someokiedude Reviews

Life of Brian (1979)

One of Python's Best

[10/10 · 19 February 2021]

While I still prefer Holy Grail and find that it's Python at their silliest, I find that Life of Brian is Python at their most profound. Life of Brian is also different from Holy Grail and The Meaning of Life, as it has a more cohesive narrative than the other two. Perhaps one could make the argument that Holy Grail has a narrative as well, but I'd say that Grail's narrative is pretty loose, not that it's a bad thing, considering Holy Grail is my favorite of the Python films. But I find that Life of Brian achieves a sense of solidarity that the other two don't have, though of course with Python's signature oddball comedy thrown in for good measure.

While many people view Life of Brian as a satire of religion, I would say that while true, it's a rather narrow way of looking at it. It's not particularly a satire on religion itself, but rather on the people who follow religion and how they can often mix up or misinterpret Jesus' words. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said that to be great is to be misunderstood, and this is the central thesis of Life of Brian. Greatness often tends to get misunderstood, and no greater figure has ever been more misunderstood than Jesus, but Python proves that they are much more acute students of human history than meets the eye, and they understand that it's not the actual words of Jesus that cause people to be violent or spread misery, but the people who either misunderstand those words and misconstrue them to justify horrible acts, or more egregiously, manipulate the words of Jesus for their own ends.

It would be quite easy to make the believers in this film seem like ignorant, frivolous morons but Python instead chooses to make them into likable, well intentioned, if not slightly naive people. Python knows well the allure of religion and decides to explore why people decide to follow it in the first place. While Python spares no expense in mocking and jeering at them, there is also an empathy and understanding for them as well. They never stoop to dismissing them or condemning them as evil or moronic for what they believe, but in the end they're just people who lack certainty in their lives and Python understands such pain and angst, even if they don't necessarily agree with their conclusion.

Despite its often mean spirited humor, Life of Brian is also a joyful, uproarious, and even quite delightful experience to sit through. Python's humor is unpredictable, crass, intelligent, and even childish at times, it's pure Python to say the least. Much like Holy Grail, Life of Brian is deceptively simplistic, hiding a much more unique insight into the human condition, but Python never seeks to act like they have the answers, but they do have their own insights and offer their own conclusions, as all great artists do, for the audience to digest or discard. Their satire is broad, attacking political partisanship, religious zealotry, misunderstandings, and plenty of other subjects. While Python's humor seems random and bizarre, it is always thought out, coherent, and much more intelligent than people give credit to.

Much like Se7en, Life of Brian is also a deceptively nihilistic film, mocking religion and telling people that 'life is pain, deal with it', but when you look more closely you'll find that nothing could be further from the truth. While Life of Brian does flirt with nihilism and relentlessly makes fun of religion, I'd say that once you watch the film and digest its themes, one will find that the message of Life of Brian is quite the opposite of nihilism. Yes, life can be painful, uncertain, and dreary, but it is also filled with joy, laughter, friendship, and love as well and when life does seem hopeless, remember the good aspects of the world rather than wallow in the bad aspects of it. It's more of an optimistic existentialist message about finding your own path in life, and to take joy in living life now, rather than wallow about all the silly things that come later down the line.

How someone could be so mean spirited, rude, and provocative while also being joyful, hopeful, and heartfelt at the same time is still a mystery for me. But that is the magic of Python and I don't think anyone will ever beat them at it.

The Kid (1921)

My Favorite Silent Film.

[10/10 · 17 February 2021]

Alfred Hitchcock was said to have said that he wanted to make films that, even if there wasn't any dialogue in it, his viewers would understand what was going on throughout the film's runtime. I often question if that's even possible, I'm unsure if certain films could be understandable just by watching pantomime. Could films like 12 Angry Men, A Few Good Men, or Locke be just as great by using physical movement as much as it is by its sharply written dialogue?

While silent films have mainly become a delicacy for aficionados nowadays, they were actually quite popular in their day, and none were more so than Chaplin. As a child, I was quite taken with Chaplin's physical comedy and would watch many clips of his best moments on the internet. I would even mimic his famous Tramp walk even up into my teenaged years, but I didn't realize just how thoughtful, emotional, and even profound that he could be until I was older, and no where it this more clear than with The Kid, my favorite of his films and my favorite silent film.

I often like to say that Chaplin is the Charles Dickens of cinema, and it's true in more ways than one. Both were working class chaps who rose through the ranks in order to become some of the most beloved talents of their day, both had a keep social awareness and wit that keeps their works alive in the modern age, and both knew how to entertain their audiences while also not being afraid to be intelligent and thoughtful. Though the irony isn't lost in the fact that Dickens predominately used words to express the way that he viewed the world, while Chaplin used pantomime as well as the visual medium of filmmaking to express his.

The Kid is a rather straight-forward story, with Chaplin's famous character The Tramp taking on a young apprentice, and with that we get a deeply felt, heart warming story about an odd duo attempting to make their way in the world, and a strong bond and chemistry between Chaplin and co-star Jackie Coogan which would birth one of the most touching sequences ever to be put in a film, and one that's caused me to choke up from its sheer earnestness.

Despite The Kid's emotional sensitivity and appeals to pathos, The Kid is also a light hearted, even delightful film. Chaplin was an entertainer first, and his humor is often uproarious and constantly rolling along. His mastery of physical comedy and slapstick, along side with a tender exploration of poverty and human connection, brings a nicely balanced story, and one that proves to be entertaining as it is reflective. Chaplin's satire is vigorous, biting, and self aware, but he never stoops into cynicism or losing faith in mankind's goodness.

Chaplin's skill with using physical movement and visual storytelling to convey pathos is second to none. While most silent film stars of the time mainly used the medium for light entertainment, or to spread the occasional revisionist propaganda, but Chaplin was one of the first who actually used the medium of film to his advantage and explore more difficult, challenging topics. Like Griffith, he had the foresight to see that film could be much more than mere entertainments (though without the racism). Chaplin was a man who wanted to make the world as bright as it could be, he was one who wasn't afraid to embrace hope without stooping into escapism or overt melodramatics, he was a man who made it his life's mission to make the world as good and beautiful as it could be. Chaplin will always be the eternal optimist, undaunted by cynicism or pessimism.

With The Kid, Chaplin showed the world what he could truly do, with all restraints off, and that he wasn't just a one trick funny man. I'm sure that there are other great silent comedies out there, though whether any of them will ever beat Chaplin, I remain in doubt.

Aliens (1986)

Way Better than It Was Supposed To Be, For Sure.

[8/10 · 14 February 2021]

In 1979, a young James Cameron, along with many other moviegoers, film lovers, and science fiction and horror fans were transfixed by a unique and revolutionary film that would come to define the science fiction horror sub-genre: Ridley Scott's Alien. Like many, he would be in awe of just how Ridley Scott and crew managed to make a film that felt so fresh, so reinvigorating, and so original. I know that I, as well as anyone would be terrified in taking this on, but somehow Cameron makes a film that has the same feel of Alien, but also distinguishes itself from Alien at the same time.

A sequel to one of the greatest science fiction horror films of all time sounded odd to most people, with Cameron himself later admitting that even he initially didn't want to see a sequel for Alien, or to make one for that matter. Yet somehow, inexplicably, Cameron would go on to make what many people consider to be a film that's as good, if not even better than the original (which I contest, but I'll get to that as I go along).

Aliens is a slightly different beast from the original film, Ebert would go on to call Aliens a roller coaster ride of intensity, rather than its more quieter, subtler predecessor. I wouldn't be surprised if Cameron took a note from John Carpenter in how to combine theatrical intensity and genuine suspense. Much like with the original Alien, Cameron never allows you an out when dealing with these creatures, either you're all in or you're completely out. But it's not afraid to be fun either, it's certainly a film that knows what it is, and it has no fear in being fun and awesome while also being suspenseful and tense. It's a feat that few directors can pull off, and Cameron manages to do so with finesse for the most part.

On the other hand, I was quite surprised by the sensitivity and intelligence that this film was sometimes able to demonstrate, particularly with its characters. Not unlike Alien, much of the best conflicts that are in this film comes from the characters, their personalities and motivations, and the film is careful not to over indulge in the action to the point where one may get annoyed and demand to get to the aliens already, not unlike Alien, it allows you to invest in these characters and their lives, makes you cheer for them and fear for them and hope that they all get out alright, it is this that I think sets Aliens above other action films of its type.

Weaver is excellent in this film, and is clearly the strongest part of it. Much like with Alien, she brings a level headedness to the role, she's the only one who's willing to act against all other circumstances, she's smart, can think on her feet, she's the only one who can be calm and think clearly in a high pressure situation. Much like with the first Alien movie, her change from a completely traumatized wreck of a woman into a hard boiled badass, but also isn't afraid to show a sensitive side to herself, such as with her connection to Newt. The rest of the cast are also stellar, with some of them going on to become noted character actors like Bill Paxton, Lance Henriksen, and Michael Biehn.

But is it better than the original film, as some say? Some say yes, but I give a firm no. While it can't be denied that Aliens is well written, directed, and acted, with great action and suspense, I found that the film was missing the psychology and subtlety that made the original Alien such an engrossing and lasting feature. It made the Xenomorph less of a frightening, unstoppable force, more than another movie monster to shoot and kill. Certainly, it was still menacing and threatening, but it wasn't quite as suspenseful, not quite as disturbing, it was more cliched and predictable, more Hollywood to put it frankly. I would expect Cameron, who has a notorious reputation for being a stingey perfectionist to understand this, but I was disappointed that he didn't seem to fully comprehend it.

