Stonewall, an uncomfortably inaccurate historical drama directed by Roland Emmerich, is such a confused, misguided, scatterbrained movie that it’s hard to decide where to begin in assessing its shortcomings (it comes up short on almost every front). It’s about the immensely important June 1968 Stonewall Inn riots, the single greatest breakthrough in gay activism—but really, it isn’t. Emmerich sullies and smudges that moment in history so crudely (and ironically) with Hollywood stereotypes, clichés, and ham-fisted filmmaking that it’s crystal clear, without a doubt, that he’s missed the point entirely.

One of the defining characteristics of the riots was that it was led in large part by people of color. Some of these key figures are represented in the movie, like Marsha P. Johnson (Otoja Abit), founder of Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries, but they’re relegated to minor (offensively minor) roles. Tragically, at the center of Emmerich and screenwriter Jon Robin Baitz’s rendition of the story is a fictional, white, Midwestern man named Danny, played by English actor Jeremy Irvine. It’s a choice that lacquers the film with a thick coating of inauthenticity. We follow Danny as he plays proxy for ignorant white audiences, running away from his small Indiana town after being outed and yelled at by his homophobic, football-coach dad. Danny heads straight for New York City’s gay community epicenter, Christopher Street, where he’s taken in by a group of wild street kids.

Jonny Beauchamp plays Ray, a born leader and firestarter and Danny’s primary liaison. Vying for Danny’s affection is a quietly charming, manipulative gay rights activist played by Jonathan Rhys Meyers, whose 3rd-floor apartment overlooks the street kids’ stoop and the Stonewall Inn. The supporting players are universally bland, their actors (mostly talented) underserved. Caleb Landry Jones has been carving out quite a fascinating career on the independent scene in recent years, but his turn here as a trans stereotype in no way helps his career along.

The film flashes back occasionally to Indiana and Danny’s falling-out with his family, which is as generic a coming-out story you’ll ever hear (though Danny’s accepting little sister, played by Joey King, offers some genuine sweetness). Other than the dark cloud of the homophobic, abusive NYPD hanging over the movie, there’s the imposing presence of Ron Perlman’s Ed Murphy, a dangerous quasi-pimp of pretty boys like Danny. Oh, and Danny’s attending night school at Columbia while he waits anxiously for his parents to send in papers to secure the scholarship he’s worked so hard for.

Emmerich seems totally disoriented as he zips from plot thread to plot thread, never sure about which one to concentrate on. Nothing takes priority and the greatest loss as a result of his confusion is that the riots themselves, which lasted for days in real life, only last for one night and don’t get much focus at all. It’s a big miss on Emmerich’s part and it left an awful taste in my mouth. Perhaps the most disgusting moment comes when Danny, the “white savior” himself, starts the riot with a corny, ADR battle cry of “Gay POWER!” and a brick through a window. Emmerich has said he included the character of Danny because he had to tell the story of Stonewall from his (white) perspective, which is troubling in itself, but this slow-motion moment of heroism makes his statement even uglier.

Speaking of ugly, the movie looks atrocious. Emmerich and cinematographer Markus Förderer seem to be going for a vintage, newsreel feel, but the aesthetic is ruined with environments and interiors that reek of artificiality. The sets are too pristinely lit, the costumes look like they came from a high school theater classroom, the shots are unremarkable—Stonewall looks like a bargain-bin musical adaptation, not a tribute to a gay activism triumph.

The movie was, according to Emmerich, made for straight, white people, a sort of crash course in the history and nature of the gay rights movement. It’s obvious, after watching this thing, that he’s made a big mistake; instead of sending blaring, dim-witted messages to white America like an ignoramus over-enunciating to a deaf child, maybe he should have just told the true story. Then, maybe people might have listened.

As the LGBT rights movement continues to make huge strides in America, it feels like a fitting time to start to look back at the many battles fought by this ostracized and abused group of people. One such historical turning point is the Stonewall riots of 1969 in New York City, the violence and passion of which inspired the greater LGBT community to rally and get organized in their efforts for equality and safety.

