Hedda

Director Nia DaCosta

actress Tessa Thompson

DaCosta and Thompson on the set

DaCosta and her lead cast

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HEDDA          B                                                                                                                       USA  (107 mi)  2025  ‘Scope  d: Nia DaCosta

A little chaos is good for the gathering.                                                                                       —film tagline

A queer re-imagining of Henrik Ibsen’s 1890 play Hedda Gabler, which deals with the suffocating circumstances that women faced at the time, a woman trapped within a loveless marriage whose scheming has disastrous consequences, delving into the 19th century limitations, the search for meaning, and the destructive nature of boredom and unfulfilled desires.  One of the fathers of modern theater alongside Anton Chekhov and August Strindberg, introducing theatrical realism, Ibsen was profoundly influenced by Freudian psychology, delving into the exploration of human motivations and desires, creating complex, character-driven dramas that outside of Shakespeare make him the second-most frequently performed playwright in the world.  Confounding audiences for well over 100 years with the inscrutability of the character, wanting to be in control of her own destiny, but access is denied at every turn, posing the question, what is freedom, where there’s no real consensus whether she’s a liberated force or a monster.  In recent years, Hedda Gabler has been one of Ibsen’s most frequently produced plays, a deliciously showy role played by a variety of actresses that include Ingrid Bergman in a 1962 British television production, Maggie Smith in London in 1970 (directed by Ingmar Bergman), Claire Bloom in New York in 1971, Glenda Jackson winning an Oscar nomination in Trevor Nunn’s HEDDA (1975), Annette Bening in Los Angeles in 1999, Cate Blanchett in a widely acclaimed 2004 Sydney Theatre Company production, Isabelle Huppert in Paris in 2005, and earlier this year Katie Holmes at The Old Globe in San Diego.  Similar to the caged-bird feeling of Nora in A Doll’s House, this play also deals with a woman trapped by the conventions of marriage, as social constraints prevented women from having the right to make their own choices in life, as that was the exclusive right and privilege of the husband, leaving her having to awkwardly and sometime humiliatingly accept the consequences.  Described by the director as Ibsen’s “complicated women who make choices you don’t agree with,” the play was considered shocking and immoral when it premiered, a daring exploration of power, desire, and a woman’s refusal to be confined, as Hedda defied 19th century gender roles and societal expectations for women, so adding a queer and black element for the character may seem equally as subversive and provocative today.  In a desperate attempt to control her own destiny, Hedda becomes a master manipulator, which is her tragic flaw, much like Shakespeare’s Iago in Othello, discovering the capacity to get what she wants by manipulating others, like a puppetmaster controlling the strings, able to elicit change through illicit means, literally for her own amusement, where a daring lack of subtlety becomes her strong suit.  Rather than confine the setting to a single parlor like the stage play, the film expands the action to a massively sprawling country estate, complete with a lake and labyrinthian garden hedge to heighten the feeling of claustrophobia, where the costume and production design is stellar.  Told in five chapters, while the play has four acts, the film is set in the lush decadence of 1950’s England at the massive, recently purchased home of this newly married couple, Hedda (the unbelievably charismatic Tessa Thompson) and George Tesman (Tom Bateman), which they obviously cannot afford, as it’s well beyond their means, but George is an academic classics scholar with an all but certain university professorship awaiting him, yet he doesn’t exactly send his closeted queer wife’s heart aflutter, as he’s a white, mild-mannered, scholarly, and somewhat dull husband, revealing Hedda’s dissatisfaction with her life, including her disdain for George’s scholarly pursuits and the societal expectations placed upon her.  Thinking a safe, conventional marriage will bring her closer to privilege and respectability, it comes at the expense of her true feelings.  But the heavily mortgaged house that leaves them drowning in debt is for Hedda in an attempt to win her favor, giving her something that he thinks she wants, coming from an aristocratic background, where it’s more of a status symbol, even though they haven’t yet reached any degree of affluence, revealing the conflict between romantic ideals and bourgeois reality.  In the 1950’s, it was exclusively queer men who were routinely rounded up and arrested in England, as being gay was considered a crime until 1967, yet women were completely bypassed and ignored, as if they were invisible, where their sexual preferences simply didn’t exist.