But Britton, one may say, there's the quiet moments of suspense in the film, surely you can't ignore those moments. There were, there's no denying it, I felt like it was having too much fun with itself, too in love with the spectacle of the action and theatrics, rather than any lingering suspense or tension. As previously said, I found that Aliens had slightly missed the quiet intensity and subtle psychological horror that made the first film so endlessly engrossing and fascinating, and it's something that I continually struggle to forgive.

Despite its flaws however, Aliens proves to be a worthy successor to the original, even if there were aspects of it that I find were lacking. It is certainly better written, directed, and acted than many of its contemporaries, and even more so than many films of its type today. If you asked me which order you should see the Alien films, I'd recommend the first one and this one, and then leave out all the rest.

Malcolm & Marie (2021)

Free Jazz, as a Movie.

[7/10 · 10 February 2021]

Like the free jazz of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, or Sun Ra, Malcolm & Marie is a film that runs free and refuses to be constrained or easily defined, almost beckoning you to attempt to understand it, but never offering a safety net or a definitive answer for its own ponderings. It is elusive and difficult to penetrate despite its rather straightforward set up of a couple, debating amongst themselves and each other on if their relationship is truly fruitful or sustainable, almost like a stage play in its approach.

It is a film that has been labeled as 'pretentious,' which is certainly understandable, some of its dialogues often go on and on, talking about topics in a way that some might find to feel wanting or desperate to sound profound or meaningful. But I never felt the condescension and self importance of The Matrix or the more egregious self-aggrandizement that Lars von Trier is capable of, attempting to convince everyone how 'deep' and meaningful he is, Malcolm & Marie felt more genuine in its approach in its ponderings. It caused me to go through conflicting feelings while watching it, I laughed (rather it be by design or not), I was shocked, I was confused, and even caught off guard emotionally. Many of the arguments and raw emotion that's touched upon in Malcolm & Marie gave me some uncomfortable flashbacks to arguments that I've had with people in my life, ones that veered into more personal matters and got extremely uncomfortable. But, if I were asked what I think of the film, I can't really say that I know what to make of it, to be certain.

What I can say for certain however is that John David Washigton and Zendaya are both excellent, I must say that I've been impressed with Zendaya's change through the last couple of years, as most Disney alumni of her ilk tend to either burn out (often in dramatic fashion) or fade away into obscurity, but she's an exception to the rule, and one that I've been glad to see. She is mesmerizing in the role, carrying a bitterness and a sardonic wit, while also not afraid to let out her emotional vulnerabilities. Washington's performance is also fantastic, he speaks with the eloquence and grace, as well as the intensity that is clearly from his father, the great Denzel Washington, but also captures a physical versatility as well, which is very unlike Denzel's more reticent, cautious style of acting. I wonder if Malcolm is meant to have autism, considering that I myself have the disorder and noticed several tendencies, such as his lack of awareness for social cues, an insensitivity to others feelings, and often acting out in strange ways, such as punching and kicking around when alone and ranting to himself, though perhaps that was something that director Sam Levinson may not have even intended. Washington and Zendaya play well off of each other throughout the film's runtime, often challenging one another to see which one will break first, to see who will outclass the other. Another thing that can be praised for certain is the film's impeccable sense of design, with its evocative cinematography and score, mostly consisting of old classics from James Brown, Duke Ellington, and the aforementioned John Coltrane.

The film is certainly flawed in several ways, with the film basically being a series of long monologues, it can feel tedious at points. It was quite disappointing at times when I caught myself becoming distracted with something else. It's not to say that a film of this type can't be done well, as films like 12 Angry Men, Locke, and Glengarry Glen Ross have shown full well that it's possible to have a film basically be a bunch of conversations and still be riveting from beginning to end, even Shakespeare had the remarkable ability of using language in a way where it made mundane conversations feel powerful, unique, and even inspiring. Sam Levinson is not always such a man, while he can craft scenes that are powerful and emotionally challenging, he can just as well veer off into diatribes that make him feel wanting, as if he's trying too hard to be profound and unique. While I did say that Malcolm & Marie is better with its more ponderous nature, that doesn't mean that its flaws can be excused or that it can fall into the traps of other films like it.

Malcolm & Marie is a film that's often oscillating between tones, themes, character motivation, and so on. It was occasionally sad, occasionally funny, occasionally joyous, occasionally tragic. It is a film that is often elusive, leaving you more befuddled and curious than you were when you first began to watch it, giving no safety nets for the audience and only giving you. All you're given is the characters, as they are, sometimes saying one thing, while their actions suggest another. I often questioned to myself about what this film was even about, and if I truly 'got it.' If you asked me, it was about two broken people, whose lives are lost for two very different reasons, rather it be from insecurity, addiction, emotional turmoil, and so on. It's about two people who are both toxic to each other, but are also meant for each other in their own unusual way. It's a romance, one that's doomed to fail eventually, and then eventually getting up for the next day is just a statement to their denial of the situation that they're in and an indication that they've learned nothing from their previous experiences, and the cycle continues on.

In the end, It's one of those movies where I'm unsure if I liked it, hated it, or just thought that it was ok. But I do know that it had me thinking and I won't be forgetting about it anytime soon.

Edward Scissorhands (1990)

One of Burton's Finest...

[10/10 · 8 February 2021]

Burton has lamented over the years that Edward Scissorhands is his personal favorite work, and his most personal one. You can certainly feel the love and care that he put into this film, and it shows. Edward Scissorhands is probably his most heartfelt and emotionally warm feature that he's ever done. While his films tend to be offbeat, madcap romps with a macabre, gothic edge, Edward Scissorhands is probably his most emotional feature (at least that I've seen), while still retaining his wackier, energetic style that he's become known for over the years.

Burton is self aware, but never cruel or cynical with his satire. His depiction of surburbia is just as fantastical, offbeat, and madcap as any of the other fantasy worlds that Burton and co have dreamed up. Burton's satire comes from the perspective of a curious child, mystified and perplexed by the odd ways that their parents operate, rather than the pessimistic, jaded edge of an angsty teenager or a world-weary, sardonic adult. It is mocking and jeering, but also loving in its offbeat, oddball sensibility that only Tim Burton is capable of when on his top form. Elfman's score is also fitting for the film, as all great scores are. It is whimsical, playful, and even etherial, but also ironic and biting in its own satirical elements. Much like Spielberg and Williams, Burton and Elfman are collaborators who work like a finely tuned machine.

Depp is at his peak form here, the best that he's ever delivered if you asked me. This was at his peak in the 90s where he really came into his own and showed the world that he was more than a teen sex symbol. He brings a deeply felt emotional sensitivity to the character of Edward and captures the innocent, child-like personality of his character perfectly. I often dislike when people say that an actor 'disappears into the character', but Depp brings an earnestness to the character that makes you buy into the idea that he is this character at play. The rest of the acting is great, from Anthony Michael Hall's turn in a villainous role to Pam Grier and Alan Arkin's roles as Kim's parents, and most importantly Winona Ryder as Kim, who becomes Edward's love interest. It is the relationship that gives the film most of its heart and power that makes it so lasting after all of these years.

I also wonder if Edward has a form of Aspergers disorder, which would make sense with Burton himself suffering from the disorder and it also creates another subtext that I can also latch onto, considering my own experiences with the disorder. Much like other sufferers of Aspergers, Edward is awkward, slow to understand normal human interactions, and not always aware of how to make friends. This often leads to some of the film's more humorous moments, as well as some of the film's more tragic moments where people attempt to take advantage of Edward's naivete for their own ends.

In the end, Edward is an awkward, socially inept young man who's just trying to find acceptance in his community. I've heard some criticisms of the film being a sort of power fantasy for Burton, himself known as the eccentric outsider, where he can get the girl and 'be cool', but again I find that Burton's view is not of a disgruntled outsider, but of the curious adolescent. He doesn't make Edward into an overtly 'cool' character, but keeps him true to himself as the shy, awkward loner, trying to find a place in the world, yet never managing to find it. Edward Scissorhands' bittersweet tragedy lies in the fact that Edward will never find acceptance in normal life, but he knows that it was nice to be loved while it lasted.

Edward Scissorhands is Burton at his best, his penchant for exploring the outcasts and freaks of society has never been more purely expressed than with this film. I think why Burton is so special is that he appeals to the freak and outcast nature that lies in everyone, and I think that the people who know how it feels to be an outcast find more meaning in it, I know that I am among those people who find such a meaning in Edward Scissorhands.

Many childhood films tend to not age well, rather it be because they're of their time, have dated poorly, or are simply just not as good as you once remembered them. But I can happily say that Edward Scissorhands is one of those childhood favorites that seems to be more profound to me, even as I move towards a more cynical age.

Reservoir Dogs (1992)

QT at his best, and he's only getting started.

[10/10 · 6 February 2021]

I can usually count on Quentin Tarantino to make good movies, he's usually made enjoyable, perfectly good movies for me to watch. I don't know if he's a groundbreaking filmmaker by any means, but thankfully he doesn't pretend to be. But there's sometimes, just sometimes, where he'll make a great film...and by far I consider his masterpiece to be his first feature length film, Reservoir Dogs.

