If the cold and COVID have brought you down, check out “Being the Ricardos.” The entertaining film, written and directed by Aaron Sorkin, is streaming on Amazon Prime.

“Being the Ricardos” is the TikTok of a week in the McCarthy era that was a season in hell for gay icon Lucille Ball (Nicole Kidman) and her husband Desi Arnaz (Javier Bardem).

Ball was a gay rights supporter. “Some of the most gifted people I’ve ever met or read about are homosexual,” she told People magazine in 1980.

“I Love Lucy,” the 1950s sitcom starring Ball, was the most-watched show on TV.

From 9 to 9:30 on Monday evenings, Americans watched Lucy and her bandleader husband Ricky (Arnaz) Ricardo and their best friends Ethel (Vivian Vance) and Fred (William “Bill” Frawley) Mertz. They laughed at Lucy’s antics – such as when she and Ethel can’t keep up on a chocolate factory assembly line. “I Love Lucy” is streaming now on Hulu, and clips of it are on YouTube. 

“Being the Ricardos” takes place during the filming (from the table read to performing it in front of a studio audience) of an “I Love Lucy” episode.

As work on the episode begins, Arnaz and Ball are distressed to hear a “blind” item on right-wing gossip-monger Walter Winchell’s popular radio show. In the heyday of McCarthyism, Winchell tells America that a “top” comedian has Communism connections.

Ball and Arnaz know that being labeled a Communist could ruin not only your career but that of anyone associated with you.

Ball, who lived from 1911 to 1989, had a rough childhood. After her father died when she was 10, Ball was raised by her grandparents. Her grandfather was a socialist. Out of respect for her grandfather, in 1936, Ball registered to vote as a Communist.

Previously, the House Un-American Activities Committee had compelled Ball to testify. After she testified, they told her that they had cleared her of suspicions of being a Communist.

Ball and Arnaz are gobsmacked to hear from Winchell that she’s under suspicion again. Other than once checking a box for the Communist Party in the 1930s, Ball hasn’t had anything to do with Communism. “My grandfather cared about the working man,” Ball tells the executives from CBS and Philip Morris (the program’s sponsor).

Much of the suspense of the movie lies in rooting for Ball to be cleared of HUAC’s baseless charges. But Sorkin, taking some liberties, has added on added layers of tension.

In real life, these events didn’t happen at the same time. But, in “Being the Ricardos,” while Ball is dealing with HUAC, she discovers that she’s pregnant with her second child.

The CBS and Philip Morris execs are freaked by this news. It’s the early 1950s, and people on TV (even if they’re as happily married as the Ricardos) sleep in twin beds. What will America do if they see a pregnant woman on TV? What do you mean, you’re 12 weeks pregnant, the suits ask Ball and Arnaz. “It means 12 weeks ago, I fucked my husband,” Ball says.

In yet another twist, Ball is dismayed when “Confidential,” the TMZ of its time, comes out with a story showing Arnaz with a sex worker.

There has been controversy about the casting of Kidman as Ball and Bardem as Arnaz. Because Kidman isn’t a comedian and Bardem is Spanish and Arnaz was Cuban.

Perhaps, because she’s not doing an impersonation, I think Kidman is terrific as Ball (as Ball off-screen and as Ball playing Lucy Ricardo). She won the Golden Globe this week for Best Actress in a Drama for the role.

As a white woman, I don’t feel comfortable weighing in on the controversy surrounding the casting of Bardem. But to me he nails it in his portrayal of Arnaz.

The other actors in the film are also terrific, especially, J. K. Simmons as William Frawley, Nina Arianda as Vivian Vance and Tony Hale as (showrunner) Jess Oppenheimer.

 “Being the Ricardos” is Sorkin at his best. It pops with screwball banter and the excitement of early 1950s TV. It’s not “Vertigo,” but you won’t want to take your eyes off the screen.

