TROLLS BAND TOGETHER: 3 STARS

Three movies in, you wouldn’t think there was that much story left to tell in the Trolls Universe.

And you’d be right. There isn’t.

But “Trolls Band Together,” the new animated jukebox musical featuring the voices of Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake, and now playing in theatres, isn’t so much about the story as it is the frenetic, psychedelic experience of watching it all unfold.

This time around, the story begins years ago with Baby Branch (Timberlake) making his debut with BroZone, the all-Troll boy band consisting of Floyd (electropop sensation Troye Sivan), John Dory (Eric André), Spruce (Daveed Diggs) and Clay (Kid Cudi). The pressures of life at the top of the charts, of chasing the perfect sound, is wearing away at the band, and when their choreography goes wrong during a live show, they decide to call it quits.

“We’re not in sync,” says elder brother John Dory. “We’ve gone from boys to men, and now there’s only one direction for us to go
 to the back streets.”

Cut to years later. Branch is now married to Queen Poppy (Kendrick), queen of the ever optimistic Pop Trolls, and hasn’t been in contact with his brothers since their last show.

“My brothers walked out on me,” says Branch, “and never came back.”

Out of the blue John Dory shows up with bad news. Their brother Floyd is being held captive in a diamond prison by pop superstars Velvet and Veneer (Amy Schumer and Andrew Rannells) who siphon off his talent to enhance their terrible singing voices.

“I want to be famous,” says Velvet, “but I don’t want to work for it.”

The only way to rescue Floyd is to put the band back together and create the one thing powerful enough to shatter a diamond, the perfect family harmony of all their voices singing together.

The experience of watching “Trolls Band Together” is not unlike watching a great fireworks display. They both distract the eye, are often super cool looking and may cause temporary elation, but as soon as they’re over, so is the thrill. The frantically paced film is all spectacle, glitter and musical dance numbers.

There isn’t a moment for the audience or the movie to catch its breath, as though director Walt Dohrn edited out any moments without action, leaving behind all peaks and no valleys. The razzle dazzle may appeal to younger audiences but parents, despite the addition of adult-level humour, may be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of imagery in every frame.

Still, it’s hard to dislike a movie that emphasizes the importance of family and community, has credible boy band songs (NSYNC perform “Better Place,” their first original song in 22 years) and 2D animation sequences inspired by “Yellow Submarine” and “Fantasia.”

THE HUNGER GAMES: THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES: 3 STARS

“The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes,” is an origin story, because what good is a franchise if it doesn’t splinter off in an origin story or two? The prequel, set 64 years before the events of the successful Jennifer Lawrence franchise, is a big and bold movie about the future ruler of Panem that feels as though it may have worked better as a miniseries.

The new film centers on Coriolanus Snow (Tom Blyth), scion of the once powerful Snow family.

Orphaned during a civil war that divided the nation of Panem into a wealthy Capitol city, where everyone seems to dress like the keyboard player of Spandau Ballet circa 1983, surrounded by twelve poverty-stricken Rocky Mountain districts, where everyone speaks like a Dolly Parton impersonator.

Coriolanus is living hand-to-mouth with his grandmother (Fionnula Flanagan) and cousin Tigris (Hunter Schafer), trying hard to keep up appearances at his fancy school, and hoping to win an academic scholarship.

“Look at you,” says Casca Highbottom (Peter Dinklage), academy dean and creator of the Hunger Games.

“Your makeshift shirt and your too tight shoes, trying desperately to fit in, when I know you Snows don’t have a pot to piss in.”

Despite his hardships, A-student Coriolanus is a shoo-in to win the scholarship until Highbottom announces that the bursary will no longer be award for grades. As part of the upcoming Hunger Games, a televised gladiatorial death-match that pits kids, or “tributes,” from the districts against one another, Coriolanus will have to mentor Lucy Gray Baird (Rachel Zegler), a tribute from the impoverished District 12. If she survives the game under his leadership, he’ll get his scholarship and an entrée into the life of his dreams.

What begins as a battle for life and death becomes a larger story of good vs. evil, of love and destiny, of opportunity and choice.

“The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” is a big handsome movie with a lot on its mind. Fans of the series will know that Snow goes on to become a villain, an autocratic ruler with a sadistic side. This is how he got there, from outcast to insider, from protagonist to antagonist. The detailed descent into evil is born from his instinct for self-preservation that overrides whatever righteousness once resided in his soul.

Fans may enjoy the trip back top Panem, but “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” has a different feel from the originals. The first set of films were very much about Katniss Everdeen’s (who does not appear here) decency as a galvanizing symbol of rebellion against oppression.

