Thank God for Award Season Screeners

Because they save me from spending 15 or more bucks to catch up on pretentious movies getting Oscar buzz.   That's the case with "If Beale Street Could Talk."   Boy, am I glad I got to watch this claptrap from the free sanctum of my living room couch.

I guess I knew what I was in for before I sat down and popped this freebie into the DVD.  I mean, the writer-director is Barry Jenkins who brought the overripe "Moonlight," which is one of the worst movies ever to win the Best Picture Oscar.  This story is based on a 1974 novel by that kook James Baldwin and, well, that speaks for itself.   

But one of the cast members getting lots of Oscar bizz bizz is Regina King and I have always thought she was a terrific actress on both TV and film.   She's the main reason I even bothered with this mess and, frankly, her scenes as a dedicated mother are the best thing in the movie.   Regina's allegedly on track for a Best Supporting Actress nod and good for her.   

The rest of the movie?   Yeech.

This is the type of drivel that self-conscious and overly liberal Hollywood eats up with a big spoon.  A story about their woe-begotten Black brothers and sisters.   Meanwhile, everybody lives in gated communities out here.   Phony to the Nth degree.   So count on "If Beale Street Could Talk" to show up big time when nominations are announced.   Jenkins could have filmed a fly walking up a curtain and Hollywood would have still genuflected until its knees hurt.

The heroes of this saga are Tiki and Fonny, which is short perhaps for "Telephone."  They are Harlem-based-in-the-70s childhood sweethearts.  Neither probably has an education past the fourth grade, yet they both know how to use the word "artisan" in a sentence.  Well, Tiki gets pregnant just as Fonny is wrongly accused for raping a Puerto Rican woman who conveniently disappears.  Fonny is in jail awaiting trial while Tiki has contractions and her mom pops on a wig to look for the Puerto Rican chick.   

That's pretty much the whole movie and no spoiler alert is needed.  There are a lot of colorful shots that make Harlem look like a scene out of "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg," but nothing much more holds your attention when Regina King (as the mom) is off the cinematic canvas.

Of course, there is a heavy-handed message in play here courtesy of the rants and ravings of the now-dead Baldwin.   White cops are all evil.   All Black men are innocent.  And the legal system is rigged to put anyone dark automatically behind bars.  Okay, no, no, and not as badly as you think.  The preachy screenplay by the ultra-hammy Jenkins makes these points so frequently that you want to scream "I got it."  Meanwhile, he never complains explains what the hell the title of the book and movie means.   

So kudos again to Ms. King.   A big razzberry to the rest of this production.   

I will remind myself one more time.   I saw it for nothing.   And nothing is what I got.

LEN'S RATING:  Two stars.

Dinner last night:  Leftover lasagna.