January can be a difficult month for film buffs. With so many awards contenders clamoring for your time and attention, there is certainly no shortage of titles among them to choose from, so it’s not a question of slim pickings. Sometimes, though, watching one “prestige” movie after another for an entire month can feel a little bit like being a student overloaded with homework; even if you’re studying a subject you like, you still need to take a break and do something just for fun every now and then.

Fortunately, in today’s ever-hungry market for fresh streaming content there are new choices to be had even in the middle of Awards Season, and this month’s pick of the crop is exactly the kind of fun, quirky, off-the-beaten-track queer story to provide the perfect palate cleanser when you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by the heavier fare queued up on your “watch next” list – though considering that it’s the tale of a gay Russian boy and his mother who flee a life of repression and hardship in their native country by emigrating to America, you might not expect it to be.

Set in the 1980s, “Potato Dreams of America” is an autobiographical offering from writer/director Wes Hurley. The “Potato” of the title is its lead character, a Vladivostok boy obsessed with American movies who is awakening to his queerness during the collapse of the Soviet Union. His mother Lena is raising him on her own, and as a prison doctor who is daily witness to the violence and hardship of being an adult male non-conformist in Russian society, she fears for his future safety. She decides to market herself as a mail order bride, and before long she and Potato are on their way to Seattle – where they will have to learn how to navigate life in America, a whole new culture with forms of oppression all its own.

Admittedly, it’s a synopsis that reads pretty bleak – but that’s precisely why “Potato Dreams of America” turns out to be such a delight. Rather than delivering the stark immigrant drama we’ve come to expect from stories such as this one, it turns those expectations upside down by offering twist after twist (along with a wry and consistent sense of humor) that keep it from becoming a predictable tale of woe and turn it instead into something much less dreary.

To begin with, there are the two central characters, a memorable pair of plucky souls who win our attention and our sympathies with their against-the-grain attitudes and refusal to give up on their dreams. They are surrounded by an ensemble largely made up of broadly drawn eccentrics; there’s Grandmother Tamara (Lea DeLaria), a no-nonsense traditionalist who lovingly doles out toxic cultural assumptions with her grandmotherly advice; there’s also John (Dan Lauria), Lena’s rigid and seemingly conservative American husband whose fundamentalist views might just be a smokescreen for a life he has always kept hidden. Characters such as these provide a layer of satire and social commentary but remain grounded enough in the emotional arc of the story to serve as believable characters, thereby investing them with enough humanity to soften the sharpness around their edges. This is even true of Jesus – or rather, the imaginary version of Jesus (Jonathan Bennett) Potato concocts as he struggles to come of age, whose serene aloofness is somehow made completely relatable by the good-natured gay insouciance with which he is played.

Likable characters are a big part of the movie’s charm, but the infectious sensibility that wins our hearts comes straight from the filmmaker himself. In telling the story of his own life – albeit a highly stylized version of it – he gives full rein to the love for cinema, and specifically American cinema, which fueled his own young dreams of America and ultimately led him to a career behind the camera that includes two seasons of the critically acclaimed comedy series “Capitol Hill” (starring Jinkx Monsoon, Ben DeLaCreme, Waxie Moon and Robbie Turner). 

His movie is full of cinematic flourish, indulging in bold strokes to help its narrative unfold. Most striking of these is the choice, midway through the film, to swap out both the leading players for different actors – Potato and Lena in Russia are played, respectively, by Hersh Powers and Sera Barbieri, and in America by Tyler Bocock and Marya Sea Kaminski. From a practical perspective, of course, the abrupt change aids in depicting Potato’s transition into gay life in America simply by introducing a significantly older actor who can appropriately appear in the scenes when things inevitably start to get sexy; but on a deeper level, this calculated recasting invites contemplation on the relationship between our environment and our identity, highlighting the filmmaker’s seeming assertion that changing the world you live in requires you to become a different person – or perhaps, in light of the film’s opening quote (“I’ve always been America in my heart,” from queer trailblazer Quentin Crisp), that becoming the person you are meant to be requires finding a world where it is possible to do so, even if you have to build it yourself.

