Author: Andres Kabel

The first season of “Only Murders in the Building” was a treat for this jaded viewer, a potent, intelligent mix of tight scripting and witty improvisation from Steve Martin and Martin Short, so Season 2 faced a high hurdle. The amateur podcasters (the two stars plus magnetic Selena Gomez), fresh from solving a tricksy Season 1 crime in their Arconia apartments in Manhattan, find themselves under suspicion for an especially baffling, locked-room murder puzzle. Weaving in a nifty set of subplots, some of them harking back to the earlier show, the plot bucks and weaves over the first few episodes, and in the early second half, I found myself almost nonplussed by the complexity (which is, of course, part of the point of this true-crime mash-up). But the final two of the ten episodes are triumphant, zipping together all the many threads with such brilliant, ramshackle humor that I almost fell out of my seat gasping and laughing. Now that the follow-up season has eclipsed the debut show, what can we expect from Season 3 of Only Murders in the Building?

Simultaneously a love story of two vulcanologists and a filmic paean to the variety and power of volcanoes, “Fire of Love” tells the tale of Katia and Maurice Krafft, two scientists who dared to peer closely at volcanoes for three decades, before perishing (when a volcano exploded suddenly) in 1991. Cut and pasted from the Kraffts’ incredible archive of footage and film, the movie evokes the molten, pulsing, unstoppable power of Earth’s crust on the up and away. The two scientists are besotted, with each other and with lava, and their naked, childlike curiosity is electrifying. Sara Dosa’s direction is wonderfully paced and structured, and Miranda July’s voice-over strikes a fine balance between admiration and information. Fire of Love triumphs as both nature documentary and epic of heroism.

The opening scene of “On the Count of Three” frames the entire film in a way that every movie should. Val, a super troubled young white man (played with wonderful subtlety by Jerrod Carmichael, who also directs the film), coming down from a suicide attempt, stands facing his longtime bestie, Kevin (Christopher Abbott in full flight), a black man reeling from love and work issues. They point guns at each other and begin counting, toward “on the count of three…” And then begins what should be a depressing road trip toward a dark fate, but which turns out to be sparked by savage humor and laced with underlying optimistic strength. Essentially, a two-actor morality play, On the Count of Three eschews grand drama for scene-by-scene gritty verity, and if it never crescendoes as one might ultimately hope, it beautifully doubles as a glimpse into depression and the redemption of friendship. A dark, slow-burn minor-key gem.

“The Gray Man” is Netflix’s expensive tilt at a Bond-Bourne-like franchise, all action and style. Ryan Gosling plays Six, a shadowy super-spy/killer/warrior originally rescued from jail, and the film quickly establishes the underlying premise: when a mission goes wrong, Six gets hold of data that the head American spy must retrieve, and soon enough, Lloyd Hansen, a psychopathic mercenary, is on Six’s trail. The first third holds promise, with wild chase/battle scenes. Gosling is a favorite actor of mine, and here he plays a deadpan, quick-witted super operative with flair, at least during the film’s setup. But despite ongoing action scenes that out-Bond Bond, and some cool repartee, by the second half, the rot sets in. Chris Evans is miscast as the villain and hams him up with ludicrous flippancy, while Gosling’s nonchalance quickly turns sour. The finale of The Gray Man is a disaster plot-wise, a clumsy vehicle to segue into a sequel. Look, there is noise, there is action, and some classiness, but a botched second half with little storytelling smarts means this franchise should be no franchise at all.

The ongoing quality of the seven ten-episode Bosch streaming shows has always amazed me. Now a follow-up series, “Bosch: Legacy,” which echoes author Michael Connelly’s books in recounting the adventures of private investigator Harry Bosch after he leaves LA Homicide, has commenced. Has it maintained that quality? Well, the key ingredients—overseer Eric Ellis Overmyer and actor Titus Welliver in the core role—remain, and Season 1 once more makes use of a Connelly novel, but during my watching, I sensed a drop-off of filmic intensity. There is nothing wrong per se with the plotline, revolving around Bosch assisting defense attorney Honey Chandler pursue a tycoon, hunting the long lost relatives of a billionaire, and advising his daughter Maddie as she begins a career as a squad cop. And the production values remain: steely realism, fine camerawork, unhurried plot unfurling, solid ensemble support cast acting, and punchy dialogue. No, what I think has thinned out the urgency is an element of vigilantism that has emerged. Suddenly Bosch’s obsession with justice feels a tad less fascinating. So, dear viewer, by all means enjoy the noirish pleasures of Bosch: Legacy but please, relish the earlier shows first.