Now we have a stirring first trailer for Roland Emmerich’s Stonewall, a film following a fictional young gay man, played by Jeremy Irvine, forced to flee his home when his sexual orientation proves too much for his friends and family, who ends up on the streets of Greenwich Village, NYC. He befriends a group of people made up of young gays, lesbians, and drag queens who introduce him to the Stonewall Inn, a gay-friendly mafia-run club and safe-haven. But eventually even their safe space starts to be regularly raided by the NYPD, who harass the people there. The historical consequence to this constant persecution was an eruption of rage in the form of two days of riots and a kick-off of the modern LGBT movement.

Though not the first film version of this important historical event, it certainly feels like the man who gave us Independence Day, Stargate, and The Patriot is a seasoned pro at igniting pride, and this two-minute trailer is plenty inspiring. The film also stars Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Joey King, and Ron Perlman and will be released in theaters September 25.

Adapted from Robb White’s novel “Deathwatch”, The Reach comes from sophomore filmmaker Jean-Baptiste Léonetti. Léonetti’s debut feature Carré blanc played at TIFF several years ago, and despite its flaws it showed a filmmaker with a great sense of atmosphere and visual style. Now the French director makes a crossover to the United States, directing a thriller with Michael Douglas in one of the lead roles. But The Reach shows all the usual signs of a foreign filmmaker making a clumsy transition to America.

Douglas plays Madec, a rich businessman wanting to hunt for bighorn sheep in the Mojave Desert. Young Ben (Jeremy Irvine) is assigned as his guide for the hunting trip, and the two set out in Madec’s massive, six-wheel SUV. Ben’s moral purity clashes with Madec’s greedy capitalist way of life, a tension that finally explodes when Madec mistakes an old prospector for an animal, shooting and killing the old man. Ben wants to go to the authorities, but Madec, who’s in the middle of selling his business to China, refuses to let anything compromise his business deal. Madec turns on Ben, forcing him to strip and walk through the desert until he succumbs to the heat. From there it’s a cat and mouse game, with Ben using his knowledge of the area to repeatedly do his best to escape Madec.

If that premise sounds stupid, that’s because it is. Ben finds one possible way out after another, but Madec continually manages to stop him from succeeding, and this structure is insanely boring. Madec’s reasons for forcing Ben to slowly cook under the sun are flimsy at best, and idiotic at worst. Léonetti throws some nice shots of the desert in, but aside from that his work is surprisingly ugly to watch. Irvine shows off his body quite a bit (something Léonetti clearly enjoys, given how much the camera ogles Irvine’s abs), but he’s as bland as a 2×4 and can’t fake an American accent very well. Michael Douglas makes the most of his role, playing up the seediness of Madec, but he can’t do a single thing to fix the atrocious lines he has to deliver. He acts like a villain in a video game, at one point literally hurling dynamite from his SUV similar to Donkey Kong throwing barrels at Mario, and the quality of the screenplay is about on par with a video game. Case in point: At one point Douglas says “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…I KILL YOU!” If Jeff Dunham ever needs someone to fill in for him, Michael Douglas wouldn’t be a bad pick.

An overbearing score doesn’t help make things better, but the biggest offense comes in the final act. From there, The Reach goes from banal thriller to something hilariously awful, starting with one character’s random escape on a helicopter (I thought that sort of thing stopped in the ’80s?). The ending, significantly different from the source material, feels tacked on, like a move from producers to ensure a closer that will please audiences. If that’s the case, then their attention should have went to the rest of the film instead. Too inept to be taken as a good B-movie thriller, The Reach’s entertainment value is just as dry and empty as its vast desert location. It’s a film bound to rot in VOD purgatory, a fate it fully deserves.

Published under the original title The Reach on September 8th as part of our TIFF coverage.