Movie review by Greg Carlson

Forty years ago this week, the release of “Alien” added a seminal text to the American movie library. Mixed reviews would, with time, give way to admiration from scholars and critics articulating what early adopters recognized from the first: Ridley Scott’s elegant, observant masterwork combines pinpoint design, allusive writing, and patient direction into a hall-of-fame nightmare. Exemplifying the ne plus ultra of the “old dark house” formula, “Alien” occupies a place at the high table of modern marriages of science fiction and horror. Like “Star Wars,” the original article has also spawned an ongoing industry of sequels and spinoffs with ancillary merchandise from comics to video games to T-shirts to toys.   

Filmmaker Alexandre O. Philippe, veteran chronicler of deep-dive cinematic phenomena, has prepared his most satisfying work yet with “Memory: The Origins of Alien” (simply “Memory” in the onscreen title at Sundance). From the study of fandom and ownership in “The People vs. George Lucas” to the consideration of the zombie in “Doc of the Dead,” Philippe interrogates intersections of movie culture and psychology with the enthusiasm and ardor of a cinephile. His previous documentary, “78/52,” a near-comprehensive breakdown of the shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” anticipates “Memory” in terms of how the deconstruction of a single movie moment/element — in this case the ghastly demise of John Hurt’s Kane — enriches and excites.

Philippe devotes more time to the chestburster than to any other component of “Alien,” but the sheer volume of additional information dazzles in both breadth and depth. Plenty of new talking head interviews from cast members and scholars provide context, but Philippe judiciously selects key archival material to organize the film’s thesis into a creative triangle. Presented as equally valuable artists in the journey of “Alien,” Philippe studies the input of writer Dan O’Bannon, designer H. R. Giger, and director Scott. Several well-known chapters from “Alien” history are recounted, including literary inspirations like Lovecraft’s “At the Mountains of Madness” and Al Feldstein’s “Seeds of Jupiter!” from “Weird Science” #8.

More dots are connected between “Alien” and forerunners like Edward L. Cahn’s “It! The Terror from Beyond Space” and Mario Bava’s “Planet of the Vampires.” Philippe consistently presents all the collected clips, photographs, interviews, and other images with vivid clarity. “Memory” is his handsomest package to date. Even hardcore fans who have logged time with the more than 60 hours and 12,000 supplemental images contained in Fox’s “Alien Anthology” home video collection should be impressed with the filmmaker’s considered, thoughtful assemblage. At 95 minutes, “Memory” can’t cover every last aspect of “Alien,” but that is not Philippe’s intention.        

As evidenced by the entrepreneurial, DIY production of “Alien: The Play” at New Jersey’s North Bergen High School earlier this spring, “Alien” is a gift that keeps on giving, and “Memory” unwraps so many colorfully wrapped boxes of various shapes and sizes. Next month’s publication of J. W. Rinzler’s “The Making of Alien” promises a comprehensive account of the film’s production history, but Philippe calls on the Furies in the construction of his mythological sense of both the movie’s core creative trio and the themes of gender and sex destabilization exploring male rape, male impregnation/fertilization, and male birthing/delivery. The cycle of parasitic facehugger to full-grown biomechanical xenomorph perpetuates alongside our constantly refreshed interest in the doomed crew of the Nostromo and her last survivor.  

Movie review by Greg Carlson

“Booksmart,” Olivia Wilde’s great feature directorial debut, is — like several of the very best teen/teensploitation/coming-of-age comedies — about many things. But the one that resonates most is contained in the ancient maxim regarding the deceit in appearances. Both the filmmaking, which repurposes a healthy checklist of genre chestnuts in a consistently fresh package, and the journey of best friends and graduating high school seniors Molly (Beanie Feldstein) and Amy (Kaitlyn Dever), value the real work of upending expectations, casting aside stereotypes, and demolishing one’s uninformed positions of ignorance.

