‘Misty Green’ review: Rosalind Eleazar emerges as major

Chris Rock’s compelling tragicomedy “Misty Green” opens with a montage of Los Angeles that’s as intimate as an X-ray of a tumor. The city is sick, as evidenced in photos of barren studio lots, burning trees and the boarded-up Cinerama Dome. But we’re also seeing L.A. through the lens of someone who respects it anyway. The bleachy sunlight is just right, as is the shrugging acceptance that this town’s strivers must accept a fair amount of filth.

Here, the boundary between the haves and have-nots is as flimsy as the sidewalk tents on the Walk of Fame — another heavy-handed image Rock includes — and has been ever since the first beautiful girls tumbled off the train looking to make it in moving pictures only to realize their looks wouldn’t take them much further. Misty Green (Rosalind Eleazar), the self-destructive fictional actor of the film, hasn’t been a naive starlet in over a decade. Back in 2008, she won a supporting actress Emmy for an airport show called “Red Eye.” But cocaine, bad choices and her own bad attitude flew her career into the ground. Today, she’s stalled out and blaming her failure on happenstance.

“I’m too Black to be with Leo, not Black enough to be with Damson, I’m not a nepo baby and I’m not a Brit,” she grumbles. (Eleazar is, in fact, a Brit — wink wink.)

Misty carries herself imperiously, faking success with a Birkin bag and beachfront crash pad that belongs to a dead lover whose widow wants it back. The disdain in her eyes wards off anyone from seeing weakness. But we know her agent (Topher Grace) is right when he reminds her, “Don’t act like you never had a shot.”

Rock also acts in the movie as an on-the-skids filmmaker named Jordan who, when tasked to reboot “Dreamgirls,” dresses up for the job with a retro fedora. It’s an apropos prop. Every time the comic steps behind the camera as a director, he tries on a slightly different hat. His first movie, 2003’s “Head of State,” about a D.C. alderman suddenly promoted to president, nodded toward Frank Capra. “I Think I Love My Wife” from 2007 was an outright Éric Rohmer remake and 2014’s “Top Five” was a walk-and-talk Woody Allen-style New York romance.

“Misty Green” is the first movie Rock has helmed in 12 years — a welcome return — and its title, SoCal setting and spurts of soul music announce he’s been contemplating Quentin Tarantino’s “Jackie Brown.” The script isn’t nearly as complex and his attempts to enrich the world with radio reports about a murdered USC co-ed never take root. But, like Tarantino, he anoints a marvelous leading lady as his Pam Grier. This is Eleazar’s first starring film role after the TV series “Slow Horses” and “Missing You.” Not only does she seize her moment, she even briefly slips into Misty’s old “Red Eye” costume: a Jackie-esque stewardess skirt suit.

Her character, however, is fading away in plain sight. On the rare occasion Misty is bumped up from a self-taped audition to a line reading in the room, the receptionist doesn’t recognize her face, the casting directors chat over her performance and a younger actor pulls focus, barging into the meeting in a sequined evening gown. As an added insult, the part Misty is struggling to land is a stereotypical crack whore, while that sparkly room-crasher just scored the lead of Dina in “Dreamgirls” and can’t even sing.

But boy, can Eleazar. Performing a cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” at the Roosevelt Hotel, her rangy, raspy soprano stops our hearts. The scene is a knockout. Cinematographer Kira Kelly shoots powerful close-ups of Misty, then pivots to watch the people watching her. Misty’s brother Jay (Daniel Kaluuya), a troubled schizophrenic, and best friend Naomi (Anna Kendrick), a gold-digger about to marry a man she loathes, are both so besotted by her voice that they forget their own problems as they gaze at her in awe.

We’re witnessing the power of pure art, even as Rock cleverly waters down the moment with the sound of an unseen bartender rattling a martini shaker in the background. Misty has a gift — the kind that nearly makes her worth the mess — and it’s agonizing to watch her waste it partying with scoundrels like Adam Driver’s Zach, a coke fiend with a devilish goatee and a sordid connection to Dubai. We want to believe in the Hollywood fairy tale that talent will be rewarded. “Misty Green” feels more like a slasher about how that fantasy dies.

Rock awkwardly tries to expand this into a story about mental illness. Kaluuya embodies Jay, newly released from a psychiatric hospital because Misty ran out of money to pay the bill, all the way down to the marrow. He’s so instantly believable that the movie doesn’t need its traumatic flashbacks to their childhood that distract more than deepen. (Another belabored constant is a repeated needle drop of Charli XCX. Aren’t there any other party time songs?)