But what about Pulp Fiction? Inglorious Basterds? Indeed those are great films, and I won't contest their excellence, but I've always preferred the smaller, more intimate atmosphere of QT's striking debut, which is a taut, tightly plotted, and straight to the point crime thriller. It's hard for me to explain why, in many ways, Reservoir Dogs feels like a blue print to Pulp Fiction, with its use of non-linear storytelling, unusual, yet oddly likable characters, and a pulp like quality that's reminiscent of the pulp filmmakers who inspired him like Siegal, Thompson, Leone, and Huston. Yet, I find Reservoir Dogs to be more straight to the point, less lavishing in its visual language, and more engaging in its taut narrative than his much lauded follow up.

If I were to give a class on non-linear storytelling, I would most likely make this film required watching for my students. The story isn't the deepest in the world, it is a pretty straight forward heist story with ne'er do wells who pull off a doomed heist and then figure out what to do afterwards. But it's the way that the story is told that makes it so special. The narrative has a frazzled, disjointed nature to it, playing into the men's own feelings of confusion and bewilderment at how such an easy sounding job could so horrifically wrong. It's almost like if Murphy's law was put into one movie, where everything that could go wrong does go wrong. Like Breaking Bad, much of the film's tension and suspense comes from everything that goes wrong throughout the run time, and the men's ever increasing distrust of each other. I'm often in awe due to Tarantino's ability to build suspense by using dialogue, which he would use so effectively in later films like Inglorious Basterds and The Hateful Eight, it's so often that tension and suspense is built through silence and visual storytelling but Tarantino has the rare ability to build and keep suspense high with both dialogue and visuals, it often makes you wonder how he does it.

Many of QT's later trademarks come into play with this film: engaging, complex dialogue, building suspense and tension with both dialogue and visuals, references to different films, mass violence, great soundtrack choices, and so on. But they are often used in service of the narrative, rather it be to build the characters as we get to know them for the next few hours, or to distinguish bits of their personalities that might not have been explored earlier. Tarantino's use of violence is more unflinching in this film than in some of his others. Much like his later film Django Unchained, he showcases that violence isn't always fun and can even be horrifying, even if he isn't intending it to be. Violence in this movie is dirty, painful, and not fun to look at or enjoy, and I sometimes wish that he would remember that when making his films and not succumb to making it so fun, as he sees it.

Another strong aspect of the film is the acting, and I'm still surprised at all the people that QT got to be involved in this film, most of them known cult/character actors like Harvey Keitel, Steve Buscemi, Michael Madsen, Tim Roth, and others, some of whom would go on to continue collaborating with Tarantino. A lot of them came on based on sheer luck or connections that Tarantino and his friends had in Hollywood, but they're all great in the film, they take the characters depicted in QT's script and makes them feel like real, tangible human beings. The most interesting relationship in the film is between Orange and White, and easily the most engaging and emotionally resonant, White's belief in his friend turns out to be the most tragic thing that happens in this film, and without spoiling it...it doesn't end well.

Everyone tries to make the next great film, but Tarantino has no such delusions about his craft. He makes his films as he wants them to be, with no compromises in the way, and one can tell that he loves every waking second of doing it. More filmmakers have higher aspirations and fail to deliver on them, and have less fun doing it. I can only hope that younger filmmakers can take a note from Tarantino, to try and focus on making good movies that they'd like to watch and inject more passion into making them, perhaps such a mindset can save modern American filmmaking from itself.

Se7en (1995)

The Most Nihilistic Anti-Nihilist Film Ever Made...Believe it or Not.

[10/10 · 2 February 2021]

"Ernest Hemingway once wrote 'the world is a fine place, and worth fighting for.' I agree with the second part."

In my explorations into evil, I, along with many other people are often faced with the question into how we must face evil in the world. Should we face it and attempt to extinguish it or tolerate it and allow it to go on, because of course there's nothing that we can do to stop it. I've found that nihilism is alluring and can be persuasive, but it's the easy way out, a way for people to drown in their misery and pain rather than getting up and attempting to make their lives and the world better. On the one hand, I'm often baffled when I hear people call Se7en a nihilistic film, when it's so clearly not the case.

Indeed, Se7en is a film seeped in nihilism, and to the untrained eye it seems to be falling in completely to the traps of nihilistic thought. It is a peak noir, soaked in hard boiled cynicism and a grungy, unpleasant atmosphere that is both off-putting and remarkably fitting for its cold, bleak landscape. Fincher is a director who is not afraid to look into the abyss of human depravity and darkness, and Se7en shows in full display the true depravities and wickedness that man is capable of. But Se7en's nihilism is often ironic in tone, almost challenging the audience to buy into it, before pulling the rug out from under the audience's feet and exploring its true message.

Se7en is deceptive, it is difficult, both on an emotionally visceral level and on an intellectual level. At first it seems like a standard noir about two detectives, who don't quite agree with each other and bicker from time to time, going after a deranged psychopath who is leading them on a chase until its inevitable, dark conclusion. But Se7en is different in its ability to force the audience to engage with it. You're only given the characters, what they believe, what they say vs what they do, and how they change over time, and that I think is the greatest strength of Se7en.

Somerset is the pinnacle jaded detective, a grizzled old timer beaten down by a hostile, depraved world and a laundry list of bad decisions and regrets that eat away at him, every day of his life. He's given up entirely and has sunk into the pits of despair and nihilism, itching for the day of his retirement so that he can get the hell out of this place that's caused him so much misery for so many years. He is the standard noir protagonist, yet unlike more 'tough guy' personalities, Freeman plays Somerset as a world weary old man, experienced in its ways. He's not overtly tough or badass in any way, but he's hardly a pushover. It is his arc that gives the film most of its meaning, as he goes through a subtle change from a depressed, broken man into a hopeful and reinvigorated one. It is difficult, filled with strife and some of the most horrific imagery that I've ever seen in a film, along with some harrowing implications of what happened, as it's known, what's not shown is often much scarier than that what is. Somerset is the film's soul, contradictory and haunted all at once.

Mills is Somerset's foil in some ways, he is more optimistic and hopeful in nature than Somerset, quick tempered and spontaneous, and openly challenges Somerset in his own assumptions and beliefs. He is probably the most tragic character of the film, as while he chips away at Somerset's beliefs and makes him a better man for it, he ends up paying a hefty price for it. He is steadfast and defiant in his beliefs, unable to give up hope even when it seems to be against him, which rubs off on his more cynical, jaded partner and makes him a better man for it. He may lose everything by the end, but his change of Somerset is what makes his role so impactful and shows that he did make a difference, even if he personally lost. If Somerset is the film's soul, Mills is its heart.

John Doe is not merely the villain of the film, he is a dark foil to Somerset. Much like Somerset, Doe is a man who's been completely shattered by the world around him. Though unlike Somerset, Doe decides to take much more extreme and disturbing measures in response to the constant psychological pain that he goes through every day. He ironically becomes the personification of the evil and nihilism that repulses him. Unlike Somerset, he is a man willing to take action, rather than allowing it to keep existing. Like Mills, he makes a deep impression on Somerset, a sobering reality on what he could have become if he chose to give in to his most carnal desires. He serves as a reminder to Somerset on why evil must be vanquished, and why he simply can't give in to apathy and nihilism. If Mills had convinced him that humanity was worth the trouble, then Doe was the one who hammered it home to Somerset why stopping evil matters, why nihilism and apathy are futile, and why the fight for what's good and noble matters. It is to keep the good, innocent people safe, without thanks or a reward. Doe is the film's dark underbelly, the personification of everything that it's railing against, but it's also a pointer to who not to become when dealt with pain and adversity.

The lesson of Se7en, and the lesson that Somerset learns, is that despite all of the evil and depravity around us, it doesn't mean that we should lay down and allow it to keep existing. Like Somerset, we need to understand that to combat evil, we can't just give in and accept its existence, but that we must go out and confront it everyday and do our best to stop it. Now we won't go out and magically solve it over night, and we won't always succeed in completely vanquishing evil, but like with all processes, it only takes one day at a time, and exploring the dangers of succumbing to nihilism and how it is unproductive and even harmful.

Se7en is a perfect modern noir in every sense of the word. It's dark, moody, intensely violent, and atmospheric. But what makes it unique is its subtle, yet deeply profound message about hope and retaining it even in the darkest of spots. Indeed it's an odd film to talk about when it comes to hope when it seems so flagrantly against it. But like with all great films, its true message is elusive, and hard to find, but it certainly can be if you look hard enough.

So no, I don't believe that Se7en is an endorsement of nihilism. In fact, it's a refutation of it.

Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope (1977)

A Long Time Ago...In a Galaxy, Far, Far Away...

[9/10 · 27 January 2021]

Alas! It is a monomyth done right! A pulp science fiction adventure filled with spirit and verve, archetypal protagonists who are sharply written, likable, and well rounded, and archetypal villains who are imposing and threatening, while not becoming cliched or mustache twirly. It's almost hard to believe that a limited budget science fantasy film would set in motion one of the most iconic, beloved franchises in all of Hollywood and film history, because it almost didn't.

People forget that it was almost a miracle that Star Wars got made to begin with. George Lucas was constantly running about, attempting to convince executives, producers, and even his own cast and crew that this idea could work, many accidents occurred off screen, many of the key players such as Harrison Ford, Alec Guinness, and Kenny Baker, among others were skeptical of the film's success, and even were rather dismissive of it (with Harrison Ford infamously telling George Lucas 'you can write this stuff, but you can't say it' in regards to his writing and dialogue), and the filming of the project proved so demanding that Lucas would later be diagnosed with hypertension. A friend of mine even showed me a clip of Star Wars without Williams' majestic score and sound effects behind it, and I can see how the cast and crew might have found the film to be a bit laughable, and may of thought that it would fail.

