Insolent schoolkids and educators with the stamina and sensitivity to reach them is a sentimental formula so familiar, it could stand a pantsing in the hallway between classes.
Which makes it a good thing that “Steve,” starring Cillian Murphy as a dedicated, troubled head teacher at a struggling reform school for chaos-inclined teenage boys, brings a raucously corrective attitude to bear.
Teachers are sorely undervalued in this world, and a more thorny, realistic view of the profession’s challenges has made its way into the culture of late, between the Oscar-nominated German film “The Teachers’ Lounge,” Hirokazu Kore-ada’s “Monster” and Netflix’s Emmys-gobbling hit “Adolescence.” And while “Steve,” which takes place over a day, is ultimately too messy itself to measure up to those more tightly coiled efforts, its energy makes a statement, as if the legacy of the late, system-smashing British director Alan Clarke were close at hand.
“Steve” marks the second feature collaboration between Murphy and Belgian director Tim Mielants, following their excellent 2024 adaptation of Claire Keegan’s story “Small Things Like These.” This one, too, derives from a book — “Shy” by Max Porter. In adapting his own work, Porter shifts focus from his novella’s title adolescent, a disturbed soul in mid-tumble, who in the film is still a central figure (vividly rendered by Jay Lycurgo), to the teacher character for whom the movie is named, which the Oscar-winning Murphy turns into another immersive portrayal of dark-hued, guilt-flecked intensity.
Steve’s compassion is the beating heart of Stanton Wood, a privately bankrolled school in an old manor in the English countryside, whose core staff — including Steve’s plain-talking deputy, Amanda (Tracey Ullman), and unflappable therapist Jenny (Emily Watson) — are committed to its last-chance ethos of pulling unhappy delinquents from the brink. But this is Britain in 1996 and these hot-headed young men (played by a lively mix of first-timers and experienced actors) prefer the numbing tempo of drum and bass or a well-timed punch or thrown object.
Stopping fights is a full-time a job, and Steve’s chummy de-escalation style attests to how much he cares. But on top of the day’s regular behavior management, there’s also a prying documentary crew, a visit from a local MP (a perfectly pompous Roger Allam) that goes south and what turns out to be a bad-news report from the school’s wealthy backers. When Steve explodes on them, one senses his volatile students have been teaching him something too.
And yet “Steve,” sincere in its hardcore concern, believably acted, is too scattered and schematically plotted to fully pull us into the emotional toll and scruffy joys of this work. Its social realist roots are kept from growing the more it relies on visual/sonic turbulence (hallucinatory images, a flashy drone shot) and narrative shorthands (the overdone documentary framing).
But when “Steve” zeroes in on its characters — Shy on a disturbing call with his fed-up mum, Steve fighting his own demons or in the zone — the movie captures the electric hum of unpredictability and vulnerability. At its best, we understand why these people want to keep the lights on in a dark, unforgiving world.
‘Steve’
Rated: R, for pervasive language, substance abuse and some sexual material
The Times spoke with De los Reyes’ son Daniel, who shared his father’s last words to him: “Always play your best.”
Walfredo de los Reyes Sr., the internationally lauded Cuban percussionist who had a prodigious six-decade career in the music industry, died Aug. 28 in Concord, Calif. He was 92.
Walfredo de los Reyes Jr. — who plays drums for the legendary rock band Chicago — shared the news of his father’s death in an Instagram post last week.
“My father, Walfredo de los Reyes Sr., passed away last night, surrounded by his loving wife, Debbie, my brother Danny, and my wife, Kirsten,” he wrote. “He was not only an incredible father, but also a mentor in music and in life. He will always live in my heart. … His spirit, his rhythm will never stop.”
Speaking with The Times, De los Reyes’ son Daniel, drummer of the Grammy-winning country group Zac Brown Band, recalled his most recent memories of his father and the pain of his loss.
“I did everything I could to help him in his last months, his last days, as far as comfort,” he said. “You see a bunch of testimonials that everybody’s been writing in… but to me, he’s just my father. He’s just my father that I help out and I go to work with. To process everything [has] been very, very difficult. He was my Superman. He was like my Bionic Man. I thought, ‘Nothing’s ever going to happen to him.’ And the end has finally come.”
Walfredo de los Reyes Sr. plays congas onstage.
(Courtesy of Daniel de los Reyes)
While he hopes that his father’s musical legacy is preserved and appreciated, Daniel also wants people to remember the person his father was outside the industry.
“He would take in whoever it was and help them,” Daniel said. “[It] didn’t matter where they were from. If they called him, I can assure you, he would invite him to the house he would share with them — make them feel like they were part of his family immediately.”
Daniel also shared his father’s last words to him: “Always play your best.”
“It wasn’t just playing in the music instrument,” he said. “It was being the best person that you could possibly be. And that when you close your eyes at night, you feel good with yourself.