Misty, we come to understand, has similar anger management and impulse control issues as her brother. They just manifest differently. Jay can’t stay on his drugs; she won’t stop snorting them. He’s sinking into himself, creating a protective turtle-like shell against the nettlesome LAPD. She’s stripping off her clothes for the wrong men while chasing the safety of wealth and fame.

As Jordan, Rock delivers an insult comedy act about everything wrong with the town, including studio executives who insist he shoot Vancouver for Detroit. He and Misty share a flippant cynicism about the business. Still, they’re both stubbornly trying to get work. Between Jordan’s charm and Misty’s smile that only emerges around him, the film flirts with becoming a romantic comedy.

But the heart of Rock’s message is that this is a gossipy town built on bonds between acquaintances you talk to all the time but barely know, like a casting director named Rhonda (Tracie Thoms) who’s had a fraught relationship with Misty since the aughts. Real friends might forgive Misty when she lets them down. Industry friends won’t unless they’re either a saint, a sap or just stupid. We want Jordan to give Misty a shot at playing “Dreamgirls’” Dina. And we want him to run far away.

Yet, Misty’s fate aside, this is a star-making role for Eleazar, Rock fully believing in his leading lady. Ugly as this story gets, the result is beautiful to behold.

Chris Rock’s compelling tragicomedy “Misty Green” opens with a montage of Los Angeles that’s as intimate as an X-ray of a tumor. The city is sick, as evidenced in photos of barren studio lots, burning trees and the boarded-up Cinerama Dome. But we’re also seeing L.A. through the lens of someone who respects it anyway. The bleachy sunlight is just right, as is the shrugging acceptance that this town’s strivers must accept a fair amount of filth.

Here, the boundary between the haves and have-nots is as flimsy as the sidewalk tents on the Walk of Fame — another heavy-handed image Rock includes — and has been ever since the first beautiful girls tumbled off the train looking to make it in moving pictures only to realize their looks wouldn’t take them much further. Misty Green (Rosalind Eleazar), the self-destructive fictional actor of the film, hasn’t been a naive starlet in over a decade. Back in 2008, she won a supporting actress Emmy for an airport show called “Red Eye.” But cocaine, bad choices and her own bad attitude flew her career into the ground. Today, she’s stalled out and blaming her failure on happenstance.

“I’m too Black to be with Leo, not Black enough to be with Damson, I’m not a nepo baby and I’m not a Brit,” she grumbles. (Eleazar is, in fact, a Brit — wink wink.)

Misty carries herself imperiously, faking success with a Birkin bag and beachfront crash pad that belongs to a dead lover whose widow wants it back. The disdain in her eyes wards off anyone from seeing weakness. But we know her agent (Topher Grace) is right when he reminds her, “Don’t act like you never had a shot.”

Rock also acts in the movie as an on-the-skids filmmaker named Jordan who, when tasked to reboot “Dreamgirls,” dresses up for the job with a retro fedora. It’s an apropos prop. Every time the comic steps behind the camera as a director, he tries on a slightly different hat. His first movie, 2003’s “Head of State,” about a D.C. alderman suddenly promoted to president, nodded toward Frank Capra. “I Think I Love My Wife” from 2007 was an outright Éric Rohmer remake and 2014’s “Top Five” was a walk-and-talk Woody Allen-style New York romance.

“Misty Green” is the first movie Rock has helmed in 12 years — a welcome return — and its title, SoCal setting and spurts of soul music announce he’s been contemplating Quentin Tarantino’s “Jackie Brown.” The script isn’t nearly as complex and his attempts to enrich the world with radio reports about a murdered USC co-ed never take root. But, like Tarantino, he anoints a marvelous leading lady as his Pam Grier. This is Eleazar’s first starring film role after the TV series “Slow Horses” and “Missing You.” Not only does she seize her moment, she even briefly slips into Misty’s old “Red Eye” costume: a Jackie-esque stewardess skirt suit.

Her character, however, is fading away in plain sight. On the rare occasion Misty is bumped up from a self-taped audition to a line reading in the room, the receptionist doesn’t recognize her face, the casting directors chat over her performance and a younger actor pulls focus, barging into the meeting in a sequined evening gown. As an added insult, the part Misty is struggling to land is a stereotypical crack whore, while that sparkly room-crasher just scored the lead of Dina in “Dreamgirls” and can’t even sing.

But boy, can Eleazar. Performing a cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” at the Roosevelt Hotel, her rangy, raspy soprano stops our hearts. The scene is a knockout. Cinematographer Kira Kelly shoots powerful close-ups of Misty, then pivots to watch the people watching her. Misty’s brother Jay (Daniel Kaluuya), a troubled schizophrenic, and best friend Naomi (Anna Kendrick), a gold-digger about to marry a man she loathes, are both so besotted by her voice that they forget their own problems as they gaze at her in awe.

