joeravioli Reviews

The Haunting of Hill House (2018)

Family drama, not horror

[5/10 · 13 July 2023]

Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House is an unadaptable novel. Not because its events are impossible to depict, but because the bulk of the story and its main appeal are the protagonist's internal monologue. Much like The Shining, Haunting of Hill House is deeply psychological, and an adaptation without that psychology would be like a frame without a canvas. Kubrick's adaptation was a pretty frame indeed. Flanagan's is a different painting.

Certain things remain the same. The house is there, of course. Flanagan sensibly includes the iconic opening paragraph of Jackson's novel as the series' opening monologue. Characters have the same names. But apart from that, the story and characters are entirely different, which to me is a good thing. Adapting Jackson's novel would have needed nothing short of Stanley Kubrick's direction to make up for how much would be lost.

Flanagan's new story is about a family living in the shadow of their childhood trauma. We flash back and forth between the past, in which the family lives in the house, and the present, in which the family, now scattered to the winds and composed of traumatized, unhappy people, mopes and treats each other like dirt and sometimes sees a ghost. They say that horror works best as metaphor, but really, horror works best when it scares you. To that end, this is barely horror. This is a story about broken people in a broken family with the occasional telegraphed jumpscare or somewhat creepy scene. The emotions run high; the scares barely register.

It gets five stars from me for having a couple of brilliant moments. But if you're in the mood for a fright, I'd look elsewhere.

Yellowjackets: Storytelling (2023) Season 2, Episode 9

A terrible end to a mostly terrible season

[28 May 2023]

If Yellowjackets' first season was like watching the preparation and decoration of an intricate, many-layered birthday cake, this season was like watching someone pour gasoline all over it and light it on fire. As the spectacle subsides and it burns to an inedible, boring crisp, you concede that if nothing else, the candles were lit.

Season one was made by the strength of its characters. Yellowjackets began with a promise (cannibalism) and by the end of the first season, didn't fulfill it. What made that acceptable was how well the characters were written. We're given complete portraits of each of these women at two different points in their lives, and a big part of the fun beyond the blood and guts is wondering how the hell they went from relatively innocent to bloodthirsty cannibals to disturbed adults. When the season ended without any cannibalism, it was okay, because the characters weren't there yet. The writers had too strong a grasp of who these people were to betray them.

Season two begins with a contrivance, and doesn't stop. Nothing makes sense anymore. Everyone is unrecognizable, doing things so out of character that it's obvious that the writers are struggling to balance the expectations of a ravenous audience with the first season's slow, methodical approach. It cranks up humour at the cost of sincerity, cranks up insanity at the cost of sense, and sacrifices the show's greatest strength, its characters, to speed up a plot that isn't even good. In the end, the show's initial promise is fulfilled-people eat other people. All it took was the torching of an entire season's worth of birthday cake.

The conclusion of the adult storyline is unbelievably bad. Throughout the preceding eight episodes, it's been mostly setup-everything works towards bringing all the major characters together for some big climactic scene. That big climactic scene is an unbelievably stilted chase scene where half the people involved are treating it like a joke, and a poorly-executed twist that comes out of nowhere, accomplishes nothing, and is an atrocious conclusion to the arc of one of the show's most interesting characters.

I don't even want to talk about the Shauna vs. The cops subplot. What an absolute waste of time.

The kids storyline is better, though not good enough to pull the story out of the gutter. In the first season, we had a refreshing diversity of character dynamics and motivations. Here, there's less variety, but it's forgivable. The girls are starving. That they're all a bit crazy makes sense.

What doesn't make sense is just how inconsistent their craziness is. Their craziness and the symptoms of their starvation come and go, seemingly at random. Characters have prolonged hallucinations and are fine by the next scene. The tone is haphazard, the progression is sloppy. As well, much of the suspense is gone. We're told at the outset that eight of them survive, and in the adult plotline, seven of those eight have been revealed. If almost all of the main characters are invincible, then what's the point?

What makes Yellowjackets' decline so frustrating is that it inherits some of what made the first season so good. The young actresses are excellent across the board, the music is pretty good when it's not spamming needle drops, and every so often, there's a well-written interaction or unsettling scene. Young Lottie's personal growth is nuanced and mostly affecting. The birth scene and its aftermath are an emotional hurricane. Even in this episode, there's a skin-crawling interaction between Travis and Van. But the show's failings are so bad, so frequent, and so inextricable from the direction the writers have chosen, that even when it's good, it's hard to be impressed when the prevailing experience this season offers is disappointment.

Body Heat (1981)

Hot air

[7/10 · 11 January 2023]

It's hard not to be hypnotized by Body Heat's seedy, sweltering picture of Florida. Haze, sometimes fog, sometimes smoke, sometimes a mixture of both, suffuses night scenes, softening the light and obscuring the shapes. The characters glisten with sweat, whine, smoke lazily, and seem generally beaten down by the heat. And the music, my God, the music-if music could ever be described as erotic, then that's what it is. But so too does it always contain something insidious, lurking beneath its seductive melodies, perfectly representative of the film as a whole.

Body Heat nails its atmosphere. It does not, however, nail its characters or narrative. But for a while, this doesn't matter. Lawrence Kasdan moves things along without urgency, his primary emphases being cool dialogue and hot sex. The film's Wikipedia plot synopsis describes the entire first half of the film in a single sentence.

William Hurt stars as Ned Racine, a lawyer who begins an affair with a woman named Matty Walker, played by Kathleen Turner. The affair is almost exclusively defined by sex-at least, for most of their shared screentime in the film's first half, that's almost all they do. In my favourite shot, they're laying in a bathtub together, trying to beat the heat by dropping ice cubes into the water. In light of the sweltering Florida summer in which the film takes place, their refusal to peel themselves away is as effective an expression of passion as passion itself.

At a certain point, Ned and Matty decide to kill her husband, because that is the way these films must go. It's hard to tell whose idea it is. Matty describes her husband as "small and mean", but he seems decent enough from what little we see of him. And Ned only decides he wants to kill him after he encounters Matty and her husband in a restaurant and shares an awkward dinner with them, one of the few scenes in the film with compelling dramatic tension.

Whether Matty manipulates Ned or Ned manipulates Matty or, like the protagonists of Double Indemnity, they complete each other in some awful way is mostly unclear. Though Ned isn't a great lawyer, he's not dumb, and not completely taken by Matty such that we can believe that killing Matty's husband is something he'd never do. Perhaps Matty chose him for what she saw in him, which we begin to understand in the second half of the film is more extensive than a few conversations and a lot of sex. The psychological mystery at the Body Heat's center is its most exciting facet (apart from a phenomenal scene where Ned speaks to Matty's niece, who is the only person who can implicate him in Matty's husband's murder). It's thrilling searching for clues in the actor's faces, suggestions in their performance, insight in their actions.

However, not every aspect of this mystery is well-executed. Most of the "sexy" dialogue is painfully stilted, trying for Chandler and landing somewhere closer to above-average porn. The scene where Ned tells Matty they're going to kill her husband "for no other reason than he deserves it" is terribly cheesy. The performances are, for the most part, quite good, especially Hurt's, who plays Ned with ultra-cool detachment, with well-timed and convincing bursts of consuming emotion. However, Kathleen Turner plays Matty with too much detachment. She has her moments, but for the most part seems like she's reading off a script.

The second half of the film is a compromise. In these stories, the perpetrators of the crime must be found out, but in Body Heat, so too must the proceedings align with the film's aesthetic, an aesthetic defined by laziness. In Double Indemnity, the second half of the film is a tangible mystery, with the protagonist's mentor piecing together the clues that will ultimately lead him to the terrible realization that his loved mentee is a murderer. In Body Heat, we know what's going to happen, and so the details of the investigation aren't so important.

Ned's friends suspect him soon after they discover how close he is to the murdered man's widow, and we see only a little of what they do to finally implicate him. This is not Body Heat's concern. Body Heat's concern is in watching Ned and Matty's relationship crumble, in watching him realize that he has been betrayed, all while decorating the canvas with colour and music and smoke. There are no scenes where the investigators come to some brilliant conclusion. There is instead a scene where Ned's friend meets him on a pier and subtly and casually informs him that he knows Ned killed Matty's husband. The scene's implications are heavy, but it's delivered so lightly that it, like so much else in the film, is borne away by hot air.

Body Heat's final twist is a mistake. The film survives on keeping Ned and Matty's relationship obscure. But for whatever reason, Kasdan decides to clear the fog from the glass and expose the contents of Matty's heart. It is tasteless and inappropriate, cheapening the truth by making it known. The film's sex choreography understood the excitement in keeping things hidden. Why didn't the film?

