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to Section One | to Arts & Entertainment
posted Friday, November 24, 2017 - Volume 45 Issue 47
Movie Reviews
Arts & Entertainment
ALL STORIES
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Unflinching Three Billboards a McDormand tour de force
by Sara Michelle Fetters - SGN A&E Writer

THREE BILLBOARDS
OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI
Now playing


On an old stretch of road just outside of Ebbing, Missouri, Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) rents out three billboards in order to put up a pointed message directed at town chief of police William Willoughby (Woody Harrelson). It's been almost a year, and the lawman is nowhere near close to catching the person who brutally raped and murdered her daughter, the perpetrator leaving the teen's burned body at the base of one of those billboards.

Her son Robbie (Lucas Hedges) doesn't know what to think. He's grieving just as hard as his mother is, but now he has more to deal with thanks to this particular stunt putting the case back into the spotlight. As for Willoughby's pool of officers, his second-in-command Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell) appears to be the most aggrieved, the volatile policeman choosing to take out his aggressions upon the sign company manager, Red Welby (Caleb Landry Jones), who rented out the billboards. Nonetheless, Mildred remains resolute. She is leaving the signs as they are, and even when Willoughby reveals a dreadful personal secret, as much as she feels and understands his pain taking them down simply isn't an option.

The great Frances McDormand delivers one of the best performances of the year in writer/director Martin McDonagh's masterfully desolate Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, while both Harrelson and especially Rockwell turn in two of the finest of their respective careers. The rest of the cast, which includes the likes of Hedges, Jones, Abbie Cornish, Zeljko Ivanek, Peter Dinklage, John Hawkes, Clarke Peters and Samara Weaving, are equally outstanding, and whether their parts are big, small or lie somewhere delicately in-between, each of them makes the most of every second that McDonagh chooses to focus on their respective characters.

The film itself is as twisted and as destructive as one might expect from a story sprung from the mind of the creator of motion pictures like In Bruges and Seven Psychopaths. Mildred's story is an ocean of grief, the anger that's been brewing within her for months on end taking her to a place of unfettered rage that is as unrelenting as it is understandable. Yet, she is not the only one with cause to lash out. Willoughby has his own reasons to scream in anger, as does his wife, Anne (Cornish). As for Dixon, he's a mess of contradictions, his frustrating inability to separate right from left, to quickly judge every book solely by its cover and not to care a single lick about the consequences, all of it is going to bite him in the butt, the fact he doesn't notice this before it's too late a whole extra level of cluelessness that's flabbergasting in its self-destructive absurdity.

Robbie might have the most reason to be angry, what with his father (Hawkes) leaving to live with a much younger woman (Weaving) while his mother sends the entire town of Ebbing into a freewheeling spiral of pointed fingers, shouted insults and a number of shattered windows. He lost an older sister whom he loved dearly, and now, just as he was starting to regain his emotional footing, everything is now back on the front page but in a way that makes his family look foolish, and as such he's having a hard time trying to figure out how he's supposed to feel about it all.

McDonagh crafts a bevy of complex characters, each with their own idiosyncratic ins and outs. Each is wounded in one way or another. Most are trying to get on with their lives as best they can. A few are so caught up in their own anger or grief, or more often than not a combination of the two, that they end up making choices that frequently turn out to be as misbegotten and cancerous as they are stupid. But their actions also speak truth to power. They call into question societal norms and priorities that deserve to be addressed. Most of all, they allow a level of introspection that could lead to profound change if the person experiencing these varying emotions is willing to confront them head-on. Problem is, most either aren't willing or don't know how to do something like that, and so their growing rage keeps building until an eruption of one sort of another is nothing short of inevitable.

McDormand is a force of nature. Her unbending resolve is something out of a John Wayne Western. The actress is a rigidly inflexible dynamo of determination, Mildred so intent on seeing something, anything done as it pertains to her daughter's unsolved murder that she is okay with the collateral damage that might occur due to her actions. Yet McDormand is able to mine such a knotty multitude of emotions keeping track of all she is showcasing one scene to the next is practically impossible on the first viewing, the sheer brilliance of her work never in doubt for one second of the film's running time.

