Phantom Thread

★★★★★★★★★★ 10/10

There are still surprises at the movies. And Phantom Thread is a both perfect and surprising film. I don’t think there was much doubt that it would be a good movie, with it being written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson and featuring a performance, perhaps the last, from recent retiree Daniel Day-Lewis. But there’s so much more here than those things a filmgoer can comfortably bank on that elevate this film to rank among the very best of the year.

​

Phantom Thread follows the demanding life of London fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock (Day-Lewis). He’s work- and schedule-obsessed. Unmarried, he rifles through female companions, first offering all of himself until the point he’s fed up with the them and needs his sister and right-hand in business, Cyril (Lesley Manville), to ask the woman to leave his house. Day-Lewis, haunted by his mother, is a bit of an insufferable tortured artist, which is socially forgivable because his gowns are absolutely stunning, making women at the top of '50’s London society feel like royalty in their own right.

​

Then suddenly, after the recent dismissal of his latest fling, Reynolds meets an enchanting waitress named Alma (Vicky Krieps), who he invites for dinner. The subtle brilliance of Day-Lewis’s performance and Anderson’s script is that Reynolds doesn’t go through some sort of transformation, being charming in the beginning of the relationship, and then oddly unbearable later on. His odd overbearing nature is very much on display the very first time he and Alma sit for dinner. But at the same time he is incredibly charming, sort of turning very boyish when he realizes his attraction to the rather homely waitress.

​

Alma, on the other hand, does go through a change. Krieps is perfectly cast as she can play simple and demure at first, until she becomes Reynolds’s utterly chic and confident muse once she finds a bit of footing in their relationship. Gaining that footing is hard because Reynolds is always on edge, able to turn cruel in an instant.

​

One element the film explores is the relationship of the male designer to women, which is something I’ve actually thought a lot about. Certainly the male designer loves woman, almost worshipping her physical form and wanting to highlight her beauty in marvelous ways. But is the male designer's view, characterized by a razor focus on the physical, reductive? Does he miss and diminish all the other ways a woman can be great apart from being beautiful? During their first date Reynolds wipes away Alma’s red lipstick because he, “likes to face who he’s talking to.” That is, of course, ironic coming from a man whose job it is to dress up a woman in the finest and most elaborate fabrics money can buy. This is perhaps Alma’s first clue that if she’s to continue on with Reynolds, she would need to change in order to fit into his world, because he would not be willing to do the same.

​

Alma does continue on, and moves into Reynolds’s house where he both sleeps and works— a house indwelt by his assistant Cyril as well. Cyril is the only person with whom Reynolds can hold a long-term relationship, which also makes her the only person who can challenge him and get him to see when it’s time to move on from a woman. Lesley Manville plays her with a comically dismissive confidence, always suggesting what people should do, and then further clarifying that she wasn’t suggesting after all, but commanding something be done.

​

Cyril is the first to notice that Reynolds and Alma’s relationship is deteriorating just like all his other flings. Though Alma is patient with Reynolds, she pushes him in ways that make him uncomfortable. She also seems to understand his work in a special way, which excites Reynolds for a while. After we’ve become enchanted by Alma, Anderson makes us wonder if Alma is actually any more spectacular than any of the women that came before in Reynolds’s life, because it's all but certain that like the rest of them, she won't last. And that’s where the surprises begin.

​

If you’ve heard anything about the film it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine it being one of the most carefully crafted films of 2017, which it is. Day-Lewis absolutely nails the movements and delicacy of a designer. Though Reynolds hates the word, chic is the only one that can describe his life surrounded by some of the most beautiful things and people. But what I didn’t expect was that Phantom Thread would nearly be a noir film. The way Anderson uses harsh white light and deep shadows evokes a noir feel, suggesting something darker behind all the decadence.

​

Perfectly capturing the mix of the delicate and noir elements is the film’s score, written by Radiohead’s Jonny Greenwood. The score, like the visuals, is sickeningly beautiful, and at times reminiscent of the kind of constant spin of a Philip Glass composition. Yet on the whole, it very much stands alone in that it is tailor-made for this film. In a single composition the music can be confidently lush one moment, and then unsettling in the next. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a score that feels so effortlessly fused to a film, as if it were all part of one thought.

​

It must be tough to make a film that surprises without being misleading. The problem with trailers is they so often reveal so much that nothing is left to discover. On the other hand, when a film doesn’t advertise fully what a movie is about in aim to preserve some measure of surprise, audiences often feel duped. Unmet expectations are a big reason mother! was so terribly received by audiences. I felt myself feeling a bit unsure whether Phantom Thread would meet my own expectations. The film goes to places you could never guess. What I discovered was how important it is as a film viewer to give yourself over to the story so that it can unfold in the way it’s meant to. This film has changed the way I will see films in the future. I'll do my best to go in as a blank slate, allowing the movie to unfold without preconceived desires from my own imagination. And once you allow this film to flow on its own, you’ll be able to truly see the movie for its magnificence.

The Post

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ 6/10

One of the biggest achievements of The Post is that is has raised the level of what it means for a film to be Oscar bait. Beyond the glitzy cast, the ease with which it can be digested, and the fact that it covers well-trodden territory already celebrated by those who dole out these awards, it's the never-ending grandstanding that makes this film so exceptionally contrived. So many of the applause-garnering speeches from Streep, Hanks and Paulson, are just perfect for those little snippets they play during awards ceremonies. People, even in the olden days (the '70s in this case), don't actually speak in such eloquent snippets, but Hanks in particular seems to deeply relish the moments he all but breaks the fourth wall to scream "Nominate Me!" 

​

The Post is a story about the journalists (Hanks plays longtime Post editor-in-chief Ben Bradlee) and the owner (Streep plays Kay Graham who inherits the newspaper from her family) of the Washington Post. In 1971 the Post is considered a small local paper in a lesser league than the New York Times. But they get their chance to alter history after the Times is barred from publishing papers detailing the failure of the Vietnam War, a war continued without the prospect of winning, and continued in order to preserve the reputations of Democratic and Republican presidents alike. The Washington Post gets a copy of the top secret documents and must decide whether to print the findings in the paper while a court injunction hangs over The Times.

​

Bradlee is adamant that they must print, but Kay is not so sure. She's had to take the paper public to keep it solvent, and this choice arises during the week of the paper's IPO when their bank could legally rescind its backing.

​

What director Steven Spielberg and the writers of The Post get right is the sanctimonious attitude that defines so many hard-news journalists. It's a self-righteousness practically unmatched by other professions. The problem is Spielberg and especially Hanks seem to buy into that sanctimony and offer it without a hint of irony or challenge.

​

And the bait-y-ness wouldn't be so bad if the film weren’t so ineffective. All the rousing speeches are forgotten by time you walk out the doors of the multiplex. These grandiose lines are nice for now, but are ultimately filled with air, hardly making a commentary on the time, and certainly missing the opportunity to make an effective point about the relationship between the press and government today. 

​

And where Spielberg usually so cleverly captures a sense of wonder and magic in his films, here every pan and zoom feels deceitfully placed to squeeze out any sense of drama and to offer little wink winks to the audience that suggest a character is about to take a stand, make an important speech, or feel an emotion.

​

It is no surprise that the movie's saving grace is Meryl Streep. She alone brings layers and depth to her character. Of course only hers and Hanks’s characters have much of anything to do. In Kay you actually see the struggle to take control of her family business despite the derision hurtled her way because she is a woman. The film does have some success in expressing its feminist message, though even that feels incomplete because the filmmakers are so busy focusing in on how they can squeeze in one more grand gesture. The scene when a journalist (Carrie Coon) relays the Supreme Court decision to the rest of the Post newsroom as it comes in over the phone is meant to be a seminal moment, yet it involves the sort of cringiness that sends shivers of revulsion down one's spine.

​

It's sad to say, but I truly believe this, if this exact film was made by another filmmaker with another cast, The Post would have been rescheduled out of its awards season release date, released earlier in the year, and it would have faded into oblivion, where it belongs, by now. This, unlike great journalism films like All the President’s Men and 2015’s Spotlight, is not a film to be remembered.

The Disaster Artist

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

I remember when I saw The Room. I didn't know much, other than it was a movie from years ago, and my friends had called the worst movie ever made, which left me to wonder why we were going to see this supposed travesty in first place, and why we had to see it at midnight. I was grossly underprepared for what would happen at the screening. I didn't even bring spoons (it's customary to throw plastic spoons in the air during certain parts of the film), but luckily my friends had me covered. The Room is constantly shown to packed theaters to this day, often late at night.

The Disaster Artist is a film that only makes sense in context. It's a movie about the making of a movie, The Room, so it really helps to have seen that earlier movie before seeing this one.

It didn't take long for me to see why The Room is considered the best worst movie in the history of film. Clearly it was made by someone aware enough to notice that violent, gritty, scandalous tales with a bit of tasteful nudity are elements often present in prestigious films. But this filmmaker was still somehow too dense to pick up on the necessity of story, coherence, consistent characters and artfulness.

That filmmaker is Tommy Wiseau. He's the disastrous artist played by this film's director, James Franco, who has an uncanny resemblance to Tommy once he dons the long, jet-black wig. The Disaster Artist follows Tommy and Hollywood hopeful, Greg Sestero, as they move to LA and make The Room. Tommy is too loud, makes crazy "acting choices,” has boatloads of money and  a thick eastern European accent (maybe), though he claims to be from New Orleans. We still don't really know much about who Tommy is and where he comes from. He's apparently unconcerned with sharing that part of his life. It's simply paramount that the world knows he's here now. Tommy is tall and pale, with uneven skin, but he, at least Franco's version of the man, sees himself as the quintessential film hero— a Grant, Brando or Cruise-type.

The film is based on Greg's book, which certainly helped James Franco and team make wise decisions as they put the film together. First, telling the story with Greg as the real center instead of Tommy was a very necessary choice. There are so many unknowns about Tommy and he may be, to a large degree, unknowable. So filtering this wild man through Greg's eyes was very smart. The second clever decision was to spend a good portion of time, in a well-paced and succinct movie, on the buildup to The Room's creation. Much of the film is about Greg's and Tommy's early friendship. It explores why Greg would trust Tommy, someone with obvious issues and secrets, to the point where he would drive out to LA to live with him as they started their careers as leading men. It didn't go well for either of them once they hit the western coast, though any break Greg did catch, whether in his career or love life, spawned jealousy in Tommy's heart. After all the buildup, we finally get to the point where Tommy and Greg, disheartened by Hollywood's rejection, decide to make their own movie. Greg would co-star and help where he could, while Tommy would write, direct, star in and pay for the entire production, including wages for the cast and crew. 

One thing James Franco does exceptionally well is recreate scenes from the iconically horrendous film almost frame for frame to the delight of anyone who's seen The Room. It must have been quite the arduous task.

Soon things begin to devolve as Tommy loses his cool and the rest of the crew loses patience with their director. They were willing to put up with him for a while, until he became erratic, unreasonable, and insensitive. Soon even Greg can't handle it and their friendship becomes strained. Dave Franco (who plays Greg and is James's younger brother) is excellent playing the straight man within a farce—but one who's also believably desperate enough to have befriended Tommy in the first place. 

What makes this movie so special is that despite your regular cast of characters seen in movies like Pineapple Express, and This Is the End (it came as no surprise that Seth Rogan is in the movie), this film is significantly more impactful on the emotional scale than those other movies. Yes, The Disaster Artist is a comedy, but when things melt into frenzy on set, we feel a palpable intensity. And when it finally comes time for Tommy to premiere his film to a packed theater, our hearts sink as his heart sinks when he hears the snickers and mocking jeers of the crowd who watch his work. Tommy can be a monster, but he's also a very passionate person who really cares about Greg, if for no one else. So it hurts to see him fail so miserably.

The elder Franco, with the help of the younger, has created a brilliant movie exploring a cultural phenomenon and how it came to be. He treats his characters as the sort of idiotic wildcards that they are without making (too much) fun of them. If the film had gone in the direction of outright mockery, the climax and end wouldn't have worked. Instead the Franco brothers create fully realized characters full of heart. That is the key to why this film is able to be both funny and expressive without a hint of sentimentality.

Coco

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

It turns out I was preparing myself to see Coco for a week before I actually saw it. The five days leading up to it I had been practicing singing Christmas carols with a Latin feel for a special church service complete with a full Latin band. And because the band sounded so incredible that led me to listen to Latin music (Salsa and Bachata to be exact) the days after the church service. I hadn’t realized how much music was part of the story in Coco.  So perhaps I was primed to love this film, but I truly believe Coco is a continuation of the incredible work Pixar has done over the past 15 years, and it may actually be one of the very best Disney/Pixar films ever.

Coco takes the Mexican holiday Dia De Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, and runs wild with creativity imagining what could be going on below the surface. Dia De Los Muertos is a family holiday celebrating those members who have passed from life to death. Mexican families will set up an ofrenda with pictures of all their deceased family members. In the Pixar world death is not the end. Dead family members invisibly cross over an orange, leafy bridge to the land of living on this day each year so long as their photo is placed on the ofrenda. Usually life after death lowers the stakes in films or at least causes some confusion, like in the Harry Potter series, but here neither of those things are the case. You get to live in the land of the dead only so long as the people living remember you. Once those who love and remember you leave earth, then you cease to exist all together.

12-year-old Miguel comes from a family of shoemakers. They take Dia De Los Muertos very seriously, painstakingly setting up their ofrenda each year. Soon Miguel will be old enough to start making shoes himself with all his family, including his mom, dad, siblings, cousins and strict grandmother, all while his great-grandmother, Coco, watches. The only problem is Miguel doesn’t want to make shoes, he wants to play guitar and sing, and he’s quite good at it. The first time he sings along to a film starring his favorite deceased music star, it becomes clear that Miguel (voiced by Anthony Gonzalez) is very talented. Miguel’s family, though, hates music. Turns out many years ago Coco’s father was a musician who left to hit the road, leaving Coco and her mother behind never to return. For the generations since, no one has been allowed to sing, dance, or fraternize with musical types.

On Dia De Los Muertos Miguel gets fed up with his music-less life and family and rebels against them and their traditions. When Miguel tells his grandma that he doesn’t care about his family’s stupid ofrenda, several people in my theater gasped understanding the cultural gravity of Miguel’s words. Through a supernatural guitar, Coco gets transferred to the realm of the dead. He crosses over to their land while the bridge between the two worlds, on this holiday, exists. His goal immediately becomes to return to the land of the living, which can only happen with the blessing of a dead family member and can only happen before the sun rises. So he finds several of his skeletal family members, who Miguel, up until then, had only seen in pictures, so they can send him back. He finds Mama Imelda, mother of Coco, who agrees to send him back, but only if he promises to forsake music. Miguel can’t make that compromise.

He begins searching for another family member who can send him back without any crazy conditions. Mama Imelda attempts to track Miguel down so she can be the one to send him back. The journey is an absolute feast for the eyes, animated with gorgeous colors that make your eyes widen as far as a jaw can drop. And the music is simply incredible, utterly infectious and fun. But what really makes this film so special, and this is true for each of Pixar’s masterpieces, is the emotional weight connected to the story. Without saying too much, there are twists and turns that reach to the depths of the human soul. It’s no surprise if you know me that I wept… twice. Coco is a rare film experience low on pretension but high in impact. It’s politically powerful as it shows Mexican culture and heritage in the beautiful and glorious light under which it belongs, especially during a time when the leader of the so-called free world has demonized the country and its people. Plus, the point of the story is overwhelmingly clear— we need family and music to survive this life and what comes after.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

There's something special about a cultural phenomenon. It's imbued with incredible power— particularly the power to put millions and millions of people, for a brief shining moment, on the same cultural page. I spent a good chunk of the day talking about Star Wars: The Last Jedi with coworkers the first day back in the office after seeing the movie. In fact, it felt like the only thing I could and wanted to talk about for a while. With a franchise as storied and beloved as Star Wars the potential for this power, especially in the age of social media, seems endless. But it also creates stakes that are impossibly high for Disney and Lucasfilm. Often attempts to resurrect things that were once at the height of cultural awareness end up being cheap regurgitations of the old, letting loose the unwieldy force of nostalgia. So it is remarkable that director Rian Johnson, who reportedly has turned down offers to direct other sequels, chose this opportunity to jump into the Comic Con world of cosplay and fan obsession. But boy, am I glad that he did.

The SPOILERS begin here

Not everything in the two and a half hour movie worked (which I will get into), but the majority of the movie was very good. And the moments and sequences where Johnson and team cranked into high gear were nothing short of astounding, making it the most thrilling and satisfying action movie of the year.

From the tediousness of the overlong happenings on Luke’s lonesome Jedi island, to the brief and muppet-like appearance of Yoda from beyond the grave, to Finn’s and Rose’s inconsequential plot line, and the inconsequential lives of Captain Phasma and Snoke that end without much character development, there are some issues. My biggest issue, though, is with the way Luke dies. I understand this is how people die and become one with the Force in this version of the universe, but Luke’s death feels like a let down and a cop out. After spending so much time and energy astral projecting himself so his nephew, Kylo Ren, wouldn’t be able to kill him, Luke then goes and dies. It’s a little baffling.

So it’s a small miracle that a film that has so many things with which to take issue (I didn’t even mention Leia’s use of the Force, which didn’t bother me at all, but really ruffled some fans' feathers) could still be so good. The simple fact is that these issues are minor and ultimately forgettable because so much more of the movie worked. First, Luke “old man” Skywalker is such a delight in this film. You get to see how this kid has turned into a hardened man, disenchanted with the Jedi Order, the way and religion his whole life was built upon since he was a young man. He’s tired of answering questions about the past, tired of the rebels’ endless struggle against the powers of darkness. If the Force is so great, how come the rebels can’t, after so long, seem to catch a break, is the question his weary face seems to always be on the verge of asking. Then when it really counts he emerges to help the rebel cause this one last time, astral projecting himself to the front lines of the battle against Kylo Ren. Ren goes to kill Luke in the same way he killed his own father, Han Solo, in The Force Awakens, only to realize that his saber is piercing into Luke with no effect. Cut to an incredible moment where we see Luke, the Jedi we love, hovering above a rock in a meditative stance. It becomes clear that he’s using all he has within him to project his image so that the rebels might escape.

Beyond Luke, every character on the rebel side, and at least one on the side of the Empire, are purely magnetic. From Carrie Fisher’s Princess Leia, to Finn, to pilot Poe, to the Tico sisters, Rose and Paige, the characters are easy to care about, easy to love.

But what really makes the film is the central relationship, the one between Rey and Kylo Ren. The two faced off in a lightsaber battle in what would be the best scene from The Force Awakens. This time they’re in constant communication as they realize they’re telepathically linked. Though he’s on the Empire ship, and she’s on Luke’s secluded island, the two speak to each other, trying to convince the other to join their side in the battle of light against dark. Snoke claims that he is responsible for their link. It was his plan, a plan which he devolves in a comically sinister monologue, to lure Rey to his throne room so he could stop her and the rebels' plan to inspire hope across the galaxy. Kylo and Rey are perfect opposites, which may be why they feel so perfect for each other. Kylo, conflicted and fed up with Snoke’s disdain, kills his leader and asks Rey to join him in a galaxy they could rule together without this struggle between light and dark. It would be a dynasty without the Empire and without the Republic. The magic of Kylo is, that while he’s a mess of a man who’s chosen the dark side, he’s so conflicted that you can’t help but wish the best for him. Then suddenly he starts making an awful lot of sense when reaching out to Rey. Part of me began to believe that maybe this is what the galaxy needs to reach the end of this struggle. Could Kylo’s plan actually bring the balance everyone keeps talking about. And Rey seems to really consider his offer in a scene oozing with dramatic tension. This is all within the same scene when Rey and Kylo team up to take down a host of throne room goonies robed in red. It’s a gorgeous sequence featuring thrilling action, but it’s also packed with so much emotional weight.

