“Melania” (PG, 104 minutes, in theaters) made me sick – and that’s before I watched it.
The whole idea of the movie nauseated me. The country is going to hell, thanks to Melania Trump’s husband, with ICE thugs slaughtering people on the streets. And what does our first lady do? She comes out with a (not so) cinematic vanity project largely devoted to her keen fashion sense.
Apparently, tone-deafness runs in the family.
So I sat in my car in the theater parking lot wrestling with a moral dilemma.
Melania Trump celebrates herself in “Melania.” (Amazon/MGM Studios)
Reasons not to see it:
1. Since “Melania” didn’t screen for critics (of course), I would have to pay $12.50 for a senior ticket (yes, I’m a geezer). I don’t mind paying to see films; I do it all the time. But I do mind contributing any money that would find its way into the Trump machine.
2. Donald Trump is an attention monger. I suspect, on his greed scale, attention might even rank higher than money or power. It’s why he puts his name on everything, why he craves his Little League participation awards, or whatever. It doesn’t matter whether it’s negative attention, as long as everyone is focused on him. By not ignoring “Melania,” as I’d prefer, I’d add, in my small way, to the attention he craves.
3. As a critic, it’s my duty to be honest and fair. Honesty here wouldn’t be a problem, but how could I be fair about “Melania” when I was appalled simply by its existence?
Reasons to see it:
1. Like it or not, the movie’s release is a big story, reactions to which reflect the divisions in our country.
2. Film critics are opinion writers whose views are not relegated to thoughts on the proper use of editing, camera angles, or even storytelling. Movies don’t exist in a vacuum that excludes real life; you can’t simply say Leni Reifenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will” is a beautifully crafted documentary without adding, as Gene Siskel did when I spoke to him about it, that it also was made in “the service of evil.” It’s important to point out such things.
3. We’ve reached a point in this country where everyone – yes, even film critics – has to take a stand against the evil plaguing our nation. (To me, that’s spelled f-a-s-c-i-s-m.)
This last reason tipped the scale, and so I went to the theater. But I still felt creepy buying a ticket, then sitting in a close-to-full, though relatively small, theater with an audience that would later applaud the film at the final credits.
Have you noticed I haven’t written anything specifically related to the movie, itself, yet? That’s intentional, though at the risk of losing readers along the way. (Thanks for hanging in if you have.)
Here goes:
Director Brett Ratner (the “Rush Hour” flicks) follows Melania Trump – who produced the film – around during the 20 days leading up to her husband’s second presidential inauguration.
The result: a vapid bit of self-promotion.
Featuring various fashion and interior designers hovering around the first lady and hanging on her every word, “Melania” is staggering in its obliviousness. In terms of dramatic heft, this glimpse of our modern-day Marie Antoinette makes “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” seem like “War and Peace.”
Given that Melania is an ex-model, it shouldn’t be surprising that she is preoccupied with fashion and spends an inordinate amount of time looking at mirrors. But narcissism is evident in other ways, too, such as when we’re shown footage of her attending Jimmy Carter’s funeral and, in the accompanying narration, all she talks about is her mother’s death a year earlier. Forget any mention of the recently deceased – how does all this affect Melania? (Does this remind you of anyone close to her?)
There are a few glimpses of the person who might exist behind the facade. You do get the sense that she truly misses her mother, and that she adores her towering teenage son, Barron (who, seemingly shy and polite, comes across as the most likable person in the film).
When she isn’t trying to conjure up the perfect outfit (by following her “creative vision”), she talks, mostly in platitudes, about using her influence and power to help those in need, acknowledging our common humanity and protecting people’s rights.
Is she sincere? I’d like to think so. But, if so, it would be nice if she got into her hubby’s ear about such things and worried less about showing off the perfect pair of shoes. *½ (out of four)
Payback in paradise
Prepare for buckets of barf and blood in Sam Raimi’s comical thriller “Send Help” (R, 113 minutes, in theaters).
Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien) has taken over his late father’s financial management company. Hard-working, highly competent Linda Liddle (Rachel McAdams) was promised a promotion by the father, but when an opening comes up, Bradley gives it to one of his lesser deserving frat bros. Bradley finds the socially awkward, frumpy Linda repellent, and bluntly informs her she isn’t ready to climb the corporate letter. Linda is crushed.
Soon after, Bradley, Linda and some of Bradley’s underlings are on a private plane for a business trip. The plane crashes. Bradley and Linda wash ashore on a small island.
Linda, a fan of the TV show “Survivor,” is in her element. Bradley, whose leg has been injured and isn’t exactly a nature boy, is not.
The tables have turned.
(L-R) Dylan O’brien as Bradley Preston and Rachal McAdams as Linda Liddle in 20th Century Studios’ SEND HELP. Photo by Brook Rushton. © 2025 20th Century Studios. All Rights Reserved.
What, if any, kind of revenge does Linda have in mind? Will this become a “Misery” situation, in which she controls the vulnerable boss? Will it become a romance of opposites, like in “Swept Away”?