Unfortunately, McDonagh isn't always able to maintain command of the proceedings all the way through to the end. There are sections where he attempts to touch upon hot-button issues like police misconduct and racial inequality but none of this is ever fully developed. There are times that, as magnificent as Dixon's character arc proves to be, the fact the film seems to dismiss certain charges brought against him is slightly uncomforting. More, other than Peters' incoming chief of police tasked with taking charge of the officers under Willoughby's command, most of the actors of color (notably Brendan Sexton III and Amanda Warren) have virtually nothing to do, all of them disappearing for long narrative stretches as if McDonagh can't figure out the best way to utilize any of them.

But when this drama connects it does so marvelously. The last 30 minutes are close to perfect, the narrative bobbing and weaving in increasingly insightful and fascinating ways that surprise and amaze. The way things come together is entirely unexpected, the climactic revelations a devastating punch to the gut. What Mildred and Dixon achieve isn't redemption, the answers to their various questions not meeting with the sort of answer either are looking for. But a form of catharsis is found, a common goal seeing the duo join forces in a way they never would have dreamt possible at any point before it actually ends up happening. Three Billboards Outside of Ebbing, Missouri knocked me sideways, McDonagh's latest a mesmerizing piece of satirical social commentary that packs a mean wallop.


Pixar's Coco a pleasantly colorful diversion
by Sara Michelle Fetters - SGN A&E Writer

COCO
Now playing


Miguel (voiced by Anthony Gonzalez) is 12-years-old, is a member of an incredibly loving family and has no wish whatsoever to grow up to be a shoe cobbler like his parents, his grandparents and all his ancestors going back more generations than he can count. Instead, he wants to be a singer, a crooning cowboy like his favorite movie star, the late, great matinee idol Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt). But his family is dead-set against anyone in their brood becoming a musician, and they have been since his great-great-grandfather left his great-great-grandmother, as well as his great-grandmother when she was still nothing but a child, to fend for themselves so he could make his fortune as a singer. Ever since it's been nothing but shoes for every member of the family, not a single person willing to entertain Miguel's dreams of guitar-strumming stardom no matter how boisterous his protestations.

On Día de Muertos, a.k.a. the Day of the Dead, Miguel discovers a shocking secret. His family knew Ernesto de la Cruz. More, it appears the famous star might have been his great-great-grandfather. All of which makes it perfectly acceptable in Miguel's mind to break into the Mexican icon's crypt in order to borrow his prized guitar in order to participate in a local singing competition scheduled for that evening as part of the holiday celebration. But when Miguel strums the guitar he discovers he can travel to the Land of the Dead. With the assistance of a down-on-his-luck skeleton named Héctor (Gael García Bernal) the youngster goes on a quest to find Ernesto de la Cruz, certain that if he does so everything in the mortal world will be set right and he'll be allowed to follow his dream of musical stardom with his family's heartfelt blessing.

Pixar's latest animated offering Coco is a pleasant enough diversion, offering colorful visual delights that are as imaginative as they are gorgeous. Director Lee Unkrich (Toy Story 3) and co-director Adrian Molina (The Good Dinosaur) go out of their way to be respectful to the Mexican holiday by urging their cadre of writers to craft a coming of age scenario that feels refreshingly authentic. The same goes for the richly talented vocal ensemble, the likes of Renée Victor, Alfonso Arau, Herbert Siguenza, Gabriel Iglesias and the great Edward James Olmos joining Bratt, Bernal and newcomer Gonzalez as part of the production. It's a fun little endeavor, the climactic act a particular delight as Unkrich and company bring all of the various plots and subplots together in a way that is energetic and suspenseful as well as turning out to be nothing less than happily satisfying.

And yet, I cannot say I loved everything about the animation studio's nineteenth feature-length motion picture. It took me the longest time to get interested in what was going on with Miguel. The kid is oddly unlikable for a good quarter of the story, his chirpy selfishness rubbing me the wrong way. But the same goes for many of the members of his family, especially his grandmother Abuelita (Victor), her cantankerous one-dimensional anti-music belligerence tiresome. Once Miguel found himself in the Land of the Dead I almost didn't care if he returned to the realm of the living, and it's something of a wonder I became as emotionally invested in his adventure learning about his ancestors and discovering the truth of his great-great-grandfather's disappearance as much as I eventually did.

