Netflix Always Be My Maybe - Streaming on Netflix May 31, 2019

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3.50 star(s) Rating: 3.50/5 2 Votes
Title: Always Be My Maybe (2019)

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Director: Nahnatchka Khan

Cast: Ali Wong, Randall Park, Ashley Liao, Jackson Geach, Keanu Reeves, Michelle Buteau, James Saito, Daniel Dae Kim, Charlyne Yi, Susan Park, Vivian Bang, Miya Cech, Anaiyah Bernier, Marcella Bragio, Maddie Dixon-Poirier, Raymond Ma, Jason Canela, Simon Chin, Karen Holness, Karan Soni, Brian Cook

Release: 2019-05-31

Plot: A pair of childhood friends end up falling for each other when they grow up.
 
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Apollon

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It's Keanu Reeves' world and we're all just living in it

Between 'Always Be My Maybe,' 'John Wick 3,' and 'Toy Story 4,' it's the perfect time to catch Keanu Fever.

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A year ago, much of the EW staff relocated from New York to Los Angeles, blending the two offices together. Very quickly, a group of us bonded over many things, but specifically our endearing love for Keanu Reeves. We started trading adorable GIFs and photos of our beloved star, even naming the group text chain “Keanu Fever.” (A broken phone led to the current sequel “2 Keanu 2 Fever.”) Well, the fever is now hotter than ever — and spreading.

The previous height of Keanu Fever was a span of a few days in March when the world was graced with an abundance of prime Keanu content, between the first look at his new Toy Story 4 character, a special message about Bill & Ted 3, and the latest trailer for John Wick: Chapter 3 — Parabellum. And all of that came a week before The Matrix‘s 20th anniversary and a few months before Speed turns 25. How could it possibly get better than that? Well, fast forward two months and John Wick 3 dethroned Avengers: Endgame at the box office on the way to making over $200 million, John Wick 4 was officially announced, and Keanu stole the show in Netflix’s delightful rom-com Always Be My Maybe, playing a fictional, Mother Teresa-loving version of himself. We’re truly living in the Keanussaince.

Reeves’ career can be separated into three distinct periods. His memorable early career run was really kickstarted by his performance as time-traveling slacker Ted in 1989’s Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Two years later, he’d return for Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey, but simultaneously he was beginning to transition into an action star with the perfectly ridiculous Point Break (I honestly don’t think anyone else could pull off playing an FBI agent named Johnny Utah). And where most actors would have just started riding that action train (don’t worry, the bus is coming), Reeves scowled it up as the evil Don John in Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing. Find you an actor that can do Point Break and Shakespeare. Then came Speed, a true adrenaline masterpiece that made everyone — including Sandra Bullock — fall in love with Reeves. His successful decade was capped off by the pop culture phenomenon The Matrix and the role of Neo, for which he’d always be known as — until an vengeful hitman came along years later.

While The Matrix should have catapulted Reeves to new heights, it instead marked the end of one era and the beginning of a mostly disappointing 15-year run consisting of critical and financial disappointments, with the only true hits being the less buzzy Matrix sequels and Something’s Gotta Give, which didn’t have much to do with Reeves. And still, I will ride for a few films in particular from this period. The Replacements is fun as hell and I’d definitely take Shane Falco as my all-time movie quarterback (it’s close between him and Willie Beamen). Sticking with the sports-theme, Hardball might not be a great movie, and maybe it’s just because of the age I saw it at, but it’s considered a classic for my generation, who definitely all cried when G-Baby got shot (Vince Staples will never forgive Michael B. Jordan). Also not a great movie is Street Kings, and despite that, I’m always in for a movie about dirty cops that comes from the guy who wrote Training Day and stars Reeves, Chris Evans, Forest Whitaker, Hugh Laurie, Naomie Harris, Common, Terry Crews, and The Game. Sold.