We’re witnessing the power of pure art, even as Rock cleverly waters down the moment with the sound of an unseen bartender rattling a martini shaker in the background. Misty has a gift — the kind that nearly makes her worth the mess — and it’s agonizing to watch her waste it partying with scoundrels like Adam Driver’s Zach, a coke fiend with a devilish goatee and a sordid connection to Dubai. We want to believe in the Hollywood fairy tale that talent will be rewarded. “Misty Green” feels more like a slasher about how that fantasy dies.

Rock awkwardly tries to expand this into a story about mental illness. Kaluuya embodies Jay, newly released from a psychiatric hospital because Misty ran out of money to pay the bill, all the way down to the marrow. He’s so instantly believable that the movie doesn’t need its traumatic flashbacks to their childhood that distract more than deepen. (Another belabored constant is a repeated needle drop of Charli XCX. Aren’t there any other party time songs?)

Misty, we come to understand, has similar anger management and impulse control issues as her brother. They just manifest differently. Jay can’t stay on his drugs; she won’t stop snorting them. He’s sinking into himself, creating a protective turtle-like shell against the nettlesome LAPD. She’s stripping off her clothes for the wrong men while chasing the safety of wealth and fame.

As Jordan, Rock delivers an insult comedy act about everything wrong with the town, including studio executives who insist he shoot Vancouver for Detroit. He and Misty share a flippant cynicism about the business. Still, they’re both stubbornly trying to get work. Between Jordan’s charm and Misty’s smile that only emerges around him, the film flirts with becoming a romantic comedy.

But the heart of Rock’s message is that this is a gossipy town built on bonds between acquaintances you talk to all the time but barely know, like a casting director named Rhonda (Tracie Thoms) who’s had a fraught relationship with Misty since the aughts. Real friends might forgive Misty when she lets them down. Industry friends won’t unless they’re either a saint, a sap or just stupid. We want Jordan to give Misty a shot at playing “Dreamgirls’” Dina. And we want him to run far away.

Yet, Misty’s fate aside, this is a star-making role for Eleazar, Rock fully believing in his leading lady. Ugly as this story gets, the result is beautiful to behold.

Chris Rock’s compelling tragicomedy “Misty Green” opens with a montage of Los Angeles that’s as intimate as an X-ray of a tumor. The city is sick, as evidenced in photos of barren studio lots, burning trees and the boarded-up Cinerama Dome. But we’re also seeing L.A. through the lens of someone who respects it anyway. The bleachy sunlight is just right, as is the shrugging acceptance that this town’s strivers must accept a fair amount of filth.

Here, the boundary between the haves and have-nots is as flimsy as the sidewalk tents on the Walk of Fame — another heavy-handed image Rock includes — and has been ever since the first beautiful girls tumbled off the train looking to make it in moving pictures only to realize their looks wouldn’t take them much further. Misty Green (Rosalind Eleazar), the self-destructive fictional actor of the film, hasn’t been a naive starlet in over a decade. Back in 2008, she won a supporting actress Emmy for an airport show called “Red Eye.” But cocaine, bad choices and her own bad attitude flew her career into the ground. Today, she’s stalled out and blaming her failure on happenstance.

“I’m too Black to be with Leo, not Black enough to be with Damson, I’m not a nepo baby and I’m not a Brit,” she grumbles. (Eleazar is, in fact, a Brit — wink wink.)

Misty carries herself imperiously, faking success with a Birkin bag and beachfront crash pad that belongs to a dead lover whose widow wants it back. The disdain in her eyes wards off anyone from seeing weakness. But we know her agent (Topher Grace) is right when he reminds her, “Don’t act like you never had a shot.”

Rock also acts in the movie as an on-the-skids filmmaker named Jordan who, when tasked to reboot “Dreamgirls,” dresses up for the job with a retro fedora. It’s an apropos prop. Every time the comic steps behind the camera as a director, he tries on a slightly different hat. His first movie, 2003’s “Head of State,” about a D.C. alderman suddenly promoted to president, nodded toward Frank Capra. “I Think I Love My Wife” from 2007 was an outright Éric Rohmer remake and 2014’s “Top Five” was a walk-and-talk Woody Allen-style New York romance.