Body Heat's greatest strength is in its all-consuming heat, a heat that lays heavily on everyone involved, from the characters to the writers to whoever was in charge of the smoke machine. Watching the film, I felt it too.

Avatar: The Way of Water (2022)

Cameron's greatest hits and expected misses

[8/10 · 25 December 2022]

Watching Avatar 2, I felt the rare thrill that comes from an economical purchase. Movie tickets are expensive. Most of the time, I come out of the theater feeling like I could have waited a few months, rented the movie for a quarter of the price, and had a near-identical experience to the one I just had. But as corny as the oft-repeated promotional line is, it's true. Avatar 2 is what theaters were made for. Say what you want about James Cameron, but that man knows how to put on a show, and the show he puts on is worth every penny.

Avatar 2 engaged me so completely that I barely noticed its three-hour runtime until the third act. It's no masterpiece, of course: Cameron's struggles with natural dialogue and compelling storytelling are as evident here as they are in the first film. The cast makes up for it, save Sigourney Weaver, though I don't blame her. A seventy-year old woman playing a child was a dubious move, and though she clearly tries, you feel the effort before you feel the character underneath it.

Worthington's performance as a dreadlock-sporting father is damn good. He's more comfortable with the accent this time around. The role he plays demands a certain sensitivity: the Jake Sully in Avatar 2 isn't the bold, plucky youth from the first film. He's older, but not especially wiser; he works desperately to secure his family's safety, but we're given the impression that despite how much he loves his family, he doesn't quite know how to be a father. "This is a family, not a unit," his wife Neytiri tells him after he scolds their son.

The story is there, and it's fine. Disappointingly, it follows a similar structure to the first film. We get the fish-out-of-water trope (though a bit more literal this time), the cross-cultural conflict, the nasty humans doing nasty things to get some cool substance, and the chaotic final battle where the degree to which you'll sympathize with either side depends on how effectively the blue people have won you over. Its main difference is in its focus on family. In the first film, Jake was on his own with the Na'vi. In this one, Jake's family has their individual struggles; each of them has to integrate, and some of them find it harder than others.

That said, none of them find it so hard that there's any real tension, and that's my main issue with the first half of the film. Cameron has no apparent interest in challenging or hurting his characters until the finale. There is one scene with palpable danger, in which Jake's younger son faces off against a big fish. Apart from that, everything is smooth sailing for these landlubbers. Though the chief's wife warns them that they'll have to work, I don't recall ever seeing them lift a finger.

The film's greatest strength, to no one's surprise, is its imagery. Every time I thought I'd hit an upper limit of amazement, Cameron would bust out some movie wizardry and completely shatter my convictions. I love movies like this, movies of pure extravagance and vision. Cameron brings the same love to the oceans that he brought to the forests of Pandora in the first film. His passion for nature (and his surprisingly comparable passion for funky submarines and crab robots) shines through almost every frame, and it's hard not to be swept up in it. I, for one, was enormously entertained.

Avatar 2 did lose me towards the end. Its final battle is more brutal and kinetic than its predecessor's, but I don't know if that brutality is earned. In this one, the humans are more helpless, less trained, leading to a series of scenes that's more massacre than fair fight. There are a few moving bits scattered throughout the carnage, but it did sour me a bit on the film. Though Avatar 2 goes out of its way to make you hate its humans, making them comically nasty, it runs into the same problem as its predecessor: as sympathetic as its blue people may be, it's hard to root against the working stiffs.

Avatar (2009)

Avatar holds up

[8/10 · 24 December 2022]

Avatar's success was thoroughly unprecedented. No one expected the blue alien movie to be the highest-grossing movie of all time. Though it was marketed as an event film, I remember very little fanfare leading up to it.

And then the movie came out. People watched it, reactions were mixed, typically around the center of the critical spectrum. Few loved it, few hated it. Most thought it was just okay. General criticisms were that the movie was just Dances in Wolves in space, it was too long, and overly simplistic. Though it went on to massive, unreasonable financial success, it faded fast from people's memories. In a few years, people remembered it not for its narrative, not for its characters, but for how much money it made. Then again, that really might have been the most interesting thing about it.

Before watching the sequel, I decided to refresh my memory. I settled in, braced myself, and started up the film's extended edition.

And I have to say: it was pretty darn good.

When you know exactly where the story is going and have a general idea of when it's going to get there, it's far easier to tolerate what on earlier viewings you might have considered to be wheel-spinning. Cameron spends so much time not advancing the plot, delivering pretty visuals and character moments with middling, redundant character insights, but they're delivered in such a brilliantly crafted box that it hardly matters. Cameron really is a master craftsman, and it's a joy to take in his vision, particularly in an era of blockbuster cinema when vision is no longer a priority.

The film does make some mistakes I can't overlook though, particularly in its treatment of its female lead, Neytiri. Saldana puts in an expressive, passionate performance, but is reduced to a standard tsundere trope. She brings Jake into the tribe, teaches him their ways, and falls in love with him in the process, but she is disappointingly single-minded and flat. Her humanity has no texture; she's more symbol than character.

However, the main character is solid. I know this is an unpopular opinion. Worthington definitely struggles with the accent and occasionally abandons it entirely. But he plays the character well. Jake Sully is a good guy, easy to root for. His mistakes we chalk up to general jarhead dumbness, not ill-intent. He's bold, but not obnoxious, confrontational, but not cruel, and most importantly, he approaches the Navi and their culture with an open heart and open mind. Any judgment he may feel towards them is washed away once he immerses himself in their way of life.

The movie is long, and the plot is familiar. But these aren't necessarily bad things. Familiar stories are comforting. They're cozy. And Avatar's first two acts are just that. Watching them, I felt the wonder I didn't feel when I watched the film as a child. Understanding just how much Cameron cares about the environment, how much he wants to preserve and protect it is vital to the experience. Avatar remains a film where its creator's love for filmmaking and nature shines through, and that's something I can easily appreciate.

In the Mood for Love (2000)

In the Mood for Love Without Love

[7/10 · 29 April 2020]

Depictions of romance in the movies are dominated by expression. Kisses in the rain, longing gazes, seemingly innocent conversations with an undercurrent of desire so obvious that they're either surrogates for or precursors to passionate lovemaking, these and other actions with varying degrees of subtlety comprise the bulk of how filmmakers go about portraying love. This is what makes In the Mood for Love, the most celebrated film of Hong Kong filmmaker Wong Kar-Wai's esteemed filmography, so unusual. It is a romance without romance, a love story with such a meager amount of expressed love that it feels inappropriate to classify it as such.

The film follows a man and a woman who discover their spouses are having an affair with each other. Though interested in each other, they promise to keep their relationship strictly platonic and what follows is a tragedy of repressed feeling. The man, played by Tony Leung, is writing a martial arts serial; the woman, played by Maggie Cheung, provides him with ideas and support. Leung maintains a weary, often precarious kindness, while Cheung puts forth an incredibly complex performance with pride, elegance, and rare outbursts of vulnerability. Both are good people, but not unrealistically so. Though they hold off against impulse, their promise never to stoop to the level of their spouses is put to the test.

Wong-Kar Wai frequently depicts his two main characters through windows or mirrors or thin fabrics, which almost feels like a reminder that we can't truly know these people. We can watch their eye movements, their facial expressions, their changes in posture, and guess their feelings towards themselves and each other. We can say that their gazes are full of repressed desire, that both are reluctantly falling for each other, that when they seek each other out it isn't, as they say, anything more than a platonic attraction. But the film provides little in the way of certainty. Until those feelings are confirmed, all you can do is guess.

It's the film's respectful restraint that is both its greatest asset and, at least for me, its undoing. Maybe I've been spoiled by the candour of American romance, where the parties involved make their emotions clear and the events of the narrative follow from those emotions. Maybe Wong Kar-Wai's approach represents something more realistic than what I'm used to seeing. But In the Mood for Love, unlike what I'm used to, keeps both the narrative and its characters obscured and in that obscurity the individual scenes feel almost aimless. Do we want them to end up together? No, because that would force them to violate the honour that keeps them apart. Do we want them to be apart? No, because they deserve to be together. And of course, this all assumes they even want to be together in the first place. As the film proceeds, its refusal to peel back the mystery surrounding its two characters leads to a series of long and ultimately repetitive staring contests.