And yet, come 2014, it appeared that Hollywood had sold all of their Reeves stock. From 2009 to 2013, his filmography featured four films that made under $6 million at the box office and a big budget disaster in 47 Ronin. It didn’t look like anything was going to reverse this course, especially some action movie about a retired assassin who seeks revenge for the death of the dog that his dead wife gave him. I distinctively remember seeing the trailer for John Wick and thinking, “Really? They killed his dog? The dog that his dead wife had delivered to him posthumously? Hard pass.” And why should I have been excited? Reeves hadn’t been a legit action star since the last century and John Wick was being directed by stuntmen/first-time directors. But then the reviews were so shockingly great (EW’s Chris Nashawaty gave it an A-, calling it a “return to badass form” for Reeves) that I felt forced to see for myself. I would end up basically running out of the theater to text my equally skeptical brother that the hype was indeed real. He continued to resist, before, thankfully, he and a lot of others eventually relented, turning themselves over to the cult of John Wick — making it the most unlikely franchise since Fast & Furious and fully bringing Reeves back into our lives.

Now to be clear, John Wick hasn’t made Reeves bulletproof at the box office, but it has given us Reeves voicing the titular cat in Keanu, the revelation that he might be married to Winona Ryder, more Bill & Ted, Canadian’s greatest daredevil Duke Kaboom, Halle Berry as a dog-loving assassin, and Randall Park’s must-listen track “I Punched Keanu Reeves.” If you can’t appreciate all of that, then you truly don’t deserve Keanu Reeves.

via EW
 

Apollon

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Keanu Reeves Is Too Good for This World

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Last week, I read a report in the Times about the current conditions on Mt. Everest, where climbers have taken to shoving one another out of the way in order to take selfies at the peak, creating a disastrous human pileup. It struck me as a cogent metaphor for how we live today: constantly teetering on the precipice to grasp at the latest popular thing. The story, like many stories these days, provoked anxiety, dread, and a kind of awe at the foolishness of fellow human beings. Luckily, the Internet has recently provided us with an unlikely antidote to everything wrong with the news cycle: the actor Keanu Reeves.

Take, for instance, a moment, a few weeks ago, when Reeves appeared on “The Late Show” to promote “John Wick: Chapter 3—Parabellum,” the latest installment in his action-movie franchise. Near the end of the interview, Stephen Colbert asked the actor what he thought happens after we die. Reeves was wearing a dark suit and tie, in the vein of a sensitive mafioso who is considering leaving it all behind to enter the priesthood. He paused for a moment, then answered, with some care, “I know that the ones who love us will miss us.” It was a response so wise, so genuinely thoughtful, that it seemed like a rebuke to the usual canned blather of late-night television. The clip was retweeted more than a hundred thousand times, but, when I watched it, I felt like I was standing alone in a rock garden, having a koan whispered into my ear.

Reeves, who is fifty-four, has had a thirty-five-year career in Hollywood. He was a moody teen stoner in “River’s Edge” and a sunny teen stoner in the “Bill & Ted” franchise; he was the tortured sci-fi action hero in the “Matrix” movies and the can-do hunky action hero in “Speed”; he was the slumming rent boy in “My Own Private Idaho,” the scheming Don John in “Much Ado About Nothing,” and the eligible middle-aged rom-com lead in “Destination Wedding.” Early in his career, his acting was often mocked for exhibiting a perceived skater-dude fuzziness; still, today, on YouTube, you can find several gleeful compilations of Reeves “acting badly.” (“I am an F.B.I. agent,” he shouts, not so convincingly, to Patrick Swayze in “Point Break.”) But over the years the peculiarities of Reeves’s acting style have come to be seen more generously. Though he possesses a classic leading-man beauty, he is no run-of-the-mill Hollywood stud; he is too aloof, too cipher-like, too mysterious. There is something a bit “Man Who Fell to Earth” about him, an otherworldliness that comes across in all of his performances, which tend to have a slightly uncanny, declamatory quality. No matter what role he plays, he is always himself. He is also clearly aware of the impression he makes. In the new Netflix comedy “Always Be My Maybe,” starring the standup comedian Ali Wong, he makes a cameo as a darkly handsome, black-clad, self-serious Keanu, speaking in huskily theatrical, quasi-spiritual sound bites that either baffle or arouse those around him. “I’ve missed your spirit,” he gasps at Wong, while kissing her, open-mouthed.