“Misty Green” is the first movie Rock has helmed in 12 years — a welcome return — and its title, SoCal setting and spurts of soul music announce he’s been contemplating Quentin Tarantino’s “Jackie Brown.” The script isn’t nearly as complex and his attempts to enrich the world with radio reports about a murdered USC co-ed never take root. But, like Tarantino, he anoints a marvelous leading lady as his Pam Grier. This is Eleazar’s first starring film role after the TV series “Slow Horses” and “Missing You.” Not only does she seize her moment, she even briefly slips into Misty’s old “Red Eye” costume: a Jackie-esque stewardess skirt suit.

Her character, however, is fading away in plain sight. On the rare occasion Misty is bumped up from a self-taped audition to a line reading in the room, the receptionist doesn’t recognize her face, the casting directors chat over her performance and a younger actor pulls focus, barging into the meeting in a sequined evening gown. As an added insult, the part Misty is struggling to land is a stereotypical crack whore, while that sparkly room-crasher just scored the lead of Dina in “Dreamgirls” and can’t even sing.

But boy, can Eleazar. Performing a cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” at the Roosevelt Hotel, her rangy, raspy soprano stops our hearts. The scene is a knockout. Cinematographer Kira Kelly shoots powerful close-ups of Misty, then pivots to watch the people watching her. Misty’s brother Jay (Daniel Kaluuya), a troubled schizophrenic, and best friend Naomi (Anna Kendrick), a gold-digger about to marry a man she loathes, are both so besotted by her voice that they forget their own problems as they gaze at her in awe.

We’re witnessing the power of pure art, even as Rock cleverly waters down the moment with the sound of an unseen bartender rattling a martini shaker in the background. Misty has a gift — the kind that nearly makes her worth the mess — and it’s agonizing to watch her waste it partying with scoundrels like Adam Driver’s Zach, a coke fiend with a devilish goatee and a sordid connection to Dubai. We want to believe in the Hollywood fairy tale that talent will be rewarded. “Misty Green” feels more like a slasher about how that fantasy dies.

Rock awkwardly tries to expand this into a story about mental illness. Kaluuya embodies Jay, newly released from a psychiatric hospital because Misty ran out of money to pay the bill, all the way down to the marrow. He’s so instantly believable that the movie doesn’t need its traumatic flashbacks to their childhood that distract more than deepen. (Another belabored constant is a repeated needle drop of Charli XCX. Aren’t there any other party time songs?)

Misty, we come to understand, has similar anger management and impulse control issues as her brother. They just manifest differently. Jay can’t stay on his drugs; she won’t stop snorting them. He’s sinking into himself, creating a protective turtle-like shell against the nettlesome LAPD. She’s stripping off her clothes for the wrong men while chasing the safety of wealth and fame.

As Jordan, Rock delivers an insult comedy act about everything wrong with the town, including studio executives who insist he shoot Vancouver for Detroit. He and Misty share a flippant cynicism about the business. Still, they’re both stubbornly trying to get work. Between Jordan’s charm and Misty’s smile that only emerges around him, the film flirts with becoming a romantic comedy.

But the heart of Rock’s message is that this is a gossipy town built on bonds between acquaintances you talk to all the time but barely know, like a casting director named Rhonda (Tracie Thoms) who’s had a fraught relationship with Misty since the aughts. Real friends might forgive Misty when she lets them down. Industry friends won’t unless they’re either a saint, a sap or just stupid. We want Jordan to give Misty a shot at playing “Dreamgirls’” Dina. And we want him to run far away.

Yet, Misty’s fate aside, this is a star-making role for Eleazar, Rock fully believing in his leading lady. Ugly as this story gets, the result is beautiful to behold.

Chris Rock’s compelling tragicomedy “Misty Green” opens with a montage of Los Angeles that’s as intimate as an X-ray of a tumor. The city is sick, as evidenced in photos of barren studio lots, burning trees and the boarded-up Cinerama Dome. But we’re also seeing L.A. through the lens of someone who respects it anyway. The bleachy sunlight is just right, as is the shrugging acceptance that this town’s strivers must accept a fair amount of filth.

Here, the boundary between the haves and have-nots is as flimsy as the sidewalk tents on the Walk of Fame — another heavy-handed image Rock includes — and has been ever since the first beautiful girls tumbled off the train looking to make it in moving pictures only to realize their looks wouldn’t take them much further. Misty Green (Rosalind Eleazar), the self-destructive fictional actor of the film, hasn’t been a naive starlet in over a decade. Back in 2008, she won a supporting actress Emmy for an airport show called “Red Eye.” But cocaine, bad choices and her own bad attitude flew her career into the ground. Today, she’s stalled out and blaming her failure on happenstance.

“I’m too Black to be with Leo, not Black enough to be with Damson, I’m not a nepo baby and I’m not a Brit,” she grumbles. (Eleazar is, in fact, a Brit — wink wink.)