“I’m going to take those last words and that’s going to be my mantra for the rest of my life. I always try to be the best person as possible, but now it’s just I have my father’s love shining through me.”
Walfredo de los Reyes III was born in Havana on June 16, 1933, into a musical family. His father, Walfredo de los Reyes II, was a trumpeter who helped found the Orquesta Casino de la Playa in 1937.
De los Reyes would go on to play percussions alongside Latin music icons like Tito Puente, Cachao López, Willie Bobo and Cuban singer La Lupe. He also performed with famous American acts such as Tony Bennett, Sammy Davis Jr., Linda Ronstadt, Dionne Warwick, Steve Winwood and Debbie Reynolds. He expanded his list of featured performances through his longtime residence in Las Vegas where he shared the stage with Milton Berle, Wayne Newton, Robert Goulet, Bernadette Peters and Rita Moreno.
His signature style of simultaneously playing a drum kit and percussion instruments was inspired by both Cuban and American influences — like Candido Segarra and Ed Shaughnessy — but also by necessity.
Tito Puente, left, poses for a photo with Walfredo de los Reyes Sr.
(Courtesy of Daniel de los Reyes)
“When I got my band at the Casino Parisien [in Havana], I didn’t have enough [money] to [hire] a conga player,” De los Reyes said in a 2011 interview with the National Assn. of Music Merchants. “I had to decide between a conga and a singer. I got the singer, because you always need a singer. [Then] I started putting congas on the left side [of my drum set] and playing with my left hand, the tumbao. … Why should I play only a conga drum? My feet just lay there.”
He is survived by his wife, Debbie Bellamy de los Reyes, his five children and 10 grandchildren. His son, actor Kamar de los Reyes, died of cancer in 2023 at age 56.
A young woman emerged from the dark into a green and bushy clearing. Under the faux moonlight, she wandered the stage, speaking to herself. “Where’s my camera? I can’t believe I lost it. All my memories were there,” she said with a pang of panic in her voice.
Moments later, a young man surfaced from the same spot. His eyes scanned the area as well, with a pained look on his face. “Have you seen my drums?” When he plays his drums his heart races, he explained; his people feel joy, and the living, the dead and even the stars dance. “It’s like all our memories are there too,” he said.
With this poignant intro, Bad Bunny kicked off the “locals only” opening night of his 30-show residency in San Juan — which, for the first three weekends, will only be accessible to those who can show proof of their residence in Puerto Rico.
Taking place each weekend at the José Miguel Agrelot Coliseum, affectionately referred to as El Choli by locals, the concert series revolves around his latest album, “Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” and was advertised with name “No me quiero ir de aquí,” which translates to “I don’t want to leave here.” It’s a refrain that’s been associated with the artist since he used it as a lyric in his 2022 ode to his homeland, “El Apagón,” and he considers it still resonant today.
A celebration of Puerto Rican identity, a fighting spirit shaped indelibly by its music and history, “Debí Tirar Más Fotos” also urges its listeners that time is not to be taken for granted, and the past, present and future are not just distinct phases but one whole, inextricably tied together.
(Lorenzo Lagares/For Los Angeles Times)
Fans that flocked to the opening weekend concerts were treated to Benito at the apex of his talents, not to mention his stamina. For three hours and over 35 songs, he danced, strutted and sang to the approving roar of over 15,000 in attendance. The show opened with rumbles of bomba y plena, and an unreleased track that got the crowd buzzing — followed by popular recent bangers like “Ketu Tecré,” “El Clúb” and “Pitorro de Coco.” He then regaled the crowd with a catwalk performance of “Kloufrens” and “Weltita,” which featured an appearance by Chuwi, the beloved tropical jazz quartet from Isabela.
The two stages were grandiose, both in size and production quality. The main stage was a reproduction of a hill, made to approximate the lush foliage found in Puerto Rico’s rainforest and central hillside towns. On one side, you could spy the two iconic Monobloc chairs from the album’s cover, and on the other, a flamboyán tree blossoming with red flowers. On the opposite end of the coliseum’s arena was a pristine pink vacation home, built to mirror the one from the short film that debuted along with the album.
That film introduced the characters of Old Man, played by acclaimed Puerto Rican filmmaker Jacobo Morales, and Concho, the sweet-natured Puerto Rican crested toad voiced by Kenneth Canales, which was brought to life by the stop-motion work of Quique Rivera. The two unlikely housemates returned in two new vignettes shown at the concert, in which they live in a cabin in the middle of snowy woods. Concho misses the Caribbean warmth, and feels very far away from home. A kind Morales reminds him: “We’re Puerto Rican no matter where we are, and even from afar we defend what’s ours.”
Remember, he says while looking straight at the camera, Puerto Rico is “the real calentón.” This cued a barrage of images that flashed across the screen, showing photos of historic protests and civil disobedience carried out over the decades by revolutionary Puerto Ricans.