That said, the movie is startlingly beautiful at times. Cinematographers Christopher Doyle, Mark Lee Ping-Bin find beauty in the film's otherwise nondescript apartment interiors and hallways, capturing a 1960s Hong Kong with unexpected vibrancy. Smoke clouds against bright lights are made hypnotic. Common body movements are made elegant. The two main characters, already beautiful, are made mesmerizing. Some transitions and camera movements are jarringly abrupt, occasionally damaging the continuity of certain scenes, but this is a minor concern. Many frames are so rich with colour and light that they feel like paintings, an illusion bolstered by the relative stillness of the characters on-screen. The repeated use of Yumeji's Theme, a moving, sorrowful piece is yet another beautiful addition to an already tremendously beautiful film.

In the Mood for Love is a film so broad and vague that it feels like a canvas for the viewer to project their own emotions and desires upon. A narrative as open as this one seems a risky undertaking for putting the bulk of its impact in the hands of the viewer. For the most part, it seems Wong Kar-Wai's gamble has paid off, as this movie has received almost universal critical acclaim and is viewed as among the greatest films of the last two decades. But your experience of this film depends greatly on what you bring to its quiet, melancholy table.

Rififi (1955)

Rififi's heist is brilliant, the rest of it a little less so

[7/10 · 29 January 2020]

Midway through Rififi is its famous heist, a scene - like the robbery it depicts - so terrifically staged and executed that it has been credited with the invention of an entire genre. But, as with many film genres and their original inspirations, the prototypes see so many changes to their form and technique as new creators shift the genre's boundaries that given enough time, very little, excluding broad plot elements, remains of the original. Such is the case with Rififi.

Take the Ocean's Eleven reboot: a solid film that prioritizes style and light entertainment in all from its storytelling to the outlandish heist itself - an almost direct contrast to Rififi's heavy narrative and emphasis on the technical details of thievery. Sure, the overarching plots of the films' respective heists are similar: guy recently released from prison plans a heist with his partner-in-crime, eccentric crew is assembled, obstacles are met and overcome, and heist goes off smoothly save a couple bumps tossed in for the sake of tension. But though plenty is shared, Soderbergh's and Dassin's approaches are ultimately better characterized by what they do differently, their tone and style rendering the two films almost entirely separate experiences.

As far as I can tell, Rififi finds its clearest descendant not in today's heist films, but thirty years ago in Michael Mann's Thief. Both films take their time getting to the heist and though both have it as a high point, the heist itself comprises only the story's middle. There's a beginning which consists of finding the job and establishing the characters and their personal stakes, and there is an ending which consists of the consequences of the robbery - the former being typical of the genre and the latter being singularly unusual. Mann arguably perfected this structure in Heat and yet, I believe the comparison between Thief and Rififi is far more appropriate because unlike Heat, both Rififi and Thief have an exceptional preoccupation with how things are stolen. The heists aren't the centerpieces of their respective films because they culminate in a shootout; rather, they're notable for how they immerse the viewer in their authenticity. We've seen the thieves in their personal lives. Now we get to see them in their element, approaching the task at hand with the professional detachment of skilled surgeons.

Even now, six decades later, it's no mystery why Rififi's heist was so influential. It's a perfect scene, from the actors who put in appropriately restrained and focused performances to the meticulousness with which Dassin details the heist, making it feel almost like an instruction manual. Where Mann doesn't much care if he loses you on the minutiae, Dassin holds your hand throughout, directing your attention to anything required to understand the proceedings. Any context, necessary or complementary, was provided earlier. Not a word is spoken between the thieves, and yet their willful cooperation throughout the heist makes evident both their thorough preparation and reliance upon one another.

The scene is so good, in fact, that the rest of the film suffers as a result.

What Rififi lacks and what ultimately results in it missing the intended emotional mark of its third act is what Thief has in spades: characterization. Dassin begins with a brief introduction to the main characters: young Jo and his older, grimmer partner-in-crime, Tony. At first it seems as though Jo is to be the film's focus - he's far more charismatic than his sullen counterpart. But after some time it becomes clear that the true main character is Tony, played by a particularly sour Jean Servais. And yet, despite him taking center stage, he remains a relative unknown for the remainder of the film. We're given small insights into his character - the most being a terrifically unsettling encounter with his ex-girlfriend - but Servais plays the character with such frozen-faced detachment that despite seeing what he does, the why of it remains frustratingly vague. Doing so makes his character seem authentic (because of course a hardened criminal isn't going to just sit down and provide an audience with a detailed account of his feelings), but having an emotionless creature at the center of your deeply emotional third act is tough to pull off, and I'd argue that despite a solid finish, Dassin doesn't quite reach the narrative heights he was aiming for. After the heist, his characters stumble about through a series of seemingly random narrative contrivances until they arrive at the film's bitter ending. Truly, the most emotional scene in the film concerns the fate of a side character.

I'd recommend Rififi for its moments of brilliance, because it has many. But after its most brilliant moment, its awkward spiral into tragedy feels more like an extended denouement than a proper third act, in part a credit to its tremendous heist scene and in part an unfortunate indication of the weakness of its characters.

Avengers: Endgame (2019)

Endgame closes off a decade of storytelling in suitably epic fashion

[8/10 · 29 April 2019]

Avengers: Endgame, the culmination of eleven years of storytelling spanning twenty-two movies, represents a very peculiar time in the history of film. It is at once an incredibly ambitious project and the product of twenty-two mostly reasonable, inoffensive films made to appeal to the broadest audience possible. It is a celebration of something I'm not sure should be celebrated, the concentration of the box office and blockbuster culture at the expense of artistry, done so by an aggressive corporation that conquers more and more of Hollywood's creative landscape each day.

And it's absolutely magnificent.

Endgame is the sequel to last year's Infinity War, an average movie elevated by a truly shocking ending. For the first time, we went into our twice-a-year dose of Marvel movie expecting the expected victory and were greeted with bitter defeat. Our heroes had been tossed aside, their ideals shattered and in many cases lives ended, all to give this purple raisin man a happy ending complete with a farm and an infuriating little grin. It was incredible because it was unexpected, and unexpected not because it wasn't a possibility, but within the Marvel Cinematic Universe the concept of the unexpected seemed as foreign to their writers as original storytelling.

To say I dislike the Marvel Cinematic Universe would be an overstatement. I have seen all twenty-two of its installments, and while liking only a few of them, there have been fewer still that I've actively disliked. For the most part, they've been perfectly reasonable ways to spend a couple hours on a Saturday afternoon, undercut by low stakes and the inevitable joke that follows every dramatic moment.

But although Endgame is a part of this franchise, its storytelling feels decidedly different. Where the MCU is comical, Endgame is dramatic. Where the MCU is superficial, Endgame is expansive and thorough. Where the MCU is formulaic, Endgame is unpredictable. Where the MCU is cynical, Endgame is emotional. And where the MCU is always building to a conclusion that it seems will never come, Endgame is that conclusion. Of course, this isn't to say it doesn't retain some elements of what's made the MCU so popular. The humour and characterization are there, though a little less fleshed out than in previous installments.

This relative lack of characterization and humour makes sense given the context of the film. We've already seen twenty other films, which served not only the purpose of building to where we are now but familiarizing us with the characters that populate this story. Understanding it felt rewarding, as if I'd studied for the last ten years and proceeded to do well on the exam, a feeling I'm hardly familiar with. And what characterization there is is generally well thought out, even if the dialogue lacks the snappiness of Whedon's takes on the franchise.

But what the film does have is power. Emotional moments take center stage, with more a scene than not delivering a tear-inducing moment, doubtlessly rendering the invested viewer an emotional wreck by the time the credits roll. The Russos very clearly understand that they're delivering the final adventure - at least of this particular saga - and imbue their film with powerful nostalgia enhanced by melancholy and exhilaration in equal measure.

This isn't to say Endgame is a masterpiece. The story's logic often threatens to cave down on itself and the film as a whole is somewhat short on action. Thor's arc isn't handled nearly as gracefully as the others, which is a shame because he became one of the more interesting Avengers after Ragnarok and arguably the most after Infinity War. The pacing of individual scenes occasionally feels unnecessarily drawn out, usually to service a limp punch-line that reduces whatever emotion the respective scene was striving towards. The second act feels underdeveloped compared to the first and the third, offering an interesting concept while failing to exploit its thematic potential. But there are moments when all the pieces come together, delivering something it seems only this film can, a soaring, kinetic, exhilarating joy that had my audience applauding and me wanting to. And it's moments like these when Endgame is untouchable.

How the hell they follow this up is a question for a new era of actors, storytellers, and the corporation that towers over them all. But I'm going to bet that they don't.

As for me, I think I'm finished with superhero movies. That being said, they've been putting smiles on my face and tears in my eyes for almost my entire life, and for that I'm grateful.

