BILL & TED FACE THE MUSIC

Stars: Keanu Reeves, Alex Winter, Samara Weaving, Bridgette Lundy-Paine, Scott "Kid Cudi" Mescudi, Kristen Schaal, Anthony Carrigan, Erinn Hayes, Jayma Mays, Jillian Bell, Holland Taylor, Beck Bennett, Hal Landon Jr., Amy Stoch and William Sadler.
Writers: Chris Matheson, Ed Solomon.
Director: Dean Parisot

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★ ½

Balancing the silly, the spirited and the soul-enriching has been one of the great triumphs of the Bill and Ted films, thanks to the depth of understanding that stars Alex Winter and Keanu Reeves bring to the characters. Frankly, it is astonishing that the pair have slipped into the roles for the first time since 1991’s Bogus Journey and lost none of their empathy and chemistry for the Wyld Stallyns duo. While it is unlikely the production foresaw it while shooting, and it’s entirely likely most audiences won’t believe it until they watch it, but the ease with which the giggles and good will flows in Bill & Ted Face the Music make it exactly the film that 2020 needs right now.

Writers Chris Matheson and Ed Solomon have guided the giddy, goofball comedy/fantasy pics since Reeves’ Ted Theodore Logan and Winter’s Bill S. Preston Esquire first paired up in 1989 for director Stephen Herek’s feel-good sleeper hit, followed in 1991 by Peter Hewett’s slightly ‘stonier’ sequel (split by two seasons of a largely-forgotten animated series in 1990). In Face the Music, middle-aged Bill & Ted have somehow stayed married to their Princess brides (Erinn Hayes, Jayma Mays) and attained a degree of middle-class suburban status, yet they are clinging to rock-n-roll dreams that have clearly passed them by; any notion that they have written the song that will unite the world is lost on everyone but them.

Everyone that is, except their daughters Thea (Samara Weaving) and Billie (Bridgette Lundy-Paine), gender-swapped versions of their dads and each filled with similar visions of fame and no idea how to get it. Opportunity presents itself in the form of Kelly (Kristen Schaal), a time traveller from a future ruled by her mother The Great Leader (Holland Taylor), bearing news that Future Earth really needs that world-uniting song, like, by this evening, or time and space will collapse in upon itself and destroy reality.

The set-up gives Matheson and Solomon (cameoing as polite blue-collar trench-demons, if you look quickly) plenty of leeway to work over both the time-travel malarkey and follow-your-dream subtext with comic precision; a big plus is the addition of director Dean Parisot, a master of sentimental silliness with both Galaxy Quest (1999) and Fun with Dick & Jane (2005) on his CV. As with past instalments, there is much fun had with the co-opting of historical figures to fix very modern, even futuristic, problems; earning big laughs this time around are Jimi Hendrix, Louis Armstrong and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, to name a few.

Of course, the film’s sweet-spot is in the casting. Not only with the return of Reeves and Winter, who clearly adore each other’s company (wait for the post-credit sequence for ultimate proof of that) and have a blast creating future versions of themselves to discover and ultimately dodge, but also in Brigitte Lundy-Paine, who nails a spot-on riff on Keanu’s ‘whoa’ persona, and the wonderful Samara Weaving, a super-sweet and fiercely protective mini-me version of Winter. Check out the original Excellent Adventure for some indication of just how precisely the actresses mimic and enhance the performances of Reeves and Winter at the corresponding age. Franchise service is paid with the totally worthy reappearance of William Sadler's scene-stealing turn as Death, denizen of the underworld and master of the 40-minute bass solo.

Here’s a spoiler alert (I mean, really? But, ok…) When the world-saving song drops and it sounds a little bit like an Arcade Fire album track, it doesn’t really matter; the message that the moment imparts is bolstered when viewed through the emotional climate of the world, circa September 2020. The narrative builds to an ending that shouldn’t hit as deep as it does, but the truth is, we need reminding of that which unifies us now more than ever. While a time-skipping 91 minute three-quel, 29 years on the boil, should not carry the weight of making the world a happier place, it suddenly finds itself doing so. And doing so most excellently.

DESTINATION WEDDING

Stars: Winona Ryder, Keanu Reeves.
Writer/Director: Victor Levin

Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★

Finally afforded the screen time together that their Gen-X fanbase has been pining for going on three decades, Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder play the most adorably unlovable rom-com couple ever in Victor Levin’s cynical but deceptively sweet Destination Wedding.

From the sitcom-y airport meet-cute in the opening frames to that knock on the door in the final seconds, Levin’s structure is as formulaic as the genre gets. However, the devilish charm of his debut feature is in the caustic detail of his dialogue and his casting of two stars who, despite their iconic status amongst fans of a certain age, have never really been afforded this kind of punchy, rat-a-tat repartee. They have the whole film to themselves – there are no other speaking parts – so the balance is certainly redressed.

Ryder plays Lindsay, a SJW-lawyer who brings down irresponsible corporations; Reeves is Frank, an executive for a company who hands out ‘Best Of...’ awards to big business. They are thrust into each other’s orbit on the way to a destination wedding in San Luis Obispo; Lindsay was once engaged to the groom, who happens to be Frank’s half-brother. Neither are seeking romance or companionship, yet find themselves drawn together via their misanthropy, cynicism and general despair at the notion of a life-long bond and all who seem to be working towards one.

While Reeves and Ryder may not seem the obvious leads for a movie that would have soared in generations past in the hands of, say, Walter Matthau and Eileen Brennan, or Richard Dreyfuss and Lily Tomlin, the darlings of 80s/90s cinema turn their callous-hearted characters into legitimately redeemable love birds. Reeves in particular seems to revel in delivering Levin’s dark, delicious words; the chemistry between he and Ryder (typically flinty, utterly endearing) is both sweet and sour, a coming-together of damaged souls who might just be able to mend each other over time.

Do not expect windswept, late-evening soft-glow late in the third act (as one of the interstitial title-cards states, “Just what the world needs – another Goddamn sunset wedding”), but instead a more seasoned perspective on the prospect for enduring romance. In their teen-dream heyday, a Reeves/Ryder romantic entanglement would have set every under-18’s ticker into cardiac arrhythmia; in 2019, the actors get to play understated, doubtful and resigned to a compromised human connection. Their more mature selves provide no less a love story, and Reeves and Ryder prove no less engaging, because of the passage of time.