And that’s another thing that elevates this sci-fi adventure film. Each action sequence contains a measure of heart. It’s one thing for a film to possess both action and heart, but in The Last Jedi, within the action sequences are critical moments necessary for the progression of the story. We see Paige Tico sacrifice herself in the film’s truly captivating opening. Luke’s astounding astral form is revealed during his lightsaber battle with Kylo Ren toward the film’s end. And there’s a glorious silent moment when Vice Admiral Holdo (Laura Dern) rips through the Empire ship at hyper speed, sacrificing herself so the remaining rebels can escape. Embedded in each of these action moments, including when Kylo and Rey take on the Empire’s entire throne room, are necessary events that make the story truly great.

With Star Wars: The Last Jedi you really begin to get the sense that this film is pushing the franchise forward. No longer is this new iteration just a cheery homage to the original three films. The story progresses, setting up these new characters as the new heroes of our time. Both Rey’s and Kylo’s developments feel like new territory. And that’s really what a cultural phenomenon needs to survive. Nostalgia can only carry you so far. At some point, you’ve got to keep the story moving if you want to remain relevant and not simply a relic of the past.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

For some reason I was under the impression that Three Billboard Outside Ebbing, Missouri was based on a true story. It feels just outrageous enough to have really happened. But admittedly, once I learned that it wasn't based on real events, but the creation of writer/director Martin McDonagh (In Bruges) my mind was put at ease and I allowed myself to like the film even more than I already did. You would think someone from Missouri would know that Ebbing isn't a real town, but geography was never my strong suit.

The three billboards from the film's title read: 1) Raped while dying 2) And still no arrests 3) How come, Chief Willoughby? So the film deals with pretty heavy themes. But it's also really funny. Like much funnier than I was comfortable with if these people really did exist. They did not exist I would later learn, but even still it's hard to want to laugh when the impetus for the main action is the death and abuse of a young woman. The only way to make sense of the film is to view it as a dark comedy, a black comedy, even.

The billboards were paid for by a seemingly hard-as-nails grieving mother, Mildred Hayes, (brilliantly played by Frances McDormand) whose daughter was brutalized months earlier. From her perspective, the Ebbing PD were too busy tormenting black residents in the town to get to the bottom of her daughter's case. As Chief Willoughby, characterized as a mostly decent man, explains to Mildred, the department followed every lead, but there were no witnesses nor was anyone even with Angela, Mildred's daughter, right before the murder and rape. So Mildred's billboard crusade was somewhat foolish, but she's all the more likable because she points to the corruption of the department, while bearing her heart to her whole community. Mildred says the reason she put up the billboards is that keeping the case in the public eye increases the chances it will be solved, but as a scene halfway through the film illustrates with no need for such pointed language, Mildred's billboards are an outpouring of her heart-- a heart filled with anger and sadness, and a heart she rarely shows to anyone.

What makes Mildred great, though, goes far beyond her foray into street advertising. In the town she's known to be a say-what's-on-her-mind, quick-witted beast of a woman, who's occasionally, okay almost always, intoxicated. The face she presents to the world is one of steely confidence. She hardly shudders when Chief Willoughby implores her to take down the billboards on account that he has cancer. She says she already knew and stands by her decision. When a priest comes to her house to explain why the billboards need to go, and why she needs to go to church, a drunken Mildred seems to go off on a tangent only to bring it back to deliver 2017's sharpest film takedown. McDormand seems to be having all the fun in the world playing a woman both righteous and morally on the edge of decency.

Unfortunately for Mildred, the billboards become more of the story than her daughter. She becomes the target of the town's scrutiny and rage, which is usually the case, at least to some degree, when a person is fighting for something that could benefit the community as a whole. Imagine if the police department fired its racist cops and spent more energy solving crimes instead of harassing a portion of Ebbing's population. That would have positive ramifications for the community as a whole. But the town doesn't see that. They see justice and equality as a threat to their way of life. Sound familiar? Perhaps this is why the film feels so real and so relevant now.

What makes the film work, far beyond the brazenness of character at the center, are the moments that convey Mildred's deep sorrow. McDormand's performance is great because we get a holistic picture of a woman who is both strong and broken, somehow both fearless and afraid. What sticks are both the moments that make you laugh out of shock and the ones that resonate emotionally with shocking effectiveness.

One of the other primary characters, the one who supplies the most laughs after Mildred herself, is Officer Dixon (Sam Rockwell). Dixon is a ball of vices. He shows up to the job drunk, is a slacker who lives in his mother's house, an overt racist and a cop who abuses his power only to experience repercussions that hardly fit his crimes. It feels weird to laugh at a character that everyone describes as a racist before they even mention his name and occupation. But perhaps we're laughing at his stupidity. 

SPOILER ALERT:

What doesn't make sense is the urge McDonagh has to redeem Dixon without him ever personally being called to answer for or turn from his racist ways. Even Chief Willoughby, a passive participant in racism and homophobia at very best, is treated like a sweet, upright man with a good heart. Officer Dixon seems to have been jolted out of his foolish arrogance even going as far as to apologize for his brutal behavior towards a white citizen. And then after being the most outspoken critic of the Mildred's billboards, he ends up doing what he can to help solve the case of Andrea Hayes. Through these late-film actions we're being told to accept and embrace this changed man. But he never comes to terms with his racism. Excuse me if it's difficult to accept the man's changed heart if he's too stubborn to change certain attitudes, particularly a trend of attitudes that go beyond just affecting individuals, but feed into a system of degradation. The fact that Willoughby and Dixon can be racists and good-natured might be an attempt to explore the complexity of the human heart, but what I fear it really does is send the message that racism is one of those sins that's not all that bad.

The Shape of Water

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

At the heart of the answer to the question of why The Shape of Water is so enrapturing is the fact that the film is a paradox. In one sense it embodies the film trait that I've praised most this year, wild creativity. It’s undoubtedly a bold story that takes the audience to a place we’ve never been. At the same time, that story is told rather conservatively. It’s a film that pays hyper homage to the kind of old romantic movies people would eat up a few decades back. Perhaps that's why, to my surprise and excitement, it has garnered so much awards attention (at least from the Hollywood Foreign Press).

The Shape of Water is such a paradox that it's hard to wrap my brain around it. Even now having come to the conclusion that I really liked the film, I'm not sure if the way the film was made, not nearly as bold as the story itself, held the film back or if this tension is what makes the film soar. I know not every moment of the film works perfectly. There were times when the film, even with its wild creativity, was pretty predictable because the style of the film was so familiar. And I also know that my favorite part of the movie was a blatant throwback to old Hollywood.

Let's start with what did work. First, the story is both weird and wonderful. A mute woman working as a janitor at a research facility finds and connects with a humanoid sea creature that scientists are holding and torturing within the facility walls. She treats the creature with respect and the creature doesn't see her limitations. And it only gets weirder when the two fall in love, turning the film into a surprisingly raunchier and oddly more morally complex film than one could expect going into it having only seen the trailers. 

Sally Hawkins, who plays Elisa, the mute janitor, is absolutely perfect in the role. Hawkins has been underrated for a long time in Hollywood doing incredible work for years now. Here, despite not speaking a single word, she conveys incredible passion with her face, aided occasionally by a grunt and a tap dance. Suddenly with all the critical acclaim for the movie, she's looking like the one to beat this awards season as far as Best Actress goes.

Then there's Octavia Spencer in a role she's played before, the sassy black friend. This time it's in the historical context of Cold War pressure, but Guillermo Del Toro's film lets us into the life of Zelda Fuller more than other films that have featured Spencer in similar form. She's a breath of needed levity in a film that gets dark and pulpy. 

Then there's Richard Jenkins who plays Elisa's neighbor. This character isn't so much half-baked as he is disconnected in the first half of the film. What we learn about his life, that he freelances as an advertising illustrator, his adoration of the guy selling nasty pies at the nearby diner, and the fact that he feels like a man born in the wrong time, doesn't ultimately feel relevant to his role in helping push forward the main story with Elisa and the amphibian man. He comes to be a central character, but until then he’s kind of off living his own disconnected life. Speaking of disconnect, there are minor instances of racism and homophobia shown throughout, but they are such small snippets that they hardly register. Perhaps it’s supposed to parallel, or soften our thoughts by the time we get to, the odd interspecies relationship. (although is it really interspecies if the creature is part human?) The moral question of the relationship doesn’t really seem like the question Del Toro is pressing us to ask, though. He simple wants us to suspend our disbelief and go with the relationship in his version of the world.

Michael Stuhlbarg and Michael Shannon round out the cast-- one as a Russian posing as an American scientist at the facility, and the other the primary torturer of the nautical creature in captivity. Shannon's character, the source of evil in the story, has a vendetta against, and a score to settle with any one who helps, the creature. And though he internalizes it in the most heinous ways imaginable, deep down he's one of several lonely people, which is really what this film is all about. 

Hawkins, Jenkins and Spencer all play lonely folks leading dull existences until this unexpected creature brings them to life. One finds deeper friendship and the courage to stand up to her lazy husband, one finds a purpose and inspiration, while the other falls in love. 

The whole film is coated in a Del Toro-esque blackness, with ocean-like greens and blues. The visuals give this paradoxical film a sense of cohesion, but the togetherness of the film goes far beyond the colors and light. It's because this bold premise is masterfully merged with this style of filmmaking. Some moments feel unnecessary or don't land emotionally the way they're meant, and ultimately I do think Del Toro could have taken more chances in how the story is told, but the story itself on the whole rarely feels off track even as we dive deeper into the bizarreness of the entire enterprise. 

Mudbound (plus thoughts on the Creation of Whiteness)

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Mudbound is quiet and contemplative while being deeply moving and upsetting all at once. I can only imagine the difficulty director Dee Rees had in striking that balance, but my suspicion is that the secret to success has a lot to do with patience. You’ll have to patiently wait for Mudbound to pay off, but I guarantee your time investment won’t go to waste.  

Though it’s a story not based on true events, it is perhaps more marvelous in that it’s rooted in the real world. It starts off as the intersection of two families bound to the same land. The McAllan family, a father, mother, two young girls and the grandfather from the father’s side, uproot their lives to buy several acres of farmland in Mississippi. It becomes apparent that Henry, the head of the house, is truly out of his depth when the family arrives to the new farmland he’s purchased only to be informed that he’d been swindled out of the down payment for a house he thought he was buying in addition to the plot of land.

The Jacksons, a black family of sharecroppers living on the farm, are there to welcome the McAllans when they arrive, aware that despite their superior knowledge of and familiarity with the land, they would be subject to the demands of these newcomers. But that didn’t diminish their hope. The family’s patriarch, Hap, has hopes and dreams of saving up enough to own his own land, a dream to provide for his family in a way mostly unknown to his race. His wife, Florence, is less idealistic on the whole, but loves and supports him especially when he tries to instill his sense of hope in their four children.

The Jacksons’ oldest son, Ronsel, enlists in the army. He returns to the farm at the end of the war at the same time as fighter pilot Jamie, Henry’s brother. Ronsel and Jamie are adjusting to their post-war lives simultaneously. Jamie is haunted by the horrors of war, while also being confronted with the boredom of everyday small town life. He drinks himself into a stupor nearly every day and night. Ronsel deals with the same after effects, plus the weight of his diminished status as a black man in America after achieving a measure of freedom abroad during the war. The two soldiers become friends spawning the stares of the townspeople and to the immense horror of Jamie’s and Henry’s father, Pappy McAllan.

From a visual standpoint, the film is immaculate. Rees and cinematographer Rachel Morrison create a world of the weary striving for happiness. The film is set during and after World War II, mostly on a farm in Mississippi, stuck somewhere between black and white and sepia tones color wise. The sun shines with a harshness that weighs on each one of the unfulfilled Mississippians. The overall visual motif reminds us of the perpetually soggy earth that these farmers attempt to tame.

And the performances are nothing short of incredible. Garret Hedlund, as the dashing yet disturbed war hero, and Rob Morgan, as the black father both battered and hopeful, are standouts. But three performances truly raise the stakes. First Jason Mitchell as Ronsel turns in another outstanding performance. In every film he appears, from Straight Outta Compton to Detroit from earlier this year, no matter if it’s a big or small role, you cannot take your eyes off of him. He is, simply put, an incredible actor, and when all is said and done, he has the responsibility of expressing the major philosophical point Dee Rees is here to make. Then there’s Carrie Mulligan, a superb actor very much like Mitchell, as Henry’s wife Laura. She offers an unexpected dimension, one of a woman relegated to a woman’s place in a twisted society, beneath a doofus of a husband who offers her no gifts worth having besides her daughters. It’s through this character that Rees shows her immense compassion and deep understanding of the complexity of the human heart. My temptation, if writing a racial epic, would be to make it a clear-cut story; one where white people who benefit from the systemic racial degradation of others in any way don’t have stories worth telling until or unless they reconcile this great evil within them that passively adheres to the status quo. Surely Laura is sweet toward the Jackson family, but she is a far cry from forsaking the benefits given to her, not by virtue of her talent, or kindness, or skill, but by virtue of her being part of the arbitrary club of whiteness. Still she too has a story worth telling, one of immense pain and sorrow, and one she’s hardly allowed to speak of. Mulligan masterfully tackles the task set before her. Then there’s Mary J. Blige whose performance comes as a real shock, although perhaps it shouldn’t. I don’t think Blige is the best vocalist, but she has a way of expressing a certain desperation and hunger in just about every song she sings. She brings that same feeling here, but more subtly. She’s a mother full of love, but that means she’s opened herself up to a life of heartache in a world that already guarantees her sorrow because of her race and gender. We first see her in a heart sunken state when Ronsel, her oldest, leaves for war. After she hugs and kisses him goodbye, she can’t bare to turn back around to watch him ride off. And yet she’s also the picture of hopeful joy, supporting the dreams of her husband and kids, and celebrating life whenever she’s given the chance. Blige seems to really understand this woman on a visceral level.

What helps the actors express what their characters are feeling is the use of internal monologue. This can be a risky filmmaking device because it can easily turn into a crutch that leads to too much exposition and not enough thoughtful physicality. Rees multiplies the risk by not having one narrator, but six, each explaining how they feel to the audience, or more accurately put, whispering how they feel into the abyss, at different times. The choice pays off. Through lyrically worded voiceover we get a peek into the rich interior life of each protagonist. It’s not a new technique. Terrence Malick is fond if it, using it in his film from earlier this year, Song to Song. And while I thought his usage was more poetic and challenging, Rees struck the perfect tone for a film that just as easily could have been much louder, more impatient, and less impactful.

At the end of the day, though it’s never explicitly stated, Mudbound is a story about the destruction caused by whiteness. And this is what I really want to talk about.

The white identity, or whiteness, is not based on anything real. We should all know by now that race is a social construct, but so are many other identifying categories. White, though, is even more arbitrary. Whiteness is nothing more than a club, one in which the rules for membership are subject to change. Note that the Irish for a period were hardly considered part of the privileged white class in America. They, though, made the conscious effort to inherit the riches of whiteness by crapping on black people in exchange for admittance into the club. And whether Jewish people are white really depends to whom you ask the question.

So if whiteness is a malleably defined categorization, what is the point of that identification? Why do so many people actively identify as white? Whiteness was created for only one reason— to establish the dominance of one group over all others. And those who belong to that “higher” group will therefore inherit the benefits of the arbitrary declaration that “we” are better. And to enforce this ridiculous notion, white people used violence and terror to establish their whiteness as real. White has no cultural meaning or value. It never was meant to. That’s why if you ask a white American to tell you about their family history or culture you’ll hear a lot about Italy, Ireland, England and Germany and the cultural traditions of countries across an ocean before they ever mention America or any sort of culture that specifically stems from their white identity.

So if culture is irrelevant when addressing the question of whiteness, then why are so many people full-heartedly set on identifying themselves as white still today? The reason, and I don’t offer this as a suggestion or opinion, but as a pure fact, is exactly the same reason people became white, out of thin air mind you, in the first place— to enjoy the benefits of being white— benefits that allot certain advantages, confidence, and privileges while denying those things to people not part of the arbitrary club.

What we see and feel in Mudbound is micro study of America’s past and present.  We’re “watching whiteness work” as DeRay McKesson puts it. We see one family, the McAllans, clinging to whiteness so hard as to milk every advantage out of it. Pappy is particularly cruel and evil towards black people, while the others in the family aren’t, but it doesn’t matter because the results are the same. Henry takes advantage of the Jacksons at every turn with full knowledge that if they were to protest his treatment they’d be jeopardizing any hope for a future. Henry is not a skilled businessman and is just downright dense, but he knows that being white is more advantageous than any knowledge or skill when it comes to getting what he wants.

And to perpetuate the systemic establishment of white dominance, those who identify as white have made sure that any white person who forsakes his or her whiteness will pay the cost. That’s what we see in the case of Jamie. After he strikes up a friendship with Ronsel, angering his father and the white supremacists of the town, both he and Ronsel are subjected to differing degrees of violence — the same violence used to establish white supremacy when the concept of whiteness was created.

For the record, black identity is also constructed. Like whiteness, there’s nothing about it that’s inherently real. But there are two main differences in the histories of blackness and whiteness. While black identity was pushed upon a group of people, white identity was self-bestowed. White people decided they were white, decided what whiteness would mean, and decided that all their descendants, so long as they did not forsake it, would thereby inherit whiteness as if it were something genetic to be handed down bodily. The second difference is that white people have expressed no real interest in creating a white cultural identity. Instead they cling to the European traditions, which is understandable. Black people, having been ripped from their histories and countries of origin, have resiliently created a rich culture; one made up of many shades, but bound together nonetheless. The story of blackness is the creation of beauty, joy, happiness, and culture born from the depths of despair and heart wrenching pain. That is the enduring legacy of black Americans in particular.

That legacy of resilience is exactly what Rees conveys so well in Mudbound. We see Hap and Florence remain hopeful through so much heartache. And the ending, which brought me to tears by both breaking and lifting my heart at once, is an expression of the faith that black people have in a better tomorrow, though everything suggests that our light should be snuffed out by now.

Justice League

★★★★★☆☆☆☆☆ 5/10

Justice League is objectively not good. I'd go as far to say it's objectively bad. But it is an improvement over last year's Batman v Superman and certainly better than Suicide Squad, if for nothing more than the fact that it was a real delight for fans to see these comic book characters unite on the big screen. Of course that's not enough to save a film from ruin. 

First up in a litany of errors is the film's tone. Tonally the movie is all over the place. In my review for Thor: Ragnarok I complained that that franchise's problem was a drastic tone change from film to film. Justice League suffers from a complete tonal breakdown within the one movie. Is it dark, are the stakes high, or is it all just kind of funny? I know there's a way to make all these elements work at once. I hate to be that guy, but just look to Marvel. When none of these elements are in concert, the lighter moments subvert the stakes, the darkness is only gray at best, and the jokes themselves don't really land. 

Visually, like Batman v Superman, and even parts of Wonder Woman, Justice League is hindered by Zack Snyder's overall vision for the DC extended universe. I say it every single time, but this world he's created is clunky and unnatural, just like his world in the one-off comic book film, Watchmen. The overuse and indelicate use of CGI is apparently something we just have to get used to. There are moments when characters physically interact that look ridiculous. For example there's a point when a character holds another up in the air, but just what exactly character A is grabbing ahold of on character B could not be discerned even when looking intently at the screen. Perhaps that's what they want, us not to look too closely. Snyder has created this outrageous world where movement and vision as we know are challenged beyond reasonable belief or suspension of that belief. 

The plot was fine—a can of standard superhero tropes. An evil being, Steppenwolf, a destroyer of worlds, hopes to conquer earth in the absence of earth's protector now that Superman is dead. He attempted this takeover once before, but was unsuccessful because the Amazons, Atlanteans (from Atlantis, not Atlanta) and all the tribes of man banded together to defeat him. This second go at it, the evil (and frankly boring) Steppenwolf is determined to make it work. He must gather three boxes, which are power itself, hidden and/or guarded on earth. Once combined he'll be able to remake the world into his twisted dark fantasy land where his zombie bug creatures roam free with him as their leader. 