Yet somehow Star Wars worked, and it still holds up even after all of these years. It's a tightly plotted, well acted, and well shot film. Much of Lucas' success with this film almost came from pure luck, that he had the right people, the right cast and crew and producers around to help him keep his focus and take the film where it needed to go. There's a certain untrained quality to the original Star Wars film, to some questionable choices in dialogue to the occasional awkward pacing of scenes, and other small issues. But luckily, the film makes up for it with engaging writing and direction, good characters, and a good story that would lead to one of the great odysseys of modern film, and a series of films that would go on to be cited as some of the greatest films ever made.

Lucas pulls from many influences, such as the surreal, yet elegant artwork of French comics artist Moebius, the theories of mythologist Joseph Campbell, the samurai epics of Kurosawa, the westerns of Sergio Leone and John Ford, the pulp adventures of Flash Gordon, and the esoteric philosophies of Frank Herbert's Dune. But he manages to use all of those influences in order to creative a wholly new and original vision from it. The world has a fantastical, yet still grimy and lived in edge to it. My friend Alan pointed out to me that Star Wars (at least the original films) had a grimy, lived in world in response to my statement that Alien had a much darker, grimier atmosphere than Star Wars, and while I still believe that to be the case, I will concur that I was slightly off by a margin there.

But Star Wars is an adventure story, first and foremost, and this one certainly has a lot of verve and energy in that field, with sharply written, likable characters to follow and root for as the film goes along. I think Star Wars' greatest strength when its on its stride is that sense of wonder and zeal that one feels when first encountering the world that it introduces. It's certainly more whimsical and fantastic than other science fiction films of its era, like 2001 and Alien, which were much colder in comparison. Star Wars is a film that isn't afraid to be fun, while also having a unique edge that sets it apart from other films of its time, and plenty of films that are made today.

John Williams' score should also be mentioned, as well as his ability to perfectly capture the essence of a film. His score for Star Wars is, much like the film, bombastic and theatrical, not afraid to go all out and have fun with itself, but it does have its moments of quiet intensity, in order to build the film's tone and atmosphere. I must agree with Chris Stuckmann in wondering if George Lucas had tears streaming down his face when seeing his film for the first time with Williams' spellbinding score behind it, I certainly wouldn't blame him if he did.

While I still hold The Empire Strikes Back to be superior, the first Star Wars film still holds a place in my heart, and continues to be one of my favorites. It's one of those rare films that anyone can enjoy, rather if you're an average film goer or a snobbish film aficionado...well, unless you're Freddy Mercury.

Phantom Thread (2017)

How Does PTA Keep Doing It?! Please...Do Tell.

[9/10 · 20 January 2021]

I was admittedly rather nervous to see this film, Paul Thomas Anderson is one of my favorite filmmakers working today and I didn't want one of his films to completely drop the ball. Yet as the film began I was hooked by its atmosphere, score, and tremendous direction and writing from Anderson. Like with There Will Be Blood, Paul Thomas Anderson somehow manages to make a romance between a waitress and an eccentric fashion designer to be something that's intriguing and complex, and after this film I don't believe I'll be doubting Paul Thomas Anderson again.

I would say that this film is one of Paul Thomas Anderson's warmer films, but I don't think that would be necessarily true. Phantom Thread is a deceptive film, and while it may seem warm and inviting when you first examine it, you'll only find a much more strange and unsettling experience when you're done with it. I've noticed that Paul Thomas Anderson has a thinly veiled love affair with irony, as it's often present in many of his films and especially in his newer ones.

Phantom Thread starts off as a simple gothic romance, but Anderson's playfulness with genre conventions and tropes shines through. His penchant for character psychology and ironic set ups continues to shine through with Phantom Thread, you expect one thing to happen in the movie, yet then something else happens instead. It is this unpredictability that keeps Anderson's films fresh in my mind.

I do wonder if Reynolds is on the autism spectrum or has Aspergers disorder, as he does share many of the mannerisms that's apparent with many people who have it, as well as his almost child-like adherence to his routines. There were times where I just wanted to smack him and tell him to stop being such a sourpuss, but I can certainly understand his frustrations when it comes to change. Being an Aspie myself, I understand his need to be in control and to constantly stick to schedule. But I couldn't fully sympathize with him either, and I don't believe that Anderson intended to make us sympathize with him. Alma on another hand, constantly challenges Reynolds and attempts to take him out of his comfort zone, rather it be in subtle or more obvious ways. In many ways, they're meant for each other.

The romance itself is contradictory and elusive, not being able to be held down by a straight forward description. It is loving and tender, yet also dysfunctional and trying on both of the parties involved. It very much captures the trials and tribulations of a relationship, though it becomes much more sinister as the film goes along. I found Anderson's flair for irony, where he shows one thing in a scene, and then suggests something else. Sure, perhaps Reynolds and Alma will be happy together, but there's that lingering bad taste from the manipulation and her basically forcing him to bend to her will in order for this romance to work. It is peak, classic Paul Thomas Anderson to be confronted with such contradictory emotions and that subtle feeling of discomfort that's layered into the film as it goes on, and I think what makes his films so fascinating.

I loved this film, to be frank. I was taken in by this film's sense of atmosphere, scope, and character. Jonny Greenwood's score was once again a delight from beginning to end, bringing a romantic and etherial sound while also having a sinister mood lurking in the background. But the real winner of this film is the acting, Daniel Day-Lewis gives his supposedly final performance with Phantom Thread and he gives it his all as per usual. While I do think that his role as Daniel Plainview is superior to this one, his turn as Reynolds Woodcock showcases his knack for completely disappearing into the characters that he plays. He is also complimented by a strong supporting cast consisting of Vicky Krieps and Lesley Manville, who bring performances that compliment Lewis' intensity and drive.

It's quite strange for me when I see Paul Thomas Anderson in interviews, he seems like a rather straight forward, laid back kind of guy, yet he'll make these films full of dramatic intensity and I just can't have enough of them.

The Untouchables (1987)

Fun, If Not Slightly Offensive, Escapism.

[6/10 · 19 January 2021]

I once heard a story about Stanley Kubrick's reaction to Stephen Spielberg's Holocaust film Schindler's List, where he expressed his disappointment in the film and when asked why, he said that he found that the film missed the point of the Holocaust. That the Holocaust wasn't about success, it was about failure. Now I have no idea if this story is in any way true, and Spielberg has even disputed this narrative, but it's one that I come back to when it comes to films that I find profoundly miss a point.

I wasn't expecting a factual analysis of Prohibition, hardly so. The original show that it was based on was based on the tall tales of a huckster who, despite popular belief, didn't take down Al Capone. In fact, he was viewed as little more than a nuisance by old Scarface and would later botch his whole career in not catching the Cleveland Torso Murderer. I did expect to see a solid crime film, with a collective talent of gifted people. Yet this wasn't a film that was darkly intense or morally ambiguous, it was romantic and moralistic, relying too much on simplistic morality and psychology, emotional appeals, and over the top histrionics to get its point across, rather than anything that might be compelling or interesting.

De Palma is a director who I really want to like, yet I always seem to catch him at his most self indulgent. Scarface, while hailed as a crime classic, is a rather ridiculous film, with a half baked message at its core about the American Dream that gets lost with a memorable, if not utterly silly performance from Al Pacino and a manic, intensely wild ride from beginning to end. But luckily this film isn't quite as manic, though it does have its silly moments, no doubt about it.

The film feels gelded, like it's not reaching its full potential. It's too...Hollywood, and safe for me to sit back and truly enjoy. It feels like such colossal talents like Mamet, Morricone, and others are holding back and not pushing boundaries as they have been proven to be able to do in the past. While the script is ripe with Mamet's trademark dialogue, I found the actual story to be simplistic and overtly idealistic, psychologically undemanding and unstimulating. I was constantly frustrated by the romanticism that was in this film, the constant naive heroism that reeks throughout this film and the complete lack of awareness for the lessons that should have been learned from the Prohibition. Yet it's a generic cops n' robbers flick, though without the flair of such greats as Heat or The Dark Knight.

However, this film wasn't 'bad' by any means. The acting is consistently strong. De Niro's Capone is easily the best part of this movie. For playing someone as notorious and larger than life like Capone, De Niro brings his A game as a charming, yet utterly vicious and psychotic. Under a lesser actor, he would've been relegated to a mustache twirling villain, but De Niro plays him just right to the point to where it's believable. I'm honestly baffled that it was Connery who won the Oscar and not De Niro, though don't get me wrong, Connery is still quite good in this movie. It is a bit funny to see him barely hiding his Scottish accent in the role as Jimmy Malone, but he brings his usual natural talent to scenes that could have been flat, Costner is also solid in the film, bringing his usual everyman personality to the film that works fine within the film's constraints.

Overall, it's a rather fun, if not another cheesy film from De Palma and crew. It doesn't have the ham fisted attempts at being profound that Scarface had, though it does rival Scarface in the over the top theatrics department. I don't think it's a very compelling crime film, and is rather naive and overtly sententious in its messages, in a way that I feel to be harmful to anyone who might watch it. In the end, it's escapism at its most distasteful.

With this film, I find another case like Spartacus, where a large group of talented people team up together, yet it doesn't seem to come together in any meaningful way.

Upstream Color (2013)

Befuddling, Thoughtful Science Fiction: As I Like It.