Justice League (2017)

Justice League? Yeah, sorta

[6/10 · 26 November 2017]

There's a scene in the first thirty minutes or so of Justice League where the film's villain, Steppenwolf, attacks Themyscira to retrieve one of three Motherboxes. He pops out of a blue cylinder and, along with a squadron of Parademons, lays waste to the Amazons as they struggle unsuccessfully to keep the box away from him.

Man oh man, was that a great scene. It's intense, colourful, and truly harrowing. Snyder (or whoever directed that scene) instils the scene with such a wonderful sense of movement and terror as the Amazons desperately try and keep the box away from Steppenwolf, dying heroic deaths as the axe-wielding giant swats them down left, right, and centre like a swarm of flies. It's awesome stuff, neither exploitative nor particularly restrained. Sure, Steppenwolf looks like he went through too many CGI blenders and sounds like a petulant brat, but he cuts a truly menacing figure as he brings his fiery axe down on the heads of fleeing Amazons with about as much care as a cheese grater.

While the rest of the movie doesn't even come remotely close to the quality of this scene, it isn't a bad film. Not by any means.

The first half of the film is especially good. The opening shot, one of those awkward shot-with-phone-and-badly-acted things, admittedly made me cringe at first, but it ends with a child asking Superman what he likes best about Earth, to which he looks away, a dreamy little smile brightening his chiselled features. It's surprising how much depth of feeling a simple smile provides.

The rest of the first half, excluding the scene with the Amazons, is mostly forgettable, but I don't recall feeling bored at any point. The banter, especially between Aquaman and Batman, was truly fun to watch, and the action scenes, which could have used a little tightening up, were entertaining enough to hold my interest.

Of course, one can't discuss the film without acknowledging the fact that it was a bad idea. Marvel did it right: releasing single films highlighting individual characters, crafting them as human beings before (heheh) assembling them. Warner Bros, in its apparent rush to compete with Marvel, made the mistake of bringing the ensemble together without introducing them all individually, the result being a rushed, muddled mess of exposition and characterisation that ends up unsuccessful, both as a narrative and at the box office. Wonder Woman was successful, and I'm almost certain that a Flash or Aquaman movie would be too. Speaking of which, Aquaman is especially glossed over, although he does get the most badass bit in the whole movie (ICKY THUMP SITTING DUNRK Something WAGON MEXICOOOOOOO DUH DUH).

BIG SPOILERS FROM HERE OK BUT NOT REALLY BECAUSE EVERYONE TOTALLY KNEW THIS WAS GONNA HAPPEN:

Superman comes back. Come on, who thought that was a good idea? We already have a crowded canvas as it is, now we have to sort through Superman's internal post-resurrection struggle. And to top it all off, Superman is just as invincible as he always was, showing up at the final battle and laying waste about as easily as he'd squat and push out a log.

The final battle itself is not so great. There are awesome bits, but most of it is a confused, poorly edited mess. There's no sense of arrival, characters popping in and out of the canvas without any visual aids to help us keep track of where everyone is.

Like I said, not a terrible film. It has a great scene, a few good ones, and not enough bad ones to overwhelm the good ones. I just wish they approached it differently (or not at all), tightened up the editing, and for the love of God, made it an hour longer.

I don't think critics are paid off. But I do think that Rotten Tomatoes has damaged film criticism in that it has provided film critics with a way to tap into the collective mind of their peers. It's difficult to go up against public opinion, especially considering that your job may be on the line. I'm not saying that you switch your litmus test to IMDb's score, because that's bloated beyond reason by the sheer number of fools, trolls, and fanboys plaguing every corner of the Internet; instead, I'm adopting the mantra of the trolls infesting the comment section on Rotten Tomatoes' Facebook posts: Think for your goddam self.

Or stop going to the movies and eat ice cream. I don't care.

Rick and Morty: The Rickchurian Mortydate (2017) Season 3, Episode 10

It is Wednesday, my dudes

[3 October 2017]

To be fair, the final episode of season 3 of Rick and Morty is pretty solid. It's kinetic, crude, and highly entertaining, integral aspects of season 1 and 2 that most of season 3 saw fit to substitute with gore and the exploration of characters nobody really cares about. The only problem is that it's both the finale and a complete filler episode at the same time. The only thing that (arguably) distinguishes this episode from any other is the family reunion, which isn't exactly what I'd call finale material.

Everyone except for the die-hard fanbase (which has about as much sense as an onion) has gripes with this season. Personally, I thought this season betrayed the standard Rick and Morty formula, which was driven by novel, interesting concepts involving eccentric and memorable characters. In this season, the characters (most of whom are given repressively human characteristics) defined the concepts for the most part, leading to altogether boring plots that seemed to serve no other purpose than to pick apart characters that needed no picking apart in the first place. A curious consequence of this narrative shift is that any attempts at emotional resonance fell flat, simply because I knew to expect it.

The show felt pretty dumb this time around. It had none of the hilarity of M. Night Symhasjdhkajshdkasjh-aliens, the wrenching strangeness of Rick Potion #9, the thrill of The Ricks Must be Crazy, the genius of Total Rickall, or the honest emotion of The Wedding Squanchers.

While I'm not going to pretend that I came up with this myself, The Ricklantis Mixup would have been a much, much better finale than this one. The "finale" they chose is, while better than what came before, completely ordinary and forgettable. Such a shame.

(It's actually tuesday but I like frogs)

Dunkirk (2017)

Visually stunning, but emotionally unsatisfying

[6/10 · 23 July 2017]

At the risk of sounding like a fanatic, Christopher Nolan is undoubtedly the only one we can trust to save original, franchise- less cinema from extinction. His willingness to create wholly original spectacle, mayhem grounded in reality, crafted with skill, sensitivity, and a deep, but mellow Tarantino-esque affection for the freedom of the silver screen renders him the most admirable big- budget blockbuster director working today.

Which is why it's such a goddam shame that his biggest films aren't that great.

Dunkirk recounts the story of the Dunkirk evacuation, probably the most celebrated event of the entire second World War. Hundreds of thousands of British soldiers found themselves pushed back by German forces to the beaches of Dunkirk, so close to Britain that they could see it. Stranded between hell and high water, the British soldiers seemingly had no choice but to wait for the Nazis to pick them off, one by one. In desperation, the British military commandeered everything that could float, from fishing boats to pleasure yachts. And with these small boats, around three hundred thousand British soldiers were saved, at least until they returned to battle. It remains an impressive story even now, not as a military victory, but as a wonderful example of human action, much like the Berlin Airlift of 1948. It can't exactly be labelled as a humanitarian effort, but the fact that so many lives were saved makes it very tempting.

The film tells this story through a tense narrative divided in three: land, sea, and sky. One narrative follows a young British soldier as he attempts to escape the beach, another follows one civilian's attempt to help evacuate, and the third follows an air force pilot as he battles the German airforce above the waves. While this division of narrative allows for more of a story to be told, it ultimately reduces the effect of the film. We are told all three stories at the same time, Nolan cutting from one to the other in a choppy manner, not giving any one story the opportunity to form any sort of emotional resonance or any one character enough screen time for us to develop sympathy for them. The result is a curiously thin experience, curious because each story is rousing enough, but together and at the same time, they become weak. While Interstellar wallowed in maudlin nonsense, Dunkirk finds itself on the opposite side of the spectrum: virtually devoid of feeling.

All that being said, the film is nothing to sneer at. The plane scenes, while occasionally disorienting, are very thrilling, Hoytema more than pulling his weight in that department. The soundtrack, which ticks like a time bomb throughout the entire film, provides the film with a wonderful intensity that kept me engaged and excited. And whatever fears you may have about this PG-13 war film not accurately depicting war in all its horror and brutality, let them rest. Nolan doesn't shy away from the peril of the circumstances, one particularly frightening scene of soldiers burning to death in the middle of the ocean making this clear. However much Nolan was wooed away from the human side of storytelling by the technical aspect of the entire thing, it's always fun -- and terrifying -- to see a great director at work.

As far as acting goes, Hardy and Murphy perform as expected. But of all people, Harry Styles brings it to the table with surprising gusto, outperforming veteran thespians like Branagh and almost even Rylance. It's worth noting that he has no formal training as an actor. However, the drawback of his performance is that he emerges as the only truly compelling character in the entire film. Everyone else, perhaps excluding Murphy's character, is boring, existing as only a ragdoll for all the spectacle and fury to toss about.

Dunkirk isn't a bad film. It's a good, maybe even a great film, turned into somewhat of a mess by non-linearity. There are rousing bits, moments of peril, and a few that are undeniably beautiful. Watching the film and taking into account certain strokes of creative genius, you'll know that you're in the hands of a great director.