All of those outcomes spring from the simple yet hilarious premise in which Yale-bound Molly’s valedictory sense of superiority is deflated when she learns, on the last day of school, that several seemingly unworthy classmates are also headed for Yale, Stanford, Georgetown, and, in one case, a six-figure salary writing code for Google. Turns out Molly and Amy might have been able to squeeze in more fun and shenanigans. Their sense of outrage at having spent more time in the library than pursuing social events and romantic relationships leads to a spontaneous decision: they will go to a party or die trying.

“Booksmart” is not without a few hiccups and missteps. And it raises several interesting and unanswered questions. How come we get to meet Amy’s supportive folks but learn nothing about Molly’s domestic situation beyond the conspicuous establishing exteriors of the apartment building where she lives? That hint at economic imbalance may be nothing of consequence, but Skyler Gisondo’s obnoxious yet tender Jared spends ridiculous amounts of cash on a party to secure the affections of his classmates — until the script calls for an epiphany about money’s inability to secure happiness.

These minor quibbles, however, melt in the sunshine of Molly and Amy’s partnership. Wilde lavishes attention on the quirks of their closeness, familiarity, and camaraderie. The shorthand and friendspeak, illustrated by nerdy dances, frank and judgement-free discussion of embarrassing intimacies, and the endearing way in which the two perform a ritual in which escalating compliments are traded back and forth, become the heartbeat of the movie. When the inevitable moment of the temporary falling-out arrives, in the shape of a wrenching argument that might put a lump in your throat, “Booksmart” seals the deal as a break-up/make-up bullseye. The presence of the reconciliation trope is nearly a given, but it has rarely been so effectively realized.

By keeping a close directorial watch on the nuance of character, Wilde carves out the space to experiment visually (an animated interlude with Amy and Molly as Barbie-like dolls turns into a comic confrontation of the complexity of body and beauty myths). Much has already been made of the film’s status as a feminist addition to the historically male-dominated teen canon. But one of the things that defines this movie is the location of the universal in the specific. You don’t have to be a queer teenage activist to relate to Amy, but imagine what “Booksmart” might mean to those who have not seen themselves regularly represented on the mainstream screen.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Impossibly beautiful lead performers underline the YA fantasy aspects of Ry Russo-Young’s translation of “The Sun Is Also a Star,” based on Nicola Yoon’s bestseller. Russo-Young’s sharp handling of the 2017 adaptation of “Before I Fall” indicates her bona fides in the contemporary teen genre, but the filmmaker struggles to locate the intensity and urgency that fueled her previous feature, despite a plot with a built-in imperative. As star-crossed (potential) lovers cramming a whirlwind courtship into the fleeting hours remaining on a ticking clock, Yara Shahidi and Charles Melton don’t generate the necessary heat to make enough audience members — of any generation — swoon.

Throughout the film, and despite numerous attempts to convince us of their against-all-odds compatibility, Shahidi and Melton remain curiously closed off from one another. Both performers are blessed with the physical countenances of catwalk supermodels, but that elusive X-factor Melton’s character Daniel Bae insists is present never shows up for the eager viewer. Daniel, a poet at heart, is the son of South Korean immigrants who expect him to attend Dartmouth to study medicine. Shahidi’s Natasha Kingsley is a Jamaican-born high school student whose residency in New York City is about to end with the deportation of her whole family.

While her parents are resigned to their cruel fate, Natasha chooses to spend her last day in America pursuing last ditch legal efforts to postpone the departure. En route to a meeting with an immigration attorney, a distracted Natasha’s life is saved by Daniel. Daniel, who had been following Natasha since he spotted her satin “Deus Ex Machina” jacket in Grand Central Station, is instantly transformed from pursuer/stalker into guardian angel. He thinks he can convince Natasha to fall in love with him via the set of 36 questions referred to in Mandy Len Catron’s essay “To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This.”

