The Media Tourist

Page-to-screen adaptation travels a road full of plot potholes, in an orange Ford pickup

Reminders of Him
Starting Maika Monroe and Tyriq Withers
Directed by Vanessa Caswill
Rated PG-13

In theaters Friday, March 13

Fans of the romantic fiction of author Colleen Hoover likely already know that her 2022 novel Reminders of Him has been movie-tized, the third adaptation of her work to hit the screen. And they’ll likely lap up every movie morsel of this sappy saga about a young mom fighting to reconnect with her four-year-old daughter after serving time in prison for causing the car crash that resulted in the death her boyfriend, Scotty.

Maika Monroe stars as Kenna, who returns to her Wyoming hometown and a not-exactly-warm welcome, especially from Scotty’s parents (Bradley Whitford and Lauren Graham), who now have custody of their granddaughter, Diem. Things get complicated—and steamy—when Kenna meets the hunky former NFL player-turned-bartender Ledger (Tyriq Withers), who happened to be the best friend of her former lover.

How it all works out won’t surprise readers of Hoover’s treacly prose. Reminders of Him is predictable, pedestrian romantic glop, with some glaring questions in its plot potholes and few surprises, except perhaps seeing country hitmaker Lainey Wilson in her acting debut, playing a twangy supermarket manager.

The dialog is cringe-worthy pablum, with characters saying things like “While you’re obliterating your liver, you might as well keep an eye on your chlamydia,” and “I want to meet the human that Scotty and I made.” Whitford and Graham, two well-established actors, are given pitifully little to do, and Laney Wilson’s character drops completely out of the story after a couple of scenes. The little girl who plays Kenna’s daughter, Zoe Kosovic, gets plenty of “cutey-pie” camera closeups, a few more than the mewing little feline who plays Kenna’s kittycat.

If you catch my drift that I didn’t really like Reminders of Him, you’re right. But I always remember something my kindergarten teacher, Miss Alma Jackson, told me eons ago, about how if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything. So here are a few nice things about the movie.

– Withers’ character tools around in a Ford pickup painted bright orange, like the General Lee in The Dukes of Hazzard, for no explicable reason. Perhaps his character grew up watching Bo and Luke and singing along with Waylon Jennings to “Good Ol’ Boys.” And maybe Laney Wilson’s song, “Heart Like a Truck,” was really about Ledger’s ride.

– Maika Monroe is a bona fide scream queen, with a resume that includes It Follows, Longlegs and and Resident Evil Requiem. Seeing her in Reminders of Him reminded me of seeing her in other movies that had some real chomp and bite, and maybe a serial killer or zombies.

– It’s an hour and fifty-some minutes long—mercifully, just under two hours. Longer would have been excruciating.

– It’s the only film I’ve ever seen bold enough to think someone saying “a friggin’ pigeon” is repeatedly funny. So, it at least has the conviction to stand up for its punchlines, even as viewers scratch their heads and wonder, “Why is that funny?”

– Tyriq Withers is cut. You could hear an audible swoon from the overwhelmingly female audience when he took off his shirt. That’s some serious torso power. I can’t image the number of sit-up reps he did to get those washboards.

It won’t win any awards or catapult its actors to the next strata of stardom. But Reminders of Him might scratch an itch for moviegoers who want to gorge on some empty cinematic calories, gaze upon the rare sight of an orange pickup—and get out a good shirtless swoon or two.

—Neil Pond

Paranormal podcast triggers a hellzapoppin’ dive into deep-dish delirium

undertone
Starring Nina Kiri & Michèle Duquet
Directed by Ian Tuason
Rated R

In theaters Friday, March 13

For decades, horror movies have fright-fueled our fears of technology run amok, with haunted TVs and videotapes, and supernatural spins on telephone calls, toys, artificial intelligence and the internet. This stylishly terrifying tale adds a new link in the chain of hi-tech horrors with an after-hours podcast that becomes a portal for unspeakable evil to flourish.

Nina Kiri (she played Alma in The Handmaid’s Tale) gives a bravo solo performance as Evy, a podcaster who has moved back home to take care of her dying, barely breathing mother (Michèle Duquet).When Evy and her co-host partner (a heard-but-never-seen Adam DeMarco) dive into some audio files a couple has anonymously sent them for their 3 a.m. paranormal podcast, strange and unsettling things start to happen.

The movie’s title (also the name of the podcast) is intentionally lowercase, suggesting something underneath and unheard, lurking below and hidden.

In a most impressive debut, director Ian Tuason weaves a masterful minimalist tapestry of creeping dread and doom, using only two characters onscreen and never going outside the rooms of their house. As befitting a movie built around a spooky podcast, the sound is a major component of the mounting terror. We hear what Evy hears, through her headphones or inside the house, forcing us to use our imagination about what might be going on.

There are screams, crying, bangs and thumps in the night, whooshes and other weirdness. The whistle of a teakettle, the tortured tick of the hands of a clock, and the alarmed ring of the telephone are potently chilling. Tuason meshes religious iconography (an open Bible, a painting of The Last Supper, a subplot about prayer) with ancient demonology, murderous moms and infanticide, and the suggestion that children’s nursery rhymes are backward-masked with horrific hidden-message wickedness.

And Evy announces at one point that she’s pregnant.

As she spirals into madness, the movie builds toward a lights-out climax that…well, you’ll have to use your ears to fill in what your eyes can’t see. But in this case, hearing is certainly horrifying enough.

undertone dares you to come along for its hellzapoppin’ dive into deep-dish delirium, a place of demons and death rattles, with a guarantee that you’ll never hear “London Bridge” or “Baa Baa Black Sheep” the same way again.

—Neil Pond