Director Raimi, known for the “Evil Dead” movies and the “Spider-Man” trilogy starring Tobey Maguire, keeps us guessing not only where the story is headed but which character, if either, is supposed to have our support.
Meanwhile, Raimi tosses in gross-out humor featuring projectile vomit, spraying blood and splattering bug guts as Linda and Bradley take on nature and each other. The excess can be funny, depending on one’s, um, taste. ***
Zombie apocalypse takes turn for worse
All things are relative – even when it comes to cannibalistic zombies.
Sure, it would be a bummer if you were caught by a track-star member of the living dead, who proceeded to chow down on your body parts and brain.
But, as “28 Years Later: The Bone Temple” (R, 109 minutes, in theaters) suggests, that’s arguably better than having a marauding band of sadistic Satanists string you up and slowly slice out your entrails.
Either way, good times, right?
“The Bone Temple” is mighty dark, arguably the most disturbing and dread-inducing of the four films in the horror series: “28 Days Later,” “28 Weeks Later,” “28 Years Later” and now this second “Years” installment (a third is on its way). Directed by Nia DaCosta and written by Alex Garland, the current film delivers the jolts, suspense, unpredictable turns and human drama we’ve come to expect from the series, though its depiction of humanity at its ugliness leaves an especially heavy weight on the moviegoer.
“The Bone Temple” essentially shifts back and forth between two stories involving characters introduced in “28 Years Later” (No. 3 on my top 10 films of 2025). In that film, young Spike (Alfie Williams) traveled the zombie-infested British mainland in search of reclusive Doctor Kelson (Ralph Fiennes) with hopes that Kelson could save the life of Spike’s dying mother.
Now Spike, against his will, is stuck in a youth gang of bloodthirsty killers led by the chillingly evil Sir Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell), who claims to be the son of “Old Nick,” the devil. The group’s members, known as the Fingers, are all called “Jimmy” and wear platinum-blond wigs that make them look like reputed real-life sex-abuse predator Jimmy Savile (look him up). Goaded by Jimmy Crystal, the Fingers/Jimmys take part in ritualistic mutilations as sacrifices to Old Nick.
Not far away, Kelson uses his blowgun to shoot morphine into an alpha zombie (Chi Lewis-Parry). The zombie, whom Kelson names Samson for his long black hair and super-studly build (he looks like Jason Momoa), becomes more mellow (morphine can do that) and keeps coming back for more. Kelson seems to have made a new friend!
Kelson continues his hobby of collecting and cleaning skulls and other bones for his ossuary, or bone temple, to honor the dead. He also plays, and dances to, his old Duran Duran records.
Eventually, Spike’s and Kelson’s plots dovetail. I won’t divulge what happens, but I will say it leads to a hilariously bizarre sequence in which Kelson pulls out the psychedelics and cranks out Iron Maiden’s “Number of the Beast” for the Fingers. As nutty scenes go, this is an instant classic.
O’Connell and Fiennes both go no-holds-barred to create riveting characters, while the film shifts gears at the end to promise an exciting entry for the next time around.
Keep ‘em coming. ***½
Matt and Ben in so-so cop flick
It’s hard not to root for real-life Cambridge pals Matt Damon and Ben Affleck.
They are one of the most likable screen duos ever, whether in their breakout, “Good Will Hunting,” which also earned them an Oscar for their screenplay; the Affleck-directed basketball-shoe comedy “Air”; or their guffaw-inducing appearance on Jimmy Kimmel’s show, in which Damon, in tuxedo, tumbled out of hiding from Affleck’s oversized coat.
Their latest collaboration, “The Rip” (R, 113 minutes, on Netflix), though passable entertainment, doesn’t rank among their greatest hits – by a long shot. Written and directed by Joe Carnahan (“Smokin’ Aces”), this crooked-cop crime thriller offers some suspense but is weighed down by a convoluted, far-fetched plot.
The movie opens with the captain of a Miami-Dade Police Department narcotics team getting murdered during an investigation. It turns out that cops in the department are suspected of helping themselves to cash found in drug houses.
Lt. Dane Dumars (Damon), now in charge of the team, receives a tip on another stash. He and his other detectives (Affleck, Steven Yeun, Teyana Taylor, Catalina Sandino Moreno) raid a house and find $20 million in drug-cartel cash. But with so much money on the line, and one or more of the cops possibly involved in the robberies, will the team make it back to headquarters alive?
More important, do we care?
Not really.
Maybe if Carnahan took advantage of the Damon-Affleck chemistry, injecting some comic relief, the film would be more entertaining. He doesn’t, and “The Rip” suffers as a result. **½
** Click here for Tim Miller’s previous movie columns for Cape Cod Wave **
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Tim Miller is co-president of the Boston Society of Film Critics and a Tomatometer-approved critic. He teaches film and journalism at Cape Cod Community College in West Barnstable. You can contact Tim at [email protected] or follow him onTwitter @TimMillerCritic. Or you can ignore him completely.