Once Héctor is introduced things do start going in the right direction, and while the surprises involving him aren't shocking, the way his relationship evolves so naturalistically with his newfound friend Miguel oftentimes is. I was also somewhat astonished Unkrich and his team has the audacity to introduce some pretty adult-oriented themes and ideas during the film's final third, revelations about Ernesto de la Cruz undeniably startling. Then there is the infusion of color and texture into the feature as the Land of the Dead is spectacularly revealed, and even for the talented artists at Pixar the attention to detail on the part of the animators is simply extraordinary.

Comparisons to 2014's The Book of Life produced by Guillermo del Toro are unavoidable, the two animated productions sharing a noticeable kinship even if no one involved with the creation of Coco would likely want to recognize it. Yet both revolve around the Mexican holiday Día de Muertos and both rely upon the love of music (as well as a collection of pretty terrific songs) to fuel the respective tales. Pixar's effort is more stunningly animated, on that front there is no debate, while the del Toro production is lighter on its feet and to my mind more consistently enjoyable even if it never soars to quite the same heights this new feature sometimes manages to do.

Coco is worthwhile, just not as much so as I honestly hoped it would be. Its narrative inconsistencies are frequently frustrating, and the fact it ends up being an 'all or nothing' sort of story (meaning there is no middle ground in the love-hate involving music and musicians) partially rubbed me the wrong way. But cultural representation matters, and the fact Unkrich and his team treat Día de Muertos with such respect and reverence is a thing worth celebrating. So even if I didn't love this movie I still liked it just enough to sing many of its praises, and even if my song isn't a loud one, I'm still happy to be belting it out for all to enjoy nonetheless.


Washington's magnificence aside, ambitious Roman fails to make its case
by Sara Michelle Fetters - SGN A&E Writer

ROMAN J. ISRAEL, ESQ.
Now playing


You have to give filmmaker Dan Gilroy credit; he doesn't pull his punches. Nightcrawler was a lean, mean noir-edged descent into nighttime L.A. madness featuring a main character, brilliantly portrayed by Jake Gyllenhaal, who was not exactly the nicest human being to ever be the protagonist of a high-profile production. Now Gilroy brings us Roman J. Israel, Esq. starring Denzel Washington, and once again he isn't interested in making things comfortable for the viewing public. But while fascinating as a showcase for the two-time Academy Award-winning actor, as a complex human drama the filmmaker's latest effort frustratingly comes up short, the ideas presented in the story never gelling together in a manner that is consistently compelling.

Attorney Roman J. Israel, Esq. (Washington) is at a loss as to what he should do next. His longtime law partner William Henry Jackson, a civil right legend who was the public face of their firm, is in a coma and unlikely to recover. George Pierce (Colin Farrell), a fast-talking and ambitious lawyer who runs his own multimillion dollar practice, has been brought in to help clear the current caseload, and per instructions from Jackson's family Roman needs to assist in dissolving the office and getting all their clients transferred over to Pierce.

That's how things begin in Gilroy's story, things moving in a character-driven manner directly after that. Roman proves to be something of a savant. He remembers everything, and he can find every legal loophole there is in order to help his clients. But he's a terrible litigator and a poor public speaker, letting his self-righteous belief that all grey areas between right and wrong need to be eliminated so that the law applies fairly to everyone no matter what their race, gender or financial situation get the better of him, this indignation often leading him to make decisions that are hardly in his client's best interests.

Even so, Pierce knows a good thing when he sees it, and after letting Roman flounder on his own for a little while, he snatches the lawyer up and puts him to work inside his own firm. But when a single mistake leads to the death of a client while they're behind bars, it becomes an active question whether or not this incredibly intelligent attorney is more trouble than he is worth. Even Roman starts questioning himself, making decisions that are completely out of character, especially for a man who has spent many of his waking moments fighting for the civil rights of others without anyone knowing about it. Only a new friendship with community organizer and equal rights crusader Maya Alston (Carmen Ejogo) has him wanting to keep fighting the good fight, the lawyer seeing in her a kindred spirit who reminds him of his ailing friend, mentor and partner William Henry Jackson.

It's a lot of material, but Gilroy presents things in a straightforward, easy to navigate manner so I can't say I lost track of what was happening at any given moment. He also presents an interesting twist where Roman's growing dissolution and questioning of his long-held beliefs about the rule of law and the current state of civil rights brings him to ponder a decision that could potentially destroy decades of his own hard work. It allows the movie to transform into some sort of dramatic noir, a good man suddenly doing the unthinkable for what he feels are solid reasons even if in the light of day all they really do is selfishly gratify himself in the short term, the bigger picture of his acts potentially having catastrophic consequences that are beyond imagining.