So Batman and Wonder Woman assemble a team of special heroes to stop Steppenwolf's acquisition of the boxes, which, of course, they fail to do. In fact, in an act of outrageous stupidity they essentially hand the third box over to Steppenwolf without a fight. And while the best thing about the film is seeing these heroes fight side-by-side—a fight scene in the middle of the movie when the team is assembled for the first time is the best part—what truly seals this film's fate is the complete lack of character development.

Let's start with Batman. He's brooding and guilty, which we kind of already knew, but where his central motivation was this deep-seated hatred of Superman in Batman v Superman, he seems far more aimless in this film. Alfred alludes to the fact that he's romantically interested in Wonder Woman, but aside from a sensually flat conversation about leadership between the two, we get nothing.

Wonder Woman, who really made a huge impression this summer in her own standalone movie, was similarly charming, but she too was boring. She's supposed to be struggling with stepping into the role of leader, but we only know this because people say it's so. We never feel it. And I had a creeping suspicion during Wonder Woman, but this film leaves us with no doubt, that Gal Gadot, while charismatic, isn't a particularly talented actor.

And speaking of weird and awful performances (SPOILER, although is it really) Henry Cavill as Superman merely stumbled across the screen. His Clark Kent was more wooden than ever, saying lines with such steely efficiency, even to his mother and Lois Lane, the love of his life, after being trapped in the grave for however long. There was something off about Superman when he was raised from the dead. He seemed to suffer from amnesia and was blinded by rage. But more than that, the little bit of personality he had apparently remained trapped in the casket.

Cyborg wasn't bad, just inconsequential. Aquaman was like a Mermanic cowboy providing a laugh here and there. And Ezra Miller as The Flash was the more obvious comic relief, but his jokes often registered like flat soda. So despite the joys of teamwork, the team was soulless.

And that's really the problem with the whole enterprise. From scene to scene nothing about the storytelling is compelling or soulful. These DCEU films, Wonder Woman notwithstanding, have a remarkable ability to keep the audience at a distance, never allowing us to feel anything for our heroes. And that's the ultimate difference between the Marvel extended universe and the DCEU. Warner Bros. doesn't seem to get that these films have to be about more than just cool fights and fulfilling the dreams of nerds by having their favorite heroes appear on screen. The reason us nerds read the comics and watched the cartoons in the first place is because we connected with the characters. Somewhere we saw ourselves or at least someone we wanted to be. With this movie it's impossible to connect.

But there is one thing to be praised about this film. I really appreciate the grandeur of the DCEU, and that grandeur has been present since Man of Steel. In that earlier film, Superman was treated as a sort of messianic figure. In this film that meant that in the wake of his death, division and discord reign on a global scale in a similar way that those things have been ushered in by Trump. But what was even grander was a flashback showing how the mythical Amazons, Atlanteans and the old gods partnered with mankind to defeat Steppenwolf the first time. This was the only sliver of bold storytelling in the entire two hours, bolstered by the presence of the incredibly cool and fierce Amazon warriors, who elevate any scene in which they appear.

Thor: Ragnarok

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

Thor: Ragnarok is very funny. It employs the kind of unabashed low brow/medium brow humor that worked so well in both Guardians of the Galaxy movies, the film franchise that really raised the level for how genuinely funny a comic book movie can be. Now, it seems that directors and producers of these films fear nothing more than the all-to-common critic’s critique that a movie “takes itself too seriously.” So comedy wins the day, which isn’t inherently a bad thing, except when it seems to be forced— forced into the prevailing superhero movie formula.

This, the third Thor standalone iteration, is similar to Spiderman: Homecoming from earlier this year, in that it follows this new formula. Don’t get me wrong, both movies are funny, but each one is missing something. Spiderman misses a sense of danger, and that leads to low stakes. Thor’s primary villain, Hela (a sinewy Cate Blanchett), certainly feels dangerous. And Ragnarok, essentially the Asgardian version of the end of days, is pretty heavy stuff. In fact one of the best things about this Thor and its introduction of Hela, is that the film hardly takes place on earth. Instead, it’s steeped in the epic lore that centers on Thor’s home of Asgard. What Thor: Ragnarok is missing is the emotional element that makes much darker or serious comic book films work. Guardians, a franchise that on paper looks like it shouldn’t even exist, is remembered for being shockingly funny. But what actually ties both movies together and raises them to the next level is the emotional height they're able to reach. That, especially in Vol. 2, is the bigger surprise. Neither Thor nor Spiderman really get this right, making them pretty good movies, but not great. And it’s not that every superhero movie needs an emotional hook necessarily, but it does help make a film a more rounded cinematic experience. Make no mistake, Thor: Ragnarok attempts to make the emotional play, it’s just not particularly effective and gets lost and muddled in everything else that’s happening.

But there’s still so much to love. The action sequences are bolder and more thrilling. We get visits from several other characters in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Dr. Strange and the Hulk, feeding fanboys and girls the sustenance we need until the next Marvel film. Plus, there are a host of new characters that nearly steal the show. First, Tessa Thompson as the Asgardian bounty hunter Valkyrie is both funny and stylish, absolutely relishing each scene she gets to slow-motion walk to her next destination. It’s about time Jeff Goldblum entered the Cinematic Universe. And here he does so in full force as the maniacal Grandmaster, an intergalactic Commodus, who runs gladiator games with captives from across the galaxy. Then there’s the absolutely perfect Cate Blanchett, who has the most fun as the truly evil Hela, goddess of death. Hela is Thor's and Loki’s older sister, firstborn of Odin. She’s returned to take over Asgard, the land where she draws her power, after being banished by her father for years. She’s cheeky, a skilled fighter, and so charismatic that you almost want her to win. There’s actually much to love about Hela. She redresses Odin’s lies about how he came to rule the nine realms, uncovering the more violent and disturbing truth in which she played a big part.  Plus, she’s like a punk rock Power Rangers villain without the cheesiness, so what’s not to love.

But despite leaning on the crutch of comedy, and the lack of an effective emotional element, there’s actually one bigger problem that arises when you look at the franchise on a macro level. Tonally it feels completely detached from the other two Thor movies. Creating an extended universe is hard I’m sure. There’s an overall vibe you aim for, but still each peel-off franchise, the Captain America films, the Iron Man films, needs its own tone that helps to, not only set the films apart but, build the characters that make up the Avengers as individuals. It’s one of the reasons Black Panther looks so full of potential— the trailers suggest it has a distinct vibe that both separates and connects it to the other Marvel films. Thor: Ragnarok, on the other hand, is so fundamentally different from the other two Thor movies. And not only does it have a completely different feel, but this Thor is a whole new character we’ve yet to be introduced to. What made the first Thor movie good, though it’s no masterpiece, was the sense that Thor was a bit of a brat— dutifully excited to inherit the throne of Asgard, but whiny and privileged. When he was funny he was usually unaware of it. Certainly Thor has grown, but here he’s almost unrecognizable. And what’s worse, what he’s become is just a version of a different character in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. He’s Star Lord-lite, which is a totally and tonally inconsistent move with what has been set in motion in the two Thor movies and the two Avengers films that precede this one. Thor’s lack of character in Thor: The Dark World was one of the complaints about the second film. There’s nothing really wrong or particularly interesting about him. Finding Thor’s personality has been a persistent problem, and ultimately it’s better that director Taika Waititi and the writers gave him more of one this time around. The only problem is that it just doesn’t fit.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

Beyond the inky blacks and stark coloring of the film, The Killing of A Sacred Deer uses the words and interactions between characters to help us understand the kind of world we’ve entered. The conversation is stilted, so polite that it’s beyond recognition. Certainly there are antisocial elements involved in the characters’ actions, particularly Stephen Murphy (Colin Farrell), a doctor, husband and father of two, and Martin (played marvelously by Barry Keoghan), a high school student who’s been taken under Stephen’s wings. But it’s more than just that. Writer/director Yorgos Lanthimos is laying the foundations for an absurdist version of reality, a feat to which he’s no stranger. Lanthimos creates alternate universes, realities that resemble our own up to a point. In last year’s The Lobster, the initial premise from the jump was one of pure absurdity, but here Lanthimos holds onto his cards not immediately letting us in on what exactly is so strange about the world he’s created this time. But he still manages to throw us off balance in the way his characters speak to one another before all hell breaks loose.

This attention to detail in the script phase is one of the reasons The Killing of a Sacred Deer is so spectacular.

We watch this manners-obsessed, boring suburban family completely transform. But what they turn into isn't something as simple as weird (the parents' sexual practices place them safely in that category), or evil (the father's negligence in his medical practice suggests he may have already ventured in that direction) No. Instead what each member of the family becomes is desperate.

[Spoilers ahead]

Stephen has taken a special interest in Martin after the teenager’s father dies from complications in surgery, a surgery Stephen performed. He takes Martin to lunch and buys him gifts. Martin politely accepts the gifts, always sure to thank the giver, but Stephen realizes something is off about Martin when the boy seems to relish any opportunity to show up unannounced at the hospital where Stephen works.

Martin meets Stephen’s family when he’s invited into the Murphy home: Stephen’s wife, Anna (Nicole Kidman), his daughter, Kim, and his younger son, Bob. Martin seems incapable of projecting the warmth that most people do by giving a simple smile. In many ways Stephen is the same, but he’s at least normalized by association with his family. Meanwhile Martin’s mother (played in a short but memorable cameo by Alicia Silverstone) proves that perhaps the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Suddenly, out of nowhere Bob, Stephen’s son and youngest, is unable to walk, paralyzed from the waste down. Being the people of science the central couple are, Stephen and Anna search for any medical reason this could be happening. When it appears nothing is physically wrong, Anna suggests that perhaps it’s psychosomatic, an explanation Stephen isn’t ready to hear. Martin, who at this point has been essentially shut out of Stephen’s life because of Martin’s mother’s unsolicited advances, offers a different explanation. He is the cause. And what’s more, that if Stephen doesn’t choose a family member to kill—either his wife, daughter, or son— each will experience a succession of illnesses before all three die.

This leaves the family with three questions. The first is how. How could Martin, an antisocial teen with no discernable gifts or talents, have the capacity for such sorcery? And that question is followed by why. Why would Martin, if he’s to be taken seriously, inflict such pain upon Stephen and his family? The third question is whether or not Martin is even telling the truth. Stephen initially answers this third question with resounding skepticism and derision after Martin informs Stephen of his unbelievable plot to ruin him.

That first question never gets answered, while the second question of why is answered immediately. Martin blames Stephen’s negligence in surgery for his father’s death. Apparently Stephen may have been drinking that day leading to the unsuccessful procedure. While outwardly Stephen seems remorseless over Martin’s father’s death, perhaps inwardly he feels some culpability, which may be why he regularly took Martin to lunch and bought him an expensive watch. Having Stephen kill one of his own family members feels like the only justice available in Martin's view. But it’s the third question that makes the middle of the movie so astounding. The intensity of the film begins to truly crank as Anna first, then Stephen, realize that Martin’s explanation is the only explanation for what’s happening to Bob, and later Kim, who loses her ability to walk dramatically while standing in the center of her choir during a rehearsal.

If we couldn’t relate to the awkward family in the film’s first third, the helplessness that Stephen and Anna feel is palpable and speaks directly to anyone with loved ones. Stephen simply can’t believe what Martin says about him having to choose an immediate member of his family to kill is true. He’s convinced Bob must be faking his paralysis. In perhaps the first act of desperation, Stephen yanks his boy out of his wheelchair dragging his legs across the hospital floor, all but begging the boy to stop kidding around and walk. Anna comes to the conclusion that Martin is telling the truth in a more dignified fashion. So in her own act of desperation, she calmly visits Martin in his home in an attempt to convince him that the transgressions of her husband shouldn’t affect her or her children. Her disdain for her husband after the recognition that this is his fault quickly moves past resentment into hate.

And the kids each succumb to their own forms of desperation. Before she’s rendered immobile, Kim falls for Martin, hoping that he will be the first love of her young life. She, like her own mother’s attempt to reason with the boy, unsuccessfully tries to convince Martin that he should abandon his plot and allow her to walk again so they can run away together. Bob, on the other hand, makes the most direct appeal to his father, recognizing that at the end of the day Stephen may hold the ultimate power. Bob does everything he can to show his father what a good boy he is, suggesting that when decision time comes, Stephen should kill one of the women in the family.

But the Murphy’s are no longer a family. Each member is out for him- or herself, desperately wishing to save themselves somehow. Even the mother, when all else fails, attempts to convince Stephen not to kill her by wearing a dress he picked out for her.

The intensity is off the charts and that’s what makes this film so devastating, but at the same time you wouldn’t dare look away. Lanthimos has created a film that quite literally has the capacity to move you to the edge of your seat, not knowing how this situation could end well. Stephen is faced with an impossible decision, which leads to a building crescendo spawned by an increasingly reckless desperation.

Last year, Lanthimos received a lot of attention for his film The Lobster (also starring Farrell). And while that film, with it’s unconventional premise and interesting perspective, deserves so much respect for it’s creativity, the film does lose itself in the second half. The Killing of Sacred Deer, even just from a tonal perspective, is a much more consistent film, and the same is true of the overall storytelling. What Lanthimos has created here is nothing short of an enduring masterpiece. It seems to be the theme this year— the movies I’ve been most drawn to, and the very best cinema experiences of the year have come from films that employ wild creativity, often helmed by an artist who is unafraid to imagine and unafraid to trust in his or her own vision.

mother!

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ 6/10

There are definitely spoilers because it is impossible to express what I’m thinking without talking about some details.

Just two reviews ago (the one for A Ghost Story) I named “wild creativity” as the one trait that characterizes my favorite films this year. And for what it’s worth mother! is wildly creative. It’s a bold vision from a director who allows himself to dream. Darren Aronofsky refuses to compromise that vision and it’s the reason he’s considered one of Hollywood’s premiere auteurs today. But this film, perhaps more than any other film I’ve ever seen, is a perfect example of wild creativity gone awry. Mother! turns wild creativity into madness.

Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan are among Aronofsky’s most celebrated films, and they certainly fall into the category of the wildly creative. They’re marked by Aronofsky’s style. His are a type of film that sink into the inner workings and delusions of the mind. They dig deeper into what a character is feeling, rendering terrifying mental imagery into physical form for the audience to see, often without explaining what is real and what is not. So going into mother! I was willing to be challenged once again by Aronofsky.

Critics seem to be split on this one. I’ll admit, immediately after viewing it I didn’t have a clear idea of how I felt about the movie. Wide audiences are undeniably clear, though. They absolutely hate the film. According to CinemaScore, audiences gave the film an “F” rating after watching it. And while I understand their frustration, I think it has more to do with a monumental disconnect between audience expectations and what was delivered. Mother! was bafflingly marketed as a horror movie, advertised on the star power of Jennifer Lawrence, and was widely released. Normally a film like mother!, one that is cerebral and metaphorical, would never have been marketed or released this way. Yes, I understand that Jennifer Lawrence has been in some huge movies, but she started her career as an indie darling, and has continued to appear in films in challenging roles, not particularly made with a wide audience in mind. So you really can’t blame your average moviegoer, who visits the theater just a few times a year, and  who spent up to $17 (in New York at least) on this confusing film, for rating it poorly.

But I’m not one of those audience members. Going to see mother! is one of about 60 trips that I’ll take the theater this year. But after thinking about the film, I too had to come to the conclusion that I did not like it, but not for the same reasons as your average viewer. I like deciphering symbolism, I don’t mind allegories, and religious imagery is fine by me (even though it is an overused high brow crutch). But these symbols, the metaphor, have got to be somewhat intelligible. Even if it takes time to understand, once you see a film for what it’s meant to be, the viewer should say, “Ah, yes! What a vision from the auteur.” Instead, my reaction was one of utter befuddlement. Mother! is supposed to be an allegory about humans’ destruction of nature. The house in which Jennifer Lawrence and Javier Bardem reside is our planet, and Lawrence is Mother Earth. But apparently that’s also just one interpretation, and it’s one I never would have gotten to on my own, and I consider myself, for what it’s worth, to not be an idiot. I have a creeping suspicion that Aronofsky wanted to say so much that what we end up with a movie that says nothing at all. It’s so disjointed and chaotic that the project’s greatest achievement is that it causes a stir among film geeks as to what it all means. But that achievement is surface level, leaving a film that is not as deep as Aronofsky wishes it to be or thinks it is. Sure, I got some of the imagery (Bardem as some sort of Jesus figure, Lawrence being connected to the deteriorating heart of the house), but the bits and pieces that I picked up weren’t enough to coalesce into something singularly meaningful.

On the surface Lawrence and Bardem are a married couple living in an rustic house in the middle of nowhere. Bardem, whose character is simply called Him, although he’s never addressed by any name, is a poet searching for his next words to write. Lawrence, simply called Mother, is an introverted young housewife in the process of remodeling their home. One day an audacious couple (Ed Harris and Michelle Pfeiffer) interrupts their nest, to the excitement of Him and the chagrin of Mother. These visitors are tiresomely imposing, and nothing about what they do and say is socially comprehensible. But this first part of the film is actually enjoyable. It’s shot like a horror film, and even involves some horror elements that provide for minor frights here and there. All that jazz eventually gets resolved, and we enter the more confusing second part of the film. The nonsensical nature of the film’s second half, makes the first half look like a picture of lucidity. Any meaning we began to gather from Act 1 was practically ripped to shreds by the unintelligible second part. Honestly, there were moments so trying that I couldn’t help but laugh. In fact after it was all over, laughter was all my fellow moviegoers in the cinema could muster as a collective response to the madness we just endured.

Mother! is not the first time an Aronofsky film has devolved into a medley of wild imagery. But those images were delusions, tricks played by the character's mind. While it was obvious from the first frame of this film that we were entering a world where supernatural things occur, Aronofsky also conditioned us to understand that we were still on the planet earth. I was waiting and waiting for the rambunctious visuals to be explained as some sort of mental deception. But no, that is not what we get. Aronofsky has forged into new territory, and it’s a place that’s impossible to truly comprehend unless you are Darren Aronofsky.

But the film wasn’t a total waste. First off, as my colleague at INSIDER, Jacob Shamsian, mentions (he actually liked the film), it is impressive that Paramount believed in this film, it’s director and it’s star enough to shirk tradition and release it widely. Mother! deserves points for ambition, even if it doesn’t pay off. And when all is said and done there is a measure of artistry to be found in the film, primarily in its star. Jennifer Lawrence is wholly devoted to the director’s vision and makes the most of it. In fact, all the actors seem equally dedicated to the script as Aronofsky, its writer. Lawrence is incredible as a distraught metaphorical rendering of Mother Earth. She’s the only character with whom we can possibly relate. She is a force to be reckoned with because she gives her all. But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, no actor or performance can save a film with a bad script. And in this case, Jennifer Lawrence could not save a film with an ambitious, but ultimately failed, attempt at allegory.

It

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

To alleviate confusion, any time the film title is referenced, the word “It” will be both capitalized and italicized.

​

The main reason I don’t watch horror films is because I would rather my blood pressure remain at a healthy stasis. Most horror movies play on your fears that a monster will jump out at you unexpectedly. These movies make you scream by trying to disorient your powers to discern what’s coming next. You’re on edge knowing that something is about to happen, yet still unable to figure out just exactly when. So my avoidance is a combination of the fact that I’d rather not play the guessing game, plus the truth that so many horror films end up being hollow. The suspense only exists to lead us to the scares, and the scares last for a fleeting moment.

IT is in a whole other category. It seems to me that the key to a truly great horror film is one wherein the horror is sustained. Don’t get me wrong, IT most certainly has those moments that shock and jolt the audience. There was one moment where something happened so unexpectedly that I very audibly yelped to the amusement of my friends. But what made IT so scary was the image of Pennywise the clown. He’s demented, and so evil looking that any time he appears on screen chills not only crawled up my spine, but could felt be throughout my entire body.