As a slice of daydream make-believe, we aren’t supposed to scrutinize the nuts and bolts of Natasha’s catastrophic predicament too closely, but it’s certainly a stretch to suspend disbelief enough to accept the series of cute interludes, from Daniel’s coffee shop love pitch to a sultry karaoke rendition of “Crimson and Clover” to a stargazing show at the Hayden Planetarium. Wouldn’t Natasha be more consumed by her overwhelming family crisis? Is she already packed? Strangely, the distractions become the principal spectacle, and “The Sun Is Also a Star” ignores the timely politics of the Trump administration’s draconian and xenophobic orientation to border security and the undocumented.     

The movie also misses the mark as an exemplar of the teen film simply because too many hallmarks of the genre are absent. Both “kids” are presented as high school students (Shahidi is currently 19, Melton is currently 28), but their maturity, poise, and independence are more typical of narratives featuring college-age or post-undergraduate characters. Despite entertaining directorial flourishes often accompanied by striking stock footage cutaways — from Carl Sagan to a history lesson on African American hair care products — Russo-Young can’t set her hooks into much beyond the postcard images of the Big Apple.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Fargo-based filmmaker Matthew Myers recently remarked that director Stefon Bristol was, among other things, paying his bills by driving for Uber until production began on “See You Yesterday,” Bristol’s exciting debut feature. Myers produced the movie with Jason Sokoloff and Spike Lee, a professor to Bristol in the graduate film program at NYU. Bristol, who made a short version of “See You Yesterday” as his thesis film, collaborated with Fredrica Bailey on the original script. Together, they successfully expand the story to full length in a must-see addition to the genre.

As ambitious high school kids who unlock the secrets of time travel in part to secure college scholarships, Eden Duncan-Smith’s CJ Walker and Dante Crichlow’s Sebastian Thomas (reprising their roles from the short) are ideal East Flatbush counterparts to fellow Brooklynite Miles Morales. Their striking monogrammed lab coats, proton pack-gear, safety goggles, and carefully chosen tee shirts — courtesy of costume designer Charlese Antoinette Jones — would be right at home next to the pop style of Sara Pichelli’s Spider-Man designs.

Bristol’s affinity for cinematic reference points represents another intersection with his mentor. “See You Yesterday” pays homage not only to “Do the Right Thing” and other titles in Lee’s filmography, but also to “Ghostbusters,” “Boyz n the Hood,” and a certain 1985 blockbuster that wrote the book on contemporary movie depictions of traveling back in time to make something right.  

The DNA of “See You Yesterday” is so fused with “Back to the Future” that classic Lee-style crew shirts reading “Black to da Future” (with the hashtag “BUYBLACKA,” currently available for purchase online at the Spike’s Joint shop) could be spotted on set. A surprise cameo seals the pact with the most satisfying time travel movie ever made, but aficionados of the mind-bending loops in “Run Lola Run,” “Edge of Tomorrow,” “Before I Fall,” “Happy Death Day,” “About Time,” “Groundhog Day”  — and more — will meditate with the wisdom of Doctor Strange. One of the greatest pleasures of “See You Yesterday” is that the challenges and complexities of the jumps get better as the story unfolds.

Time travel as social commentary is present as early as 1895, in H. G. Wells’ “The Time Machine.” And Sean Redmond notes, in “Liquid Space: Science Fiction Film and Television in the Digital Age,” that in the face of alienation and powerlessness,  “…time travel suggests that Everyman and Everybody is important to shaping history, to making real and quantifiable difference to the way the world turns out.” Bristol’s film nails this last part by striking the balance between the entertaining joy of cinema crafted by someone who clearly loves movies and the painful realities of unconscionable, systematized oppression.   

The frustrations CJ experiences over the racist actions of lethal policing are amplified by the use of the time loops. The audience is invited to share in the character’s pain because no matter how perfectly she executes each plan to alter a catastrophic outcome, the end result is the loss of life for an innocent and unarmed person of color who was in the wrong place at the wrong time — or in the realities of contemporary America, any place at any time. CJ’s refusal to give up or accept defeat defines her heart, her soul, and her commitment to making a difference.  