However, you're not in the hands of a great writer, and that perhaps makes all the difference.

The Raid: Redemption (2011)

Slogs don't come better than this

[5/10 · 4 January 2017]

The Raid promises "1 minute of romance, 99 minutes of carnage", which for anyone hungry for non-stop violence bodes extremely well. With such a rousing tagline, one envisions a bloody ballet, complete with bullets, punches, explosions and most importantly, the kinetic spirit that makes the best action films the joyfully bombastic escapades they generally are. And, to a certain extent, The Raid delivers. The action scenes are long, brilliantly choreographed, and painted with a healthy coat of thick, crimson blood. Unlike American films, each punch has consequences, and the characters seem almost human in their pain tolerance, while delightfully inhuman in every character and supporting characters' apparent mastery of kung fu.

But beyond the action sequences, The Raid simply is not a good film. The plot is easily understood, but awkwardly staged, staggering from outrageous scenario to outrageous scenario without providing the viewer with the required sense of progression. The ending is abrupt, peddling a strange theme instead of the triumph I expected (and would have greatly appreciated), rendering the film the cinematic equivalent of a half-squeezed lemon. Lovingly squeezed, but half- squeezed nonetheless.

The Raid tells the story of a police raid on an apartment building gone horribly wrong. After his unit is massacred and he finds himself alone and targeted by scores of machete-wielding Indonesians, Rama, a young Indonesian police officer, is forced to fight for his life. If you've seen Dredd (2012), the story is very similar, a lone warrior facing off against an army out to kill him. These films work best when the lone warrior is actually alone, like in Die Hard. John may have had help outside, but inside the building, he was alone except for his wits and his skills. In The Raid, Rama isn't completely alone, which was a poor choice by the screenwriters. It would have been much funner if he was.

But beyond that, the film has little progression. Rama runs around and beats people up, reunites briefly with his estranged brother (a particularly cringe-inducing sequence that seems to have no purpose other than to instill boredom), and coats himself in blood and sweat. Finally, when it seems like the screenwriters have run out of scenarios, they end the film. In that sense, it plays out like a Looney Tunes cartoon, with the villains trying different and disconnected strategies to finish Rama off, only to have Rama to counter with his fists. Once the shock factor wears off, the film becomes painfully repetitive. There is a subplot involving the Lieutenant, but it's trite and forgettable.

Perhaps the best scene in the film, the only one that connects it to the viewer, is that one minute of romance, when Rama, disoriented and confused, stops for a moment and imagines his pregnant wife. That scene reflects the humanity that the rest of the film is so desperately in need of. We try to focus on Rama, but by the actions of the screenwriters and the non-stop action, he is less a character than he is a bloody plot device.

The action scenes are well done, the acting is nothing to be ashamed of, but the film itself, despite almost fulfilling its promise of 99 minutes of carnage, is a colossal bore.

Steve Jobs (2015)

Steve Jobs is fantastic. No, not Steve Jobs. The film is fantastic.

[9/10 · 15 October 2016]

You know you've watched a great film when you come out of it loving someone you've hated for the last decade. In my case, that happens to be Apple's legendary founder and quintessential non-techie tech mogul, Steve Jobs (and to a lesser extent, Seth Rogen, but that's not important). I hated Steve Jobs because I hate Apple and its ridiculous cult following, which I think is still perfectly justified. Apple sells terrible products that seem built to fall apart after a certain amount of time, almost as if every product is built with a detonator set to go off after two years, give or take. They look nice, but lack the processing power and ease of use that makes Windows computers pre-Windows 10 so much superior.

(Jarring P.S.: I'm laughing at the fact that I wrote this review before Samsung blew up)

Of course, now I'm jaded and curmudgeony (probably due to the ridiculous amount of time I spend on IMDb), so I probably hate Apple for no reason whatsoever.

The film, unlike Apple, is awesome. On the surface, it is a complex and intricate character exploration, not just of Jobs, but of those around him as they move forward in life. Digging deeper, it represents wonderfully wholesome cinema, the almost perfect use of two hours of screen time, never lagging or even pausing to catch a breath in a tightly-structured, dialogue-saturated quest to present and explore its titular character.

Sorkin's screenplay comes first and foremost in all respects. The narrative is divided into three small-scale sections, an unconventional and interesting little maneuver that makes the film shine with novelty. The dialogue is fantastic, although it does require an effort to keep up, especially if one isn't familiar with the names of Apple execs and staff in the late 80s. In a way, it's very much like All the President's Men in the way it hurtles along, forcing you to listen and think. Sorkin and Boyle don't care if they leave you behind. And trust me, we're much the better for it.

The performances are also notable, if slightly less than Sorkin's stunning screenplay. Fassbender completely disappears into the titular role, Winslet delivers flawlessly, and even Rogen pulls his (considerable) weight well beyond expectations. As a film propelled by dialogue rather than visuals, these elements cannot be ignored, but the actors themselves make it impossible to do so. They melt into their characters, creating believable, flawed, and really quite inspiring people.

I recommend Steve Jobs on all fronts -- as a character exploration, an intellectual exercise, and most importantly, an excellent film.

Luke Cage (2016–2018)

Lacks everything it shouldn't

[3/10 · 15 October 2016]

Incidentally, the reason television series are rated so highly on IMDb (relative to films) is a simple but interesting little factoid. One cannot readily attribute this rating discrepancy to quality; although the obvious difficulty of systematic comparison cannot be cast off as trivial, television has yet to produce as many lasting cultural artifacts as film. As such, the discrepancy can only be rooted in exposure. IMDb users who enjoy a series will watch it in its entirety and give it an accordingly high rating. Contrarily, users who do not enjoy a series will not watch it in its entirety, and will likely stop part way through. The users who did not enjoy the series will either give it a low rating, or if they consider themselves as unable to vote fairly -- having not watched the series -- will not vote at all. This limits the voter base to being composed mostly of people who have watched the entire series (mostly high-raters), and, of course, IMDb's masterclass squadron of trolls and punks.

Films, on the other hand, are a moderate time investment. Even if the film lags in parts, many continue with the hope that things will get better. Or if things don't, at least the film will end with only a few hours wasted. As such, the voter base for films is much broader, and more opinions -- specifically negative ones -- are accounted for.

I'll come clean now so that this review makes sense: I watched four episodes before giving up, and the fourth I skimmed through with the faint hope that something worthwhile would happen. Nothing did, which is why you're reading this.

Luke Cage is quite possibly the blandest and most tiresome television series I've ever "seen". I tend to avoid television in general, as the time investment seems too great for small, uneven returns, but I was spending quality time with my dad, and our definition of quality time is rather limited in scope. We did get a few select chuckles, the occasional guffaw, a brief but memorable discussion about the difference between a "real man" and a "non- man", and the added joy of hurling insults at the characters and writers, but I don't suppose that any of those were intentional on the part of the show's creators.

For all the uninitiated (consider yourselves lucky), Luke Cage is Powerman, a superhero with impenetrable skin and super strength. To start things off, those are exceedingly bland powers, for multiple reasons:

1. We've seen them before, many, many times 2. These powers guarantee him invincibility. Therefore, there is no risk factor. 3. Does he even have a single goddam weakness?

The sin of bland superpowers could in theory be forgiven if the hero makes up for it in other ways. Charisma, real-life problems, a decent story, and a decent villain all come to mind, but the Luke Cage in this series has none of these. He's good with words, but comes off as unbearably bland and taciturn, an uninspired machine- generated character. His real-life problems seem strangely distant although they're discussed as if they're two seconds from sneaking up and chomping down on his bottom. His story is boring as hell, filled with poorly scripted discussions that make little sense and character development slathered on like a pound of Nutella on a chicken sandwich. And his villain is a nobody, a silly goon who likes beating people up, posing, and saying stupid things that the people around him seem to take as profound.

Deprived of interest, we wished for action. If it's done right, action can save terrible films and shows. And this one especially. Luke Cage is a superhero, and although we may say that we go to superhero films to see the triumph of morality (although nobody says that), we're really there to see things punch other things and things blow up. The humanity is an added bonus. But Luke Cage does very, very little punching. Instead, he talks a whole lot and hulks about without even a grain of an interesting personality. All things considered, this might very well be the show's fatal flaw.

Although I wasn't expecting much at all, Luke Cage managed to disappoint me. Now that's saying something.