Still, even if Hurley’s ambitious conceits bring a kind of aspirational magic realism to his film, they never become pretentious, nor do they derail for an instant the movie’s sense of fun. In this, the filmmaker is greatly aided by his talented cast, peppered with familiar faces like DeLaria, Lauria, and Bennett (all of whom do exceptional character work while giving a sly and ironic nod to their own familiar persona), but dominated by the masterful performances from the four actors playing his two leads. Both Barbieri and Kaminski are exceptional as Lena, making her the unorthodox and empowering heroine she deserves to be; as the two incarnations of Potato, both Powers and Bocock bring powerful charisma to the role – but the younger Powers deserves special kudos for a thoroughly mature and self-aware performance worthy of an actor twice his age or older.

“Potato Dreams of America” made a big splash at last year’s SXSW, as well as at Los Angeles’ Outfest, where it won Hurley the festival’s Grand Jury award for Best Screenplay because of its “unique non-traditional portrayal of a gay immigrant’s transition to America and his relationship to his mother.” It’s this quality that makes it a must-watch experience. As Hurley says in his official director’s statement for the film: “Despite the heavy subject matter, the story of my mom and I coming to America is not only very funny but also very inspiring, with an ending that will have to be seen to be believed. I believe this story of unconditional love, human resilience and the power of hope is what the world needs right now.”

After watching his truth-is-stranger-than-fiction story and thoroughly enjoying it, we can safely assure you that he’s not wrong.

“Potato Dreams of America” opens for a limited theatrical run on Jan. 14. It releases on VOD platforms Feb. 22.

As Hollywood struggled to adapt to the ongoing pandemic, 2021 brought us a surprisingly eclectic crop of movies – something clearly reflected by the Blade’s list of our 10 best-reviewed films of the year, which includes three musicals, three documentaries, and a western:

#10: tick, tick… BOOM!

Lin-Manuel Miranda makes another appearance on the list with his feature directorial debut, this adaptation of an autobiographical work by “Rent” composer Jonathan Larson that is possibly the most perfect movie ever made for musical theater fans. Following the young Larson as he grapples with the dilemma of whether to give up his Broadway hopes for an easier life and a more secure future, it’s an explosively energetic love letter to musicals that celebrates the joy of theater while honoring the legacy of a groundbreaking artist taken too soon by tragedy. The outstanding cast (which includes Bradley Whitford as the late Stephen Sondheim and a who’s-who of Broadway legends showing up at every turn) is led by Andrew Garfield, who surpasses expectations with a tour-de-force performance as Larson.

#9: Ailey

More than 30 years after his death, Alvin Ailey is still lauded as a trailblazing pioneer for his breathtakingly theatrical presentations exploring and uplifting Black experience in America – but even among dance aficionados, many people today would be hard-pressed to tell you much about his life. Jamila Wignot’s ethereal documentary attempts to correct that with a dreamy portrait of a genius who sublimated his entire being into the creation of his art – and better still, mines a bounty of exquisite performance footage to provide the gift of seeing dancers in motion as they execute the sheer visual poetry of his choreography.

#8: In the Heights

Onstage, Lin-Manuel Miranda’s first Broadway musical was an infectious celebration of community, infused with a generous spirit of hope and driven by an irresistible Latin beat. On film, director John M. Chu delivers all that and more with breathtaking cinematic vision and a healthy dose of “magical realism” that does nothing to undercut the material’s streetwise swagger. Recapturing the elusive charm of the old-school movie musical while asserting itself as a product of its own time, it spotlights a dazzlingly talented ensemble (led by Anthony Ramos in an eminently likable performance) and delivers the almost euphoric refreshment of seeing a major Hollywood film populated almost entirely by people of color. That alone is enough to make it one of the year’s most important movies.

#7: Swan Song

From director Todd Stephens comes this unexpected delight of an indie comedy, featuring underground cinema icon Udo Kier as “Mr. Pat,” an elderly hairdresser who breaks out of his nursing home to style a former client’s hair for her funeral. The improbably cast but brilliant star delivers a master class in subtlety and shade that ceaselessly entertains us as he sashays his way through a small-town odyssey that doubles as a meditation on the forgotten fabulosity of our queer elders – reminding us how much they’ve lived through, how much we owe them, and how much they still have to offer, all while keeping an irresistible smile on our face.