Nia DaCosta worked with Tessa Thompson before in Little Woods (2018), a small independent gem, a story of women navigating life in poor rural America to confront the opioid crisis and pressing issues in women’s health care, while the actress has gone on to star in several commercial blockbusters, breaking ground as cinema’s first openly LGBTQ+ superhero in the Marvel universe, though she also starred in several smaller independent films, like Eugene Ash’s Sylvie's Love (2020) and Rebecca Hall’s 2021 #8 Film of the Year Passing, which are more searingly realistic, while this is a showcase role with a feverishly exaggerated theatricality to it, presenting a protagonist who defies the traditional heroic mold.  Having worked as a production assistant for Steven Soderbergh, Steve McQueen, and Martin Scorsese, DaCosta studied in London for her master’s degree in drama, which is where the idea of making Hedda biracial originated, as she believes it’s important to see “black women behaving badly” onscreen.  Essentially a British costume drama that was actually filmed at Flintham Hall, all taking place in a single evening leading into the dawn, with a vibrant jazz score composed by Hildur Guðnadóttir that does wonders with the flashy style of the opening credits, with its emphasis on drums and percussion, Hildur Guðnadóttir - Stolen Tale - Prepping the Party | Hedda ... YouTube (2:19), where the first thing we notice is Thompson speaking with a British accent, Hedda (2025) 'Where Should I Start' clip |Tessa Thompson ... YouTube (39 seconds), which is a bit startling at first, but it’s also given a classical Mildred Pierce (1945) structure, one of the first important “women’s pictures,” where the entire film is told in a flashback, yet what it really explores is the idea of a woman’s long sought-after independence.  This does the same through Hedda’s stifled character, a sensual free spirit who yearns for freedom but isn’t given the opportunity, so instead she exudes in her status as a sophisticated party girl, someone who is the life of a party, capricious, elegantly dressed, beautiful, and quick on her feet, where she’s the equal of any man, but they have income opportunities that she doesn’t, which leaves her seething in bitterness and scorn, even contempt, where her changing moods reflect the dizzying thought process that can be overwhelming to viewers, using a chameleon-like ability to adapt to the moment, where she’s every emotional state imaginable.  She grew up as the young and beautiful illegitimate daughter of the important General Gabler, where she was paraded around proudly on horseback, now lovingly preserving his collection of guns in a small box that opens only through a small golden key that she always wears around her neck, having a special fondness for shooting them.  Her yearning for beauty is synonymous with freedom, a concept that is at once existential and aesthetic, as the film concerns itself with female aspiration, yet her character is positively infuriating, completely cut off from a life she values, so instead she toys with the lives of others.  None of her friends thought she’d ever get married, as she flirtatiously broadcasts her role as young and unattached, beholden to no one, free from all societal conventions, thoroughly capable of holding her own with anyone, though now it’s clear she’s using her husband’s position to display unimaginable wealth and prestige, throwing a lavish dinner party for the social elite to help secure his position that will be one for the ages.  While George thinks this is all for him, Hedda has other ideas, as we discover that she’s something of an instigator who loves playing cat and mouse games, as we see her move from ecstatic, to sad, to bored, or in the next moment her inquisitiveness suddenly takes shape, as she plots just exactly what she wants to do, underscored by an inventive musical choice, percussion on wood, Vivace – Wood YouTube (1:53), a clever device that reflects the mechanism of her plotting.  Throwing such a lavish and luxurious party is a bit of a fairy tale, especially when the couple was so devastatingly strapped for cash, as the country was still living under post-war food rations (Rationing in the United Kingdom), which remained in effect until 1954, an element of the story that is completely ignored, though it does represent a time when women were being pushed out of the workforce for returning servicemen, a period obsessed with appearances, which is part of the suffocating reality of the times. 