“See You Yesterday” will be available on Netflix starting May 17.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Jennifer Gage’s sudsy “After” offers run-of-the-mill college romance targeted to the PG-13 demographic. The result, a far cry from the lustier stories upon which it is based, misses the mark despite an appealing performance from Josephine Langford as the virginal heroine Tessa Young. Gage, who wrote the screenplay with Susan McMartin, Tamara Chestna, and Tom Betterton, sands the edges off the good-girl-meets-bad-boy narrative, and the tepid result never achieves the entertaining scope of Stephenie Meyer’s genre urtext “Twilight.” Meyer, of course, has long been scrutinized for her fantasy explorations of teen love, sex, and relationships. Accusations of antifeminism continue to be scrutinized in “Twilight” scholarship.    

The link between “Twilight” and “After” may be more interesting than the final movie product. “After” began in 2013 as online fan fiction inspired by the pop band One Direction. Author Anna Todd, taking notes from photoshopped mashups that depicted the idolized bandmates as ediger, tougher, tattooed versions of their existing personae, expanded the work into a widely-read series of paperback bestsellers. The publication template was so redolent of E. L. James’ “Fifty Shades of Grey” (which famously began as “Twilight” fanfic) that critics identified in-text parallels, raising questions about the potentially abusive behavior of the brooding Hardin Scott (rechristened from 1D’s Harry Styles). And the similarities don’t end there. Todd, like James, wrote a follow-up in which the story is retold from the male character’s point of view.

Sensible and steady Tessa, a first-year undergraduate embarking on a college adventure filled with nothing but world-is-your-oyster promises of success, immediately falls for Hardin (Hero Fiennes-Tiffin, the one-time Tom Riddle), a troubled looker with serious daddy issues, a buried secret from the past, and a toned canvas for a set of inked body art meant to scream “Danger!” Tessa rebuffs an opportunity for a kiss during a round of truth or dare, delightfully spars with Hardin over matters of character construction in “Pride and Prejudice,” and winds up joining Hardin for a dip in his favorite, secret lake spot. High school sweetheart Noah (Dylan Arnold), to whom Tessa has pledged long-distance commitment and loyalty, doesn’t stand a chance.

While “After” might divide its audiences among hate-watchers, bad movie enthusiasts, and genuine appreciators, the filmmakers deserve applause for the casting of Selma Blair, Peter Gallagher, and Jennifer Beals (all in parental mode). Gallagher and Beals get very little to play, but Blair, whose big-screen breakthrough as Cecile Caldwell twenty years ago in “Cruel Intentions” is sharper than anything that happens in “After,” relishing her scenes as Tessa’s mom Karen. Blair gets to pout and scold and frown at Tessa’s questionable choices, and an angry threat to “cut off” her daughter is as delicious as the thought of Karen inappropriately commiserating with Noah back home. Alas, “After” dares not cross that line, failing as well to muster any kind of truly shocking Hardin bombshell — despite teasing one.

If “After” is supposed to land in the 18-30 year-old market referred to as “new adult,” as opposed to “young adult,” fiction, it’s tough to factor the MPAA rating and the chaste, old-fashioned orientation to sex as anything beyond a desire to allow for a wider range of potential ticket buyers. The movie plays it too safe start to finish. And aside from whatever discussions might emerge concerning the representation of toxicity, masculinity, and toxic masculinity, the lack of originality is the film’s Achilles heel.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

A true-to-life setting sparks interest in “The Mustang,” a solid man-and-his-horse story from first-time feature director Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre. Anchored by a livewire performance from the compelling Matthias Schoenaerts, the movie uses the Wild Horse Inmate Program, already the nonfiction subject of John Zaritsky’s “The Wild Horse Redemption” and Andrew Michael Ellis’ “The Wild Inside,” as a heartfelt and human endorsement of second chances. Schoenaerts’ hard-timer Roman Coleman, incarcerated in the Northern Nevada Correctional Center, slowly but surely finds a positive pathway forward once he joins an unusual cohort of fellow inmates allowed to train horses in preparation for public auction/adoption of the magnificent animals.