Like A Ghost Story, one of the best movies of the year to date, the image of terror, and the context that surrounds that image, is what makes the movie’s horror so effective. In A Ghost Story, which by no means is a horror film, the portrait of a tall figure gothically draped in an overlong white sheet, instills a certain sense of fear. Here we see Pennywise as the personification of evil. Beyond the fact that when the clown opens his mouth wide layers of hundreds of sharp teeth appear to devour children in the town of Derry, it’s how Pennywise can change from whimsical and almost inviting, into the arbiter of our deepest fears at the drop of a hat. He uses the symbols of youth often associated with joy and happiness, like a red balloon for example, and ruthlessly rebrands them into symbols of corruption and death.

But on top of mastering the terrifying image of Pennywise, IT is simply a really well told story. Sure it’s scary, but when it’s not, IT is funny (thanks in large part to Stranger Things actor Finn Wolfhard) and really entertaining. We have fun watching the band of awkward kids from Derry, Maine (they call themselves The Losers) as they try to solve the mystery of the disappearance of their leader’s brother and other kids from town. Each kid brings his or her own thing to the group. There’s even a love triangle. On top of all that, screenwriters Chase Palmer and Cary Fukunaga found a smart way to integrate both race and gender into the horror. The same bullies that make fun of the rest of the gang terrorize Mike, a black kid from a neighboring town. Only there’s a element of racism tacked on to the head bully’s attacks on Mike, further exacerbated once Pennywise pushes that bully to the point of murder. And Bev, the only girl in the group, and easily the most interesting, is, among truly horrible things in her personal life, dealing with the onset of puberty. So Pennywise, capitalizing on her fears, liberally showers her and her bathroom in a macabre sea of red.

Not everything works perfectly in the film. While none of the CGI was particularly bad, some of it looked a little goofy and was probably unnecessary. Additionally Pennywise derives his power from feeding off the fear of the children in the town of Derry. So they must overcome and face their fears to have a chance at defeating the evil clown. This is an overused story trope. Perhaps it started with the original IT miniseries. I doubt it. But whatever the origin of this storytelling device, in 2017 it feels a little stale.

But these minor faults are hardly noticeable compared to the stellar performances by the cast. As I mentioned Bev (Sophia Lillis) is the most interesting member of The Losers. She’s talked about at school because the kids think she’s been around the block with several boys. She has to battle the horrendous sexual advances of her own father. Plus, she deals with the insecurities that come with being a girl entering adolescence. All the while she’s the most fearless member of the crew, rarely wavering, at least publicly, in confidence. Lillis brings her A-game turning Bev into a character strong enough to lead the film alone. And topping the list of incredible performances is the young actor playing Pennywise, Bill Skarsgård. Taking it back to my discussion about how the simple image of the clown is the primary source of terror, Skarsgård is very much the reason why that image is so terrifying. Certainly it has to do with the general societal unease around clowns these days, but much more than that is the way Skarsgård is able to switch between moods and emotions within a split second, all while never failing to be a chilling presence on screen. Heath Ledger’s Joker in The Dark Knight similarly had to be able to switch from joking to eerie in a moment all while maintaining a level of terror. Skarsgård’s switches were even more defined in that he switched from infantile, in that he had to entice very young victims, to the image of evil all within the same breath.

A Ghost Story

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

There are times when you just want to watch a movie that you don’t really need to think about or pay much attention to in order to get the point. These movies follow a formula, the formula that most films, or most stories for that matter, follow. And though we may not know the nitty-gritty details of what will happen, it brings us comfort to have a pretty good idea as to where the story is headed. But the best movies require our attention, and the very best ones have no trouble commanding it. So what’s the secret to creating a great film? I think it has to do with wild creativity.

And A Ghost Story is wildly creative. It’s a concept that is so surreal it feels like it shouldn’t work. Movies like this one get automatic critic points for taking the chance to do something new, but it’s a whole other thing when a film can do the impossible by turning a wildly creative idea into cinematic gold.

A Ghost Story is just that— a story about a ghost. In this case it’s the image of a tall figure draped in a white sheet. It’s the ghost of C (Casey Affleck), the husband of M (Rooney Mara). Their names aren’t as important here as what they're feeling. The young couple seems mostly happy and certainly in love when we suddenly cut to a scene where C lies dead from a car accident in front of their home. The next time we view C he’s the ghost, a tragic figure making his way back to the couple’s home. He’s invisible to everyone but the audience and another ghost waiting for someone in a house across the road. Just how much ghosts know in this version of the afterlife, or what their motivations are is never made entirely clear, but it’s obvious that C’s ghost just wants to be near M again.

He watches as M experiences her own grief having been separated from her husband. The most famous scene from the film, one that’s sure to be talked about in film seminars for years, features M returning home after C’s funeral. She sits on her kitchen floor and grief-eats a pie a friend left for her. Writer/director David Lowery completely plays with his audience by making us watch Mara eat the entire pie. He challenges our ideas about how films should work letting this scene play out in real time. Lowery does this a couple times in the film, lingering on a shot for what would seem, to anyone’s who has ever seen a movie, far too long. But it always serves a purpose. First, our impatience builds the sense of unease as we watch. Second, there’s always a pay off, a sort of reward for waiting.

And these real-time scenes are just one way Lowery challenges our sense of time. The whole film has so much to do with time and its nonlinearity, somewhat similar to last year’s masterwork Arrival. Though we watch M eat a pie for five minutes, much of time after C’s death melts into other points in time as the ghost languidly moves throughout his former house. It seems our ghost goes through time and space much differently than he did when he was alive. All of a sudden we see M begin to move on with her life, meeting new men, and moving out of the house she shared with C, all while the ghost remains stuck there. Theoretically he should be able to leave the house. We see him walk from the hospital where he was pronounced dead back to the house, after all. The thing is he can’t bring himself to leave the familiar place even after M leaves.

So the ghost stays behind watching as different people move in and out over time. It’s here that we learn that while he can’t be seen, the ghost can be felt. In fact he begins to terrorize the occupants living in the house after M leaves. The film is not a horror movie in the slightest, but I was scared throughout. It’s hard to explain, but instead of scaring us outright in an attempt to make us jump out of our seats or scream in horror, Lowery plays on the fears we already have about death and loneliness. Though the ghost does not speak, we know that he’s scared and afraid. He’s waiting on something to happen, but he may not even know exactly what that is. Whatever it is it’s something that can set him free from this purgatorial space he’s chosen to inhabit. So yes, the film is scary, but in a way I’ve never experienced. A sort of deep-rooted fear is unlocked. Instead of a fear that peaks at the moment a monster appears from a dark corner, then subsides, this fear is one that persists the entire time you watch and beyond. Also the image of the ghost, though it’s the childhood Halloween rendering, is terrifying to behold.

The ghost continues to move to a time in the future when everything he knew from his former life has faded away. He watches and waits, and it seems that nothing will save him from his inability to move on.

It wouldn’t be hard for us to grasp the idea of the living not being able to move on after being left behind by someone they love. But A Ghost Story turns that on its head and explores the dead’s inability to move beyond their past life. These types of films, imbued with wild creativity, are rare to begin with, but it seems that they’ve become harder to find even when they do exist. The beauty of the Internet is that it has opened the airwaves for so many more artists to create. This lends itself to the content long tail, where because we have more choices, more and more people interact with niche content. The unintended consequence of this increase in opportunities for the consumer and the creator is that since there is so much more out there, the things that get a lot of eyeballs have to fit into the general formula I mentioned more than ever. So because there’s so much, and because the kinds of things that  break through to the heights of the pop culture lexicon have to fit the formula, there is less of a chance that we’ll be introduced to the wildly creative gems that are out there. Streaming certainly helps, as it is the best way to get access to the niche content on the long tail. But more and more films like A Ghost Story feel like a true gift when we get to see them because there is a chance that they could come and go without us ever knowing they existed.

And one final word about actress Rooney Mara. She has shown through the projects in which she chooses to take part, that she is not only a supremely talented actor, but also an actor who isn’t afraid to tell stories that don’t fit the formula and aren’t traditional. She is drawn to these stories that have the potential to do what A Ghost Story does. It takes a risk on wild creativity and is wildly successful in the execution, which, not surprisingly, is a great way to describe Mara’s career.

Nocturama

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

If there can only be one word to describe Nocturama it would be subversive. It's a movie about terrorism, but pretty much anything that comes to mind when you hear that is not to be found here. Instead we get a 20-something guy lip-synching Shirley Bassey's version of "My Way" in an empty mall, donning a wig, lipstick and eyeliner. Somehow writer/director Bertrand Bonello completely undermines how we view the terrorist— the terrorist in France no less, where horrendous attacks take place more regularly than in other Western nations. A group of young French kids carry out a sophisticated and coordinated attack throughout Paris wreaking havoc on the city. It makes a difference that these young plotters are homegrown and not tied to, nor have they been specifically swayed by, any ideological group as far as we know. 

And we don’t know a whole lot. As the film opens we're thrust into the execution of the terrorist plot immediately as each component unfolds. There's very little dialogue in the beginning and just what exactly is happening comes into view over time. Bonello pushes us forcefully from one part of the plot to the next, showing us how each member of the team is doing what he or she is supposed to be doing at the appointed time. We're constantly introduced to new characters who do their part in carrying out the plot, not knowing who they are, how they're connected to the people we've already met, or what they're mission is. The story is mostly linear, but Bonello will push us briefly back in time in a sort of micro-flashback so we can see what just happened from a different perspective. It's a clever technique that he uses throughout the film, even integrating music in scene to give us clues about where we are in time.

These young terrorists, though they can seem tough, are not stone cold. They're nervous, uncertain, scared, and just plain dumb sometimes. We see, for example, Sabrina practicing what she's going to say as she walks to a hotel to book a room using a credit card with a fake name. As the plot progresses we get a sense of who's all involved, and we're treated to flashbacks showing loose connections between some of the team members, and a bit of the reasoning behind why they want to tear down French civilization as it is. Some are underemployed, others are political science majors philosophizing about how the end of civilization is also its rebirth. Some think they're revolutionaries, an interesting perspective considering a whole world order was toppled in France as a result of an uprising and revolution.

It's remarkable how, with only these shards of information Bonello provides about these kids' backgrounds and connections, he masterfully achieves an incredible feat— the humanizing of a terrorist, or in this case terrorists.

Outrage at the film is understandable, especially from the French perspective. It might hit too close to home. In fact Nocturama was barred from entry to the Cannes Film Festival for its theme. I personally think it's done in the most tasteful way possible. And for what the film uncovers about humanity, and its sheer creativity, is worth the watching.

These kids who carry out this attack are energetic and magnetic, while being incredibly knowable at the same time. And we remarkably grow to care about them and their plan, even if we don't necessarily wish for them to succeed. It's their insecurities that make them an inviting group of friends that you would want to talk to. Bonello defines them by their personalities, not their actions.

The plan is to meet up at a large high-end shopping center once they set off explosions at a couple buildings and set fires to a line of cars and a statue. And in this longer second act, we spend a night with the young terrorists.

We already care about the characters, but here is where the work of humanizing them really happens. Samir likes to dance. André is a leader and a bit of control-freak. Omar, who wasn't part of the initial plot, but is the security guard that makes it possible for them to all stay at the mall through the night, is obsessed with sound fidelity. David is a restless idiot who sneaks outside to smoke and ends up inviting a homeless couple to join them in the mall. Sarah is dating David and worries that they’ve killed too many people in the blasts. And Yacine (Hamza Meziani is a standout) has a wild imagination and performs the aforementioned Shirley Bassey tune for the whole gang. And that's what they feel like, a gang of misfits trying to do something they think is positive. This leads to horrifying catastrophe, but we're drawn in by all the other factors at play and are invested in knowing if they can make it out of the mall alive, and if this attack will mean anything of the things they hope it will.

On top of everything, Bonello has also created a film that is incredibly watchable. You soak it in with all your senses. The first act of the film feels almost like a heist movie combined with a suspense thriller. It's reminiscent of The French Connection in that way, plus the fact the Bonello’s films have the texture of a ‘70s movie. As they carry out the attack, our blood boils but not because these are menacing terrorists. We fear for the lives of the kids every time they turn a corner. We share in the plotters’ sense of fear, and that unease persists. Plus, it's all entertaining. It’s not only that we see them as insecure and afraid. In the mall we see them as fun, even funny. There's moral ambiguity in a situation and for people who would in any other context appear morally unambiguous. 

The genius of the film is that, after the fact that it's simply a compelling story and it's highly watchable, it completely subverts our thoughts about terrorism— but even more, subverts our thoughts about ourselves. How can we be capable of empathizing, in part at least, with terrorists? And is what it illustrates about us a positive or negative— to be able to see the humanity of anyone regardless, or in spite of, their actions? Considering recent events in Charlottesville in the US, is there a humanizing story to be told about the neo-Nazi radicals who marched and wreaked havoc over the weekend? That's not a story I'm trying to listen to, but could it even be told? Now if these French terrorists weren't mostly young, mostly attractive, and if they were affiliated with some religious cause or caliphate, I don't think the story would have worked because the weight of our current context is too great for our ideas about terrorism with that origin to be subverted. That being said there are undercurrents of that type of terrorism. The terrorists are a mix of white and brown ethnicities, and one character does speak of making it to heaven. But that just goes to speak to the power of storytelling. How things are framed and what details are given make a big difference in our initial perceptions. I railed against the limitations of art in my review for Detroit, but story and storytelling may still have some power yet. If were introduced to people as people first, if we see their insecurities, if we've laughed at their jokes, if we come to understand, even to a small degree, their motivations, our whole perception can be changed. Are we fickle or are we just being human ourselves?

Ingrid Goes West

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Ingrid Goes West is a dark, twisted comedy about how frivolous pretty much everyone is and how that frivolity materializes into unnecessary drama. It’s a satirical reaction to a culture ingrained with social media without being as preachy or depressing as Black Mirror, or old people who have nothing better to do than fall into the trap of criticizing generations that come after as if they herald the end of the world— a trap that every older generation can’t seem to avoid thanks to the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia. And though the film lacks the crankiness of outright criticism, it clearly makes its point— that the generation that values authenticity so much may not actually know what that means; that, just like in every generation, most of us just don’t have a clue about how to happily go through life; and ultimately we’re all just full of it.

To make this point director/co-writer Matt Spicer and his writing partner David Branson introduce us to a host of characters living different lives, but equally inept. First, there’s Ingrid (Aubrey Plaza) who most obviously has serious problems. Her mom, and best, perhaps only, friend has recently died leaving Ingrid to wallow alone with only her phone as a comfort. The opening scene shows Ingrid outside a wedding she feels she should have been invited to but obviously was not. It’s the wedding of an Instagram star, most likely one of those self-professed “influencers.” We see Ingrid who, despite not actually knowing this person, has come to treat her like a friend, liking her posts and commenting on them. She grows attached the social media maven to the point of obsession. So when she’s not invited to the wedding she has no business attending, Ingrid loses it. She storms in, says some fiery words, then pepper sprays the newlywed.

Naturally, she’s sent to a mental hospital, the only real mention of Ingrid’s illness. The fact that they don’t deal with Ingrid’s mental issues head on is probably the biggest problem with the movie. But it is a comedy, and not the kind that we’re inundated with today, where writers try to pass off emotional dramas with some mildly laughable situations or jokes as comedic material. Nor is it a kind of overt Ferrell-esque comedy. Instead it’s funny because in the context of the film, as an outsider looking in, these familiar things that are so ingratiated in our lives, social media and its stars, are seen in a new, more ridiculous, light.

And it’s also funny because Plaza so perfectly embodies someone prone to obsession. After Ingrid is released from the hospital, a new social starlet comes into view, Taylor Sloane (Elizabeth Olsen) who lives her glamorous life out West. So with the meager amount of money her mom left behind for her, Ingrid travels California to live a more fabulous life with her new friends. Through her hijinks of befriending Taylor and transforming herself into a San Bernardino babe, Plaza gloriously maintains an air of timidity and anxiety, all while convincing everyone around her that she’s the avocado-eating, balayage hair-colored, authentically chilled out millennial. In reality she’s the complete opposite, but her Instagram and outward life would suggest otherwise.

Upon reaching the West, Ingrid quickly finds an apartment and pays cash to her young lanlord, Dan (O’Shea Jackson Jr.). Dan is an aspiring screenwriter, currently focusing on an uncommissioned Batman script, and he’s clearly smitten with Ingrid, at least initially. Jackson may have found his calling here. For while he muddled through Straight Outta Compton enough to get by in the dramatic performance on looks alone (he’s the spitting image of his father Ice Cube), it may just be comedy where he shines brightest. Jackson is full of charisma and just plain hilarious.

Then there’s Taylor, Ingrid’s new obsession. Her job is to promote brands in an organic way using her Instagram account. But her true talent lies in the ability to make people feel close to her, while maintaining an incredible distance. When Taylor’s idiot brother comes to town things get out of hand and Ingrid’s lies begin to unravel, leading to not only her downfall, but to pain for Dan and Taylor.

The genius of the film, besides its spot-on satire, and the fact that it’s laugh-out-loud funny throughout, is that though these characters have some serious issues and delusions, we, the audience, are so easily wrapped up in their lives. In some way it’s like real life. We know our friends and the social influencers we follow aren’t 100 percent honest about their lives, but we can’t seem to look away.

By the time we reach the end, the filmmakers’ point is clear. No one in this twisted web of fake friends is real. Taylor’s boyfriend, for instance, has reservations about his girlfriend’s way of life. He finds the blatant self-promotion a bit tacky. Of course he’s an artist who takes real works of art and paints hashtag-able phrases on top of them, something that no one seems to want to buy. So not only is he talentless, but he essentially lives off Taylor's Instagram fame, which he claims to hate. Dan may be the only authentic character. Even though he may be kidding himself about his talent as a screenwriter, he unrelentingly leans in to his geeky fandom.

And Ingrid, the most clearly disturbed of all the characters, confronts Taylor after hitting a rocky point in their friendship, exposing her for the impossibly fake person she is, all while barely managing to keep the threads of her life intact. And that final conversation leads us to Ingrid’s final act. Without saying too much, the ending, while again may raise some red flags in terms of how mental illness is dealt with, effectively paints a picture of how we continually perpetuate the myths of our inauthentic social media lives, even when and after we try to keep it real. Perhaps real isn’t even real, so fake is what we’re stuck with.

Detroit

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Detroit is a marvelously made and deeply moving film. Kathryn Bigelow's style perfectly suits the picture. She transports the unease of war she crafted in her Best Picture-winning film The Hurt Locker to the 1967 Detroit race riot. The shakiness of camera is juxtaposed with the clarity of story. And whereas a director may need to change her style with each scene, that unease, the uncertainly, persists from the streets of Detroit, to the horrors inside the Algiers Motel, to the trial of the officers charged with murder. Certainly there were directorial choices, genius ones, made by Bigelow for each scene, but they craftily go unnoticed as everything transitions so seamlessly in the film.

The beginning is used to set the scene of turmoil leading to what was the Detroit riot in 1967. All sides are explored— from the racism in Detroit that forced black people into underserved and over-policed neighborhoods where they were forced to live, coupled with diminishing job opportunities, and the fact that looting and burning buildings would naturally cause anyone, including police officers (regardless of history), to fear patrolling the streets in south Detroit. Mark Boal smartly constructs a compelling story, even if it lacks brevity, that introduces us to each set of characters that descends upon the Algiers Motel on that horrific night. The thing is, assuming one has no information beforehand, we don't know that's where we're headed, lending a sense of surprise and discovery along the way.

John Boyega, who because of his Star Wars fame, was promoted as the film’s lead, is a security guard protecting a grocery store from looters. He's even keeled and idealistically kind offering a hand to National Guardsmen brought into the city to calm the situation, while at the same time attempting to get every black male he can hope to help to survive the night. Boyega, as in everything, is great, and it's only a matter of time before he's up for major awards, once the right project comes along.

