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Rian Johnson chases Star Wars with the ingenious, insanely funny murder mystery of Knives Out

Spoilerphobia is, generally speaking, a little out of control these days – if you're angry to find out in advance something that happens, say, in the initial 10 minutes of a movie, you're obviously lost on your way to a deprivation camera from the senses and stumbled into a mistaken view. But I sympathize with the conviction that not the whole plot of a movie should be revealed by critics, regardless of the rationale. And this is double, perhaps when you write about films at festivals, often weeks or even months, before the general public gets their first look at them. That is why I did not take any offense as some critics did, both Quentin Tarantino and Bong Joo-ho, urging the press not to spoil some of the bigger revelations in their new films when they premiered in Cannes. Spoilerphobia may be real, but there is an opposite end to that spectrum.

Last night, the radiant Ryan Johnson literally ran across the stage of the Princess of Wales Theater ̵

1; a physical demonstration of the energy and enthusiasm he exudes in his work – to make a similar request to the audience gathered for the world premiere of his new film. The movie is a mystery he argues. Please keep the ending for yourself . If anything, he was too trusting, not cautious enough. Knives Outside ( Class: A- ), a brilliant glove-maker, isn't just built to the extreme, as all Agatha Christie reefs should. He accumulates surprises on top of surprises, emerging so early and often that responsible writing for the film becomes an exercise in darkness itself, turning critics into guilty persons with secrets to cover up, as Leopold and Loeb dance around this dead body through rope . I will proceed with caution and keep the turns locked. Johnson, of course, has been involved in detective fiction before – he began his career with exquisite suburban noir from Brick . But Knives Out is a more specific and confident admiration – what he has accurately described as an introduction, like an old school that has a cast of movie stars, true to the spirit of its genre, even as it is a diabolically fun complication and complication of one's conventions. The setting is classic Christy. A rich and famous mystery writer (Christopher Plummer) was found dead in his room, slit in the throat by suicide, on the night of his 85th birthday. Detective (LaKeith Stanfield), US soldier (Noah Segan) and beautiful southern private eye (Daniel Craig, with what a character accurately describes as the Foghorn Leghorn accent) soon enter the author's Gothic Massachusetts estate to interview surviving members of family, In particular, the private eye does not buy that the old man has given up on himself. And he has a whole indictment parlor, a quarrel paid to relatives for questioning, each with his own special motives.

In a remarkable, cheerful, intersecting interrogation set, Johnson introduces these suspects, including a treacherous siblings (Michael Shannon and Jamie Lee Curtis), a performative "compassionate" daughter-in-law (Tony Colette), a quiet medical nurse. the deceased (Anna de Armas), the granddaughter of the crap on the right with the crap ( It ] of Jaeden Martell) and on and on. He also outlines the architecture of the house, the chronology of the party that happened the night before, the family history – entire pages of exposition, brilliantly masked by the spiral arrow of his editing and dialogue. All this foundation, the audience is primed to settle into the mechanics of the mystery. But as soon as Johnson has set his board, he scatters the pieces, releasing a revelation that looks like it will lead to the whole game, just as we learned its rules. This is a trick that will pull over and over again in Knives Out which continues to reinvent itself on the go. It's the subversive, confusing series that won Johnson's latest movie, a definite space opera, the fury of overprotective loyal franchises. Here, he rearranges the moving parts of the prototypical whodunit, not so much denying its pleasures as their stirring, to obscure what Craig's flaming tire calls the "arc" of the case.

This, in other words, is one of those mysteries that is so clever and terribly well-designed that you ultimately have no choice but to stop trying to get ahead of it, just to enjoy the way it grows and pays off. (One of the more inspired devices of the movie is the habit that a decisive character has to vomit after a lie – the tick of both film and detective milk for all it's worth.) If it seems I'm unclear, it's in compliance with Johnson's Reasonable Legal basis; this is a movie whose fun is about unfolding its complex plot, so I wouldn't dream of making it for someone here, at least not so far from its November release date. But be aware that Knives Out is not only cleverly intelligent but also consistently piercing the gut and flawlessly crafting a blast of Hollywood entertainment, built around several exceptional (and heroic poisonous) performances. In addition, it turns out to be as timely as it is timeless, thickening the surprisingly sharpened history of class conflict at the center of the investigation, advocating decency in the face of selfishness and blinking privileges. It is a retribution so moving in its appropriateness that it simply could not be spoiled, even by a careless enough critic to shed plot points as admissible evidence.

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