But the weird thing is, as gripping as all of this is in concept, in execution it's oddly dull. Gilroy isn't able to generate anything akin to tension, and I frustratingly found it difficult to become emotionally engaged in anything that was happening no matter how dire things were slowly becoming. I felt like I was being purposefully kept at arm's length; that this was an observational tale and not one I was supposed to feel a personal connection to. It's a strange dynamic, one that I do not think suits the story Gilroy is telling, and as such I frequently found my attention drifting to other things instead of remaining focused on what was happening to Roman or what the repercussions of his actions might end up blossoming into.

None of which takes away from Washington's performance. The actor is terrific, bringing to life a character that's unlike any other in his impressive filmography. He and Gilroy could seemingly care less how likeable Roman is or how much the audience connects to his more idiosyncratic mannerisms. Washington moves with a jerky indecisiveness that's marvelous, allowing for a smooth, creepily unnerving tension to slowly mount as the character changes how he goes about doing things in his life as the film progresses. It's the type of performance that almost makes watching the movie worthwhile all by itself, and much like Meryl Streep in The Iron Lady or Al Pacino in Danny Collins Washington elevates moderately middling material to a plateau it never would have risen to without his presence.

I love that Gilroy challenges audiences. I can't wait to see what he's got up his sleeve as a writer and director next. But, even with Washington's magnificence, I'm having a hard time thinking Roman J. Israel, Esq. is anything close to a piece of essential cinema. There's enough going on here that I'll happily give the film a second look sometime in the future, and maybe when I do my opinion will change. But it's not going to happen anytime soon, and as ambitious as Gilroy's feature might be, that's still not enough to make this piece of cinematic litigation worthy of being argued in the form of ticket purchases at the box office turnstile.


Energetically incoherent Justice League charmingly heroic
by Sara Michelle Fetters - SGN A&E Writer

JUSTICE LEAGUE
Now playing


After the death of Clark Kent/Superman (Henry Cavill) at the hands of Doomsday, both Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) and Diana Prince (Gal Gadot) are well aware the Earth is in jeopardy in a way it never has been before. With signs of an invasion everywhere, the two heroes attempt to find other individuals with special abilities to help protect humanity now that the Man of Steel is gone. The three they're focused on are Barry Allen (Ezra Miller), Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa) and Victor Stone (Ray Fisher), each possessing the sort of skills that should be able to help Bruce and Diana hold back the forces of evil.

But an invasion isn't just forthcoming, it's already begun. The planet destroyer Steppenwolf (Ciarán Hinds) has descended from the interstellar unknown and laid waste to both the hidden island of Themyscira and the lost underwater city of Atlantis in search of powerful artifacts known as 'Mother Boxes,' a third one buried in the bowels of the earth by mankind 5,000 years ago the last remaining key that will help this demon cover the world in fire and darkness. With Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen) able to send her daughter a message signaling the fight for the planet's survival has commenced, it becomes clear to Diana that as strong as Bruce, Barry, Arthur, Victor and she herself are, they might not be enough to stop Steppenwolf.

Justice League is a mess; there's no denying that. With director Zack Snyder having to step away from the production after a horrible family tragedy and Joss Whedon brought in to tidy up the script, handle reshoots of some key scenes and oversee the editing process, there is a notable tonal disconnect throughout that's rather obvious. It's hard to know where the filmmaker responsible for Man of Steel and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice sees his influence on things begin and the guy known for creating 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' and crafting The Avengers has his end, and while Snyder gets sole directorial credit it's hard not to imagine this version of the story is far removed from the one he likely originally imagined.

All of which makes it surprising things work out nearly as well as they do. While disjointed and more than a little structurally incoherent, gosh darn it all if Justice League doesn't end up proving to be a heck of a lot more fun than it has any right to be. Moving at a breakneck pace, Whedon and fellow screenwriter Chris Terrio (Argo), working from a story initially conceived by Terrio and Snyder, assemble their team of heroes quickly, eschewing much in the way of narrative excess in order to get to the action sooner rather than later. They gloss over the backstory of the Mother Boxes as well as the chaos and carnage caused by Steppenwolf's first visit to Earth 5,000 years in the past, hoping audiences don't really notice they aren't spending a lot of times explaining anything that is happening. The pair also introduce their new heroes in speedy shorthand, thinking that the talents of Miller, Momoa and Fisher will be enough to make them memorable and worth caring about all by themselves.