[9/10 · 13 January 2021]

"After he had lain still there about an hour he heard a low and seemingly very distant sound, but singularly grand and impressive, unlike anything he had ever heard, gradually swelling and increasing as if it would have a universal and memorable ending, a sullen rush and roar, which seemed to him all at once like the sound of a vast body of fowl coming in to settle there, and, seizing his gun, he started up in haste and excited; but he found, to his surprise, that the whole body of the ice had started while he lay there, and drifted in to the shore, and the sound he had heard was made by its edge grating on the shore -- at first gently nibbled and crumbled off, but at length heaving up and scattering its wrecks along the island to a considerable height before it came to a standstill." Henry David Thoreau, Walden

The way that Shane Carruth plays with science fiction trappings is one that continually fascinates me. With Primer, he managed to make time travel into something that could potentially happen, while also noting that it would just as difficult to understand and explain as we could imagine it, and with Upstream Color, he uses mind control and empathic linking to explore the trials and tribulations of human connection and trauma, in all of its messiness and disheveled chaos.

Like Kubrick and Nolan, Carruth finds a way to make these fantastical science fiction tropes that we love somehow feel very real and plausible. His brand of science fiction is the one I prefer: one that makes me think and feel at the same time, and one that keeps me pining for more and keeps me in awe of its inventiveness.

Upstream Color is much more broad in its approach than Primer. At once, it's an esoteric science fiction film, it's a woozy love story in the vein of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Her, and it's a deeply felt and human story about trauma and overcoming it. Upstream Color is certainly more inviting and artistic than his more cold predecessor, though just as befuddling and elusive.

Carruth's style still has that sense of the mundane normalcy that was found in Primer, yet there was a sense of surrealism and disorientation that lurks in the background in this film. I can admire an artist who wants to challenge himself, to push his own boundaries and explore the possibilities of his abilities, and Carruth manages to do so with Upstream Color. I was quite impressed by his use of visual storytelling with the film's near dialogue-less third act, which is a complete contrast to Primer, which relied extensively on its technical dialogue in order for the audience to follow what was going on.

Yet much of the film's power rests on the chemistry of Carruth and his co-star, the lovely Amy Seimetz. There is a simple, yet deeply felt humanity that is found in their characters and their connection with each other. It is their connection and chemistry with each other that drives the film forward, as they begin to realize what's happened to them and as they continue to try and fix their shattered lives in the process. Much of the film's heart comes from their connection to each other and their desire to work through the trauma that they've endured in their lives, not unlike Joel and Clementine's connection in Eternal Sunshine or Theodore and Samantha's in Her.

Another show stealer for me is the music. My mother came in a few times while I was watching it to ask what the hell was going on and what I was watching, because of the constant barrage of ambient music that she could hear in the living room while I was watching it. While I found the music in Primer to be rather forgettable, Upstream Color's score is one that felt important to the narrative as it continued on its track. It adds to the sense of warmth, invitation, and even wonder that this film occasionally brings.

Yet again, this film shows Shane Carruth to be one of the most fascinating talents to come out of the indie scene, and sadly with some bad news in regards to Carruth, I don't believe we'll be seeing more of it. But Upstream Color proves to be yet another unique, unusual, and befuddling experience, and one that I would like to experience again.

(Note: I will not be discussing recent allegations that have come out against Mr. Carruth or the debacle that happened on Twitter with him and Amy Seimetz some months ago. I will only be discussing the film and how I felt about it. I want no discussion of it in the comments, there are plenty of other places to talk about it.)

Death Note (I) (2017)

*sigh* Just read the manga and watch the anime. It's for your own good.

[2/10 · 30 December 2020]

I really don't think that I have anything of worth to say about this movie. Krimson Rogue, Amanda the Jedi, and Cosmonaut Variety Hour have already done full on reviews of this movie, they picked apart every little thing that was wrong with it, and I don't think that there's anything that I could add to it. Willem Dafoe is a pretty inspired choice for Ryuk, and he's really good in the movie, but asides from that this film was nonsensical, pretentious, and an unintentionally hilarious disaster of a film.

If I could give any advice for anyone who may think this could be an interesting take on the Death Note story. I'd just tell them to read the manga, watch the original anime, and then avoid all of the rest.

Home Alone (1990)

A Classic, In The Deepest Sense of The Word.

[8/10 · 28 December 2020]

Home Alone is another film that screams the word classic. It's another case of a well known writer and director working together and somehow having it work miraculously well. It certainly doesn't approach Fincher and Sorkin's collaboration on The Social Network. But it's a good film, and a classic in its own right, as mentioned before.

John Hughes' script showcases his knack for capturing small, human moments and also shows his uncanny ability to write kids and adolescents, and as gut bustingly funny as this film could be, I found that those small moments were far more touching than I remember it being. The film is also well known for its comedy and one of the most beautifully realized instances of slapstick ever put to film, one that was no doubt inspired by the Looney Tunes and The Three Stooges. Columbus' direction also showcases the touch of a competent and talented director. Much like his mentor Steven Spielberg, he has a unique gift for capturing the wonder and awe of a strange situation, but also showcasing the humor of a situation.

The acting in the movie is also surprisingly well handled. Macaulay Culkin is surprisingly charismatic and charming in his role as young Kevin McCallister, capturing a sly cleverness, while also maintaining a childhood innocence. Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern are also excellent as the comically inept Harry and Marv, who I should again mention remind me of Looney Tune characters like Wile E. Coyote or Sylvester the Cat, two determined, but completely incompetent in their excursions, and much of the film's comedy comes from their antics and the fact that despite their determination, they just aren't good at what they do, and they're outwitted by a young kid who's more competent than they are.

In short, it's a Christmas film that still holds up all these years later. It's deeply felt, yet thoroughly entertaining film that captures the spirit of Christmas well, in all of the good tidings and feelings that it brings.

Merry (belated) Christmas everyone.

A Christmas Story (1983)

"You'll Shoot Your Eye Out Kid."

[8/10 · 25 December 2020]

Like many, I was captured by A Christmas Story as a child. It's a film that's instantly recognizable and oozes the word 'classic.'

I think what I find the most impressive about this film is the fact that it's is very much told from the perspective of a child. The fantasies, the whimsy, and wonder that comes from being a child is in full swing in the entirety of A Christmas Story, yet it never panders down to children nor talks down to them. It's just a fun movie, with humor that both kids and adults can relate to, and it's one that gets me waxing nostalgic about my own childhood. Perhaps I may be a dirty Gen Z-er, but I remember what it was like to be a child, a child with an active imagination, and this film explores and offers a love letter to the best aspects of what it means to be a kid, and it won't be one that I'll soon be forgetting.

Merry Christmas everyone.

8 Mile (2002)

"Cause There Ain't Such Thing as Half Way Crooks."

[9/10 · 23 December 2020]

I enjoy hip hop from time to time. Much like other genres, it's one that has infinite potential, though I'm unsure if the artists who perform rap always take on that potential. Certainly, hip hop has managed to diversify and expand into different genres and ideas over the years, but there's still this sense of holding back, of not going to its fullest potential. It's an issue that I see in many genres, of many different types of mediums.

It's ironic that many people have dismissed rap as vulgar, inflammatory music for the masses, considering that's how jazz, rock n roll, and country started. Trashy genres that attracted a niche audience before being taken over and refined by better craftsmen. Yet hip hop is different from those genres, as it mainly relies on lyricism, rhythm, and good production, rather than a combined effort of skilled musicianship, lyricism, and vocalization. Even such people like Ben Shapiro have dismissed hip hop/rap as an art form, as well as a form of music. Though he has certainly been taken to task by other commentators and critics on this matter.

To counter Shapiro, I've encountered rap albums that have turned out to be just as impactful, thoughtful, and touching as any other piece of music that I've encountered. For example, I found Kendrick Lamar's Good Kid, M.A.A.D City to not just be better than 90% of rap albums being produced today, but one of the most thorough and moving explorations of growing up in an impoverished neighborhood and the struggles with experiencing and avoiding the allure of crime and the lingering trauma that comes with it that I've ever encountered since Boyz n The Hood and NWA's original Straight Outta Compton, his following album To Pimp a Butterfly was another one that I found to be just as touching, profound, and soulful as any other album that I've heard in my life. On the other hand, it's a wild, surreal journey into the psyche of a man, exploring issues such as mental illness, political strife, and moving on from traumas of the past. Biggie Small's Ready To Die also comes to mind, combining dark, introspective lyrics with fun loving, celebratory anthems in a way that has never fully been topped (though his friend and later rival Tupac Shakur would give him a run of his money

Then there is Eminem (alas, we're getting somewhere), an artist that I find myself impressed by as much as I'm frustrated by him. I think that he could certainly make something to the quality of Good Kid, MAAD City or Ready to Die if he really put his mind to it, but I find that he takes the easy route a lot of the time and seeks to be provocative for the sake of it. He's even lamented on this limitation that he's put on himself over the years, in his own words:

"I've created a monster, cause nobody wants to see Marshall no more. They want Shady, I'm chopped liver."

But Eminem remains interesting to me. There's a raw intensity to him, both in his music and in his personality. Even in his interviews, you can see a tension within him, as if he's withholding something from us that he's holding on tight to. There's also an intense anger and hatred that seeps through his work as well, which bleeds from the intensity that comes from his persona, even with the fun loving Slim Shady, there's still that intensity and danger to him.