Having been educated in many predominantly white institutions, DaCosta learned fairly quickly how black women are diminished in the eyes of others, understanding that she needed to be uncompromising in her vision.  The work of the Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen has transcended time thanks to his realistic approach to morality.  Of all Ibsen’s works, Hedda Gabler is the most detached, the most objective, a character-study through and through, where one cannot even call it a satire, exploring themes of power, freedom, and the societal constraints on women during the 19th century, illustrating Hedda’s struggle against her oppressive circumstances, where the tension escalates as she faces the repercussions of her actions, leading to a dramatic conclusion that reflects her desperate need for recognition in a world that limits her choices.  A lush portrait of a modern women who is perfectly capable of compartmentalizing her internal thoughts, keeping them both evasive and elusive, belonging only to her and no one else, continually moving from room to room, from one moment to the next, making quick adjustments, finding new angles, new targets, where she’s an absolute delight in being such an unimaginably detestable character, yet she relishes the role, like something out of MEAN GIRLS (2004), continually confounding, sociopathic even, designed to repel audiences, and not easily understood by viewers, wondering why she does the cruel things she does, but it’s all about the power of manipulation.  Her malignant, self-serving egoism rises up uncontrolled, exposing her quick and subtle intellect, where the lavish spectacle is brilliant in coloring and rich in detail, beautifully shot in ‘Scope by Sean Bobbit (Steve McQueen’s cinematographer), as the entire party becomes a series of incidents which can best be described as accidents waiting to happen.  She hasn’t a single intellectual interest or moral limit, instead she languidly cherishes a petty social ambition that she immediately finds obstructed, as that academic position awaiting her husband suddenly finds a rival in successful author Dr. Eileen Lövborg (Nina Hoss, a gender switch from a male character in the play, who curiously played Hedda in a 2013 stage production), an outwardly lesbian former lover of Hedda’s who has just written a book revealing the hidden truths of human sexuality, with the assistance of her current lover Thea (Imogen Poots), that is expected to be revelatory and resurrect her career trajectory, which hit rock bottom during her time with Hedda, as she was an out-of-control alcoholic.  Hoss also displays an enormous range of emotions, from restraint and passion to sheer desperation.  To the complete dismay of her husband, Hedda has invited Eileen to the party, which is sure to prove interesting, just like her arrival, eyes fixated on Hedda across a ballroom, filmed as if both are floating on air, like co-mingling spirits.  The three of them, Thea, Eileen, and Hedda, are like the Three Witches from Macbeth, only queer, each having to fight to be able to decide what kind of life they want to live.  Accordingly, Eileen likes her chances of obtaining that coveted position, as it would give her prominence and stature, as well as economic freedom.  The film centers around Hedda’s desperate attempts to exert control over her destiny and the lives of her husband and his competitive rival, where it may be more about exacting revenge on the circumstances of a life that has made her a prisoner than it is about protecting her husband’s professional prospects.  Hedda can only think of manipulating Eileen, largely for having economic opportunities that are denied to her, so she wants to balance the playing field and take out her competition, using Thea, who she detests, as her foil for manipulating Eileen into doing what she wants her to do, which is create a scandal that will thoroughly diminish her stature.  To that end she devises a rather Machievellian plot to bring about her ultimate downfall, pressuring her, a disgraced yet recovering alcoholic, to get drunk, hoping to loosen her inhibitions and thoroughly embarrass herself in front of her prospective peer group, Hedda (2025) 'I Don't Drink' clip |Tessa Thompson, Imogen ... YouTube (1:42).  DaCosta invents a library scene that is not in the original play where Eileen cavorts with a room full of men, making them drinks and lighting their cigarettes with theatrical flair as she describes her sexual tales, but what was initially academically titillating suddenly takes a dour turn, leaving her defenses exposed, with the men leering at her like a thoroughly depraved whore.