This is the anti-hero’s journey, and, as such, it’s darker and not as action packed.

It’s a character study, divided into three sections and stretched to a lengthy two-hours-and-forty-minutes. Each episode covers an aspect of the story, but, particularly as we get to the last section, the storytelling feels disjointed, rushed, as if there is too much story for one movie. The world building is interesting, and Blyth is suitably icy, but as we’re ushered through the episodic tale, it feels as if this could have used a different approach to fully flesh out the story. A mini-series might have allowed the time the story needed to feel fully realized.

“The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes” is a different beast than its predecessors. Lucy Gray’s musical numbers—it sometimes feels like “Hunger Games” done by theatre kids—add a new dimension, and the tone is different, but it is the study of the banality of evil that really sets it apart from what came before.

RUSTIN: 3 STARS

In “Rustin,” a new reverential historical drama now streaming on Netflix, Emmy Award winner Colman Domingo plays Bayard Rustin, a gay Black man whose vision and tenacity had an outsized effect on the Civil Rights Movement. He’s been largely forgotten by history but “Rustin,” produced by Barack and Michelle Obama's production company Higher Ground, serves as a potent reminder of his activist legacy.

The story of the run-up to 1963's March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom and the famous “I Have a Dream” speech, “Rustin” sets the stage with harrowing images of 1950s segregation.

Cut to 1960 and a plan between Rustin and Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. (Aml Ameen) to launch a protest march on the Democratic National Convention. The plan is thwarted by U.S. Congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr’s. (Jeffrey Wright) threat of a misinformation campaign, linking the two men romantically. Powell’s allegation, while untrue, causes a rift between the two men that sees Rustin kicked to the curb.

Three years later Rustin hatches another plan, a massive, non-violent march on Washington to pressure the Kennedy administration to initiate a strong federal civil rights bill in Congress.

With little to no support from DC’s power base due to racism, his former communist membership and his sexuality—“When it comes to the old guard,” he says, “I’m considered a pariah.”—Rustin seeks support from his estranged friend King. “Do this Dr. King,” he says. “Own your power.”

The next eight tumultuous weeks find Rustin balancing his personal life—an affair with married preacher Elias (Johnny Ramey)—and his work with King and their band of “angelic troublemakers” as they arrange one of the largest political rallies for human rights in United States history.

“On August 28,” he says, “Black, white, young, old, rich, working-class, poor will descend on Washington, DC.”

“Rustin” tells the story of a landmark moment in the battle for Civil Rights, but this isn’t just a history lesson. It’s really is a character study of the charming, driven man who made it happen.

The movie itself is stagey and straightforward, prone to grandstanding with an over-reliance on exposition, but it comes alive whenever the charismatic Domingo is on screen.

As portrayed in the film, Rustin is a powerhouse, a man predisposed to challenging authority, to giving voice to hard truths, to never backing down. Domingo inhabits him, embracing the strength to never apologize for who he is or his quest for justice and equality.

“On the day I was born Black, I was also born homosexual. They either believe in justice and freedom for all, or they do not,” he rails against his detractors. It’s a muscular, timely performance that makes up for the film’s other shortcomings.

At times, “Rustin” feels rushed. Several scenes end prematurely and without explanation, giving the film an odd rhythm. But, the final moments as the march comes to life, are moving, empowering and pack an emotional punch, as does the portrait of a behind the scenes trailblazer and hero.

NEXT GOAL WINS: 2 ½ STARS

Charming but slight, Taika Waititi’s “Next Goal Wins” is an inspirational, underdog sports movie that falls just short of a win.

Michael Fassbender plays real-life football coach Thomas Rongen, a hothead whose failure to push the Under-20 United States men's national team to the World Cup cost him a prime gig with the league. At loose ends, with a broken marriage and no prospects, he takes a last-chance job with the failing American Samoa soccer team. “This guy has been fired from his last three jobs because he can’t control himself,” says player Daru (Beulah Koale).

How bad are they? “We haven’t scored one goal in the history of our country trying to have a soccer team,” explains Tavita (Oscar Kightley), head of the Football Federation of American Samoa. “All I want is just one goal. One goal.”

It's a modest ambition, but this is a team who once gave up 31 goals in a match against Australia. The question is, Can a man who values winning above all else work with a team of such modest ambitions?

“I can honestly say it’s the worst bunch of players I’ve ever come across,” says Rongen.

Although based on a true story, “Next Goal Wins” leans into every cliché in the sports movie playbook. Add to that a boatload of fish out of water tropes, a drunken, angry coach and one big game, and you have a movie that, despite the American Samoa setting, feels very familiar.