For the most part this plan succeeds. Victor Stone, a.k.a. Cyborg, gets the shortest straw, which is something of a shame as his role in seeing Steppenwolf's plans fail is an important one. Arthur Curry, a.k.a. Aquaman, fairs a lot better, and considering his solo adventure is set to hit theatres in December of 2018 it's hardly surprising his underwater world of Atlantis is the most fully realized new location in the movie outside of Themyscira, already introduced this past summer in the box office smash Wonder Woman. As for Barry Allen, a.k.a. The Flash, he's given the most to do, a subplot involving his wrongfully incarcerated father Henry (Billy Crudup) and the youngster's general inability to fit in with others giving him an idiosyncratic edge that's consistently engaging.

Even so, Miller, Momoa and Fisher all make suitably solid impressions, and say what you will about Snyder's directorial style his eye for casting these important roles is second to none Each manages to craft distinct characterizations that are separate from any of their cast mates yet still fits in beautifully with the idea that each of them must put their differences aside in order to become a crime-fighting team unlike any other the world has ever seen before. Miller, in particular, steals scenes right out from underneath his costars with charismatic ease, adding a layer of humor and warmth to the proceedings that is frankly wonderful.

But this whole adventure feels vigorous and welcoming in a way that neither Man of Steel nor Batman v Superman ever did. It's clear that things have shifted, the production even going so far as to tug at the emotional nostalgia cord, composer Danny Elfman crafting a wonderfully boisterous score that uses John Williams' Superman theme as well as Hans Zimmer and Tom Holkenborg's 'Is She With You?' Wonder Woman track to magnificent effect. Heck, he even gets to throw his own Batman theme into the mix as well, in some ways suggesting this incarnation of The Dark Knight is the same one Tim Burton introduced in 1989, thus making Justice League in some ways more of an unintentional sequel to it than it is to Snyder's Batman v Superman.

These are all conscious decisions made by both the studio and the filmmakers, I'm certain, and they frequently work. By keeping things energetic and fun, by allowing the cast to look and appear as if they're having a terrific time making the film, all of this ends up having quite the effect upon an audience. It's hard to care that little of the plot makes any real sense, or that Steppenwolf, all of the talented Hinds' belligerent bellicose bluster notwithstanding, is another in a long line of underwhelming bad guys these comic book adventures, whether they be DC or Marvel, always seem to be putting front and center. Most of this shockingly doesn't matter, the pure unadulterated esprit de corps that's on display somehow helping to gloss over this production's more than obvious (and ample) shortcomings.

Who knows where things go next, or if the combination of Wonder Woman and to a lesser degree Justice League signals that DC and Warner Bros have finally figured out what it is they are doing and that future adventures featuring these heroes will meet with success. But even with a number of reservations, and even though I haven't the first clue who, Snyder or Whedon, should get the majority of the credit, dang it all if I didn't find watching Batman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Aquaman and Cyborg joining forces to be a rollicking, freewheeling blast, and you don't even need to tie me up with the Lasso of Hestia for me to admit it.


Risibly tedious Daddy's Home 2 a laughless slog
by Sara Michelle Fetters - SGN A&E Writer

DADDY'S HOME 2
Now playing


It's possible that Daddy's Home 2 is one of the more blatantly rancid and painfully ugly comedies I've ever had the displeasure to sit through. Doubling down on the more risible aspects of the otherwise inoffensive, moderately amusing yet instantly forgettable 2015 first film, returning director Sean Anders (We're the Millers) and the rest of his creative team have delivered a sequel that's pretty close to unwatchable. Trading in disgustingly tired and offensive gender stereotypes that only feel more egregious in light of current cultural events, filled with childish behavior by its two leads that is trite and obnoxious in a way that is not remotely amusing, this film comes amazingly close to being a disaster. It just isn't good, and for the life of me I can't begin to imagine just how terrible a third entry in this series would prove to be if this second one ends up being a hit which by all appearances it is sadly almost certain to be.

