Fall (Scott Mann, 2022). The premise of Fall is so perfectly suited for a feat of inventive B-movie storytelling that its relatively drab execution proves doubly disappointing. Working from a script he co-wrote (with Jonathan Frank), director Scott Mann brings little of the panache this compact, confined plot demands. Becky (Grace Caroline Currey) is reeling from death of her husband (Mason Gooding) in a climbing accident when her longtime friend Shiloh (Virginia Gardner) convinces her one path to healing is to recapture her daredevil ways by climbing an abandoned broadcast tower in the desert. After they’ve reached the top, some two thousand feet up, the rickety ladder affixed to the tower falls away, which leaves them stranded on a dinky platform with little hope of getting down safely. There are a few instances of nifty invention in the procession of hopeful stabs at escape thwarted by cruel, eleventh-hour twist of fate, but those bits of inspiration are outnumbered by wearying implausibilities and cheaply transparent narrative mechanics. None of the actors can muster up the inner life to add depth to their rote characters, though Currey is at least convincing in her anguished reactions. Fall reaches its nadir with a third-act twist that is so hackneyed that it eradicates any previous goodwill towards its pulpy eagerness.

Air (Ben Affleck, 2023). Directed by Ben Affleck, this docudrama recounting of Nike overcoming its corporate underdog status to sign Michael Jordan to an endorsement contract that seriously enriched both parties is a vividly entertaining of classic, big-studio filmmaking. Air mostly sticks with Sonny Vaccaro (Matt Damon, in the schlub mode he dips into occasionally), the inpatient, impertinent middle manager charged with scouting basketball players who can be fiscally convinced do their dribbling drills while wearing Nike products. Sonny is convinced the freshly signed Jordan is bound for superstardom, and he rallies all his energy into convincing his cohorts, including Nike CEO Phil Knight (Affleck), to support betting the whole budget on the untested rookie. Affleck keeps the film moving along nicely, and he’s especially shrewd in playing to the strength of his actors to fill in the tonal beats, whether the pinpoint timing of Jason Bateman and Chris Tucker providing comic relief or the dramatic assurance of Viola Davis, playing the ballplayer’s determined mother, giving heft to the piece. There’s some clumsiness to the last act, especially in a presentation pitch that’s a notch too bumbling, presumably to introduce some tension to the foregone conclusion, and Affleck’s overuses of nineteen-eighties pop hit needle drops surpasses Robert Zemeckis’s notorious hyperactive jukebox plugging in Forrest Gump. Although distracting, these are ultimately minor flaws in a work that is highly satisfying overall.

The Mighty Quinn (Carl Schenkel, 1989). Adapted by Blade Runner screenwriter Hampton Fancher from an 1971 A. H. Z. Carr novel, The Mighty Quinn airlifts a strained palette load of film noir conventions to Jamaica. Denzel Washington plays Xavier Quinn, an island police chief who embarks on a wild tangle of an investigative process following the murder of a wealthy resort owner. Among the many standards of classic noir that the film honors is a plot that is so difficult to follow that the best strategy is giving up and simply enjoying the other onscreen trappings. Carl Schenkel’s visual direction can be clunky at times, but just about every other element is sturdy. Washington mostly relies on his natural charisma in the leading role, which is admittedly a sound approach to the material. The real pleasure comes from watching a string of typically underused character actors — particularly Sheryl Lee Ralph, Esther Rolle, and M. Emmet Walsh — get the opportunity to really chomp into meaty roles. The number of music performances also brings The Mighty Quinn right to verge of being a full-on musical, which only adds to the charm.