Then there's the story of The Dramatics, a soulful band looking to win a record deal with Motown. Larry (Algee Smith), the lead singer of the band, and Fred (Jacob Latimore), their manager, find their way to the motel after their show is derailed by the riot. Latimore, who put in a solid performance in the indie superhero flick Sleight earlier this year, proves that he's serious about being an actor, not just a singer who's in some movies.

Then there's Officer Krauss, the racist cop who doesn't think he's actually a racist. Will Poulter, a face you'll recognize from several movies, is just so menacing in this turn as an off-the-rails hot head. What's most remarkable to see is the way Krauss learns how to perfect his own corruption through an experience of being cracked down upon for killing someone who posed no immediate threat. From that earlier incident (and this is where Boal's dramatization is at its finest) Krauss learns that if he's going to get away with killing a black person he's got to plant a weapon on him and repeat the story that the dead person reached for his gun— a tactic and story with as much power today as ever.

At the hotel we meet a host of other characters. Anthony Mackie plays a returned veteran looking for work, and Kaitlyn Dever and Hannah Murray (Gilly from Game of Thrones) play girls from Ohio just having a good time. Just the sight of these two white women with a group black men feels terrifying given the context. Then there’s Jason Mitchell, who stole the show in Straight Outta Compton, and almost does the same here despite being in the film less than any of the other main players. His charisma is undeniable.

Boal and Bigelow thankfully refuse to make our black characters overly altruistic people, a temptation to which many other filmmakers fall prey. Outside of The Dramatics, we don't learn about the characters’ future plans and dreams, and we don't need to. Whether they feed the homeless or are about to go to college is irrelevant when answering the question of should they be subjected to assault and violent death.

The greatest chunk of the film is devoted to the interrogation of six black men and two white women in the motel’s annex after shots were heard coming from that part of the motel. It was assumed that the shots were sniper fire aimed at police and military personnel protecting the city. Krauss leads two cops and a National Guardsman to terrorize the guests, and we're subjected to every moment of drawn out brutality. 

This leads me to an unfortunate conclusion. For all it's virtues— great direction, stellar performances, a moving script, and being an overall well-made movie— Detroit amounts to inconsequential tragedy porn. We're forcing ourselves to view this brutality, but from my perspective I simply doubt on good days, and completely disbelieve on all the others, that art can actually makes a significant enough difference. So without the hope of impact, what does that leave for Detroit and films like it. People who are moved by the images are either those who will allow themselves to be or have no choice to be pained by what they see. Art has little to no power in comparison to the very real benefits of being white and perpetuating the disadvantages of non-whiteness for others. It can do little to persuade people who hate being called racist, but enjoy racist things to see themselves clearly. The idea that any piece of art or collection can make a consequential difference in the hearts and minds of those (not so much on an individual level, but a corporate or systemic one) who will not be persuaded is a romantic notion. The piece of writing, outside of religious texts that warn of the nearly insurmountable evil of the human heart, that really illuminated my thinking was “The Lucifer Effect” by sociologist Philip Zimbardo. He conducted The Stanford Prison Experiment, which illustrated how power, even if arbitrarily given and ultimately fictional, leads the human to brutality. So how does art stand a chance? How can human love have any effect on the heart, when what we really long for is power, specifically the kind that corrupts? A film about and entitled The Stanford Prison Experiment was released in 2015, and the scenes from that film mirror what we see in Detroit. It's an unsettling reality. So what is the ultimate point of a great film like Detroit. It's impressive, but it has no power, which isn't the fault of anyone involved in the picture, it's simply the unromanticized reality. I love art, I think it’s phenomenal, and I will continue to interact with it, but it is limited. In part, it’s a conundrum of reach. Can Detroit reach those who truly need to hear its message? (Box office returns suggest not.) But even if it does, will it really change their minds? People are worse than stubborn. They’re worse than willfully ignorant. They are, we are, impossibly depraved. But I suppose it is an accomplishment that the film can leave me feeling this way, even if it's not the desired effect.

Despite art's powerlessness (my apologies for the diatribe) Detroit is effective, particularly in the case of Jerry. [Spoilers] After narrowly escaping the brutality of the police officers, and upon realizing that there would be no justice doled out to those officers who caused his pain, he can't go on singing his happy love songs. Jerry ends up leaving The Dramatics, who go on to experience some real success. It starkly shows the metamorphosis most black people, including myself here in this 21st century, experience. It’s the shattering of ones rose-colored view of the world, that for most usually doesn’t go as far as realizing the futility of art, except that it does, in a way, for Jerry. His experience with art is forever changed after his night at the Algiers Motel. Algee Smith ends up giving the most compelling of all the performances as he has the character with the meatiest role. Jerry must go on singing, so he just sings in a church choir. We see how he’s utterly broken by the end, and this leads us to the most impactful moment in the film.

Dunkirk

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Christopher Nolan is a genius. That's a statement that can hardly be challenged after this film. Dunkirk is a dramatized account of the Dunkirk Evacuation, a military operation aimed at getting Allied forces off the beach of Dunkirk in northern France after German forces beat back their troops during World War II. This came after the invasion of Poland (which led to British and French involvement in the war) and crushing defeat in France. So the next frontier for Germany would likely be Great Britain, which the soldiers could see from Dunkirk’s beach.

So this was the scene that Nolan decided to conquer after crafting the best outer space film in decades (Interstellar). The first thing that arrests the audience is just how visually astounding Dunkirk is. Nolan captures such moving and intense images that give us a window into the Second World War, with remarkable beauty.

The film primarily follows four sets of characters. First, we meet Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), a kid who narrowly escapes the Germans who’ve descended upon Dunkirk. Once he arrives on the beach Tommy encounters his British countrymen as well as French troops amounting to hundreds of thousands of soldiers. Tommy meets several other young soldiers in his attempt to make it back on British soil. He gets close several times, but his attempts are thwarted by the relentless German air assault.

Second are the British pilots (Tom Hardy, Jack Lowden) going after German planes in the air. They’re job is to keep the German air assault at bay long enough to allow for the safe return of the soldiers on the beach. Nolan captures some of the most stunning images of the entire film from the air, juxtaposing the beauty of the earth with the horrors of war.

Commander Bolton (Kenneth Branagh) is stationed at the mole where ships dock to pick up soldiers eager to get back to Britain. His official job is to shepherd the weary fighters onto ships that will take them to safety. He ends up watching several rescue attempts go awry, and hundreds of his fellow servicemen die so close to the homeland.

Last is British do-gooder Mr. Dawson (Mark Rylance), who, while riding a small sailboat with two civilian teens, heads to Dunkirk to rescue as many soldiers as he can. The man he picks up first is a shell-shocked soldier (Cillian Murphy) stranded in the middle of the ocean. He becomes irate when he learns that Dawson is sailing towards the beach he just tried to leave. His irritation turns violent when he forcefully tries to turn Dawson’s boat around, injuring one the teenage passengers in a struggle to gain control of the boat.

The problem with a lot of war films is that they are essentially journey movies. What’s a journey movie? It’s a film in which the primary objective pretty much stays the same the entire time, without that objective changing in any major way. The journey movie that comes most readily to mind is the horrible holiday film I’ll be Home for Christmas (1998). In it a college student desperately tries to make it back to his dad’s house for the holidays, but at every turn is hindered from reaching this goal. He’s stranded in the dessert, then exhausts all options to get home, and to win the affection of the girl he likes, facing setbacks all along the way on both accounts. I’ll be Home for Christmas would be a bad movie anyway, but making matters worse is the fact that it’s a journey movie. No matter what happens to characters in a journey movie their objective for the next 90+ minutes is always the same. Sure, things happen and circumstances change, but the characters, until the end, are essentially thrust back to square one, no closer to their goal. Another holiday journey movie, that isn’t actually about a journey, is Jingle All the Way (1996), starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. He plays a dad on a desperate search to find this one particular action figure for his son before Christmas morning. Everything he tries ends up failing, thrusting him back to square one, where the search for the toy continues.

So what do two '90s Christmas movies have to do with Dunkirk. Patience, I’m getting there.

The best films are the complete opposite of a journey movie. When something happens in a great film it doesn’t send someone back to square one. Instead it completely alters the situation, creating a new order on which the characters’ next decisions are based. Or often something is revealed that fundamentally reframes whatever the ultimate mission may be. For example, in Interstellar a team of space explorers is sent to other planets in the galaxy to see if humans could inhabit them. When they end up spending far too much time on a particular planet, what seems like hours has actually been decades, it completely alters the fundamentals of their mission, as their families back on earth are now much older than they were supposed to be upon their return. Furthermore, the explorers learn that there was never any hope of saving the people already on earth, but they were really sent to these other planets to start the human species from scratch, a paradigm shift that completely changes the entire situation. Great films, and the majority of films even if they aren’t great, build. This leads to more surprising story experiences. Journey movies don’t build, they reset, meaning they’re limited in where they can go. Dunkirk is essentially a journey movie and thus limited in it's ability to be a masterpiece.

That being said, Dunkirk is the best version of a journey movie. More events of consequence happen in this film than in most journey movies, but the fact remains that despite Tommy moving from the beach, to the mole, to a ship struck by German bombs, to an abandoned ship, and the fact that he meets several soldiers along the way, he is still struggling to get off the beach for the vast majority of the movie. The air pilots attempt to take down German’s from the air, Commander Bolton watches failed rescue attempts, and Mr. Dawson tries to save soldiers for the vast majority of the film. This leaves little room for surprises even though some of the characters encounter unexpected challenges.

What makes Dunkirk work, though, far beyond Nolan’s incredible visual sense, is the fact that the film lands on solid emotional footing by time we reach the end. This is the film’s saving grace. From George, the injured teenager on Mr. Dawson’s boat, to Tom Hardy’s pilot running out of fuel leaving him unable to make it back home despite his heroic efforts that led to thousands of other soldiers’ safe return, to moody Alex (Harry Styles), a soldier Tommy encounters who becomes his closest traveling companion on the long journey home, each story ends on a satisfyingly intense emotional note. Nolan has written a film that captures not just the horrors of war, but the thing war leaves you longing for the most. It’ll sound cliché, but even more than peace, or quiet, or security, what the soldier truly wants after being ravaged by war, is to be home.

War for the Planet of the Apes

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

(Spoilers abound)

​

War for the Planet of the Apes is the film to end all complaints that summer months are only filled with mindless blockbusters. Hollywood is in a place where they have, in certain cases, listened to the audience, and as a result have brought intelligent, insightful storytelling to giant commercial films. That doesn’t mean that there’s not a ton of crap out there, but every time a blockbuster is bad, the kneejerk reaction is to diagnose all of Hollywood with some sort of disease that hinders them from creating good films that are also commercial successes. Several films, this one being among them, prove that Hollywood has the potential to do both at once.

I would submit that this new iteration of Planet of the Apes is one of the, if not the, best sci-fi trilogies of the 21st century. One thing that makes War for the Planet of the Apes so brilliant is the way it’s tied to the two movies that came before. Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011) plays out almost like a character study as we watch humans raise Caesar, the first-of-his-kind hyperintelligent chimpanzee who ends up leading a revolution in an effort to achieve the freedom he’s due as a sentient being. Then there’s Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014), where humans lash out against the intelligent race of monkeys. I am aware of how ridiculous it all sounds when you say it, write it, or read it, but the stakes were really raised in the second film. War for the Planet of the Apes is the remarkable conclusion. It’s a film that is more powerful and emotional than the ones that came before, filled with incredible imagery and metaphors that elevate the trilogy to an epic level. Here, more clearly than in the other films, the apes are stand-ins for any enslaved group of people throughout history, whether the Israelites in Egypt, or black people in America. We see the apes, after simply searching for a new home in an effort to avoid continued conflict with the humans, being captured and made to work for a psychopathic colonel (Woody Harrelson). By the end Caesar becomes a very clear Moses figure leading his race of apes to the Promised Land.

It’s a remarkable achievement considering how this film persuades us to root, and even beg, for a planet of apes, one in which the human menace is wiped out. Having not seen the last film in quite some time, I forgot the particulars of the conflict leading up to the events in War. So as the film began, my natural (literally) inclination was to root for human survival. Somewhere along the line, after being confronted with the barbarism of humanity, this changed and I began to pray for the apes’ success, even if that meant that the humans had to go. The film manages to force us to reconsider our loyalty to the human race. I’ve been reading a lot about research regarding ingroup and outroup thinking. We tend to favor the ingroup to which we belong (in this case humanity), and even excuse the behavior of our ingroup because we judge our peers like we judge our selves— with favorable partiality. The genius of the film is that is gets us to consider the outgroup (the monkeys) as equals as we become engrossed in their struggle. The truth of this experience is so staggering. The only way we begin to see members of an outgroup for what they really are— that is to see the truth— is to become engaged in their struggle. Then, and only then, can we truly see reality.

But beyond the sociological implications of the film, from a storytelling standpoint, the film is an absolute triumph. Especially beyond the first third of the film, War for the Planet of the Apes is full of surprises. The plot twists and turns, providing us with a film that is impossible to predict. We learn more about the colonel’s motivations in an incredible scene where Woody Harrelson gets to flex his acting muscles. Then there’s the human-on-human strife that really adds dimension to the story. Plus the addition of Bad Ape (Steve Zahn), a monkey from the zoo who learned to speak English, adds a dose of humor as a surprise scene stealer.

But at the end of the day what makes the film soar is the emotional performance by Andy Serkis as Caesar. He has embodied a broken revolutionary consumed by thoughts of violence and revenge, when all he truly wanted was the freedom to live. Of course technology helped elevate Serkis’s performance, looking sharper here that ever before, and giving Caesar a certain visceral accuracy. Serkis conveys the pain of seeing his friends and family die, and watching the race for which he dared to fight be castrated before his very eyes. A lot of people have called Serkis’s performance Oscar-worthy, and all I can say is why not. He’s achieved something novel, making the film feel so personal despite the over-the-top elements that make it a wild sci-fi treasure.

To comment once more on the sociology of the film, at the end we see the apes get their beautiful planet. The earth acts as a character, essentially giving herself over to the apes instead of the humans. It is abundantly satisfying, and even emotional to see the monkeys achieve rest after such toil. If only this would happen in reality. More often what occurs is— if an oppressed group sees any progress it leads to assimilation with the dominant culture, and therefore continued tensions. The film seems to suggest something quite revolutionary— that the only way for the oppressed to achieve true freedom is to be far removed from the oppressors, and perhaps that means that the oppressors must simply be removed altogether.

Spider-Man: Homecoming

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

Spider-Man: Homecoming is truly what fanboys'-and –girls' dreams are made of. I say that a lot about comic book movies, but it has never been more true than it is with this film. Ever since the Marvel Cinematic Universe began to expand with its years-long plans for a host of connected films featuring different heroes and team ups, fans have hoped and prayed for all of Marvel heroes to inhabit the same cinematic universe. The problem: while most Marvel superheroes lived under the Disney umbrella, different film studios owned a few others. Spider-Man, owned by Sony, was one of those others. So when it was announced that Sony and Disney brokered a deal that would allow a re-imagined Spider-Man to appear alongside heroes like Iron Man and Black Widow in last year’s Captain America: Civil War, the shrieks of nerds could be heard across the globe.

Spider-Man: Homecoming represents one of the world’s favorite superheroes’s full induction into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. So yeah, it’s a pretty big deal.

And the movie picks up right after two seminal films in the Marvel movie canon. As the movie opens we see the aftermath of 2012’s The Avengers. It really brought me back to the first time I lived in New York City, and watching that film in theaters with my family, and being utterly blown away by that genre-defining movie. Then we jump forward eight years (a jump that potentially jumbles the MCU timeline) where we witness Peter Parker a.k.a Spider-Man (played with youthful spunk by Tom Holland) making a home video about his first mission with, and against, some of the Avengers. Those events took place during Captain America: Civil War, placing this film right after that movie.

There is so much to love about Spider-Man: Homecoming, starting with the frustrated Spider-Man himself. Peter Parker just wants to keep going on Avengers missions, but getting in touch with his mentor, Tony Stark a.k.a. Iron Man, is nearly impossible. So he’s relegated to small acts of heroism around the city. The film is cleverly updated, as the hero is consistently referred to as “The Spider Man from YouTube.” Peter finds keeping his secret difficult, and as always, his hero work takes him away from his friends and his schoolwork, making him appear like a teenager who can’t keep his promises when in reality he’s actually quite the servant, even if he is a vigilante.

The film doesn’t shy away from being an entertaining romp at every turn. Peter’s rag tag group of friends, most of which are part of the school’s competitive decathlon team, adds a heavy dose of hilarity and diversity to the mix. Peter’s best bud Ned (Jacob Batalon) learns of Peter’s alter ego pretty early on, and becomes is de facto helper (or “desk guy”) cracking jokes while he works to stop the bad guys from afar, usually peering at a computer screen. Michelle (played by Zendaya in a highly publicized role) is a total mystery whose sole job, it seems, is to crack jokes in an aloof tone.

Not to be outdone by the kids, Robert Downey Jr.’s Tony Stark adds his signature brand of humor, but even more than that, he very clearly steps in as Peter’s father figure. It adds a bit of gravity to the film as Tony tries to make up for his past sins as an arms dealer, a continuing journey for Iron Man, by helping Peter become a better version of him. Michael Keaton turns in a menacing performance as the high flying villain (Vulture) who steals alien technology to make other-worldly weapons.

What makes Spider-Man: Homecoming feel fresh is that the filmmakers, chiefly director John Watts, seem incredibly aware that Spider-Man is a hero that’s been rebooted way too often in the last decade. So to prevent this reboot from being more of the same they shirk so much of the comic book elements that made their way into the last two film series. Aunt May (Marisa Tomei) is a much different character, here to provide wit and wimsy instead of her old-age wisdom. Peter Parker actually looks like a high school kid, and acts like one, resembling the more mouthy versions of Spider-Man from the comics and cartoon series. Peter lives in a version of Queens that is much more diverse, and therefore truer to the real thing. There’s no rehashing of Parker’s origin story. In fact, there’s only a brief nod to Uncle Ben and his death. Plus, there might have been a complete re-imagining of “MJ.”

But for all this shirking, the movie doesn’t shirk the conventions of the genre. We’ve all seen this type of film before, with its plot devices and structure. The film, like so many hero movies, bounces between hero life and regular life. There’s an action scene, followed by some jokes, followed by another action scene that inches us closer to a final battle where everything comes to a head. Especially since the release and unexpected success of Guardians of the Galaxy back in 2014, it feels like there’s an overemphasis on pop humor, and scenes with recognizable pop tunes. But what worked so well for that film, and Vol. 2 for the matter, is becoming just a little stale in other movies. What Spider-Man: Homecoming is missing, for all its jokes and lightheartedness, is a sense of danger. How can a film that features multiple explosions and a ferry boat torn asunder, have such low stakes? It’s exciting to watch Peter learn how to be a hero, and balance being a B member of the Avengers and his school work, but there’s just no sense that Peter is up against a foe or forces he can’t ultimately handle with ease. In fact there’s only one moment when Spider-Man looks like he’s done for. He’s lying beneath pile of rubble unable to free himself, when he just ends up having the strength to lift concrete and cinderblocks. No special intellect or innovative solution was required. He just all of a sudden was able to do what he needed to be able to do. So while the movie is fun, and even funny, it’s ultimately formulaic.

The Big Sick

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

The Big Sick is a daunting story to tell for a host of reasons, and it succeeds for being daring enough to tell it. Sure, it’s a romantic comedy, a genre that seems to either not exist some years, or be filled with insufferable Nicholas Sparks knockoffs, but it’s also a serious drama about coping with a loved one’s illness. It’s also the very real story of how Kumail Nanjiani (of Silicon Valley fame, and the writer and star of the film) met a woman he loved. The film tackles racism, religious expectations, the second-generation immigrant experience, the burden of ambition. So yeah, there’s a lot to deal with here in a two-hour run time. Seasons-long series rarely handle this much material. Miraculously The Big Sick does justice to each facet of the story in a perfect blend of laugh-out-loud humor, measured gravity, and beauty.