All of these characters are grasping for power because they want to be in a better place, but suffocating social restrictions prevent that from happening.  Enraged at the box society puts her in, and at herself for being unable to pull her way out, Hedda thrives on impulse control, which gets her into a lot of trouble, always acting on a whim, yet never satisfied with where she finds herself.  The uncomfortable factor recalls Thomas Vinterberg’s THE CELEBRATION (1998), another film depicting an emotional all-consuming party over the course of a weekend.  Throughout the party, Hedda seems to cause mini-scandals by preying on the weakness of others, embellished in a crazy world of hedonism and gossip that borders on the ridiculous at times, Hedda (2025) I'm In Competition With That Woman Clip ... YouTube (56 seconds), while also, at least for brief moments, turning despairingly sexual.  Much like the over-the-top spectacle of the seemingly neverending Hollywood party in Damien Chazelle’s Babylon (2022), or the infamous 45-minute ballroom dance sequence in Luchino Visconti’s THE LEOPARD (1963), part of the visual appeal is creating this gorgeously brash spectacle, accentuated by an impressively grandiose all-glass chandelier in an all-glass interior space, so that when it falls, it makes the most dramatic impact, just part of the house of cards that Hedda constructs that will eventually fall, where the chandelier is the perfect embodiment of that.  What was originally intended to be a gloomily realistic, thought-provoking drama has been converted into a self-conscious piece of Sirkian melodrama.  As Hedda becomes more and more out of control, still hung up on her ex-lover, who may be the one true love of her life, bothered that she’s not more attentive to her coy flirtations, flittering here and there, making dangerous choices, moment to moment, never really thinking about the consequences, she strikes up the band to play, using anachronistic selections, creating this melodramatic emotional hysteria that is like a bubble that needs to burst.  When an important guest discovers his wife secretly having sex with another man in the supposed privacy of the outdoor gardens, all he can think about is exacting revenge, pulling out a gun, causing a commotion, but rather than shoot the man, he shoots upward, causing the chandelier to come crashing to the ground, creating pandemonium and pure panic.  The Chekhovian gun is an interesting device, because as soon as it’s introduced, viewers know nothing good can come out of it, so audiences simply wait for a developing catastrophe to happen, where full-blown tragedies happen fast and furiously at the end, delving into overwrought melodrama, with little context or explanation, relying upon visual elegance and symbolism, which ends up diluting the corrosive power and shock value of the play.  The men in the film are not developed, but feel like shadows of themselves, where their invisibility mirrors how women were viewed when the play was written.  Hedda is one of Ibsen’s most enigmatic and controversial female protagonists, as she embodies a profound conflict between societal expectations and personal desires, exploring her motivations, psychological depth, and the constraints imposed on her by a patriarchal society that limits her freedom and self-expression.  Through her actions and interactions with other characters, Hedda reveals a desperate attempt to assert power and autonomy in a world where she feels trapped by convention and devoid of purpose, challenging traditional gender roles by critiquing the norms of the surrounding world, while also shedding light on broader themes of freedom, manipulation, and existential despair, revealing symptoms of a postmodern anxiety.  Ultimately a complex character who defies easy categorization, exuding despair, a yearning for beauty, and a depth of soul that gives the character complexity and grandeur, Hedda’s tragic fate is a result of her internal conflict and her inability to reconcile her desire for control with the endless limitations imposed on her by society.  Unlike most other nineteenth-century writers, for whom the female characters could never be more than a foil for the male hero’s existential crisis, Ibsen dared to make a woman the bearer of his play’s most fundamental philosophical preoccupations, to turn this specific woman’s crisis into a scorching critique of the stifling repressive conditions of their times.  Like Hamlet, who is deeply challenging to understand, Hedda embodies humanity, tapping into the universality of women and what really constitutes freedom, which is a profoundly feminist move.

Nia DaCosta's Closet Picks  Criterion Closet on YouTube (4:56)

Honey Don't!

 

Director Ethan Coen

Ethan Coen and spouse Tricia Cooke

HONEY DON’T!                   C                                                                                              USA  Great Britain  (89 mi)  2025  ‘Scope  d: Ethan Coen and Tricia Cooke (uncredited)