It leads us to 8 Mile, which I found to be probably one of the most honest explorations into Eminem's life. This comes hardly as a surprise, as the film is autobiographical of Eminem's life, considering that 8 mile is the road in Detroit where Eminem grew up. But I also found it to be one of the greatest expressions of Eminem's talents as a lyricist and as a rapper, as much of the film's most excellent moments comes from the rap battles, such as the ending one between Rabbit and Papa Doc, which has become one of my favorite film scenes of all time. The utter rage and adrenaline that runs through the scenes makes it just as intense as any thriller that David Fincher could dream up, also retaining wit and a mastery of language. It showcases the power of rap, and its unique form of self expression.

Much of the strength of 8 Mile comes from the performances, Eminem shows an immaculate screen presence, now granted he is playing a version of himself, but he brings that intensity that keeps him so interesting, while also not afraid to show vulnerability and humanity, and most of the other characters also stand out, much like Rabbit's loyal friends Cheddar Bob and Future, or the late Brittany Murphy's turn as Alex, or the sleazy Wink. But the one who steals the show asides from Eminem is Anthony Mackie, who manages to rival Eminem's intensity as his rival Papa Doc, bringing a raw anger and intimidation and also showing a gift for rapping, bringing a nice flow while also bringing the intensity and aggression that makes hip hop such a challenging genre to master. I also appreciated the general progression of the characters and their lives and personal arcs that they go through, feeling natural and not at all cheap or tacked on.

There's a few films that I often recommend to hip hop fans and aficionados for good measure, like Boyz n The Hood or City of God. But I'll gladly add 8 Mile to the list of great hip hop films. Perhaps some day, we can be in a world where we can listen to our music freely and without scrutiny, and without worry about if it can actually be considered music.

Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)

I hope Colbert will be proud of this one.

[4/10 · 20 December 2020]

Wow, This is exactly what we needed for our superhero films! A pretentious, bloated mess of a film that I need to watch the Director's Cut to understand what's going on during the whole thing. It's not like I wanted a coherent, well paced superhero film with some thoughtful commentary put in, but I'll certainly pretend that it's a masterpiece of film, put alongside such classics as Citizen Kane, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Vertigo.

Snyder's grip on the characters are also phenomenal! He makes Superman into an angsty sourpuss who seems burdened by his mission rather than the compassionate humanist that we've come to know, Lex Luthor into an angsty, narcissistic creep, and Batman into an unhinged sociopath who's dropping people like The Punisher, but it's all a part of his arc! It's not like his arc is vaguely defined asides from him fearing about what Superman could do and a couple of scenes of him brooding at his parents' grave stones. It's just cinematic visual language for you dumb MCU fanboys to think about. It's not like Snyder's overtly trying to be deep and complex and attempting to overcompensate for it by having his characters be obsessed with being 'badass' and awesome, while also being so brooding and deep to act like the film is saying something profound.

Changes can be good of course, but it's certainly not good if the changes are made in a way where it feels natural to who these characters that we love are. It only matters if someone decides to completely and cynically try to tear down a character in order to make some grand artistic statement, while his grasp on the term might be so limited that it makes The Wachowskis and Neil Blomkemp seem subtle. And James Gunn and Christopher Nolan said that he was good, so why should I question that? It's not like the appeal to authority argument is a fallacy and that even well known figures can be wrong about something, even if I like them.

It was also so mature and dark in its approach, that's always a good sign when it comes to films. Surely there aren't any films that haven't tried to be dark and mature that come off as silly and overtly grim dark (cough cough Hellboy (2019) cough cough). This film is entirely different, it's a pretty looking film that half assedly trying to act like it's high art. It's definitely not like Snyder's been shown up by the MCU on several occasions like with Captain America: The Winter Soldier or any of the other films that The Russo Brothers have put out. Bah! Those are just dumb, predictable, jokey action flicks, of course they can't say anything that's profound or meaningful just because the characters crack wise every once in a while and aren't afraid to be fun.

Perhaps there were the good scenes in this movie, like how the action scenes were well helmed and fun to watch, or Ben Affleck's take on Batman when he wasn't being such a badass sociopath, or great cinematography since Zack Snyder has always been a great visual director, or some interesting ideas thrown in to make this film seem meaningful, but they were made so much better by awkward pacing, pretentious commentary, and peerless direction from the one Zack Snyder, who's like if Stanley Kubrick and Terry Gilliam bumped ugly and made this gift from the Gods themselves. I've certainly sat through enough dumb MCU jokefests that can be surprisingly deft and thoughtful when given to the right director, but this film made that wait so much more fruitful.

And man, that Martha scene, it was SO powerful. It was so misunderstood by those MCU fanboys and it wasn't like that scene was completely pointless because Batman is going around murdering people like Frank Castle and he's already become the thing that he's spent his entire career fighting against. But Batman's been killing people since his beginning as a character, it's not like he was originally envisioned as a knock off of The Shadow and the editors made Bill Finger and Bob Kane give Batman a no killing rule to try and differentiate him from The Shadow, as well as to make a character who kids could identify with and root for. It really shows that Zack Snyder knows what he's doing with these characters.

I can't wait to see those MCU fanboys in the comments section, saying how this masterpiece is such a pretentious, overbloated mess, but I know better. This film is one of the greatest superhero films of all time, even if it's been utterly outdone time and time again. I can't wait to see Snyder continually abuse these characters that I love in order for him to make some half baked attempt to be 'deep' and 'meaningful.'

Happiest Season (2020)

Yeah yeah, another short one...shoo.

[7/10 · 10 December 2020]

I initially wrote this one off as another contrived Christmas romance movie, and I was also expecting this to be another contrived LGBT romance as well. But I was surprised at the sensitivity that the film sometimes demonstrated. Certainly, it was a bit cliched, but not harmfully so. A wonderfully fun and heartfelt film, to be sure. It's one that we need in this year.

Death Wish (1974)

An Escapist Fantasy for Boomers and Gen Xers.

[7/10 · 8 December 2020]

Fun movie, mostly carried by Bronson's magnetic performance and charisma. Though I find that the idea of what a vigilante would be like would be done better two years later with Taxi Driver, which makes this one look like a fleeting escapist fantasy.

Full Metal Jacket (1987)

Cynicism and Hope, Kubrick's Two Favorite Subjects.

[9/10 · 28 November 2020]

It's kind of charming how often I come back to Emerson's quote about how being great is to be misunderstood, and Kubrick falls quite nicely into that trend. Many conspiracy nuts tend to latch on to his nods and wry references to conspiracies in The Shining and Eyes Wide Shut, while not seeming to bother to get the deeper subtext that he was attempting to convey. Then again, this is often the case with many famous films, many people tend to not see Ford's commentaries on the westerns with Valance and The Searchers or how many people tend to not see Lucas' influences in Kurosawa, Herbert, and Ford, and so on.

Full Metal Jacket falls into this saying quite nicely, as many people tend to not see the meaning that the film was attempting to convey, often getting caught up in its iconoclasm to notice its satire on war and the dehumanizing effects that it has on people. Pyle is a prime example of this, he is naive and weak, and an easy target for the sadistic Hartman, who is supposed to be a satire on obsessive jingoism and its harmful effects in indoctrinating and dehumanizing human beings into killing other human beings. It's kind of shocking, and even quite scary, how so many people seem to identify and try to defend Hartman. Then again it shouldn't be too surprising, people often tend to latch on to characters who endorse their myopic views of the world. Much like Hartman, they tend to be completely ignorant of the harm of their actions and ideas, and even worse, don't seem to care to. It's a complete lack of empathy on their end, nor understanding of their fellow man and ones who show no problem forcing their ideologies on other people, without much regard with what they want, which Kubrick makes sure to give nods to throughout the run time in Full Metal Jacket.

Of course it's war that drives the men who fight them mad, and is the central thesis of Full Metal Jacket. Some can crack under the pressure like Pyle, some embrace the madness and chaos of it all like Animal Mother, and then there's some who mock and joke at it in order to deal with it like Joker. Unlike Kubrick's previous opus about war Paths of Glory, Full Metal Jacket is much more cynical in its approach, while still retaining the anger and rage that's felt throughout Paths of Glory. But Kubrick never wants to force us into thinking one way or another, and none of the characters represent any of Kubrick's opinions.

The only small triumph in this film is Joker managing to stay himself and not succumb to the madness of war. He is the audience's surrogate, cynical and self aware of his place in the world and knowing the futility of the war being fought, but never loses sight of his humanity or sense of decency, even as war continues to rob any sort of innocence that he might have had at one point. It is this sense of hope that keeps the film from becoming intensely bleak and dour in its explorations, it serves as a foil to previous Vietnam films by showing people that there is hope, even in our darkest hours, and if only one man can hold on to empathy and common decency, than perhaps so can we.

In the end, it's a satire of war that's actually funny, it's a dark, psychological take on war that's actually dark and pushes the buttons on what a man could handle, and much like Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter, it explores how war can dehumanize and completely break the people who fight in it.

Full Metal Jacket and The Shining are still Kubrick's most well known pictures, even people who aren't versed in film history or Kubrick's filmography know of these films. Yet FMJ, like The Shining, don't lack in Kubrick's intelligent, thoughtful commentary on our nature and the follies that can come with it, but he never loses hope in us, not even in our darkest hours.

Dirty Harry (1971)

An Interesting Contradiction...

[9/10 · 17 November 2020]

Don Siegel is part of a dead breed, the pulp filmmaker. They don't really exist anymore as film has become overrun with auteurs and popular films. Such directors like Quentin Tarantino, S. Craig Zahler, and to a lesser extent Eli Roth have attempted to replicate the effects of the 'pulp filmmaker' movement, to varying levels of success. The superhero films of now could be considered something of the 'pulp' age of films, but they don't quite capture the edge that the original pulp films had back in their day.