Act 1: Kumail and Emily’s romance

Emily meets Kumail at a comedy club where he regularly performs. She goes home with him on the first night, but being the busy student she is, just can’t get sucked into a relationship. She does of course, thus beginning an absorbing romance between the two.

Emily is played by Zoe Kazan. Kazan, as always, is effortlessly charming, but more than ever here. She feels like someone you really know, the kind of girlfriend or best friend you wish you had. And that realism carries over to when she’s got to play more seriously. Even when she may not react the way you’d want, there is something incredibly honest about how this character is written and how Zoe plays her.

Then there’s Kumail, played by Kumail. I imagine that playing yourself would be difficult. Even harder would be writing yourself, but Kumail pulls it off. With shrewd humor, Kumail tackles the struggles of being a standup comedian, and the way that struggle is exacerbated by an expectant family that has eventual plans for him to become a lawyer. Adding dimension to a south Asian character rarely seen in film, television, or really any entertainment medium, is Kumail’s family, most notably his mother and father who, at every turn, try to set him up with a nice Pakistani girl who just happens to “drop in” anytime he’s at his family’s suburban home. Nanjiani has written a film more engrossing than almost any drama this year, and more hilarious than outright comedies that painfully struggle to get an audience to even crack a smile.

Act 2: The Big Sick

So as the title of the film suggests, someone gets sick. That someone is Emily. A lot of times when a movie loses a character you’ve grown to love, there’s a feeling of lack for the remainder of the story. Luckily, Emily’s energy is replaced by her parents’ who rush to Chicago to be with their daughter and, by default, Kumail, who happens to be the only one to stick around the ICU.

Ray Romano and Holly Hunter play Emily’s parents. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that these two are so good, but there is something about both of their performances that catches you off guard. They’re a delight that you can’t take your eyes off of as they nearly steal the show from the young lovers. After some initial tension with Kumail, for good and bad reasons, each parent gets some alone time with Kumail. Hunter plays Beth, a frazzled but organized mother. She wants nothing to do with Kumail, but then turns around and almost fights a frat boy to defend him. Romano, by virtue of his voice, is the perfect comic relief. His role as Terry is a spark of genius when he tries to be wise, but simply can’t muster the goods.

It’s in this middle section that The Big Sick manages to skillfully address the expectations thrust upon Kumail by his Muslim parents. There's a tendency for filmmakers and showrunners to avoid showing minorities in a negative light. Most likely this impulse is out of fear of making an insensitive mistake, and because of it we’re usually left with boring, one-dimensional, and unbearably altruistic minority characters without a single flaw, and therefore devoid of any personality. Nanjiani has nothing to fear because this is an experience he knows and understands. He’s able to take on what he sees as the impossible situation of adhering to the Pakistani-Muslim lifestyle, which includes arranged marriage, while living in the U.S. There’s a scene when Kumail and his parents confront their differences head on, and it becomes one of the most heart wrenching scenes, despite having very little to do with Emily’s illness.

Act 3: The End

As the film began making it’s way towards the end, I kept going through the different possibilities of how the film could reach it's eventual close. Does Emily die? Does she wake up from her coma? If she wakes up does she end up with Kumail? Suffice it say that the film’s end was as close to perfection as reality would allow. But the remarkable thing is that it’s not just Kumail and Emily’s relationship that reaches some resolution, but Nanjiani gave each story, every character, from Terry and Beth, to Kumail’s mother and father, to his standup buddies, the ending they deserve. And it ends the way it begins, with the perfect amount of humor, measured gravity, and beauty.

One final note: I really hope to see more movies like this one. Though completely different, the comparisons between The Big Sick and Get Out, the surprise hit from earlier this year, are obvious. Of course they're diverse stories from minority filmmakers. The inclination might be to just dismiss and delegitimize these films as the beneficiaries of some sort of Hollywood affirmative action, but we have to realize that these are really great films, plain and simple. So no, these aren’t just Hollywood vanity projects to give themselves a gold star for diversity, they’re compelling stories about people that we don’t get to see in popular film. And what this proves is that taking a chance on different types of stories infuses the medium with a certain freshness that can really pay off. I don’t see why we don’t seem to, on broad scale, get this concept by now.

Baby Driver

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

Baby Driver is a throwback. It’s a throwback to the incredibly stylish spy and heist thrillers that used to star Cary Grant. Charade comes most readily to mind. The genre’s been well updated here by one of the most understatedly stylized directors of our time. Edgar Wright plans out each one of his shots with remarkable precision, all while making his presence behind the camera unnoticed, unlike more brash directors of the day. Compared to those old heist films, this one is cruder, more high-flying, but none of that takes away from the slick and similar sense of style that oozes from Baby Driver, just like in those Cary Grant films.

Despite beginning with a car chase, the movie gets off to a slow start. Wright wants to get the audience up to speed in the opening heist scene, establishing our main character, Baby (Ansel Elgort), an incredibly talented, albeit quirky, driver for bank robbers with a heart of gold and good intentions. Wright also establishes his directorial style, no stranger to those of us who’ve seen his other films (Hot Fuzz probably being the most famous). Quick cuts take us from one location to the other. Music plays a bigger role here than in Wright’s other projects. In an effort to drown out the ringing in his ears, Baby constantly listens to his iPod, which sets the mood for his getaway driving antics. And though this scene is fun to watch, something is missing. Something impossible to pinpoint until it shows up.

That something turns out to be Jamie Foxx. Though to be fair, it’s not so much Jamie Foxx the man as it is what his character brings to the film. Once he shows up, Baby Driver really kicks into gear. Foxx plays Bats, the thief in Doc’s (Kevin Spacey) hoard of criminals with the boldest personality. Bats is a hothead that provides a dash of danger, humor and imbalance that makes Baby, and therefore the audience, uneasy. There’s just no telling what Bats will do, creating a film that's a whole lot less predictable than it is early on. So when Bats disappears from the film, there’s a little something to be desired as we hurtle towards the grand finale. (SPOILER ALERT) Though it would have been a more obvious choice, part of me thinks that Foxx’s Bats should have been Baby’s biggest foe at the end of the film. (It turns out to be John Hamm instead.) That way the energy would have been sustained. Spacey, Hamm, Lily Collins, Eiza González, and other characters are interesting up to a point, but no one brings the necessary energy that Foxx provides through Bats, his conduit. Granted, being the throwback that it is, the women’s roles were relegated to either two-dimensional vixen or two-dimensional damsel, leaving little for them to add to the overall mix.

The other character worth watching was Baby, played by 23-year-old Ansel Elgort, who’s taken a lot of crap for the face he was born with. (I’m still trying to figure out exactly what is means to have a “douchey face”) Elgort is at his best in this movie. Because Baby is so off kilter there’s no need for him to be your quintessential Disney prince. He’s charming in an off beat sort of way especially when he’s listening or dancing to music, or creating it from the little phrases he snatches and saves on a tape recorder from the people that surround him. He’s got a 21st century James Dean quality that, again, adds to the throwback-ness of the whole enterprise. That’s not to say he was perfect. Perhaps a little overacting snuck in there towards the end. A simple and intense scowl as if to say “I’m mad” would have been played a little more skillfully by a more seasoned actor, but all-in-all, Elgort shines.

So the film isn’t perfect, nor is it Wright’s best one, but it is very good, and a cool and smart addition to Wright’s perfect record of quality films. It’s a real testament to the fact that being a thoughtful writer and detail-oriented director can make all the difference in elevating a film project.

The Beguiled

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

The Beguiled is yet another example of a trailer misrepresenting a film. It's presented as this heart-pounding thriller; one in which it's hard to discern just who exactly we should fear. The film is hardly that. Instead it’s more of a slow burn character study with a mere pinch of violence and terror.

What's surprising is actually how funny the film is. Director Sofia Coppola never begs for laughs, but lives in the naturally comical moments that delight the audience within this tale that almost solely takes place in a seminary occupied by genteel southern ladies during the American Civil War. 

Genteel is the perfect word to describe the women and girls living at Virginia’s Farnsworth Seminary. The ladies are there waiting out the war. Most of the students are kept there simply because their parents suspect it might be safer for them than at their homes where war has taken an even stronger hold. The occupants of the seminary range from grade school age up to the 40-something, plain speaking, and plain dealing Ms. Martha Farnsworth (Nicole Kidman). Despite the war going on all around them (they can hear canon fire from their front porch), Farnsworth demands the same level of decorum and ritual that she would at any other time. Young Amy (Oona Laurence) stumbles upon union soldier Corporal John McBurney (Colin Farrell) in the woods. She brings him to the seminary despite him being from the opposing side, as it is her Christian duty, so her sisters and roommates can patch him up then turn him over to southern military forces. If the women and girls of Farnsworth Seminary are the beguiled, then McBurney is the beguiler. The comedy derives from watching the younger girls giggle and boast in their young accomplishments in an effort to impress their male guest. It's almost as painfully sad as watching the older women steal glances and fall under McBurney’s spell. McBurney plays this game like an old pro, as he whispers to Edwina (Kirsten Dunst) that he loves her after only knowing her a few days. He gazes intensely at Martha Farnsworth as he enters his sleeping quarters. And in the case of teenage Alicia (Elle Fanning) it’s not clear who’s the beguiled and who’s doing the beguiling, but what's certain is that they all vie the affection of the first man they've held a conversation with, shallow as it may be, in quite some time.

True to her style, Coppola downplays the dramatics by scarcely using music and refusing to allow her actors, editors, and certainly restraining herself, from making over the top choices in a misguided effort to ramp up the pressure. But her downplaying goes to far. She sucks out not only the sentimentality and the aspects of the story that are prone to being overdone, but she also sifts out nearly all of the tension. It's as if the director believes the dearth of intrigue can be made up for by her beautiful images. It cannot. We're here for the story. And so often Coppola's films (The Bling Ring is exhibit A) leave us unsatisfied at the end.

She spends so much time, for good reason, on build up and character development, and we're tracking with her the whole time. Then we're left with a second act that delivers on what was promised, but in the blandest of ways. The Beguiled is a remake of a 1971 film of the same name starring Clint Eastwood, and based on the 1966 novel, The Painted Devil. It seems as if it’s a mostly pure and true adaptation, but I can’t imagine that both the book and the earlier film (which I’ve neither read nor seen) ended in such a dull way. Or perhaps if they did, that may explain why Coppola was drawn to the material. Perhaps dull is too harsh a word, but it certainly lacks a certain acuteness.

The second act of The Beguiled, after all the women in the house, from the comical young girls, all the way up to the more sensually mature women, are beguiled by Cpl. John McBurny, is a bit of a let down. Things turn south, and the tension begins to rise only for it to be resolved too easily.

Wonder Woman

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

** SPOILER ALERT (you've been warned)

​

Wonder Woman is good. It really is good. But, despite much of the hype, it isn’t better than that.

Certainly Wonder Woman surpasses any of the other DC Extended Universe projects with ease. Gal Gadot as our heroine is by far the most compelling in the cinema-verse, something we learned last year when she stepped in to offer a ray of hope in Batman v Superman. And the film is grounded in an origin story significantly less stale than, say, the overdone recreations of baby Superman being hurtled to earth in a rocket, or Bruce Wayne's parents being murdered in front of his eyes, or, to throw Marvel into the mix, Peter Parker losing his Uncle Ben. The film has genuine humor rooted in Diana's discomfort having gone from being the princess of the all-female Amazonian island of Themiscyra, to being a second-class citizen in 1910s London. It's also an inspiring movie to watch given our current political climate, and the fact that this movie is a long time coming. When Diana walks through a field on the front lines of World War I, the sole soldier willing and able to take down a German stronghold, and the sole woman in sight, it rouses something within. Equally as important as her strength is her empathy, something that gives Diana a relatable naïveté as she encounters this new world without ever making her feel weak or clueless.

So yes, there's a lot to love about the film, but there's also a lot that's run-of-the-mill. Structurally, most of the film is conventional. The bare bones of the story is pulled from the comics, but Wonder Woman feels a lot like the first Captain America movie. Very little, up until the end, is surprising. Additionally, the film seems to actively aim for a level of corniness not reached since George Clooney’s turn at playing Batman in 1997. Seriously, when Diana proclaims in the middle of her penultimate battle, "I believe in love!" it really is too much. But she goes on, preaching about the “power of love” as if this whole time the film has been a music video for a Celine Dion ballad.

But back to Themiscyra, the all-female island of warriors hidden from view of the rest of the world. The first third of the film takes place here. It's a world steeped in folklore, and tales from Greek mythology. There is so much to learn about these women, how they live, where they come from. It's compelling stuff. Not to mention that some of the coolest, and most visually stunning combat scenes happen here. So it is a bit of a disappointment when Diana has to leave her home to enter the world of men. The journey across the ocean from this mystical island, to a world more familiar to us, which takes up the remaining two-thirds of the movie, is less interesting than anything that happens on Themiscyra. And within this more familiar world comes more familiar film tropes.

It’s at this point that the movie begins to feel like Zack Snyder (director of Man of Steel, Batman v Superman), or maybe it was the studio, had more influence in the filmmaking. The film becomes burdened by the same visual clunkiness as the preceding films in the DCEU. The fights feel heavy, for lack of a better word— superhumans being hurtled into buildings, crashing and destroying everything in site. When every movement of a character in action requires CGI perhaps we’re doing the most.

But again, despite my qualms with the film, my main point is that Wonder Woman is a good movie. It’s about more than Diana’s journey from Themiscyra to the front lines of World War I. The story is really about Diana’s internal journey. Are the stories she was told as a child true? Is her destiny really to defeat Ares, the god of war? It’s on this journey that she discovers more than she bargained for. She begins to understand the nature of man. This is where the film gets it’s overall point of view, much more interesting than the power of love nonsense. And it’s here when the film is at it’s best. Diana is led to believe that if she can find and kill Ares, then she can release mankind from his power, which has caused them to hate and fight each other. The death of Ares would mean a return to perfection for the human race. She’s confronted, though, with a harsher reality that makes her question everything she knows to be true. Perhaps people are more complicated. Perhaps they have an intrinsic darkness within themselves. And perhaps, beyond the control or prompting of any supernatural force, mankind is already filled with the capacity for immense hate and self-destruction. This point of view strikes me as something incredibly true and honest.

Manifesto

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Julian Rosefeldt, the director of Manifesto, has called his film "a manifesto of manifestos." But it seems the clearest public declaration the film makes is that Cate Blanchett is one of the most talented artists alive today. The actor seamlessly transforms into 13 distinct characters throughout the film, reading and reciting some of the most famous thoughts and conjectures about the role and meaning of art in society.

But beyond Blanchett’s unrivaled talent, the film is derived from some of last century’s most brilliant artists and writers about art. In fact Manifesto isn’t really a film at all. It originated as a multi-screen art installation first housed at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image back in 2015. In the installation Blanchett’s 12 scenes would play simultaneously, each with a different character, a different scenario, where Blanchett recites words from seminal manifestos about art. Rosefeldt then compiled the vignettes into a linear film, which made its way to Sundance earlier this year.

The manifestos sampled (I read somewhere that Rosefeldt compiled and combined 60 manifestos for the project) span the spectrum of opinions about art. Upon entering the theatre I thought perhaps Rosefeldt would have a singular something to say about artistic endeavors, but per his own description, Manifesto is more about manifestos, than a manifesto in itself. Rosefeldt, through the varied scenes he constructs, even pokes fun at the grandiosity of some of the writings, the self-righteousness of the writers, and points to the fact that the opinions from one manifesto often contradict the opinions in the next one.

From Marx’s Communist Manifesto, to Futurism, to the experimental Fluxus artists, Blanchett embodies the words of some of the most important artists and artistic movements. Here are just some of my favorite scenes. In one, Blanchett plays  a wife and mother preparing lunch for her husband and three sons. After she and her boys are all gathered she bows her head. Suddenly she’s reciting the words of Claes Oldenburg’s 1961 piece, “I Am for an Art,” only instead of reading it, she’s turned it into a mealtime prayer. “I am for the art that a kid licks, after peeling away the wrapper… I am for art you can pick your nose with or stub your toes on…” And on and on she goes explaining all the kinds of basic and unconventional art of which she’s in favor. Then there’s Blanchett’s grade school teacher, who turns to her classroom of tykes and, reciting director Jim Jarmusch’s Fifth Rule, declares, “Nothing is original,” in that patronizing kindergarten teacher’s voice. “Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination.” Then reciting director Lars Von Trier, walks around the room telling the kids what they’re not allowed to do with film if they’re to recapture the art of the medium and return the emphasis to the director instead of the studio. Most memorable is Blanchett’s CNN-esque, big-haired, over enunciating newscaster who goes on to explain conceptual art, and even has a conversation with a weather woman (also played by Blanchett) about the goals and origins of conceptual art.

I am aware that all this sounds a little high brow, and all I can say is yes, it is. But if you just go with it, what you’re left with is something hilarious beyond expectation, and a film that’s as meaningful as you hope it will be. As an experience it feels more like that original art installation— something that you want to watch and re-trace for hours to ascertain all there is to it.

I don’t think every single scene works perfectly, but the vast majority of them do, imbuing a new, and often comical, take on these manifestos. Rosefeldt’s direction is detail oriented, capturing the surroundings with slow and patient pans that straddle the line of self-indulgence. But there’s easily more to love than to nitpick in the film.

What I really like about Manifesto, besides Blanchett’s phenomenal performances, and Rosefeldt’s daringness in creating the piece (pieces, depending on how it's consumed), is that it really opened my world up to these various artistic movements throughout the 20th century. It led me on a hunt to learn more about the artists and movements I was already aware of (Jarmusch, Von Trier, Futurism), and also expanded my worldview to research and understand these other artists and movements I didn’t know about (most of them). I’m particularly drawn to he Dadaists, not just because it’s fun to say, but the grand self-seriousness with which they preach about the lack of logic and order in art is fascinating.

War Machine

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ 6/10

War Machine is a movie with one big problem. But we’ll get to that. What you need to know now is that War Machine is a movie about an Obama-appointed military general tasked with the goal of leading U.S. forces in a fight against insurgents, rebel fighters not linked to any government or organized group, in Afghanistan. American troops were meant to be a rebuilding force, repairing infrastructure, raising up schools and bringing jobs to the civilians there. This General, played by Brad Pitt, has all confidence that he can win the war against the insurgents despite the fact that fighting insurgents has never resulted in victory (take Vietnam for example). After an analysis of the situation, the General comes to the conclusion that he needs more troops and plays the political game until he gets his 40,000 additional boots on the ground (or would it technically be 80,000 boots?). Ultimately his hubris leads to his botched attempt to take the Helmand Province in the country, not to mention an unflattering portrayal in a Rolling Stone magazine feature.

If this all sound familiar it’s because War Machine is a movie about General Stanley McChrystal, who was recalled from his mission and resigned in 2010. But Pitt plays the fictitious character Glen McMahon reportedly in the interest of avoiding legal headaches.

The movie tackles a few themes: the impossibility of fighting insurgents (whose main objective is to rid their country of an invading force), the politicization of war, the lack of Western introspection, and the sometimes-terrorizing nature of the military ethos.

Thematically and tonally, the comparison to Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 masterpiece, Dr. Strangelove, is obvious. Strangelove is a brilliant satire on the insanity of war, and it centers on a general who becomes obsessed with using the atomic bomb to the chagrin of his colleagues. While War Machine is more grounded, it is fashioned after real events and a real person after all, the attempt at satire is obvious.

And this brings us to the problem with the film. The satire isn’t strong enough. McCrystal, I mean McMahon, is introduced speed walking through an airport to meet up with his hoarde of fatigue-wearing "yes men." He’s tough-talking and to the point. He keeps to an insane schedule in which only four of sleep per night are budgeted. His accent, for the purposes of the film, is overdrawn. And he runs seven miles a day barely swinging his arms. Every cue suggests the filmmakers are pointing their fingers and laughing at the absurdity of General McMahon. After McMahon is introduced, so are the host of other characters that surround the man, in an equally silly and satirical way. What weakens the satire is the fact that director David Michôd and team aren’t committed to it through and through. Out of nowhere come these moments of extreme gravity that put the film, tonally, all over the map.