What the world needs now is more lesbian-based private eye thrillers, as the opening sequence is right out of the exploitation evil pleasures of Russ Meyer and the lurid Tura Satana in FASTER, PUSSYCAT! KILL! KILL! (1965), where busty working-class women exact revenge with bats and knives, wreaking havoc with their ability to titillate while also providing loads of subversive fun.  Like that film, this should be so much more of a blast than it is, coming from a filmmaker with such an established reputation, where this is the second installment of Ethan Coen and his openly queer wife Tricia Cooke’s planned lesbian B-movie trilogy, with the conclusive third already entitled GO, BEAVERS!, all written together while she edits the films, following the curious yet less than scintillating Drive-Away Dolls (2024), though not as autobiographical, less personal, and not as much trashy fun.  This feels even more laid back and casual, yet much darker in tone with excessively cruel violence, more of a reimagining of the hardboiled detective genre through a lesbian lens, becoming a deliberately sunny, escapist neo-noir thriller.  If Drive-Away Dolls was the lesbian answer to the road trip, this injects the lesbian subculture to the traditionally male detective genre, skewering the hypocrisy of Christian megachurches and the nefarious activities in small town America, yet it already feels out of time, like we’ve somehow missed out on what drew this couple into making this picture, as the fun is already gone.  It shouldn’t be that contentiously controversial, as after all, the very first cinematic kiss was between two women, 1882 - The Kiss - Eadweard Muybridge YouTube (34 seconds).  In the opening credits, the names are etched into faded signs on dilapidated buildings and commercial establishments, where peeling paint hints at faded dreams, inspired apparently by John Huston’s FAT CITY (1972).  While there’s still some subversive fun to be had, most of it falls flat, leaving very little excitement about the final installment.  Premiering out of competition at the Cannes Film Festival in a midnight screening, where it was largely panned, you wonder why a film like this would even get an invite, as there’s little to actually like about this film.  Nonetheless, it has the Coen name, makers of some of the best independent films produced in America since the 1980’s, but the infamous brothers broke up as a collaborating team in 2018 and have been on their own ever since, making their own separate films, though expected to reunite at some point in the future with an anticipated horror film.  It would be hard to imagine one of the Dardennes brothers making a film on their own, as these are two of the best brothers duo in cinema history, hugely influential, even going as far back as the Lumière Brothers.  While actually shot in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the film is set in the Central Valley of Bakersfield, California, of all places, a farm town with plenty of wide open spaces, not exactly known for their cultural notoriety, but the desert is never far away, and everyone here seems to be living on the edge of oblivion and total obscurity.  The opening says it all, easily the best sequence in the entire film, never living up to what it promises, establishing the tone for a darkly humorous exploitation movie as a badass beautiful woman (Lera Abova) does her best Uma Thurman Pulp Fiction imitation in shades, pulling up to the site of a car crash in her Vespa scooter wearing a leopard-print outfit with an exposed bra, as she walks down a steep slope to an upside down car with a dead woman inside, prying the distinctly recognizable ring off her finger before she wanders off to a nearby stream to bathe naked.  Cut to a distinctive copycat cover version of the hugely popular Eric Burdon and the Animals hit song from 1965, We Gotta Get Out of This Place YouTube (3:15).  Now that’s an opening statement.    

Unfortunately, that mysterious woman who defiantly commands the screen is barely seen again, as it’s not really about her.  It’s about the dead girl lying at the bottom of a gulch.  Arriving on the scene to investigate is the friendly town cop, homicide detective Marty Metakawich (Charlie Day), who greets the arrival of small-town private investigator Honey O’Donahue (Margaret Qualley) with a smile, both wondering what the other is doing there, as it’s supposedly an accident, but they’re investigating it as a homicide.  Qualley, who starred in the Claire Denis film Stars at Noon (2022) and the earlier installment of Drive-Away Dolls, may be the recurring figure throughout the trilogy, providing a female version of a detached 1940’s film noir detective like Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe updated to the modern day era.  A chic dresser in heels, always making quick witted, wise ass remarks (when asked if she drinks, she replies, “Heavily.  It’s a point of pride.”), she exudes a sexy swagger with what sounds like a Texas accent, a woman you don’t want to mess with, as she can dish it out with the best of them, easily having her way with the bad boys who get a tad aggressive, while picking up loose and available women in bars afterwards.  Driving a vintage turquoise 1972 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 Convertible 4-Speed, just like guys in earlier 50’s movies, her car makes a statement, while still using an old-school rolodex for contact information instead of some new-age gadgetry, she remains emotionally guarded, yet possesses a mysterious allure.  Marty has a soft spot for her and attempts a friendly date, but she just laughs off the offer, reminding him “I like women.”  Befuddled by the thought that could even be possible, refusing the accept the obvious, Marty defies the odds and keeps trying, as it is a small town after all, but she keeps telling him the same thing, becoming a running gag throughout the picture.  Without sharing what drew her to the scene of the crime, the dead driver is Mia Novotny, a prospective client who called Honey earlier that same day, but she was killed before they could meet, where the suspicious circumstances surrounding her death expose a wider web of corruption.  Perhaps the unseemliest aspect of the film is its depiction of a corrupt and sleazy church that is basically a front for its behind-the-scenes drug trafficking operations.  Mia was a member of the Four-Way Temple led by the lecherous Reverend Drew Devlin (Chris Evans), who is a real sleazeball (Captain America, no less), a despicable but darkly humorous pastor preaching “active submission,” where we see raunchy sex scenes in the Reverend’s private chambers, taking full advantage of young women members of his flock, often with multiple partners, perhaps an ironic reference to the name of the church, which he runs like a cult, where it’s all about the supreme leader in charge.  The nastiness of how they conduct their business appears to be shockingly connected to Mia’s death, as the ring pulled off her finger had the insignia of the church, and we see how easily Devlin is willing to eliminate anyone who might be deemed a threat to his operations.  This is where the film really bogs down in over-predictability, as they are such an easy target, accumulating more and more corpses without a hint of suspense or tension, using dimwitted stereotypes that only drag this film down.  When Honey’s niece Corinne (Talia Ryder from Eliza Hittman’s painfully underseen 2020 Top Ten List #5 Never Rarely Sometimes Always) returns home battered and bruised, she turns to Honey, fearing her overly judgmental mother would only blame her for even going out with such an abusive local redneck, so Honey pays him a call in his trailer, which turns into an ugly and brutally violent affair, as she turns his aggression back on him, having the last word, even planting a rather humorous bumper sticker over his MAGA license plate that reads “I have a vagina and I vote,” one of the few moments that got a few snickers from the audience. 