Administered by the United States Department of the Interior’s Bureau of Land Management, the horse program’s pairing of convict and wild animal provides Clermont-Tonnerre, writing with Mona Fastvold and Brock Norman Brock, the ideal vehicle for elegant and streamlined metaphor construction. Will Roman tame the mustang that comes to be known as Marcus or will the mustang tame Roman? Or are certain spirits beyond breaking? We can hazard a guess, but the only person in the movie in possession of Yoda/Miyagi/McGonagall-level foresight is Bruce Dern’s crusty, temperamental Myles, the rancher who runs the show. He sees something in Roman that Roman certainly cannot.

While the principal plot revolves around Roman’s volatile and evolving relationship with the horse assigned to him, Clermont-Tonnerre fills out the main character’s background via a series of tough visiting day interactions between Roman and his daughter Martha (Gideon Adlon, 180-degrees from her comic touch in “Blockers”). The anger, pain, and bitterness felt by Martha parallels the similar dynamic between Jake and Jesus Shuttlesworth in Spike Lee’s “He Got Game.” Later, Martha’s personal safety is threatened and Roman’s response will layer the melodrama with an anxious tension. Not all of Clermont-Tonnerre’s story moves hold up under logical scrutiny, but “The Mustang” succeeds despite its familiarity.

Some viewers may feel that the talents of supporting actor Jason Mitchell, as program veteran Henry, are squandered — particularly because a subplot revolving around the inside theft of ketamine does not develop into a larger part of the story. I defend Clermont-Tonnerre’s deliberate use of both Mitchell’s character and the drug smuggling thread, and believe both are executed with precision alongside the principal struggles experienced by Roman. Without spoiling any details, Roman’s relationship with Henry ultimately comes to serve as a stark reminder of the dire conditions behind bars.

The built-in training timeline, notable for its brief turnaround of just a few months (somewhat parallel to the 120 or so days of inmate/horse work at the actual facility), foreshadows the inevitable separation of animal and caretaker, but Clermont-Tonnerre finds a fresh, unexpected outcome for the Roman/Marcus bond. The moments in which Roman labors to make progress in the corral are not quite as breathtakingly realized as similar sequences in Chloe Zhao’s “The Rider,” but both films effectively compose the particular, wordless poetry that can only be found in the best examples of the American mythology of the equestrian.

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Harmony Korine keeps a tight grip on his title as one of the most critic/critique-proof filmmakers of recent times with “The Beach Bum,” a sultry companion piece to 2012’s memorable “Spring Breakers.” Not without its own kind of middle-aged charm and a worldview to match, “The Beach Bum” is virtually unthinkable without Matthew McConaughey as priapic poet Moondog, a quintessential stoner icon whose consumption of marijuana is rivaled only by his quest for constant sexual gratification. Buoyed by an endless supply of cash from his wealthy and tolerant wife Minnie (Isla Fisher), with whom he shares an about-to-be-wed daughter (Stefania LaVie Owen), Moondog reigns from the Magic City to the Keys as the Sunshine State’s wastrel laureate.

The vibe of “The Beach Bum” is more mellow than the criminal-minded “Spring Breakers,” but both movies share the rainbow glow of Benoit Debie’s neon-addicted photography. Debie, who also regularly collaborates with Gaspar Noe, understands the interaction of light and matter so thoroughly that his optical acumen transforms human bodies into bioluminescent angels. Whether in daylight or in dusk, Debie’s measurements of the visible part of the electromagnetic spectrum tease out colors that merit the price of a ticket entirely on their own. The dazzling technical rigor of Debie’s camera perfectly balances the defiant “margin of the undefined” treasured by Korine.    