Dirty Harry came out 5 years before Scorsese would put the vigilante sub-genre to rest with Taxi Driver, a complete deconstruction and tearing down of the genre, showing the vigilante as he would really be: a pitiful, alienated loner, lashing out at society and yet unable to find that the issues that he struggles with might be because of things that he can't control. No one was ever able to make a good vigilante film afterwards, and even some of the later Dirty Harry films struggled with the fallout from Taxi Driver, its impact and influence are inescapable.

But Dirty Harry is interesting, as it doesn't quite lean into the more escapist, power fantasy aspects of Death Wish, it very much is a product of its time. It was made as the infamous Zodiac killings were being investigated, and coming after a decade where hope was smashed time and time again with the assassinations of figures like John F. Kennedy, his brother Robert, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King Jr. It very much has the angst and anguish that came from the age before it. It has a raw anger and bitterness that can be felt throughout the film, and it's that hard edge that keeps it intriguing even after all of these years.

Dirty Harry often goes back and forth from forcing you to confront harsher realities of the world to creating a new form of sensationalism with its more 'badass' moments. Clint Eastwood is iconic in the titular role: he's hard, cold, and steely in his conviction. He would be an ideal, yet he's hardly a man. He's a force of nature who seeks to avenge the wrongs of the world, and there is a certain escapism to it. But Siegel never seeks to glamorize Harry or anything that happens in this film. The violence and suspense built throughout the film are usually played to be horrific and intense, rather than something to be celebrated and cheered on. I was also surprised by the ponderous nature that it sometimes showcased, a trend that would be carried on in its post-Taxi Driver sequel Sudden Impact, though it was unfortunate to see the other films go on to become more like the other films of the vigilante genre.

I'm surprised the so called 'cancel culture' of today hasn't gotten their hands on this film yet or the other ones that it followed, considering it's a film that teeters with celebrating police brutality and vigilantism, it often attracts reactionaries and boomers, who take the themes and ideas explored in the film and adapts them into their own short sighted ideologies, but I'm still surprised that in our more enlightened age that we haven't been asked to leave this film in the past and move forward, yet I don't think that it ever will. Its impact on popular culture is too great to be ignored.

Dirty Harry is a neat contradiction, walking the line between entertainment and subversive artistic prowess. It's very much of the pulp film era, it's too interesting to be discarded, yet too of its time to be timeless.

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

Kubrick at his most...Kubrickian.

[10/10 · 9 November 2020]

2001 is a film that I like to describe as a film made nearly a decade too early. It would only be 9 years until George Lucas made cinematic history with the original Star Wars film, yet every science fiction film from Star Wars to Alien to Close Encounters to Blade Runner owe a significant debt to Kubrick's original SF epic. The film puzzled critics and audiences alike, with noted critic Pauline Kael (basically the Roger Ebert before Ebert gained prominence) calling it unimaginative, a review that would enrage Kubrick. But now it is hailed as one of the greatest films ever made.

Kubrick's style can be hard to pinpoint for the unintiated, considering how often he would change his style from movie to movie, from the madcap, irreverent atmosphere of A Clockwork Orange to the lurking, creeping atmosphere of The Shining, but there are the similarities to be found if you choose to look, such as his use of long shots, classical music, and the so called 'Kubrick stare.' Kubrick's iconic status has brought him many people who've sought to recreate his style, like with Paul Thomas Anderson and his use of dark, bitterly ironic humor in his films or Refn's tendency to force us to witness the horrors and depravity of man, with no safety net to protect us from it. Yet no one has ever managed to successfully duplicate what makes Kubrick so lasting.

Kubrick is often seen as cinema's mad genius. Bearded, wild eyed, and unkempt, obsessing over the little details that no one would ever bother to consider, yet, he is completely generous with his camera, never stooping down or insulting his audience. His greatest gift to his audience is the wiggle room that he allows for his audience to breathe and to think about what they've just received, never giving them what they want yet perhaps giving them something that they never would have expected. To paraphrase Lynne Ramsay, Kubrick was an artist who showed the way that he viewed the world in a way that was so vivid, and so uncompromising and lacking in fear. He was never afraid to entertain while allowing his audience to think about what he has given them.

It is this unpredictability that keeps Kubrick fresh, and what keeps him dynamic and interesting even until today. Few artists can maintain such a level of unpredictability and continually challenging himself in ways that would never be expected and as I've mentioned before, it's what I think makes Kubrick so intriguing. He never made the same film twice, and every time he would go back to a familiar genre, he would always attempt to find a new angle to approach it.

2001 is known as one of Kubrick's colder films, yet also as one of his most enigmatic, beautiful, and occasionally terrifying films. It is Kubrick's opus about the universe, the insignificance of man, evolution, and the possibility of life outside of Earth. Many of his aforementioned trademarks come in, such as his long shots that dictates atmosphere, his use of classical music, as well as his use of the so called 'Kubrick stare' that has become known on the internet in recent years. His style, as I mentioned before, often seems to change, but there is always an observant, voyeuristic quality to his work. He also showcases his playfulness with the audience's expectations, often forcing us to confront harsher realities of our existence, but also showing us the beauty and wonder that comes from the vastness of the cosmos.

It still eludes me what makes Kubrick's work so lasting and profound, it makes me sit back and chuckle to myself. Do I even need to know?

Hellboy (2019)

*sigh* Just Read The Comics....

[3/10 · 16 October 2020]

Adaptations tend to be a tricky thing, especially in our new age of comic book adaptations, and as such some changes are to be made. Comic book fans can be a prickly bunch if provoked, luckily we've been blessed with adaptations that have, at best, reinvented characters that we love for a new age and at worst, completely miss the point of the characters that we love (lookin' at you, Zack Snyder).

I'm not a huge Hellboy fan, and I didn't start reading the comics until more recently, and I was quite impressed with the series. Mike Mignola is a writer and artist who somehow manages to be gifted at both, creating a world that manages to be alien, strange, and unusual while also having a down to earth approach that makes the series even more unique. Sadly, I didn't find any of the evocative charm that I saw in the comics with this film. It's quite unfortunate that this film falls so flat on its face, considering that David Harbour is a rather inspired choice for the titular hero, considering his character on Stranger Things is basically if Hellboy was a small town sheriff, and director Neil Marshall was also a good choice in order to bring more life to Mignola's world, considering that he's been well established as a cult action/horror director with films like The Descent and Dog Soldiers under his belt. Yet, as the old story goes, the studios got into this mess and somehow managed to muck everything up.

The film tries to be many things at once, it tries to be a Sam Raimi movie, yet without his careful balance between zany slapstick and creepy visuals and atmosphere, it tries to be a superhero film, yet without the verve of the Russos, Whedon, and Waititi, and it tries to bring Mignola's original material to the screen, yet without the tone and atmosphere that made the original comic so intriguing. I've heard this film be compared to Paul W.S. Anderson's Resident Evil films and to be fair, it feels like the film was directed by Paul W.S Anderson at times, its mindless fun and utter lack of tone reeks of his filmography, which brings me to what I think the main problem with this film is: its utter lack of tone. The film oscillates between fun comic book-y action and extremely disturbing body horror and graphic violence, because that's what Hellboy needs and then throw in some bad to mediocre CGI and you got yourselves a bad, bad film.

It's not entirely awful though, much like how no film is perfect, no film is an unsalvageable wreck (maybe except for Sucker Punch). David Harbour, as I mentioned previously, is a neat fit for the big red lug that is Hellboy, though much like Perlman, his version of Hellboy has a penchant of being whiny, though nonetheless he has some good lines and wisecracks that are littered through the film. Ian McShane tries to do a good job playing Bruttenholm (pronounced Broom), though the writers make him into another version of Al Swearengen, though unlike Swearengen, this version of Bruttenholm isn't well written, complex, or even funny asides from some unintentionally hilarious moments. The practical effects, when used, are utilized quite well, especially with the Baba Yaga, and it made me wish that they were used more, but I'll take what I can get. The action sequences are also well done for the most part, especially the stuff with Lobster Johnson (also great casting choice with Thomas Haden Church), and Daniel Dae Kim was actually not bad in his role, though his character is rather flat.

I'd like to think that I'm not a prickly comics fan who likes his comic adaptations to be the exact same as the source material, but its films like these that makes me act like one. To save you the trouble, I'd recommend to just skip this film and read the comics, as they're much more intriguing and better written than the film that we got.

Shaun of the Dead (2004)

The Best Zombie Parody of All Time: Most Definitely.

[10/10 · 8 October 2020]

I've always liked Wright's films. His fast paced, kinetic style always give his films an energy lacking in so many nowadays, with many people attempting to replicate it, with mixed results. His films tend to be fast paced, funny, and constantly moving, yet his characters are hardly shallow. Wright's earnestness and heartfelt approach to storytelling and filmmaking is something even seasoned filmmakers lack, with only Tarantino coming close. Scorsese, while certainly loving the medium he has chosen, has a much more intellectual, almost spiritual approach to his love for the medium, for Wright, however, it's his child-like wonder and giddiness for his chosen medium that continually keeps me me coming back to him and what keeps me fascinated in his work.