In the course of her investigation, Honey runs into MG Falcone (Aubrey Plaza), a policewoman who works in the evidence room, quickly meeting her at a bar frequented by police afterwards, discovering she’s a like-minded butch queer woman, where their flirtatiousness is one for the ages, with MG brazenly fingering her in public, commenting, “I love first date stuff.”  Taking their business back to Honey’s place, the lesbian sex is relatively tame, where the mildly amusing kicker is the following morning Honey is seen casually washing an array of sex toys in her kitchen sink with the look of a domestic housewife.  That’s something we don’t typically see.  There’s so little sex in movies today, what little we do see is perhaps a reflection of the regressively backwards culture that is becoming more puritanical, so even a glimpse is a throwback to more liberal times when sex was commonplace.  MG is friendly enough, but hides a dark and mysterious side, like many of the characters in this film.  Honey questions Devlin, as murder and criminal activity seems to lead to his door, quickly establishing a clever repartee, as Devlin acknowledges, “You’re fascinating,” with Honey quipping, “And you haven’t even seen the riddle tattooed on my ass.”  He predictably defends using his position to prey on vulnerable young women, suggesting we’re all a little lost in need of some spiritual guidance, and unlike other churches that only deal with saving souls, his guidance encompasses the total package.  When Corrine goes missing, Honey returns to the church, only to find it locked, but she hears a gunshot inside, with a woman on a scooter seen fleeing from the scene.  That’s the last we see of the crooked pastor, who apparently got his comeuppance by being too big for his britches.  Sex and violence are intertwined in this movie, with a series of strange deaths tied to this mysterious church, but the police are completely baffled and fail to make the connection, as Marty remains unconvinced there is a reason to search the Temple.  Audiences have a behind-the-scenes window into their criminal and sexual depravity, but the question is where does it all lead?  The mystery woman appears to have ended any speculation on where this is heading.  Having no other leads, Honey visits MG at her home, and what appears to be innocent banter suddenly turns ugly, with MG growing increasingly paranoid and unstable, turning into a ferocious, knockdown battle between two women, arguably the catfight men seem to fantasize about, as we suddenly learn the grotesque truth behind her repressive family secrets, where MG has no intention of letting Honey just walk out of there.  But Honey is no patsy, capable of getting down and dirty, which she needs to do in order to survive.  In the end, we learn the mystery woman on a scooter is named Chėre, speaks with a French accent, where it might be better to construct an entire film around her character.  Stay tuned.  It’s all a little peculiar, as outside of Honey, who is uniquely compelling, none of the other characters have any depth or are even remotely developed, remaining cardboard caricatures, which makes it difficult to relate with this movie, as it feels so lazily written and realized.  A better version of what this film may have been attempting to accomplish is Rose Glass’s Love Lies Bleeding (2024), which similarly flaunts its comic B-movie neo-noir mentality from a lesbian perspective, and before that was the Wachowski’s Bound (1996).  Perhaps the biggest surprise is the generic female-centric soundtrack, sounding amateurish rather than ironic, including a few songs sung by Qualley, with the titular song, a 1956 Carl Perkins rockabilly classic, which probably should have been the movie theme song, only heard over the end credits, and even then it’s an inept cover version compared to the original.  While they may not have had money for musical rights, these are some really poor choices.  Overall, it’s a lame experience, with no real standout jokes or scenes, except the opening sequence, where the normally reliable Coen humor just falls flat, making this a real slog to sit through.  Films feel more generic nowadays, and this may be a classic example, as a generally reliable creative team seems to have fumbled the ball and simply run out of ideas and inspiration.  There’s a lackadaisical emptiness here that feels like a bad parody gone wrong, making it hard to imagine there will be another.