Korine’s wild casting made for a mouthwatering trailer, but not all the promises of the preview are kept in the feature. Snoop Dogg works as Minnie’s lover Lingerie, and Jonah Hill is fun as Moondog’s agent Lewis. Martin Lawrence’s cameo as the tourist-hustling Captain Wack, however, is a mixed bag. Korine, unsurprisingly, has no qualms about using Lawrence in a one-off piece of broad physical vaudeville complete with a “those aren’t dolphins” shark attack gag that results in a severed foot. More of the same awaits Zac Efron’s rehab escapee Flicker, who lets his elaborate facial hair carry most of the acting load. Jimmy Buffett plays himself, leaving viewers to marvel at Korine’s powers of persuasion.  

As part of a package that must have cost a hefty chunk of the total budget in music licensing fees, Buffett’s own “A Pirate Looks at Forty” joins instantly recognizable tracks by Gordon Lightfoot, Eddie Money, Van Morrison, Waylon Jennings, Stephen Bishop, and Gerry Rafferty as aural accompaniment to Moondog’s neverending party. The Parrotheads who stick around for the end credits will be treated to a new Buffett/Snoop Dogg collaboration called “Moonfog.” According to Buffett, along with “A Pirate Looks at Forty,” Korine drew inspiration for “The Beach Bum” from “Margaritaville.” The translation is authoritative.  

When the movie’s raison d’etre orbits around aimless drifting and an ironclad commitment to irresponsibility, what might we glean from “The Beach Bum” in terms of a philosophy (or even a point of view)? Moondog’s money-to-burn enactment of the Rake’s Progress-lite ends not with institutional, capital-B Bedlam but with individualized, small-b bedlam. Drawing parallels to income inequality and the wretched excess on display in our leadership’s worship of filthy lucre, some might strain to locate an eff-you in Moondog’s rejection of riches as an end unto itself. But Korine, less provocative here than in previous outings, holds to his absurdist affection for feeling over analysis. Maybe changes in latitudes do, in fact, cause changes in attitudes.   

Movie review by Greg Carlson

Following a world premiere as one of the opening night selections of the Sundance Film Festival in January, conceptual visual artist Rashid Johnson’s adaptation of Richard Wright’s venerable “Native Son” debuts April 6 on HBO. The third big screen version of the story of Bigger Thomas, Wright’s film retains many of the book’s central plot points and its ideological critique of institutional racism. The screenplay, by Pulitzer-winner Suzan-Lori Parks, updates sparingly and, for the most part, efficiently. Only committed devotees of the literature will notice the significant alterations, the most prominent of which revolves around the fate of the character Bessie and the resolution of the drama. Johnson’s movie, despite several shortcomings, is well worth a look.

Ashton Sanders, memorable as both the teenage Chiron in 2016’s “Moonlight” and opposite Denzel Washington in last year’s “The Equalizer 2,” makes an excellent Bigger Thomas (called Big this time out). Enveloped in several stylized trappings of artistically-inclined hipsterism — including fingernail polish, green hair, Malcolm X-evoking eyeglasses, and a safety-pinned leather motorcycle jacket decorated with a painted “Freaking Out” motif ala classic punk rock — Big’s got smarts of both the book and street varieties. Working as a bike messenger but living in less-than-ideal conditions with his family, Big accepts a “golden” opportunity to become the live-in chauffeur for rich white man Henry Dalton (Bill Camp, never better).  

All too quickly Big realizes that his principal responsibilities entail driving Dalton’s manipulative daughter Mary (Margaret Qualley) wherever she wishes to go, which more often than not fails to correspond to Mr. Dalton’s assumptions regarding her activities. Mary’s companion Jan (Nick Robinson), a social activist who, like Mary, is oblivious to his own privilege, rides along. For those unfamiliar with the classic 1940 novel, an almost surreal and certainly absurd tragedy marks the turning point of the narrative. Johnson handles it with the necessary horror, balancing on Wright’s carefully constructed tightrope that supports the weight of not one, but two victims.  