The truth is these more serious moments are, in fact, some of the best parts of the film. For example, in one scene LaKeith Stanfield plays a Marine who repeatedly asks McMahon questions, almost to the point of tears, in an effort to clarify what exactly is expected of him when he can’t even tell the difference between the insurgents they’re supposed to fight and everyday civilians. Then there’s another scene when McMahon travels to Germany to present his vision for achieving his goals in Afghanistan in hopes of persuading German politicians to commit 10,000 troops in the area. In perhaps the film’s best cameo, Tilda Swinton, playing the role of one of the German politicians, challenges McMahon on the lack of focus of his operation and postulates that for the general, this whole thing, and his need to win a ridiculous war, is more about himself and his legacy than anything else. She suggests that he derives meaning during times of war, and his is overstated “sense of self,” this belief that there’s a way to win this war, might just lead to unnecessary loss of life. But because we’re introduced to the movie as a satire, and Michôd tries to regularly bring us back to that base line, these moments lose value.

The other problem is that the film just doesn’t quite hit home on an emotional level. It doesn’t make you upset or indignant, nor does it really make you laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Perhaps it’s the fact that we’re distanced from reality because the filmmakers didn’t use McCrystal’s name, or maybe it’s the way Americans have a generally distanced way of thinking about war because it never reaches our soil. Whatever the reason is, the lack of connection is unfortunate, because there’s a lot to be said about who we are as a country in the film.

One thing I really like about War Machine is the fact that the filmmakers don’t let President Obama off the hook either. While he’s not viciously attacked for his role in continuing the war in Afghanistan, he is shown responding to political pressure in his decision to add 30,000 more troops to McMahon’s mission. The Commander in Chief also comes off, whether intentionally or not, as woefully ignorant about the aims of the mission in Afghanistan, and uninformed about what was happening there militarily. 

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

Right before the first Guardians of the Galaxy came out back in 2014 it looked like it would be the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s (MCU) first big misstep. These were fringe characters that even I hadn’t heard of. (While I’m not the biggest fanboy, I did grow up reading comics and watching every cartoon, so I know more than average person.) And they weren’t just fringe, it was a team filled to the brim with oddballs. It would be one thing if they stopped at the talking raccoon, but there was also a giant tree alien, and in probably the biggest pivot from Hollywood form, the movie was fronted by an actor best known for playing a schlubby goofball side character on a sitcom. So the film did not inspire much confidence.

What was released was a near-perfect movie that became one of the biggest success stories of the year, all while garnering favor with critics and regular moviegoers. It was an earth, nay, a galaxy-shattering achievement.

So on its second go-around the stakes were higher to say the least. Would writer/director James Gunn, under pressure from Marvel Studios and Disney, succumb to trying too hard? Would they push the release of a sequel too soon before they had good enough ideas? Gone was the element of surprise (everyone now knew how good a Guardians film could be), and added was a high sense of expectation. So with all of that taken into account, no, Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 was not as good as the first one, but it was real close. And that is more than we could ask for.

Two weeks ago my co-worker (and friend I guess :)) were talking about super hero films. We have drastically different tastes in the kind of comic book movie we prefer, down to the fact that he likes origin stories, while I find them to be boring and tedious. Upon further reflection I realized what makes origin films not work is the fact that they’re segmented. The formula is: first, we’re introduced to the character, her traits, his flaws while he/she discovers the powers within; then, the unrelated threat that’s been brewing beneath the surface finally comes to a head and is elevated to primary focus. While watching the indie superhero flick, Sleight, last week, the truth became clear. These origin stories can work when the introduction of the characters and their powers is integrated into the overall story. That’s the reason the first Guardians worked so well. We learn about Gamora (the amazing Zoe Saldana), Groot (Vin Diesel), Rocket (Bradley Cooper), Drax (David Bautista) and Star Lord (Chris Pratt) as the plot unfolds. Every revelation, plot twist, story choice was perfectly placed and executed. And Gunn used that same finesse when taking on Vol. 2.

This time around, though, we already know our main characters, but that just gives us the opportunity to be introduced to new characters and learn more about old ones. At the top we’re introduced to Ayesha (the phenomenal Elizabeth Debicki) the golden ruler of a society of perfect and personality-less space beings. After the Guardians complete a task for her and her people, Rocket steals part of the contraption they were charged to protect, leading to a galaxy-wide cat and mouse chase. We learn more about Yondu (Michael Rooker) and the order of space traffickers (called Ravagers) he belongs to. We already know that Yondu abducted Star Lord from earth and taught him the Ravager ways, but we’re exposed to the wider group of Ravagers (led by Sylvester Stallone), who have kicked Yondu out for his dishonorable actions. Then we meet Star Lord's dad (Kurt Russell), a man who, to literally say the least about him, is full of secrets. These additions to the cinematic world of the Guardians, and by extension the MCU, are welcomed.

The reason Vol. 2’s plot doesn’t sore quite like the first film’s comes down to two reasons. First, there were a couple of parts that were a bit slow. Our heroes are separated for a good portion of the film, which means we have to keep up with goings on all over the galaxy. Second, because the menace to the team isn’t immediately known, the ultimate threat doesn’t really drive the plot throughout. In some way Vol. 2 is like one of the lesser origin stories in its plot construction. A lot happens before the primary threat comes in focus.

That being said, there’s an awful lot to love about Guardians Vol. 2. We’ve got the hilarious and odd coupling of Drax and Star Lord’s father’s helper and personal Ambien, Mantis. Drax is funnier than ever, less consumed with revenge than he was before, but still incapable of understanding sarcasm. This time around the movie feels more like a purer comedy as the gags and laughs just keep coming. Not to mention the ever-present and adorable Baby Groot. There was more to chew on with the back and forth relationship between Gamora and Nebula, sisters with bad blood. Finally Yondu and Rocket, while trying to make their way to the rest of the team, find out they have more in common than they thought. All these relationships led to some great character development and laugh-out-loud moments.

And while I mentioned that Vol. 2 feels more like full-on comedy this time around, the movie’s greatest achievement is how it manages to pack in so much emotion. With the first Guardians, sure, it was surprising that this fringe comic book film could morph into a profitable movie franchise. Sure, it was a surprise that it would be so funny. Sure, it was a surprise that Chris Pratt could effortlessly be a leading man. But the biggest surprises came when Groot sacrificed himself by turning into a cocoon as the team crashed to Xandar, and the way the remaining members banded together to harness the power of the Infinity Stone. These moment were imbued with so much emotion. If there is something this second film did better than the first, it’s that it somehow packs a bigger emotional punch than the first film. I won’t say too much, though I really want to talk about the amazing ending, but suffice it to say that you might just shed a tear. I know I shed a few.

In closing, I’d like to just share a word about music. The Guardians franchise has made classic, good music a hallmark of the films. Songs from “Come A Little Bit Closer” to “Father and Son” by Cat Stevens really give the futuristic space film a vintage feel. But songs can change meaning, as Guardians proves, within the context the film provides. The collection of songs used in the movie could have easily become unbearable if the movie totally sucked. How do I know this? Two words: “suicide” and “squad.” Obviously taking a cue from Guardians, last year's Suicide Squad set itself up to be DC’s answer to Marvel’s rag tag team of space outlaws. And from the first trailer featuring “Bohemian Rhapsody,” it seemed like the movie’s music was going head-to-head with what Guardians was trying to do. Now the truth of the matter is that “Rhapsody,” Etta’s “I’d Rather Go Blind,” and “Fortunate Son” are all great songs, but in the hands of a studio that’s got no clue, these songs can induce the biggest eye rolls in the world. I say all that to say this to the good people at Warner Bros.: even if you don’t respect the comic book characters enough to make good movies, at least respect the music!

The Lost City of Z

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

The Lost City of Z chronicles the story of early 20th century real-life British explorer Percy Fawcett (Charlie Hunnam). He’s a soldier commissioned by the Royal Geographical Society to travel to Bolivia to draw a map helping settle a land dispute between Bolivians and Brazilians. Exploring is hard work, which we see up close, but it’s also full of wonders. In the case of Fawcett and his team, they discover pottery and other remnants of an ancient civilization in the jungle— a civilization cultivated by the natives, ridiculously referred to as Indians to this day. Fawcett returns home, to his wife and country, with news of his travels, a map of a river, and a theory about a secret city to which no white man has traveled. He’s met with disdain from his British contemporaries who find the idea of a civilization, perhaps older than their own penultimate society, created by “savages” untenable. It becomes Fawcett’s life mission to find this city, which he calls Z (pronounced zed), and so to the jungle he must return.

The film is about a lot of things, a lot of issues and themes arise— each with at least one stirring corresponding scene. First, Fawcett deals with the racism of his peers. As mentioned, they refused to believe that natives could create a civilization, that they could tame the jungle, something they believed to be impossible. Fawcett stands before his colleagues upon his return from his first voyage screaming back at a room of bigots trying to convince them of his so-called lost city. Only one man in the crowd, aside from Fawcett’s fellow travel companions, seems to support the idea of a follow-up mission to find Z and unlock the historical secrets the discovery would yield. Fawcett’s fortitude in the face of rampant racism satisfies our longing for some justice and makes it easy for us to be on Fawcett’s side.

To go off on tangent, it makes you really marvel at the utter silliness of people who so desperately must cling to the idea of their superiority that they have no way of seeing truth, and therefore no path to any semblance of freedom. It’s worth saying that any people group has the propensity to be this blind and barbaric. It’s no more an attribute of person’s whiteness, whatever that means, as savagery is to the natives. But, as history inescapably shows us, Europeans, and their descendants, chose this road to their advantage, ravaged places across the globe, successfully established a new world order, thus ensuring the widespread system of racism against people of color, all while having the audacity to call other people savages.

Similarly, the film touches on feminist messages as well. Nina Fawcett, Percy’s wife and self-proclaimed “independent woman” is relegated to staying home while her husband disappears for years at a time. Sienna Miller is great with what she’s given. When Percy is commissioned to return to find his city, she proposes that she go with him, which lends to a miraculous scene about another one of this society’s ills. Percy is convinced that the bedrock of all society is the delineation of men’s and women’s roles. Nina wants none of that, and rightfully reminds her exploring husband that she’s capable of enduring much worse than he can understand. Percy Fawcett, unlike with his more progressive views on race, doesn’t seem to transfer his woke-ness to realm of women’s liberation, which makes the next set of scenes both frustrating and satisfying. When he returns South America, Mr. Fawcett is saddled with James Murray, a man who’s an unfit and overweight biologist along for the journey. He only causes the team setbacks and turmoil as they proceed, and even when they return.

The film is also about responsibility and selfishness. After Fawcett returns from his failed mission to find the city, thanks to a whining and vindictive James Murray, it’s Fawcett’s oldest son, Jack (Tom Holland in another solid performance), who challenges his father. The teenage boy can’t seem to understand how his dad can constantly come and go in their lives always off on some mission, more worried about his own ambition to find the lost city than he is with being a father and husband to his family. It’s a sobering moment and a necessary dose of conflict to set up the beauty to come.

Each one of the themes comes across so well, and ultimately the film is so good because of the writing. Writer/director James Gray creates these scenes that are able to dig deep into the different wellsprings of emotion within. The ones I’ve mentioned work as almost perfectly crafted individual vignettes, but also build toward the overall arc in the film.

Ultimately The Lost City of Z is about ambition and devoting your life to your fated purpose— reaching for something “beyond what you can grasp.” After a failed mission, falling out with the Royal Geographical Society, and then almost losing his sight fighting in World War I, Fawcett resigns himself to never finding the city he’s convinced is real. It’s his family, his wife and son, Jack, that give him the permission and strength to go back, this time with Jack along for the journey.

In the past I’ve written about how misleading trailers can be, how trailer editors can miraculously make a bad movie look good, or how they portray a film as something it’s not. There’s no doubt that the trailer for The Lost City of Z could have been made to look like an action-adventure film, but the truth is that it’s something else entirely. The heart of the film is the relationships and the aforementioned themes that create such a meaning-filled cinematic experience. And Gray’s direction is perfect for the film. It’s measured and intimate with sparks of magic. There’s a particular sequence when Jack and Percy are off to South America for a second attempt at finding the city of Z. The camera passionately glides making the excitement of impending exploration visceral.

Though it’s true Percy Fawcett, his wife and his children were real people, it turns out that some of the specifics about Fawcett in the film are untrue, particularly his belief in the sophistication of the South American natives. Turns out he actually had trouble reconciling the advanced nature of the inhabitants of Z with his preconceived notions about the natives. He even suggested that there were “white Indians” who traveled from Europe to bring civilization in ancient times. So what to make of this character cleansing, particularly in the era of fake news? That’s the very appropriate question The Washington Post asks. Additionally, was Nina Fawcett actually the champion for women’s rights she’s made out to be? I find this glossy treatment of these characters to be somewhat problematic. I suppose my preference is to think of the enterprise as more of a work of fiction being that, at the end of the day, it is a scripted film.

In many ways, though, Gray’s characters feel real and complicated even if they’ve been cleaned up. Though we root for Percy, it’s not particularly noble that he was so consumed by a place in a far off land, leaving his wife and children behind. And they kept his sexism alive and well, which, considering his time, heck, considering his maleness, and the fact that it seems to require real effort to not be a misogynist in almost any culture at any time, including our western and modern era, seems just about right.

Besides the issue of truth, and coming to terms with it in the context of this film, there are a couple other small things that hinder the movie from being perfect. First, though the film is never boring, it does feel very long. And second, and I don’t know why this is or even how it can be fixed, but you get the sense after only an hour has passed since finishing the film, that for all that’s good here, it’s somehow forgettable.

The Fate of the Furious

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

Critics and laymen alike often praise a movie for knowing what it is, not trying to be anything more, and delivering on that. This, of course, is an excuse. It’s a line used to excuse bad movies for being simple to a fault, and used to lower the bar for certain projects. It’s been used to describe things like the John Wick movies and even several of the films in the Fast and Furious franchise. Movies described this way should typically garner no more than a 5 out of 10 rating, but being an excuse as it is, it’s used to convince us that bad movies should be applauded for not reaching too high.

Thankfully, though, The Fate of the Furious deserves much more than an excuse disguised as thoughtful criticism. The movie is a well-crafted piece of entertainment and nearly impossible not to enjoy. You get your fast cars, scantily clad South American beauties, and ridiculous explosions that defy all scientific reason, all things we’ve come to expect from the franchise, but here it’s expertly strung together making this one of the best Fast and Furious films in the eight-movie set. I’ve gone back and forth about the franchise. It has moments when it shines, and then there are whole films that are unwatchable, but, at least for now, the franchise is back on top with Fate.

At the end of the day the film is incredibly fun and funny. The well-balanced cast is a mix of colorful characters with goofy personalities. It’s not so much that each character is fully realized as an individual with a multi-faceted personality. Instead, each one brings something to the table that makes the group, or the family, a multi-faceted band of brothers. Tyrese’s Roman is a particular stand out, whose high maintenance personality provides plenty of levity to a film that’s already floating high in the sky.

If the team's connection is the heart of the film, the action is what gets people to the theater in the first place, and you can tell they've spared no creativity, nor money, orchestrating some thrilling scenes. Cars follow cars in high speed chases through Time Square (which would be literally impossible almost any time of the day, especially during daylight hours), a crazy hacker ends up controlling a bunch of self-driving cars remotely, hurtling them from a multi-story parking garage, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson deflects a torpedo with his bare hands while ice skating in boots, and a Russian submarine with nuclear weapons explodes. As my friend said, for two hours you think of nothing else than what's on the screen.

The film even succeeds with its plot. I’ve seen all the Fast films in the franchise, but I can hardly remember a single detail from any of them in terms of their story. Even with Fast 5, which I think is the best one, I don't recall why they were doing what they were doing. Here, especially since the wonderful Charlize Theron lends her talent to the film as its villain, there’s a chance Fate will be more memorable. This will be the one [SPOILER ALERT] where we learn Dom has a son, and most importantly, the one when Dom betrays his so-called, and oft-talked about, family. Back to Theron, she is really something here. She gives herself over to maniacal speeches and  over-explaining everything that’s going on. And isn’t that, to some degree, what acting is: ridding yourself of the things that make normal people self-conscious and giving it all you got?

With The Fate of the Furious, for the first time these movies are really beginning to feel like a full-fledged franchise, with it’s references to past films, appearances from characters of old, and attracting unexpected star power (like multiple Oscar winners) to move the story along.

Now I’ve lauded this film quite a bit, but make no mistake, this isn’t a great film. It’s biggest flaw is a script bursting at the seam with corny one-liners and silly speeches. The devotion to overstating the familial theme is really too much to handle. You get feeling that all the actors are aware of the corniness— save for Vin Diesel, who seems to be really taking himself and the film very seriously. And while Diesel may have been channeling his inner Stanislavsky, everyone else is just in it for the fun ride. But I can't fault Diesel wanting to make this film something more, because, perhaps more than anyone, he refuses to settle for making a movie that simply knows what is is, doesn't try to be anything more, and delivers on those low expectations. Perhaps he's the real reason Fate exceeds those expectations.

Ghost in the Shell

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ 6/10

This film's title alludes to the meaningful soul within the outer shell. Yet Ghost in the Shell's only real achievement is on the visual level. I'm not the first to mention it, but this is high irony.

Honestly Ghost in the Shell isn’t a complete failure in any way. It’s a fun film. Perhaps it takes itself a little too seriously, but it’s still fun. And it’s a feast for the eyes. I saw Ghost in the Shell in 4DX by accident, but once I figured out why I was paying nearly $30 for a movie ticket I was actually excited about it because I've always wanted to try it. 4DX goes beyond the third film dimension where the images on screen jump out at you. No, the fourth dimension includes a special chair for you to sit in that glides up and down and vibrates, lights that flash in the corner of your eyes, cold wind that blows in your face during car chase scenes and the like, and the most immersive part: a gentle mist of water that sprays your face so neither you nor the characters you watch on screen are dry. Honestly, it was the perfect film to see this way— a true action film actually worth seeing in 3D, thrilling sequences and colorful anime characters. This live-action film, adapted from the original 1995 Japanese anime movie, pays some serious homage to the original, recreating some sequences almost frame for frame. It’s one reason this film is so beautiful to behold— it’s just as colorful and high-flying as the animated version.

Ghost in the Shell is reminiscent of the classic film beloved beyond comprehension, Blade Runner, only this story is more coherent. Both films immerse you in a completely reimagined futuristic world of technological advancement. In Ghost in the Shell humans have all but completely integrated with technology. Not only are robots servants, but people are being robotically enhanced in nearly every way. Livers are replaced to let people drink more alcohol, eyes with x-ray vision replace regular ones. You get the point. Major (Scarlett Johansson) is different. Her mind was uploaded to a droid body that gives her strength and special abilities, courtesy of Hanka Robotics. And to speak of another outer achievement, Johansson totally nails her character's physical "roboticisms." She's cold and aloof when she speaks and she has an odd way of walking, swinging her arms just a little too much. Major has been told about her past life, how she was a rescued refugee whose brain was preserved, though she can hardly remember. Dr. Ouelet (Juliette Binoche) acts as Major’s guide in life and repairs her after she returns from missions with Section 9, a special intelligence agency task force. She’s on a mission to track down Kuze, a supposed mad man taking out high-ranking members at Hanka Robotics. Throughout the film Major learns things about herself and the truth about her past, which has been all but stolen from her. This leads us to the two counts on which the film fails.

First, the film's overarching philosophy is a discussion of what makes a person a person. Surely it’s not flesh and blood. Ghost in the Shell takes the perspective that it’s not even one's memories that make a person, but a person’s actions. In fact they make a point of saying this directly multiple times. Besides the fact that I personally disagree with the idea, the real problem is the film counteracts its own thesis. It’s Major’s stolen past that she must fight to recover which drives the plot. This fight not only saves the city, but the recovery of her past offers her the chance at her own redemption and humanity.