It’s “Ted Lasso” Lite by way of the “Bad News Bears,” but isn’t without its humble charms. The script is stuffed to bursting with one-liners and sight gags, delivered by an able and willing cast. The scene stealer here is Kightley, the eternally optimistic federation leader. He’s a ton of fun and is a nice counterbalance to Fassbender’s dour performance.

The film’s beating heart is Jaiyah Saelua (Kaimana), the first openly non-binary and trans soccer player in history to compete in a World Cup game. Known as faʻafafine, a third gender accepted in traditional Samoan culture, Saelua’s addition to the story—which is based on the team’s true history—modernizes the well-worn inspirational sports flick formula with a nod to identity and acceptance.

“Next Goal Wins” is a crowd pleaser with some laughs, but aside from some timely, sly social commentary on white saviour tropes and inclusion, is as formulaic as sports movies get.

THE STONES AND BRIAN JONES: 4 STARS

A month after the release of “Hackney Diamonds,” the latest record from The Rolling Stones, comes a documentary about the largely forgotten musician who started the band. “The Stones and Brian Jones,” a new film from Nick Broomfield and now playing in theatres, (and to rent or buy on the Apple TV app and other VOD platforms), examines the man who posted the want ad in “Jazz News” that got the Stones rolling in 1962.

“He was the heart and soul of the Rolling Stones,” says Broomfield in the film. “Yet, most people today haven’t even heard of him.”

At age 14, Broomfield, director of music docs like “Kurt & Courtney,” “Biggie & Tupac” and “Whitney: Can I Be Me,” had a brief, chance encounter with Brian Jones on a train. Jones was then a superstar, the guitarist of the Rolling Stones, the dangerous alternative to the clean cut Beatles.

Six years later, the director attended the famous Rolling Stones concert in London’s Hyde Park, a tribute to Jones who had been found dead less than a month after he was fired by the band he began.

“If anyone was going to die; Brian was going to die,” Jagger said. “He just lived his life very fast. He was kind of like a butterfly.”

A light that burned brightly, Jones was an innovative multi-instrumentalist with a love of the blues who embodied London’s Swingin’ Sixties, but harboured a troubled soul. With a mix of new they-were-there interviews from folks like former Stones bassist Bill Wyman, Animals’ singer Eric Burdon, model/singer Zouzou and singer Marianne Faithfull, plus archival footage and interviews from Mick jagger, Keith Richards and Charlie Watts, among others, Broomfield builds a portrait of Jones as the bad boys band’s most rebellious member.

Raised by straightlaced parents, an aeronautical engineer father and church organist mother, Jones displayed antagonism toward authority early on, rebelling against his family and getting suspended from school. Obsessed with blues artists like Elmore James and Robert Johnson, he got his first acoustic guitar at age 17 and began performing at blues and jazz clubs. He was also a womanizer—"He just uses people," says teenager Valerie Corbett, mother of his first baby.—a wild child, uninvited to art college after being labelled an “irresponsible drifter.”

The story of the beginning of the Stones is more familiar. Jones put the band together, gave them the name, cribbed from “Rollin' Stone Blues," track five, side one of “The Best of Muddy Waters,” taught Jagger to play harmonica and roomed with his bandmates in a grungy apartment on Edith Grove in Chelsea as they developed the intertwined guitar sound that would characterize their music.

With fame, came musical exploration—Jones played everything from slide-guitar and harmonica to recorder and Appalachian dulcimer—but also a change in the band’s dynamics. As Jagger and Richards moved the band’s sound further away from the blues Jones loved to a more mainstream rock ‘n’ roll vibe, Jones found himself indulging in two-thirds of the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll stereotype.

“Drugs destroyed his discipline,” says filmmaker Volker Schlöndorff, “and you can’t be an artist without discipline.”

As for the sex, Broomfield details Jones’s chaotic relationship with actress, artist, and model Anita Pallenberg, who left Jones for Richards. He also dives deep into the decision to remove Jones from the band and his passing, called “first drug/alcohol casualty of our generation.”

Much of the biographical information is familiar, but Broomfield props up this section with first-hand accounts, particularly from Wyman, whose enthusiasm for the music, and Jones’s contributions to it, is infectious.

A note of pathos comes near the end when Bloomfield reveals a personal note from Jones’s father expressing regret for not being more supportive. The formality of the writing hides a deep well of emotion and acceptance, which, for the musician, came too late to ease his troubled mind.

The old stories are bolstered by the addition of new, fresh interviews but it is the focus on Jones as a brilliant musician and not simply another rock ‘n’ roll casualty, that elevates "The Stones and Brian Jones." The story has its sordid moments, but Bloomfield emphasizes the very heart of Jones’s being, the music.