10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)

A bundle of massively entertaining scenarios squashed unceremoniously into one

[9/10 · 11 September 2016]

JJ Abrams called 10 Cloverfield Lane a "spiritual successor" to Cloverfield, which proved to be one of the most subtle anti- spirituality comments made so far this year. In case you weren't aware, "spiritual" is actually Abrams-speak for "not at all". Just as "new", in relation to his addition to the Star Wars canon, actually meant "rehashed and served on a glistening chrome platter". In any case, don't trust Abrams, mega-multi-muchacho filmmaker though he is. Trust me instead.

All the pieces of 10 Cloverfield Lane are really quite good. Each thrills sufficiently, and manages to provide substantial and effective suspense accompanied by excellent performances and solid direction by debut filmmaker Dan Trachtenberg. Despite taking on a high-concept approach, Trachtenberg never overwhelms his narrative, a feat given how often great concepts are squashed by vapid stories nowadays. However, when taken as a whole, the film feels curiously haphazard. Segments lack continuity, and the final fifteen minutes are akin to duck feet on a grizzly bear. As far as an under-budgeted claustrophobic thriller goes, it passes with flying colours as a prime example of gold- standard entertainment, but its strange construction makes it difficult to recommend.

Mary Elizabeth Winstead stars as Michelle, who finds herself in a doomsday shelter with two men after a car accident. Although one of the men, Emmett, is the definition of harmlessness, Howard, played by John Goodman, is much more sinister. Howard is the man who built the shelter and brought Michelle there. He serves as the rough, taciturn authourity figure who sees all and knows all, acting supposedly in the best interests of the three members of his tiny, underground world. But Michelle isn't about to follow him without question. She immediately decides that all she wants to do is escape.

Perhaps the most terrifying part of the film is not what's out there, but what's inside. Howard himself is a menacing, idiosyncratic figure who maintains his authourity with a thick ring of keys, a gun, and an iron fist. And yet, he may be not all that he seems. Michelle senses this right off the mark, fuelling her desire to escape. Thus begins their deliriously entertaining game of cat and mouse that plays tricks on our senses with creaks, thumps, and the occasional nasty shock. What makes it all the more terrifying is how frustratingly small the shelter is. A potent sense of claustrophobia is invoked within the viewer, as Michelle plots away against Howard behind his back, but without any knowledge of where that hulking, flabby back might be.

While it's the suspense that drives the film, what elevates it beyond an uncommonly effective thriller are the remarkable performances by each of its three leads. Mary Elizabeth Winstead makes it easy to root for her character. Not only is she especially vulnerable as a woman living with two strange men, she's also an unprecedented badass with more tricks up her sleeve than a professional magician. John Gallagher Jr., while serving as the standard "nice guy" character who offsets Howard's incessant humorlessness, provides the film's emotional foundation.

John Goodman is absolutely petrifying, a villain disguised as a hero. His primary demeanour is that of unfathomable coldness, but his temper tantrums come frequently and with little provocation. In a way, he's a perverse father figure, the guy you spent your childhood tiptoeing around for fear of a beating. Shrouded in mystery, but with enough revealed to make us question his intentions, we spend much of the film guessing as to who Howard truly is beyond a lumbering source of jump scares.

The film's ending is without a doubt the weirdest thing I've seen in a film all year. It isn't surreal or artsy -- common sources of weirdness, but it arrives like a bolt from the blue, a massive contrast with what came before. I've committed to no-spoiler reviews, so I won't tell you exactly what happens. Chances are that you won't like it, but I did. In fact, I loved it. I found it extremely satisfying, and, well, a pretty gosh darn awesome fifteen minutes of pure exhilaration accompanied by a wonderfully climactic finale and a perfect resolution to Michelle's character arc.

Only problem is, it's tangential. The story is segmented by this strange turn of events, which has little, if anything to do with what came before. In any film, unless it's an artistic choice -- which I'm sure Abrams would insist -- a lack of continuity is a major, major problem.

Too many people call 10 Cloverfield Lane a JJ Abrams film. Sure, he produced it. But anyone who knows anything about JJ Abrams should also know that he isn't able to do something like this. Abrams' films are big stories with big budgets meant to be viewed on big screens, and no, Super 8 isn't an exception. So to put 10 Cloverfield Lane's pen in Abrams' hand is a travesty indeed, because to do so negates Trachtenberg's surprising feat: He has created a small story with a small budget, but one that thrills, chills, and spills on a massive scale.

Zootopia (2016)

Comrade Stalin would be proud

[8/10 · 7 September 2016]

Although a children's film with a political message may sound off- putting, Disney scoots around outright indoctrination by making itself as unsubtle as possible. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together, and in this case, four manifests as a plainly obvious "profiling based on biological heritage (aka racism) is bad". It's completely harmless, but shouldn't happen again. Now I don't mean to sound like a doomsday prophet, but this might be only the beginning, a calculated TEST DRIVE for indoctrination in children's films, the first of a slew of increasingly subtle political weapons focused on mass hypnosis. And with these puff pieces, Disney will establish its iron grip over not only our entertainment, but our very SOULS.

I'm kidding. But seriously, though. The entertainment industry shouldn't be educating kids.

Gladly, Zootopia has much to offer beyond an awkward ditty on racism. The story is action-packed and intelligently executed, the animation is typically gorgeous, and the thrills come fast and hard. Although it occasionally feels like a frustratingly juvenile music video, it's mostly stellar entertainment that's sure to please kids and adults alike. It's especially timely as a film that breaks Disney's cold streak of artificial and unoriginal fluff, which comes as a personal relief.

Zootopia plays like a furry, buddy-cop hoodunit with all the warm, fuzzy fixings. Judy Hopps, the first rabbit on the Zootopia Police Force, is an idealistic young rabbit raring to make a difference. But, as with every eager beaver these days, her dreams are quickly crushed by a careless "meter maid" assignment, cold-blooded (though not literally) superiors, and a particularly eye-opening encounter with a wily fox, who, just in case you were wondering, is a fox. And yes, I suppose you'd call him wily.

From this setup, the film bounds into charted, but massively entertaining territory as the unlikely rabbit-fox duo find themselves cracking the case of a streak of missing mammals across Zootopia. As a caper filled with twists and turns, guffaw-inducing humour, and surprising depth of character, Zootopia succeeds brilliantly. As an added bonus, the wit is present and ever-so- obvious, ranging from tricks of the eye to comical verbal gags. There's a scene in which Judy says that rabbits aren't good at adding, but great at multiplication. Hopefully that one goes over the kids' heads, but my adolescent self stifled a chortle of appreciation.

Ignoring the ham-fistedness of the film's message, Zootopia is a raucous, gleeful little film that trumpets Disney's return to form with startling certainty.

And please ignore my clickbait title.

Sleeping Giant (2015)

A mesmerising Greco-Canadian tragedy

[8/10 · 2 September 2016]

You could be forgiven for thinking that this is a monster film, but the "Sleeping Giant" to which the title refers is not actually some great, dozing behemoth. Rather, the giant in question is the pent- up, sleeping aggression that boils in a boy's mind, his violent nature that, for the good of himself and others, must be kept hidden and forgotten. Andrew Cividino's debut film, a haunting piece about three teenage boys who battle through their boredom on the shores of Lake Superior, explores this unsettling reality of the teenage experience with startling precision and a steady hand. With the majority of modern teenage cinema focussing on serving up ridiculous morbidity and sex objects on a badly-made platter (Hunger Games, I'm looking at you) and the celebrated classics of the genre focussing on created a homogenized teenage reality with which we supposedly all identify (Boyhood, I'm looking at you) this film, a film that dares to show a little truth, is an especially timely slap in the face. Not only that, but I can say with confidence that Sleeping Giant is the best film I've seen all year.

Jackson Martin plays the protagonist of the film, Adam, a reticent fifteen-year old who exists, along with his friends Nate and Riley, in a state of perpetual boredom. Although the other two readily participate in all sorts of strange little schemes, it's Nate who drives them from one distraction to the next. Riley shares Nate's restlessness, but lacks the recklessness and bravado that solidifies Nate as the leader of the bunch. And Adam serves as the quiet voice of moderation, who goes mostly ignored, teetering on the fine line between retaining his principles and belonging with the people around him.

It isn't just his friends who make him feel this way. Adam's father treats Riley better than he treats Adam, and the girl he likes, Taylor, is making eyes at Riley. But what is Adam to do? Living a secluded life and brimful of boredom, his friends offer the only available respite. So he goes along, robbing convenience stores (their getaway vehicle is a golf cart), smoking weed in a bum's trailer, and in a particularly anarchic scene, tying a firecracker to a skateboard. As the boys test the limits of their power, they grow more confident, more fearless, almost even suicidal. But don't you dare think that you're in for a coming-of-age film.