Arguably, the scenes in which Big navigates the white world of the Daltons ring out with the most punch, especially in terms of dialogue and performance. The pressure on Big to perform multiple roles, dependent on the shifting contexts in which he operates, brings code-switching into the equation in a way that allows the filmmakers to explore the most contemporary aspects of Wright’s ideas (along with, of course, the unchanged realities of two Americas). Whether or not Johnson overcomes the arguments made by James Baldwin in essays contained within “Notes of a Native Son” rests largely with the viewer’s sympathies with the objectives and sensibilities of Wright (and Johnson).  

As tech credits go, first-time feature helmer Johnson’s not-so-secret weapon is the presence of ace cinematographer Matthew Libatique, who also serves as one of the film’s producers. Johnson’s striking vision is enhanced by Libatique’s photography, which perfectly outlines the discomfort experienced by Big as he tries — and fails — to fit in anywhere. The vivid images, which capture the ironic juxtapositions of beautiful graffiti in economically depressed neighborhoods as well as the weight of seeing the work of celebrated contemporary African American painters decorating the walls of the Dalton mansion, mirror Big’s pain and his struggle to deal with the liminal state between his own sense of self and the version of it acted out for others.      

Movie review by Greg Carlson

With enough mirrors, doublings, and doppelgangers to make Hitchcock, Kubrick, and Welles proud, Jordan Peele’s “Us” cements the filmmaker’s reputation as a master craftsman and visual stylist. Creepy, funny, and wicked sharp, the film’s genre is horror, the ideas are expansive and the execution clean. An ominous text prologue alludes to the networks of unused and abandoned tunnels snaking underneath the streets and communities of the United States (shortly, a glimpse of the VHS spine of “C.H.U.D.” next to a television sweetens the allusion). Next comes another prologue introducing viewers to Addie, a child traumatized during a solo visit to an amusement park funhouse on the beach of Santa Cruz, California in the mid-1980s.

We reconnect with the grown-up Addie (Lupita Nyong’o) more than thirty years later as a married mother of two, trepidatious and secretive about an upcoming return to the location of her childhood nightmare. Along with husband Gabe (a terrific Winston Duke), daughter Zora (Shahadi Wright Joseph), and son Jason (Evan Alex), Addie sets out for the family vacation home and eventually gives in to Gabe’s desire to meet up with friends Kitty (Elisabeth Moss) and Josh (Tim Heidecker). Peele’s world-constructing unfolds at a deliberate pace, but the director laces this entire build-up with a wealth of important detail that pays dividends in the wild second half.    

Peele’s inclination to invert the 1986 Hands Across America fundraising effort as a means of critiquing the dark forces of wall-building, racism, and selfishness works. Really works. “Us” interrogates the deep divides within and among the population, literalizing the other as the very worst parts of ourselves. In that way, the movie’s timing is perfect, but it also thinks carefully about economic and class divisions by situating the action among families of wealth and privilege. The links between the America of Ronald Reagan and America under Donald Trump don’t intrude on the value of “Us” as entertainment, even though Peele’s thematic interests look poised to inspire a healthy supply of essays.   

“Us” also owes a considerable debt to “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” and both Don Siegel’s brilliant 1956 classic and the 1978 Philip Kaufman edition inform a great deal of the social commentary explored by Peele. The structure of “Us” follows conventional horror tropes, and some viewers may have less patience with the long-simmering arrival of the home invasion component teased in the trailer. Others, however, will delight in Peele’s affinity for tension-breaking comic touches, several of which stand out as highlights — especially those that grapple with the suspension-of-disbelief requirements governing the specific rules of the “Us” universe.  

All the principal actors are called into service for a pair of distinct performances; each plays the twisted and malevolent simulacrum as well as the above-ground “normal” person under attack. Nyong’o, who drew fire from organizations including RespectAbility for partly basing her character Red’s voice on the sounds of sufferers of spasmodic dysphonia, anchors the movie as Addie and Red. Ultimately, the brilliance of “Us” is found in the complex duality offered by Peele’s fascinatingly sympathetic reading of the duplicates called the Tethered. “Us” will make your head spin as you attempt to tell the difference between the heroes and the villains.