Though we’ve spent more than three decades with Reeves, we still know little about him. We know that he was born in Beirut, and that he is of English and Chinese-Hawaiian ancestry. (Ali Wong has said that she cast him in “Always Be My Maybe” in part because he’s Asian-American, even if many people forget it.) His father, who did a spell in jail for drug dealing, left home when Keanu was a young boy. His childhood was itinerant, as his mother remarried several times and moved the family from Sydney to New York and, finally, Toronto. We know that he used to play hockey, and that he is a motorcycle buff, and that he has experienced unthinkable tragedy: in the late nineties, his girlfriend, Jennifer Syme, gave birth to their child, who was stillborn; two years later, Syme died in a car accident. Otherwise, Reeves’s life is a closed book. Who is he friends with? What is his relationship with his family like? As Alex Pappademas wrote, for a cover story about the actor in GQ, in May, Reeves has somehow managed to “pull off the nearly impossible feat of remaining an enigmatic cult figure despite having been an A-list actor for decades.”

This inscrutability makes each new detail we learn about Reeves’s life seem like a revelatory gift. On a recent appearance on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” the actor admitted, twenty-five years after the fact, that he had a crush on Sandra Bullock when the two were filming “Speed.” Last week, a Malaysian Web site claimed that, in an interview, Reeves confessed to being lonely. “I don’t have anyone in my life,” he supposedly said, adding, “Hopefully it’ll happen for me.” The Internet responded with a collective shriek of longing. When it was reported, on Saturday, that, according to Reeves’s rep, the quotes had been fabricated, it almost didn’t matter. The Internet’s desire to plumb the hidden depths of this gorgeous puzzle of a man, and to serve as a balm to his perceived hurt, had been so strong that it willed this bit of news into existence.

The outpouring of horny sympathy recalled an earlier episode, in 2010, when paparazzi pictures appeared showing the actor sitting on a New York City park bench and eating a sandwich, looking scruffy and in low spirits. So emerged the “Sad Keanu” meme; June 15th was even declared, by fans, “Cheer Up Keanu Day.” But, unlike the “Sad Ben Affleck” meme, which came in response to a swaggery alpha male’s public descent, Sad Keanu was not animated by Schadenfreude. It simply brought to the fore the retiring, not-long-for-this-world sensitivity that we had always intuited was there.

Recently, a slew of people have come forward to share their real-life “Keanu Stories.” (A bizarrely large number seem to have encountered him at one time or another, perhaps owing to the fact that he often travels alone and without handlers.) The image of him that emerges from these anecdotes is of a considerate man who is aware of his status as a celebrity but doesn’t take advantage of it, and who is generous but careful with his presence. After a flight he was on from San Francisco to L.A. had to make an emergency landing in Bakersfield, Reeves helped passengers recruit a van to transport them the remaining way; en route, he read facts about Bakersfield aloud and played country tunes on his phone for the group. He signed an autograph for a sixteen-year-old ticket seller at a movie theatre after intuiting that the teen was too shy to ask him for one directly. He called an indie bookstore in advance, once a week, before arriving, on his motorcycle, to pick up new books. He was a wallflower at a party, asking another actor on the outskirts of the gathering if she would show him pictures of her dog in costume.

My colleague Jessica Winter was involved in a well-known Keanu Story, though she didn’t know it at the time. In a minute-long viral video taken on a New York City subway car, in 2011, Reeves is seen getting up and offering his seat to a woman who is carrying a large bag. Winter happened to be sitting next to Reeves when the video was shot—she is the strawberry-blonde woman absorbed in reading a magazine, initially unaware of her famous fellow-passenger. Watching the clip today, Winter recalled the courtly way in which Reeves reacted to being filmed: “He was calm and beatific and ever so slightly puzzled, like, Why are you doing this? I am not upset, and perhaps it is not my business.” If only more of us could learn to adopt Reeves’s attitude in our own lives. It’s O.K. to take a pause sometimes, to not engage, to let the world separate from you a little bit, he assures us. Just watch me.

I have two Keanu Stories of my own, both brief but sweet. In 2006, at a performance by the dancer Pina Bausch, at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I saw Reeves seated a couple of rows away from me—in the cheap seats—his gangly legs crammed into the small space in front of him. Three years later, at Film Forum, I spotted him emerging alone from a Kurosawa movie, carrying a large tub of popcorn. These moments aren’t much, but I keep them close, picking them up every once in a while, the way you would a crystal or an amulet.

via The New Yorker
 
Movie information in first post provided by The Movie Database