This isn't a film about maturation. It's a film that addresses its subjects: teenage boys. It explores their hearts and minds, and the toxicity lurking in them. Nate is a stone-cold psycho, but it's frightening how recognizable he is. His dialogue is vulgar and bloated, but not unrealistic. And Nick Serino's performance is worthy of commendation ten times over.

The direction is fantastic. The film is shot in an unabashedly Canadian fashion, reveling in the landscape and in bodies rather than faces. For a debut, the subtlety is incredible. Brief suggestions and striking lines capture our attention and urge us to think about their implications. Part of it is sheer guesswork, but some of it pays off. If anything, it makes the film a more engaging experience.

Cividino's film is autobiographical in more ways than one. First of all, the setting is gathered straight from Cividino's childhood. But more importantly, the film reflects how he experienced those lonely shores, how he coped with boredom, and how poisonous his options were. As Adam descends further into juvenile savagery, he begins to develop strange -- but admittedly relatable -- little habits. He becomes fascinated with a fishmonger that his father is having an affair with, going so far as to place a telescope outside her house and watch her undress. He lies to his parents, Taylor, and finally to his friends.

The final confrontation refers back to ancient Greek tragedies. The threads of fate are tied by this point, we know what's going to happen, and when it does, we realize that it didn't even need to, which makes it all the more heartbreaking.

The only thing the film lacks is a real ending. Sure, it ends, but it seems to come out of nowhere. Something momentous has happened, at least in my mind, but the ending doesn't seem to do the harsh beauty of the film justice, freeze-framing the story in a way that's very, very unsatisfying. This is a problem, but still only a minor blunder that I'll admit is subject to taste.

As they say, boys will be boys. And guess what? They're right.

Kung Fu Panda 3 (2016)

Nothing special. Actually, nothing at all.

[6/10 · 18 August 2016]

Many consider the worst second and third entries in a trilogy to be, respectively, The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions. To justify this sentiment, you'd only have to immerse yourself in the aforementioned films for all of five minutes, or if that doesn't prove sufficient, steel yourself and bump it up to ten. Or you can take my word for it and save yourself the trouble.

But my personal sacred classic spoiled by awful follow-ups, forming the most uneven trilogy in existence, is Kung Fu Panda. Kung Fu Panda, an animated film about a talking panda who does kung fu (duh!) is one of my favourite films of all time, and with good reason. The animation snaps, the story crackles, and the themes pop. And if that isn't enough, it has really delicious looking bowls of noodle soup.

Kung Fu Panda 2, in contrast, is the cinematic equivalent of prehistoric sludge. In the context of its predecessor, it shouldn't even exist (Po unlocks God mode in the first film). It's like making a sequel to Gandhi, or, for that matter, The Matrix. It doesn't make an ounce of goddam sense.

The third thankfully appreciates Po's godliness, and works around it in a way that respects the "lore" (no other word comes to mind, I'm afraid) of Po. But, as a narrative, the film feels like a TV show: contained, toothless, and squeezed into a runtime that doesn't do the story justice. As with the first two, the animation is seamless, but it never reaches the same visual or emotional heights of the first film.

The corruption of Po's character is most obvious. Po used to be concerned with semi-real things, but after an endless barrage of extended "Aw-suuuum"s, one finds it hard to appreciate Po beyond anything more than a crazed fanboy. Po's endearing passion for kung fu ceases to become an asset, morphing instead into a unfunny and deeply dehumanizing disposition that removes depth from his character (which, sadly, was already there). What a troll.

As far as villainy goes, Po's latest adversary falls flat. He's basically a big fat yak who jacks "chi" from everyone he meets and turns them into his slaves. Apart from the fact that he was kind of big, he didn't seem like a threat at all. His design is nice though, which is probably the only thing that KFP 3 does better than the first: they made a villain that has interesting garb, rather than floppy purple pants that look like they were made out of a Scrabble bag.

The film does have its moments. Sometimes it feels like an old action film, like when Po trains alone to face his adversary while said adversary steadily approaches. Sometimes it's very well designed and executed. The prettiness never seems to overwhelm, either, which is nice. But this notwithstanding, most of Kung Fu Panda 3 is forgettable and inoffensive, the sort of bland summer entertainment that merits a single watch. Or perhaps, if you live a less lethargic life than I do, a viewing total of 0 would suffice.

For a Few Dollars More (1965)

More dollars, less fun

[6/10 · 8 August 2016]

I'm a sucker for Westerns, apparently. Who wouldn't be? Few such works of uninhibited masculinity exist, and fewer still are entertaining enough to maintain my interest for more than an hour at a time, much less three. Fewer still pulsate with the raw energy and power embodied in those empty spaces, those quiet staring contests between men capable of blowing each other to bits with a twitch of their dusty digits, those treacherous wastelands, those hostile encounters, and those crusty, bearded, cigarette-chewing men imbued with only a desire to survive and succeed, no matter the cost. And in the case of this film, fewer still can boast being the established icons of the genre, the first films that come associated with the word "Western".

Then why is For a Few Dollars More as middling as it is? In my humble opinion, For a Few Dollars More pales in comparison to its predecessor, the wonderfully entertaining Fistful of Dollars. The reasons for this are not few in number, but rather small in breadth. Basic, technical slip-ups resulting in an experience that feels curiously thinner and less satisfying. Sure, For a Few Dollars More has its moments, but when taken as a whole, it's a forgettable film that lacks the intelligence, energy, and sheer grit of the first and third films in Sergio Leone's legendary Dollars trilogy.

As with its predecessor (but unlike its sequel), For a Few Dollars More concerns itself with moments rather than a calculated execution of a narrative. This in itself is excusable; it leads to a sort of haphazard adventure tinged with potent thrill. A scant narrative is undoubtedly better than one burdened by inscrutable complexity. But For a Few Dollars More simply can't deliver on those moments comprising its sustenance. Most of them, excluding a fantastic scene involving hats -- which I consider the second best scene in the whole trilogy -- are honestly quite boring. Leone draws them out to unnecessary length, which, while delivering on his old West portraits of masculinity, seem to stretch on indefinitely without sufficient reason or motivation. This effect is worsened by the fact that Leone gives us little to care about. In the first film, one could easily appreciate Eastwood's raw intelligence; after some time, it would be easy to care about him, at least to the point that you hope that he survives the predicament in which he finds himself.

In a Few Dollars More, Eastwood's character is sidelined to allow Lee Van Cleef, who plays another superhuman bounty killer, to take center stage. And Van Cleef's cockiness destroys any notion of sympathy we might have had for him, while Eastwood, without sufficient space to exercise his intelligence, becomes a violent rodent far removed from the Bugs Bunny-ish wit of his original character. The villain is interesting as well, but Leone spends too much time making him seem troubled which serves little purpose. I don't like it when writers see fit to direct our sympathy towards unsympathetic characters. If Leone wanted to insert some effective character development, he should have given the villain's henchmen more screen time. By the time the film reached its disjointed and confusing climactic battle, I was still trying to figure out who everyone even was.

The rest of the film is a whole lot of sitting and waiting. The innovation runs dry by the second half and the thrills die quickly off the mark. The action scenes feel limp and overdone while the staredowns become predictable. The ending is nowhere near as satisfying as the ending of Fistful of Dollars. And as with the other two, the dubbing is disgusting.

I'm a sucker for Westerns, yes, but that doesn't mean that I'm completely blind to mediocrity. Of course, as I gave this film a generous 6, I can't say for certain that I'm seeing clearly.

Napoleon Dynamite (2004)

Dynamite

[10/10 · 25 July 2016]

In order to truly understand the nature of this film, one must examine its title. Napoleon Dynamite is just that: Dynamite. The film is a wonderful collection of strange, zany pockets of narrative explosive, each brimming with a tantalizing anarchism that somehow manages to remain grounded in reality. The hero -- who has by now become my hero -- is a ruthlessly lethargic nerd, his hair a curly red mess and his face the portrait of lassitude. And yet, despite the distaste one would expect for such an ugly fellow, it is almost impossible not to fall in love with his glorious little quirks.

Napoleon Dynamite revolves around its titular character, and his strange and comical interactions with the people and world around him. It follows a thin narrative that isn't so much a narrative as an excuse to propel each hilarious moment forward in a logical manner. In truth, the film is composed of moments, not plot. There are a few aspects that serve as a sort of makeshift narrative, including Napoleon's interactions with Pedro, Deb, and Uncle Rico, but it seems as if this is done solely out of necessity. This doesn't mean that there isn't any sense of progression, because there is. It's just not that important when stacked up against the film's wonderful free spirit.

