utterly fascinating appearances in the performer’s go-to genres (including film noir/detective fiction, war/combat, melodrama, romance, etc.) as well as his rarer films. Until that unlikely dream takes shape, “Bogart: Life Comes in Flashes” might just generate enough interest to turn casual viewers into more discerning fans. Of course, once a person has seen him at work, Bogart doesn’t really need any help convincing movie lovers to spend quality time with him.