Misty carries herself imperiously, faking success with a Birkin bag and beachfront crash pad that belongs to a dead lover whose widow wants it back. The disdain in her eyes wards off anyone from seeing weakness. But we know her agent (Topher Grace) is right when he reminds her, “Don’t act like you never had a shot.”

Rock also acts in the movie as an on-the-skids filmmaker named Jordan who, when tasked to reboot “Dreamgirls,” dresses up for the job with a retro fedora. It’s an apropos prop. Every time the comic steps behind the camera as a director, he tries on a slightly different hat. His first movie, 2003’s “Head of State,” about a D.C. alderman suddenly promoted to president, nodded toward Frank Capra. “I Think I Love My Wife” from 2007 was an outright Éric Rohmer remake and 2014’s “Top Five” was a walk-and-talk Woody Allen-style New York romance.

“Misty Green” is the first movie Rock has helmed in 12 years — a welcome return — and its title, SoCal setting and spurts of soul music announce he’s been contemplating Quentin Tarantino’s “Jackie Brown.” The script isn’t nearly as complex and his attempts to enrich the world with radio reports about a murdered USC co-ed never take root. But, like Tarantino, he anoints a marvelous leading lady as his Pam Grier. This is Eleazar’s first starring film role after the TV series “Slow Horses” and “Missing You.” Not only does she seize her moment, she even briefly slips into Misty’s old “Red Eye” costume: a Jackie-esque stewardess skirt suit.

Her character, however, is fading away in plain sight. On the rare occasion Misty is bumped up from a self-taped audition to a line reading in the room, the receptionist doesn’t recognize her face, the casting directors chat over her performance and a younger actor pulls focus, barging into the meeting in a sequined evening gown. As an added insult, the part Misty is struggling to land is a stereotypical crack whore, while that sparkly room-crasher just scored the lead of Dina in “Dreamgirls” and can’t even sing.

But boy, can Eleazar. Performing a cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” at the Roosevelt Hotel, her rangy, raspy soprano stops our hearts. The scene is a knockout. Cinematographer Kira Kelly shoots powerful close-ups of Misty, then pivots to watch the people watching her. Misty’s brother Jay (Daniel Kaluuya), a troubled schizophrenic, and best friend Naomi (Anna Kendrick), a gold-digger about to marry a man she loathes, are both so besotted by her voice that they forget their own problems as they gaze at her in awe.

We’re witnessing the power of pure art, even as Rock cleverly waters down the moment with the sound of an unseen bartender rattling a martini shaker in the background. Misty has a gift — the kind that nearly makes her worth the mess — and it’s agonizing to watch her waste it partying with scoundrels like Adam Driver’s Zach, a coke fiend with a devilish goatee and a sordid connection to Dubai. We want to believe in the Hollywood fairy tale that talent will be rewarded. “Misty Green” feels more like a slasher about how that fantasy dies.

Rock awkwardly tries to expand this into a story about mental illness. Kaluuya embodies Jay, newly released from a psychiatric hospital because Misty ran out of money to pay the bill, all the way down to the marrow. He’s so instantly believable that the movie doesn’t need its traumatic flashbacks to their childhood that distract more than deepen. (Another belabored constant is a repeated needle drop of Charli XCX. Aren’t there any other party time songs?)

Misty, we come to understand, has similar anger management and impulse control issues as her brother. They just manifest differently. Jay can’t stay on his drugs; she won’t stop snorting them. He’s sinking into himself, creating a protective turtle-like shell against the nettlesome LAPD. She’s stripping off her clothes for the wrong men while chasing the safety of wealth and fame.

As Jordan, Rock delivers an insult comedy act about everything wrong with the town, including studio executives who insist he shoot Vancouver for Detroit. He and Misty share a flippant cynicism about the business. Still, they’re both stubbornly trying to get work. Between Jordan’s charm and Misty’s smile that only emerges around him, the film flirts with becoming a romantic comedy.

But the heart of Rock’s message is that this is a gossipy town built on bonds between acquaintances you talk to all the time but barely know, like a casting director named Rhonda (Tracie Thoms) who’s had a fraught relationship with Misty since the aughts. Real friends might forgive Misty when she lets them down. Industry friends won’t unless they’re either a saint, a sap or just stupid. We want Jordan to give Misty a shot at playing “Dreamgirls’” Dina. And we want him to run far away.

Yet, Misty’s fate aside, this is a star-making role for Eleazar, Rock fully believing in his leading lady. Ugly as this story gets, the result is beautiful to behold.