After ironing out their differences and working overtime to be the best pair of co-dads they can be, Brad (Will Ferrell) and Dusty (Mark Wahlberg) have done a fine job becoming the type of men they feel their large cadre of children can be proud of. Both are determined to have the best Christmas celebration ever, deciding that instead of the children having to commute back and forth from one man's home to the other, the entire clan will make merry together as one gigantic unit. To that end, Brad and Dusty have invited their own fathers, the former's touchy-feely pop Don (John Lithgow) and the latter's wild-eyed bad boy of a dad Kurt (Mel Gibson), to be a part of the festivities, the two older gentlemen flying into town to be with their children and grandchildren for the holiday.

Things do not go as planned. Egged on a little by Kurt, Dusty starts trying to prove once again he's the alpha male. Not wanting to appear intimidated, Brad follows suit. Once again, the two men start trying to one-up one another by being as boorishly masculine as they can be while their children look upon them with a mixture of disgust and embarrassment. Even Brad's wife Sara (Linda Cardellini) and Dusty's new bride Karen (Alessandra Ambrosio) are mortified by their behavior, both women quickly coming to their wit's end as they try to deal with all the chaos and carnage their husbands are leaving in their wake as Christmas Day approaches.

Why do we have yet another comedy where the idea of males being affectionate or showing emotion is supposed to be funny? Why are we playing up so many unctuous gender stereotypes that proclaim anything even slightly feminine is to be looked down upon or ridiculed? Why is it supposed to be cute that forty-something man-children can behave like such bratty imbeciles? Why are the women in this film treated even worse this second time around than they were the first, the immensely talented Cardellini once again forced to deliver thankless bits of dialogue that are as embarrassing as they are juvenile? Why does so much of this movie assume its audience is a bunch of morons who need to be continually pandered to, never allowing for anything to happen that doesn't feel borrowed or stolen from other popular holiday comedies like National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation or A Christmas Story?

I've always responded to Ferrell and Wahlberg as a comedic team, but they're really starting to wear out their welcome with this travesty. Their performances grate in a way that grows tiresome as the film progresses. Even for a silly, people-doing-stupid-things-cluelessly comedy, the depths this one descends to are so overtly moronic putting up with either man for all 100 minutes of the running time is practically impossible. They're both so tediously insufferable their performances almost make me regret giving a good review to The Other Guys and a pleasantly passable one to the first Daddy's Home. I was that frustrated and dissatisfied by all that I was sitting there witnessing, and if only for the fact I've never walked out of a movie, it's a wonder I sat in the theatre all the way until the end.

Gibson is arguably the lone bright spot, the only one who underplays his role, refusing to mug for the camera, the actor allowing laughs to spring forth far more organically than they otherwise have any right to. But his appearance in what is being billed as a comedy fit for the whole family brings up a number of additional issues that I haven't the first clue as the best way to address. He's a problematic presence inside the motion picture for reasons that have nothing to do with the movie's overall mediocrity and everything to do with a person's ability to separate art from the artist, and while I was just fine watching Gibson in recent efforts like Blood Father and The Expendables 3 I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having a heck of a time trying to feel comfortable with his presence here.

Granted, the movie being so unrelentingly terrible eases that burden somewhat, Anders and his team of screenwriters manufacturing a sequel that isn't just content to sit at the bottom of the entertainment barrel but actually one that frequently digs even deeper into dirt seemingly in an attempt to see just how low it can go. Daddy's Home 2 is a lump of seasonal coal delivered into the multiplex with all the pomp and circumstance of a slap to the face, this holiday-themed comedy a laughless slog better left unwatched.


Storm Large brings her new band Le Bonheur to Federal Way on Friday, Dec. 1
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GRAMMYS 2018: The Weeknd, Bruno Mars, Kendrick Lamar, Lady GaGa, Imagine Dragons and Ed Sheeran are big contenders going into nominations announcement
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Village Theatre's recent production of Into the Woods deserves recognition
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SGN EXCLUSIVE: Screen legend Tippi Hedren on her new memoir, sexual harassment in Hollywood from Alfred Hitchcock, and her involvement with the Roar Foundation and Shambala Preserve
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Seattle Humane - Pets of the Week
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Jimi Hendrix' 75th birthday celebration at Museum of Pop Culture on November 25
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Unflinching Three Billboards a McDormand tour de force
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Pixar's Coco a pleasantly colorful diversion
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Washington's magnificence aside, ambitious Roman fails to make its case
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Energetically incoherent Justice League charmingly heroic
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