However, the film isn't a masterpiece until the credits have finished rolling and you return to the DVD's menu screen. It is only then that you realize what the director has done, which is this: He has gathered together a troop of extremely strange and vulnerable characters, and has done the unthinkable: Let them alone. Despite each character's obvious ridiculousness, they are never taken advantage of, subject to cruelty or humiliated. They are never, ever shaken from their idyllic little existences, even though doing so would be simple and likely quite funny. And best of all, Hess does what Jon Hughes could not do: he doesn't force his characters to change. By the end of the film, everyone is the same as they were at the beginning, except (perhaps) a little older. And that is where the beauty of the film resides. It has a terrifying capacity for cruelty, but never succumbs to it, demonstrating a beautiful tenderness that is quite rare in modern cinema. Hess foregoes profundity, meaning, and progression all in the name of compassion.

And that is why, with no hesitation at all, I can say with confidence that Napoleon Dynamite is the greatest film I have ever seen.

Inside Out (I) (2015)

Pixar goes for plastic

[4/10 · 25 July 2016]

Flaws notwithstanding, Inside Out is a capitalist's perverse dream come true -- however his dream manifests outside of his subconscious is commendable within itself. It's a highly-anticipated film put out by the biggest animation studio in the world, packed with enough goofy jokes to satisfy children and enough reliably maudlin manipulation in the form of homogenized adolescence to please adults. The concept explodes with novelty and the animation is brilliant. And best of all, its main characters all come in fuzzy, furry, huggable forms that will no doubt sell mountains upon mountains of stuffed animals and other such material detritus until the faces of Joy, Sadness, Anger, Disgust, and Fear are plastered by fingerpaint-stained hands onto the pages of the haplessly constructed book of icons and dank memes ("o sh_t waddup").

Inside Out is blatantly artificial. The film is mired in concept and marketability, sacrificing a solid narrative - which Pixar usually promises - as a result.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

Grand Budapest: A completely non-vapid exercise in style

[9/10 · 12 June 2016]

Excluding Uwe Boll, Wes Anderson has likely the most distinct visual style in modern film. His set-pieces brim with colour and detail, yes, but his most obvious stylistic abnormality resides in the presentation of his bijou quirks to the audience. Instead of intensely revealing all that is going on in a scene with a single brutally long tracking shot - a la Inarritu -- Anderson opts instead for the short and sweet, a usually center-framed ground- level shot with a large depth of field that moves only on a rail, pivot, or gratuitous zoom. If it were anyone other than Anderson behind the wheel, the film that adopted this style would surely devolve into monotonous repetition by the ten-minute mark.

But then you have something like this:

You see, there are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity. Indeed that's what we provide in our own modest, humble, insignificant... oh, f*** it.

And that is precisely why I love Wes Anderson. His dialogue, and for that matter, his set-pieces and even the most trivial of details are all imbued with joyous irreverence, narrative glee, and fantastic explosion of shapes and colours that even the most CGI-encrusted extravaganzas couldn't even come close to comparison. At times, his visual style becomes the substance of the film that carries it from scene to scene, never allowing the film to segue into monotony.

The plot itself is an afterthought compared to the film's visual euphoria. However, the performances, specifically Fiennes', are not. Fiennes plays M. Gustave, the legendary proprietor of The Grand Budapest Hotel, who is charged with the murder of the woman (Tilda Swinton) who left him a priceless painting, Boy with Apple. Fiennes exploits his character's wide spectrum of comportment -- from surprising eloquence to equally surprising vulgarity -- with meticulous skill, charmingly deadpan in every single line he delivers.

The film is a jumble of quirks and lightness until its conclusion. It suddenly takes a sombre tone, ending on a rather heavy note. Anderson is able to pull off this tonal shift by maintaining his unique style throughout, but the ending is effective in itself. It leaves the audience simultaneously satisfied and sad, urging them to think about the implications of what they have just witnessed: a lovely film built around a madcap style that explores the extent of the narrative, the pure act of storytelling itself, and the outer reaches of what we call empathy.

Aurélie Laflamme: Les pieds sur terre (2015)

Aurelie Laflamme is on solid ground

[8/10 · 5 June 2016]

I should write this review in french, but there's no way in hell I'm going to spend two hours smacking my head against a table until cool verbs and correct sentence structures come to mind. So if you're French and wanted a french review, I'm sorry.

Aurelie Laflamme: Les pieds sur la terre is standard adolescent cinema; the sort that sees you and your group of friends - it would be a shame to watch a film like this alone - laughing at every silly line, moaning at every dumb decision, judging each character with appropriate vehemence, and all secretly locked with unspoken terror to the screen, wondering how on earth the film can ever resolve in a manner both plausible and satisfying. This taken with impressive technique and an occasional burst of gleeful surrealism makes the film an altogether enjoyable and good-natured experience, even if the plot eventually falls into utter confusion by the end.

The film takes place two years after the events of the first film (although it was released six years later). Aurelie is in her final year of high school and in the process of choosing what she wants to do with her life. Of course, she has to deal with this on top of growing pains, romantic frustration, increased pressure, a mystifying love triangle, school marks, a new dad, a job, and the list goes on ad infinitum. For a little independent film that spans 113 minutes, the multiple plot lines and conflicts prove difficult to resolve within the running time, some left hanging and others wrapped up with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer. As Aurelie progresses through the year, certain conflicts arise and friendships are tested -- you know, standard teen cinema kind of stuff. And as with standard teen cinema, some of it is unnecessarily laced with jarring "wisdom", while other bits are frustratingly vapid, especially Aurelie's interactions with Aubrey (her "enemy" throughout the film) and JB (some random dude who isn't actually Justin Bieber).

This notwithstanding, I thought the film was good. The dialogue is occasionally quite intelligent, and many of the performances -- notably including Marianne Verville, who is perfectly cast and acts with lovable enthusiasm -- are surprisingly good. The direction is also impressive; the film gleams with an obvious technical ability absent from many indie films. It's a great film to watch with friends, preferably those who tend to get vocal when watching films, because it's a film that's fun to get vocal about. Whether or not on purpose, many of the characters are shaded in ambiguity, making it especially easy to take sides and place bets on the outcome.

My issues with the film are significant, but I can't deny that I had a good time with it, even to the point of shedding a few - but only a few - tears at its conclusion. I applaud Ms. Verville and Mr. Tremblay on their respective performances, as well as Mr. Monette's stellar direction, and wish them all the best in the business.

To Be An (2014)

Lovely short with a fantastic conclusion

[30 May 2016]

Jeong Ung Song is one of the few under-the-radar directors who is able to say a lot with a little. One need only watch his one-minute short, To Be An (which happens to his only IMDb credit despite his extensive filmography) to understand his wonderfully basic genius that extends beyond dreams of a Hollywood contract. Really, it's something to behold. I can only admire a director/screenwriter who is able to tell a convincing story -- complete with character development and a fantastic twist ending -- in the meager and almost impossible span of a minute. If that weren't impressive enough, the film itself is stylistically arresting, each shot formed with obvious care and attention to detail and cast in a lovely black and white filter that renders the visuals irresistible.

I would recommend that you check this short film out (it's on Vimeo) if you have a minute to spare. Which I'm sure you do, so check this film out.

Ben-Hur (1959)

Hollywood's Great Epic

[7/10 · 8 May 2016]

Hollywood has forgotten the epic. Instead of the grand, sweeping and powerful stories -- complete with an overture and intermission -- that characterized cinema of the late 50s and early 60s, our "epics" are shapeless bores without likable characters and original stories. Instead of chariot races charged with righteous vengeance (and moral ambiguity), we have Matthew Mcconaughey conquering the galaxy with Southern-tongued exposition unintentionally bespeckled with gleeful hilarity.

If you're thirsting for something loud and powerful (as I was), then Ben-Hur is the film for you. It's unabashedly epic, thunderous, and raw, eliciting wows at every twist, turn, and gargantuan set piece it throws your way. Charlton Heston plays the righteous Jewish prince, returned from wrongful imprisonment in the galleys to take revenge on the man who imprisoned him, his big shiny teeth flashing in the sunlight.

The action scenes themselves are stunning. The chariot race is one of the most fantastically involving sequences I have ever seen.

However, it's undeniable Jewish propaganda, especially considering the glaring historical inaccuracy -- or in this case, a purposeful exclusion of historical facts . And yet, with multiple Jesus cameos, it sees fit to pass itself off as a Christian film. As a sort of religious outsider, I have no right to comment on that, though. What I can comment on is the flowery dialogue. It's consistently sweeping, yes, but also consistently drawn out and occasionally laughably cheesy.

But it's epic. And I suppose that given the sheer entertainment value offered up by this film, its faults are barely more than an afterthought.