#6: Benedetta

Veteran Dutch filmmaker Paul Verhoeven returns in top form with this slice of obscure-but-true history about the rise and fall of a 17^th century nun, heralded as a prophet because of her intense religious visions until a secret lesbian affair draws the ire of the church hierarchy. True to the “Showgirls” director’s reputation as a provocateur, it’s a blend of social satire, psycho-sexual themes, graphic violence, and near-exploitation-level erotic imagery – but it’s also full of sly observations about religious hypocrisy, systemic oppression, and the way white heterosexual cisgender men keep the deck eternally stacked in their own favor.

#5: Wojnarowicz: F*ck You F*ggot F**ker

Chris McKim’s documentary about iconic AIDS-era artist David Wojnarowicz is comprehensive, immersive, and heavy with the almost corporeal substance of the late artist himself, a valuable historical chronicle made possible by the intensity with which he recorded his own life – and the skill with which McKim compiles that material to deliver him to us nearly three decades after his death. Revealing Wojnarowicz as an incendiary rebel who saw his own body as a weapon against a cruel and indifferent establishment, McKim honors him with a powerful film that not only informs, but inspires us to take up the torch of its subject’s righteous rage.

#4: Saint-Narcisse

The latest film from Bruce LaBruce is a deliciously subversive adult fairy tale set in the 1970s, in which a selfie-snapping narcissist reunites with his long-lost mother and goes on a quest to rescue his twin brother from a monastery where he is being kept as a sex slave. A blasphemous web of sex, incest, and revenge, it’s a campy, unabashedly queer psychosexual thriller that proves the iconoclastic Canadian director still delights in pushing our buttons. At the same time, it’s a sly satire of our modern, self-obsessed culture that forces us to question societal norms – and a welcome reminder that queer cinema can still be transgressive.

#3: Velvet Underground

Todd Haynes’ lavishly immersive chronicle of the proto-punk band that rose to ephemeral fame in Manhattan’s Warhol-dominated art world of the 1960s is more than just a music documentary, it’s a piece of pure cinema that exemplifies its genre while transcending it entirely. The veteran queer director doesn’t just give us the story of the Velvets in sights and sounds, he transports us to the time and place that allowed them to exist via a seamless blend of visuals, words, history, and, above all, music, providing a total sensory experience that feels like a direct portal into the era itself.

#2: The Power of the Dog

Jane Campion’s elegiac western has garnered awards buzz for good reason. In its character study of a domineering rancher who browbeats everyone around him until long-repressed feelings are sparked by his brother’s “sensitive” new stepson, her movie subverts more than one toxic trope, deconstructing the myth of the hyper-masculine cowboy hero while leaning into our pre-conditioned expectations about queer romantic narratives to set up a perversely satisfying surprise ending right before our eyes. With a powerhouse performance by Benedict Cumberbatch at its center, and boosted by sumptuous location cinematography, this visually eloquent period drama draws us in and leaves us shaken like few American films in recent memory.

#1: West Side Story

Steven Spielberg’s remount of Bernstein and Sondheim’s musical retelling of “Romeo and Juliet” achieves what doubters assumed would be impossible: a rendering that succeeds in bringing a contemporary sensibility to the classic material while leaving it fundamentally unchanged. Sumptuously re-staging this stylized 1950s story of racial conflict and violence for a more evolved era, it’s a new adaptation in which Spielberg’s unparalleled fluency in visual storytelling blends with Tony Kushner’s literate expansion of the original script for an effort that celebrates the original masterpiece while transforming it into something thrillingly new – and showcasing a spectacularly talented young cast, to boot. Purists may quibble and racists may be triggered by the purposeful omission of subtitles in Spanish-language scenes – but this career-capping triumph deserves all its accolades, nonetheless.