(Lorenzo Lagares/For Los Angeles Times)
Benito reappeared under the flamboyán tree, where he was joined by guitarist Antonio Caraballo. Here, we got some of his lovelorn “Sad Bunny” persona as they reinterpreted acoustic versions of older hits like “Si Estuviésemos Juntos,” “Ni Bien Ni Mal” and “Amorfoda” before ending with “Turista.” All the while, Benito waxed philosophically to the audience, commiserating about matters of the heart.
From here, the action swiftly moved from the countryside to the pink house which suddenly filled with dancers in club wear — and Benito’s longtime tour DJ Orma. Those craving a rowdy perreo party got their wish, as his salsa-dembow hybrid track “Nuevayol” launched a 16-song stretch of frenzied, sweaty reggaeton and trap bops. Bouncing feverishly from “Titi Me Preguntó” and “La Jumpa” to “Yo Perreo Sola” and “Efecto,” Benito transformed the coliseum into a nightclub.
James and Benito have a friendship going back several years, and it’s hard to blame the superstar for wanting to hang with his pal — even if said pal is an American — during a concert by an artist who is not really vibing with the United States right now. But then again, if the home we see on stage is supposed to represent an Airbnb owned by non-Puerto Ricans — which is what was narratively implied — Benito might as well flex and bring in some elite gringos. Chants of “MVP! MVP!” rang out at one point, provoking the four-time NBA champion to throw up a hand heart gesture to the crowd. It’s all love.
That being said: “LeBron James sat on an air conditioner and danced while Bad Bunny sang ‘Safaera’” is a ridiculous Mad Libs sentence that actually happened.
As he paced from side to side on the house’s rooftop, Benito would again touch on the topic of time. “You get so caught up in the euphoria of the moment that you forget to appreciate the present,” he said. He asked the crowd to put their phones away and focus on the next song, and on whoever is accompanying them, or even someone across the aisle who has caught their eye. “This is the moment to act,” he added, and ask them for a dance, just before the thrust of “Eoo,” made famous from his sensual Calvin Klein underwear ad, got the whole building quaking.
Puerto Rican plena ensemble Los Pleneros de la Cresta appeared to interpret “Café Con Ron,” as well as one of their own songs, “Ábreme Paso,” which gave way to a second video vignette. It showed Morales’ Old Man leaving the cabin and trudging through a snowstorm, until he ran into Benito’s musical director Julito Gastón — the young man from the opening skit — sitting behind his drum. As they lock eyes, Morales leaves him with a word of advice that’s not just about the music, but the core of his being: “Never stop playing your drums.”
(Lorenzo Lagares/For Los Angeles Times)
Bad Bunny resurfaced, looking a bit more subdued. He spoke softly, but sternly, about Puerto Rico and its struggle against gentrification and government neglect. “We have to protect this land,” he said. “We have to protect what’s ours if we want our children to make a life here.” He followed it up by crooning “Lo Que Le Pasó A Hawaii,” the solemn décima all about how the archipelago is being threatened existentially.
An animated crash course in salsa history, narrated by Néstor Galán, set the scene for Benito’s touring live band, Los Sobrinos to assemble. Dressed in a vintage ‘70s garb of a Fania bandleader, Benito led the group into the last and most rousing part of the concert: a salsa reimagining of “Callaíta,” which gave way to to “Baile Inolvidable” and “Dtmf.” The crowd leapt to their feet, twirling and stepping to the rhythms.
Before he launched into the opening freestyle of “La Mudanza” he paused to gather himself; he took off his sunglasses to reveal his eyes had welled up with tears and gratefulness. As the image of a giant Puerto Rican flag graced the ceiling, he motioned for everyone to sing and scream the final lyrics in unison: “Nobody’s taking me from here, I’m not moving anywhere, tell ‘em this is my home, where my grandfather was born, I’m from P f—in’ R!”
In the lead-up to last year’s gubernatorial elections, Bad Bunny spent hundreds of thousands of his own money buying ad space on billboards across Puerto Rico urging its citizens to not vote for the ruling party, accusing them of being the main culprits of the island’s woes. The ads consisted of a simple, white text on a black background. In the end, the same party that has led since 2017 won reelection; and since then, the current governor, Republican Party member Jenniffer González-Colón, has only continued to be mired in controversy.
When entering the concert area, the large screens over the main stage showed one message with white letters on a black background: “Yo Te Lo Dije,” or “I Told You So.” When the show was over and everyone began to trickle out, a new message appeared, recognizable to all: “No Me Quiero Ir De Aquí.”
With his residency, Bad Bunny issues a rallying cry for Puerto Ricans: Act now. Change the future, so that you don’t regret the past. And most importantly, never stop playing your drums.