The early 2000s were surprisingly a good time for comedies. Despite many people's claim that comedy was dead at the time, but films such as Superbad, Death at a Funeral (2007), Tropic Thunder, Superbad, Hot Fuzz, and Shaun of the Dead proved that comedy was not dead yet. Then again, many people tend to be content with bemoaning the state of film without ever taking the time to look for films that would be worth their time, it happened with horror before its comeback in the 2010s and it happened with comedy. Certainly, there have been plenty of comedies that have beaten a dead horse with its jokes over the years, but there's always new and inventive voices to be heard, and Wright so happens to be one of them.

The most miraculous thing of all is Wright's self awareness, knowing what he can and can't do, how often it is that I find directors who try to stretch their goals and ambitions, making their works into convoluted messes (like The Wachowskis or Zack Snyder). Wright has no such lofty aspirations, he seeks to entertain, while never devolving into pure escapism. It can be a hard act to pull off, being entertaining without falling into mindless escapism, yet somehow Wright effortlessly does so. His films have a madcap, wild energy, which he perfected as the next couple of 'Cornetto' films came along.

Much of the strength of Shaun of The Dead comes from an excellent cast of memorable characters. Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, who are close friends in real life, work well off of each other. They are truly the next Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, and all the parties inbetween. The way that they work together feels magical, but the rest of the characters are also well realized, and none of them ever bring the film down. Another strength comes from Wright's playfulness with the genres he's both satirizing and homaging: zombie films and romantic comedies. Wright's influences are clear from Raimi, Landis, the Coens, and the zombie maestro himself: George Romero, Wright takes Romero's social satire and makes it into a farce, much like how Romero satirizes our love for distractions, Wright decides to satirize mundane reality and how it's made us into zombies, he pokes fun at relationships, going to work, getting older, and trying to take responsibility in your life. But it's also Wright's playing with romantic comedy tropes that also makes the film unique, creating a romance that's more heartfelt and touching than many other films of its type that I could name.

Wright's balance between horror and comedy does bring up some of my issues with the film, as I find that Wright never quite pulls off the balance between horror and comedy that some of his inspirations like Raimi and Landis did so well with their films. If anything, Shaun of The Dead proves how difficult it is to maintain a careful balance between the two genres without leaning too much into one or the other. Certainly, there are the moments in Shaun of The Dead that are tense and gripping, which I appreciate and I think are well handled, but I found the film was too mocking, having too much fun with itself where the true psychological dread could be felt effectively. I missed the light touches of humor of Romero's original zombie films and the careful balance between over the top comedy and suspenseful psychological dread of Raimi and Landis' efforts, yet Wright manages to keep the audience engaged consistently throughout the film, which keeps a more cynical film goer like me happy.

For me, I see Shaun of the Dead as a parody and one of the most clever, heartfelt homages ever put to film, Wright only got better from here, but this Cornetto debut proves to be one of his best efforts.

The Social Network (2010)

Great Direction and Great Writing...All At Once

[9/10 · 6 October 2020]

Quite often, I notice a trend where two artists that I admire work together and then the film turns out to be unsatisfying, it happened with Spartacus to name an easy example. Yet somehow David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin managed to come together to create one of the best films of the last decade, creating a kinetic experience with Sorkin's trademark dialogue, yet with a mastery of tone that can only be attained by a master such as Fincher.

I can't entirely pin the film's success on just Fincher or Sorkin, a film is created by many different people, people such as actors, editors, cinematographers, composers, and so on. Yet it is nice to see that all of those threads come together to create a complete whole of an experience. The Social Network is often a film I point to when I discuss films that so admirably binds these threads together and in a way that seems effortless. Everything in this film works, from the acting, to the writing, directing, editing, and even the music.

Some scoffed at the idea of Fincher being the director of a 'serious film,' considering he had become known for directing crime thrillers such as The Game, Zodiac, Panic Room, and my favorite of his Se7en (which I prefer far and wide over his 90s opus Fight Club), but Fincher shows that he is not a one trick director and can explore other genres effortlessly. His sense of tone and atmosphere is not lost in this film, though I do miss the grungy, dirty look of his earlier work, I find that he still has a remarkable sense of style and place throughout the film, I sometimes joke that his newer films always look like a bar or a nightclub, yet nonetheless Fincher manages to create a moody, melancholic tone that pervades throughout the film.

I am reminded of one of my favorite television shows, Breaking Bad, while watching The Social Network. Much like Walter White, Mark is primarily motivated by ego and insecurity, and many of his decisions are based off of his personality. Mark isn't a very nice man, and he's actually quite horrible throughout the film. Yet the tragedy of the film is due to Mark's short sighted decisions and his allowing his emotional insecurity to define his actions and cause him to burn bridges with the people he cares about, as well as allowing toxic people such as Sean into his life, due to him playing to Mark's ego and manipulating him to his side. The faltering of Eduardo and Mark's relationship also has to do with Mark's ego, as well as Eduardo's own insecurities and jealousy of Sean. The acting of the film is exceptional, with show stealers being Jesse Eisenberg, Justin Timberlake, Andrew Garfield, and Armie Hammer in a dual role as the Winklevoss twins. I was particularly impressed by Hammer's dual performance as the Winklevosses, and that he shows his range by giving the twins distinct, yet differing personalities. The exceptional acting gives life to the characters, and their decisions are what defines the narrative. Justin Timberlake and Brenda Song also have turns that show their range as actors, and they're not bad in the film at all.

One of The Social Network's great strengths is its use of non-linear storytelling by editing. Much like Soderbergh's The Limey, the film comes together through its use of non-linear editing without seeming disjointed or confusing. I'm still in awe by the way that Fincher and Sorkin managed to work together to create a cohesive whole. The way that Sorkin plays with words is always something that's impressed me, and the way that Fincher compliments Sorkin's vigorous script is, to quote George Lucas, like poetry. This is also apparent in the film's use of similar lines, editing back and forth seamlessly through different time periods while saying similar things to each other. The music, excellently crafted by Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, also adds leifmotifs in the film that makes the dramatic impact much more effective as the film rolls along.

The Social Network's influence has seeped through not just films, but also through pop culture and our understanding of Mark Zuckerberg. Zuckerberg and some of the other people depicted in the film have criticized the film as inaccurate, but I don't think they got the point of the film. The film isn't a documentary, but a reflection of our times, and one that I found to be more poignant and reflective than many other films that attempt to do the same thing. Fincher said that the film was the Citizen Kane of our generation, and in many ways he's right. Mark, much like Charles Foster Kane, is a victim of his own mistakes, and one who craves love, yet often sabotages his chances of happiness due to his insecurities and ego, and is unwilling to admit to his mistakes or face the consequences of said mistakes until it's far too late and now must live with the consequences of his actions. He's hollow at the end, not unlike Kane or Daniel Plainview, yet is just as powerless as he was at the beginning.

I can only sit back and think of how rare it is for a film that manages to combine so many factors together successfully, and The Social Network should be a pointer for how to bring ambling threads so cohesively together.

The Matrix Reloaded (2003)

I'll Just Leave This Here...

[2/10 · 6 October 2020]

How odd it is how most people either endlessly praise or debate on if the original Matrix is a good film, but most can agree that the sequels are a trainwreck.

What is the best way to make audiences lose interest in your strange, unusual world? How about get rid of all of the things that made your original film compelling and interesting in the first place. Much like George Lucas with the Star Wars prequels, The Wachowskis completely crashed and burned when given complete creative freedom. While many seem forgiving of the dull, bored filibuster of the first film, it does seem that audiences became more aware of it as the next few films rolled along. Another thing I find that made the sequels of The Matrix fail is the quick time in which they were made, I'm certain that either The Wachowskis weren't given enough time to work on their script or they put them out there without giving much thought, I don't know which option is more worrying, though I do lean on the first one considering that we know how excitable studios can get when they sniff success.

Characters still talk in the same bored tone, most of the stuff that made the first film stand out are either never touched upon again or abandoned entirely, the action, while still well helmed, has no sense of tension, as Chris Stuckmann pointed out, when there's no tension in an action scene, it makes the scene pointless. While I could make the argument that since I don't care for the characters of the original Matrix, it makes the action of the original seem moot, but I do find that his point stands. The original Matrix's fight scenes have a respectable amount of tension and are carried out well. Sadly, there is none of this tension and suspense to be found throughout the other two Matrix films.

Basically The Matrix becomes another, boring monomyth, with no variety or spirit behind it to make it work. But Britton, one might ask, you mention Star Wars so much, that's a monomythic story, what makes the Star Wars films so great and The Matrix so awful? Star Wars (at least the original films) had good characters, a good story, and a good team of creatives behind it making sure that the story was good enough for audiences to enjoy and suspend their disbelief enough to buy into. The Wachowskis, despite their proven talent, don't seem to be very concerned with such things. As in the first film, the Wachowskis have an obsession with being deep and meaningful, yet they never give anything to the audience to latch on to, which became more apparent as the next films rolled around.

There are fun moments throughout the sequels, the aforementioned action is still well done, extravagant and full of energy, Hugo Weaving is a strong presence throughout the films, which is a point I forgot to bring up in my original Matrix review. Despite some of his sillier moments, Weaving brings a genuine sense of intimidation, though it's constantly undermined by poor writing. The philosophical call outs are intriguing, yet like the first film the Wachowskis never bother to do anything meaningful with them, rather than use it as a convenient plot device to cover up plot holes.

If it were up to me, I'd probably stick to the first film and not bother with the rest, as at least the first Matrix can be fun to watch, if not extremely insulting to the audience and shamelessly knocking off better films, comics, and novels.