The second count on which the film fails is, of course, the controversy that has shrouded the film since Johansson was announced as Major in this, a major motion picture based on an iconic and groundbreaking Japanese anime. In my opinion, the casting of Johansson here is less damaging than the entire concept of The Great Wall from earlier this year, where the white savior complex is in full effect for the world to see. [Spoilers] The filmmakers could have worked a little harder to integrate Major's whiteness into the story. Perhaps the folks at Hanka Robotics wanted her to believe she was some sort of European refugee, or maybe it was just a way for the robotics company to create visual distance so she wouldn’t find out who she really was in her past life. None of these reasons were given, and even if they had been, audiences would have suspected, for good reason, that the reasoning for a white Major was just a way to cleverly mask whitewashing. Ultimately, though, Hollywood, like people in all sectors of American life right now, is waking up to the reality that people won’t settle for anything less than the full freedom to thrive in every arena. Gone are the times when minorities are satisfied with being thrown a bone of representation in minor, unrealized roles here and there, especially if and when their community comes up with the original stories.

Song to Song

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

The only thing I really don't love about Song to Song is the title. It sounds like a vehicle for Miley Cyrus in her late teens adapted from a Nicholas Sparks novel, but thankfully that’s not was the film is in the slightest. It's complex, challenging, and non-escapist adult cinema. And at its core, a romance— an incredibly poignant one at that, pining for answers about youthful love in the 21st century.

Terrence Malick, the reclusive, 73-year-old writer/director is at the top of his game in Song to Song, continuing to build on his fluid and atypical filmmaking style, which can be frustrating at best and infuriating for most. My first encounter with Terrence Malick's work was in 2011 with what might be his most famous film, The Tree of Life. I had just begun to take movies more seriously, so I dragged my parents and sister to the local art house theater around the corner from our house to watch it on the Fourth of July. At the time The Tree of Life felt incoherent and impossible especially during the bizarre first act that jumped from image to seemingly unrelated image. I still maintain that The Tree of Life is a fine film. My family, on the other hand, uses it as the line with which to base all bad movies. “At least it wasn’t The Tree of Life” is a familiar phrase.

But Malick is a filmmaker who doesn’t really care about simplifying his vision. Perhaps he doesn’t even care too much about his audience. It’s clear he doesn’t care about building a big one, but as my colleague writes, big Hollywood talent is lining up to be part of any Malick project, despite the long shoots and the possibility that after much work your character could be completely cut from the film in post-production. (See if you recognize Val Kilmer for the millisecond he’s on screen.) And Song to Song has an impressive list of talented stars.

The film represents a continued mastery of Malick’s singular filmmaking style. The whirling camera, crazy fish-eye lens shots, shots of nature that are interspersed through scenes of primary action to convey a feeling or set a mood, and visuals that are utterly sun-soaked. Malick isn’t the only one who does this. These techniques are used in commercial video all the time, but a 30 second ad isn’t long enough to potentially disorient an audience with these types of images.

And at the center of his style is sparse dialogue and heavy reliance on internal monologue— a sort of poetry of the mind. And Malick, the writer, is as much a poet as anyone I can think of. We mostly hear from the his characters through their inner thoughts, by way of breathy voice-over work. Malick’s words are the soul of the film. Certainly things do happen, in this film more than in many of his others, but what we’re really watching is the development of thought, the plot is based on emotional change, the real stuff beneath why anything significant relating to life and love happens in the first place.

[Minor spoiler] Towards the end, one character says, “I took sex— a gift— and played with it. I played a game with the flame of life." It’s an incredibly profound thought in and out of the context of the film, one that represents the slow transformation for one of the characters. It leaves me to wonder to what degree the characters really comprehend their own feelings when we hear them think these things. Are they really thinking this clearly, or is it just the expression of the kind of unexplainable things we feel? No one is this self-aware even after he or she learns a life lesson. I think Shakespeare, what, with his pages-long soliloquies would have killed for film and editing, just to use this technique.

Song to Song has an interesting pattern to it. It starts focused on just three characters, then it expands and sort of contracts again. It’s really all about Faye (Rooney Mara), an Austin rock musician looking for a shot. She’s known Cook (Michael Fassbender), a successful and wealthy record producer, since she was a teenager working for him as his assistant. Faye meets BV (Ryan Gosling), a fellow musician whom she falls for, all while being aware of and succumbing to Cook’s advances. Faye sees Cook as a person who can help her make her dreams come true, but she also is captured by his charm. The charismatic villain is nothing new in storytelling, but Fassbender has a way of convincing even the audience that behind that sinuous smile is a mystery worth exploring. We’re treated to scenes of the triad’s budding friendship as they go from city to city and festival to festival. There’s undoubtedly a tension that will plague them the duration of the friendship and ultimately cause a rift. Faye loves BV and chooses him, leaving Cook alone. But Faye and BV are still plagued by the reality of Cook’s influence, which proves a storm they cannot, not for lack of trying, weather.

This is when the story expands. Cook, now without Faye, meets Rhonda (Natalie Portman turning in another stunning performance), a small town girl looking for happiness with no hope of finding it. Cook turns his charm on her and she succumbs just like Faye did. BV finds Amanda (Cate Blanchett) a pained older woman filled with fear. Faye stumbles upon Zoey (Bérénice Marlohe). Each of the original three are looking for a redemptive path, but none of them find it in their romantic alternatives, nor do BV and Faye find redemption from their families. In fact they only find shame there, whether it’s thrust upon them or self-inflicted. Cook seems to have no family to speak of, but Rhonda has her mother (Holly Hunter), who can provide no real answers for her when Cook, now married to Rhonda, tumbles down a hole of drugs and sex spurred on by his pride and loneliness. Rhonda is willing to do anything to find the happiness she desperately wants, but ultimately won't.

While I made the comment at the beginning about the problem of the title in jest (kind of), one thing that did feel uneven, though it’s no big problem, was Rhonda’s presence. Amanda with BV, and Zoe with Faye, can be seen as distractions for those characters at the center of the film. Rhonda, with Cook, cannot. We know who Malick wants us to focus on based on the minds we’re allowed to enter, the internal thoughts we’re allowed to hear. We don’t hear what’s going on inside the minds of Amanda or Zoey. Rhonda is different, making her the fourth main character. But because Rhonda never, outside of a barely seen moment, interacts with BV or Faye, she feels separated from the primary narrative in a way none of the other characters do once the film is expanded. And we get to know a lot more about her, as a way to understand Cook, but also because Malick wants us to know her. Rhonda’s story line is compelling and Portman is utterly enrapturing in a way I've never seen. There's nothing bad about it at all. It’s just that in addition to being beautiful and compelling, Rhonda’s turbulent life with Cook feels detached.

Ultimately BV and Faye reunite to try to figure out what they feel for each other creating a kind of coda resolving not only a relationship, but also attempting to answer the existential questions Malick raises about love. And the way he explores this through the tangled, contradicting inner workings of the mind is brilliant.

The sight of Gosling strumming a guitar and playing the keys can't help but remind us of last year's critical darling, turned mainstream hit, turned cynically discounted award show frontrunner, La La Land. Song to Song, while certainly different in style, is similar, to a point, in substance, and furthermore, in execution. It's no less bold, the direction, though we've seen it from Malick before, is no less inventive, nor is it, in my opinion, less magical. The difference is it is a much more difficult film, and by difficult I’m not talking about the struggles the characters face, but difficult for the audience. Song to Song weaves and bobs from scene to visual motif. There are brief moments when we're unsure if we're watching a flashback or the present. The very idea of what is happening presently seems up for grabs. But this dizzying style Malick employs is no mark against him. Instead, it solidifies his place in the canon of singularly talented directors. His style, which goes far beyond visuals, is as much his own as symmetrical tripod work defines Wes Anderson.

Logan

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

At the end of every single year there is an unoriginal hot take about how no one makes great adult films anymore because the marketplace is saturated with superheroes and comic characters. Of course, each year there are at very least a handful of adult films that scratch the itch for a more cerebral cinema. And we're coming off 2016, a year with a boatload of quality films. Furthermore, each year in recent memory has included at least one excellent comic book movie. There's just no denying that studios have figured out a way, multiple ways really, to turn these colorful characters and stories from the pages of comics and graphic novels, into enthralling cinema experiences. Sure there are stinkers — Warner Bros. seems to be about the only major studio that can't crack the code, but I'm still holding out hope for Wonder Woman — but there's a lot of good stuff coming out, in fact, more good than bad.

What sets Logan apart is that it's both a comic book film, featuring the most beloved character from the X-Men comic franchise, while being deeply moving adult entertainment. Like last year's Deadpool, though in a completely different way, Logan is absolutely aided by it's R rating. And it signals that a big studio like 20th Century Fox is willing to sacrifice popular appeal, and perhaps money, for the sake of story. Of course in the case of both Deadpool and now Logan, this choice has paid off royally.

There are two reasons that make this film stand out, not only from the two less-than-stellar Wolverine movies that came before, but also from pretty much every other comic book film I've ever seen. Both reasons are the result of Logan being a significantly more mature film than X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) and The Wolverine (2013). That’s not to say that there’s no room for more fun-filled superhero flicks, just that this one is one of the less cartoonish ones and it completely works.

First, the film is incredibly violent. While watching John Wick Chapter 2 in theaters during its opening week, I was somewhat dismayed by the audible cheers during Wick’s wild, gun-wielding shooting spree. The difference with Logan, which was approaching the level of red onscreen as the latest Wick film, is that the violence was earned. Not only did they earn it by balancing gravitas and sensational action in this film, but throughout all eight films featuring Wolverine we never really get to see this mutant with metal claws use his abilities to the max. Here we get the unhinged and animalistic X-Man who hardly thinks twice about killing a person who he appraises to be someone who deserves to die. There’s something satisfying about seeing intense violence. I think it’s evidence that we’re base creatures who, despite all of society’s sophistication, have something very primal within us. It’s actually kind of disturbing, but all that aside, Logan gives us what we’ve all been wanting— Wolverine going to town on some bad guys.

Second, beyond the violence, is something emotional that elevates and gives this film its true power. We see Logan, old and battered, living in 2029 where mutants, those born with special abilities, are almost all extinct. Logan is working to save money to buy a boat so he can take his two friends, if you can call them that, to live in solitude on sea. One of these friends is Caliban, a vampiric mutant who can track others like him. The other is Logan’s long-time mentor Professor Charles Xavier, also old, and suffering from bouts of lunacy and debilitating seizures that not only debilitate the professor, but everyone around him because of his powerful telepathy.

Besides the fact that Wolverine has one of the coolest sets of powers, the ability to rapidly heal and of course his adamantium metal claws, what makes this character so appealing even to young readers and viewers is how complicated he is. He wants to be better, but he can’t help loving Jean Grey, who’s perpetually involved with Cyclops, the ultra square team leader of the X-Men. Wolverine is constantly battling demons from his past lives. And you get the sense that he's always ready to die. In the past films featuring Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine, we get a general sense, an allusion to this character’s pain, but in Logan we experience it far more viscerally. The potency of his aching body and heart fills the theater. Logan’s devastating brokenness is what makes the two relationships at the core of the film so moving.

We see the classic father-son relationship mirrored here between Logan and Prof. X. Ever since we first meet Logan in the first X-Men film we see him as a man in need of a mentor, a guiding light to lead him through his pain into a better life. But because of the way the world has gone, Logan still can’t escape tragedy, which is why it’s so important that Charles, even despite his senescence, is still there to give Logan a sense of direction. Though caring for Charles has become a huge burden and at times is physically demanding, he does it because he not only owes the professor for everything he’s done, but Logan knows that he’s not yet done learning from Xavier. Though in reality Logan is by far Professor X’s senior (because of his healing powers), a fact that’s very easy to forget, Logan would be lost without his father figure. There is truly is no one else in the world who cares about him. And when the time comes for Charles to teach Logan his ultimate lesson, it’s utterly crushing.

Then there’s Laura, a young mysterious mutant who shows up in Charles’ and Logan’s life right in the nick of time to ruin all their plans. Her powers are virtually identical to Logan’s, and she’s a fierce warrior with an attitude, just like him too. Newcomer Dafne Keen plays Laura with a sort of steely confidence that makes communication between her and Logan, who by default becomes her father figure (in more ways than one) stilted and uncomfortable. But just like with Charles and Logan, this new parent-child relationship evolves into another one that breaks your heart.

It’s really quite an achievement that an action film at its core can be about the necessity of family, particularly for those who are different. Sure there’s the Fast and Furious franchise, which beats you over the head with Vin Diesel’s constant rambling about family in that gratingly low timbre of his. Logan is much more subtle, but unmistakably clear about where it derives its emotional power. It makes this film such a surprising delight because you end up getting so much more than you’ve asked for. And ultimately it could be the movie that changes what we demand from our comic book films going forward.

Get Out (and thoughts on the shift in black film and TV)

★★★★★★★★★☆ 9/10

It’s hard to write a review for a horror or thriller film (this is already my third one of the year) or really any movie involving some sort of mystery not revealed in the trailer. So instead I’m going to spend most of this space explaining how Jordan Peele’s first feature fits into a wider shift in black art. But before I get there, I will talk a little about why I think Get Out is so revolutionary.

Get Out follows Chris Washington, (Daniel Kaluuya) a 26-year-old black man who is dating a white woman (Allison Williams). The two young lovers are on their way to spend time at her parents' home outside the city on a private estate. But this is no Othello. Instead Jordan Peele (of comedy duo Key & Peele fame) dives into the heart of American’s social fears and anxieties and turns it into a horror thriller. This sort of blend of pulp and social commentary (plus some really good comedy snuck in there) is like nothing I’ve seen before, and is utterly genius.

Chris is uncomfortable being at the home of his girlfriend’s parents, but this fear is normalized because it’s a fear he’s experienced for the most of his life as a man trying to hold on to his cultural heritage while navigating the waters of success, in his case in the field of photography, which certainly means he lives in a world of white faces at least part of the time. So while the eeriness he experiences during the first day of his stay is bizarre and unwelcomed, it’s not particularly new. Perhaps if it was, he would have left sooner, before it was too late. Writer/director Peele also touches on the nervousness and displacement white people, even the well-meaning, experience around black people. Again, without giving away too much, the normalization of these social fears is used as a gateway to something far more sinister.

As the mystery unfolds and blood begins to flow, so does the social metaphor. There’s a scene toward the end of the movie where we see sirens, a physical symbol that triggers fear in nearly every black American male. Peele’s use of this symbol is nothing short of masterful in the context of his story and the context of America and her history.

What Get Out represents, beyond quality storytelling, is another way in which artists are pushing the boundaries of minority film and television. It’s not simply enough for Jordan Peele to redefine himself, or rather expand his personal artistic definition from comedian to all around auteur; no, he is among the collection of minority artists who are redefining the terms “black movie” and “black television.” And the shift is not only happening in black visual art, but with other ethnic groups and races as well, seen in shows like “Fresh Off the Boat” and “Master of None.”

I think this shift in minority art is happening because of a cultural wave that's left people feeling unapologetic, unashamed, and unafraid, leading to a popular art landscape that is less stifled. A lot of music has been unapologetically black as a whole far longer than black television and film, or at least it was more accepted in the pop culture lexicon.

I think there are a lot of reasons for this shift in television and film, but I will point to two here. First, the Internet has placed us in this sort of post-shame space, one that is preaching self acceptance and flips the bird to anyone who would dare use shame as a tool to silence. As someone who works for a media company that exclusively publishes online, I know that the story of a regular person asserting his or her identity, especially if it’s an identity for which one may have been ashamed in the past, is always popular fodder for culture and lifestyle publications. These popular identity stories can relate to race, ethnicity, sexual identity, appearance, and weight. This shift can be both good (as we see here) and dangerous. The most obvious way in which it’s dangerous is a sort of mirroring on the other side that leads people to double down on stereotypes and preconceived notions— the kind of thing that has led to a resurgence of white supremacy, an ideology that for a while was successfully shamed in public. They too lack shame for their beliefs like black artists are seemingly less ashamed to express their blackness.

Second, I think it has to do with the optics during the last eight years having Barack and Michelle Obama inhabiting the world's most important residence. First, we saw them hold the office with such dignity despite monumental pushback. Artists are certainly emulating this as they move forward with projects even as they anticipate unwarranted complaints. It may have taken longer than expected, but some people have started claiming that Get Out is racist against white people, a similar tune the current President of the United States has suggested about the show Blackish. Beyond just seeing the Obama’s as the first family, artists watched during his second term as Obama became less formal and more “black.” "Becoming more black" is an idea which has the potential to be limiting, but in my use here it is meant to describe a freeing phenomenon. Let me explain. Because the default image of America/the American is white, what is generally accepted across the board, including in both American politics and culture, are the things that are thought of as "white," a category which has changed over time, but has always meant not black—a “white way of speaking,” “white perspectives” in most movies and television, and a “white experience” as ultimate truth. President Obama began to more heartily and assuredly reaffirm to the public that he, unlike any president before, comes from a black, at least partially, perspective, understands the black American experience, and simply is black. That's why he could sing “Amazing Grace” like a Negro spiritual at the funeral of the pastor of the South Carolina church rocked by the murder of nine of its members by a white supremacist, something I highly doubt he would have done in his first term with the 2012 election ever approaching.

To me, the clearest through line from Obama’s move to a more visible blackness is the movement of arguably the next most notable and powerful black person, Beyonce, who similarly and suddenly affirmed to the world, without a shadow of a doubt, that she too is black with the release of her “Formation” video and her Superbowl appearance the following day. We can think of Beyonce's first Superbowl appearance, headlining the 2013 halftime show, as the end of her "first term.” She reached a sort of cultural height from which she has and will never return, and perhaps then and only then did she feel she could more fully embrace her blackness. It’s an embrace not without backlash, but in spite of it.

What's remarkable about artists in the film and television space today is that they have shrouded themselves in the cloak of blackness with pride, while everything is still on the line. Unlike Beyonce or Obama, Donald Glover is not quite a household name, but that didn't stop him from creating the show Atlanta. Issa Rae broke through to the mainstream with her HBO show diving head-first into her blackness with Insecure, and Jordan Peele, in his first motion picture hasn't shied away from exploring black fear, all while knowing there would be some sort of pushback.

Beyond the shift in artists’ mindset, it should be mentioned that the audience has changed too for the same reasons mentioned above. I think this is the biggest shift of all. But it’s not so much the black audience that has changed. We have always supported black film and television whether it was quality or not. Heck, we usually are rooting for the black contestant on Wheel of Fortune if there is one. It's the larger more liberal white American population that has changed. Instead of seeing stories about minorities as “black movies” only for black audiences (or whatever the corresponding racial/ethnic categorization) they see the black experience as both distinctly different from their own, while at the same time seeing it as intrinsically related to their own as it fits into the overall tapestry of the American experience— and as the world becomes more global, the world's experience. This is incredibly encouraging.

A Cure for Wellness

★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ 3/10

How can so much happen in a film and none of it be thrilling? That’s the question I’m left with after watching Gore Verbinski’s latest so-called thriller. There was so much foreboding music, yet so little suspense; so many unanswered questions throughout, without any meaningful revelations; and it desperately wanted to be like 2010’s Shutter Island, without any of the greatness.

The title A Cure for Wellness is the best thing about the movie. It sounds like something sinister is going on that no one knows about. And that’s true. It’s just that what is happening is more weird than sinister, and not weird in a good way. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Lockhart (Dane DeHaan) is a young rising star at a big corporation in New York. He’s a caricature of the over-ambitious Wall Street type and he’s been sent to Switzerland to retrieve the CEO of his company who’s checked himself into a mysterious wellness center/hospital on a hill. There’s a whole mess with Lockhart’s mother who also just happens to be in Switzerland that ultimately isn’t really important, but it's the first thing that doesn't make sense. Lockhart makes his way to the hospital and notices that something is off immediately, but he’s man on a mission and that’s all he cares about. He ends up getting checked into the hospital after breaking his leg, and by this point he’s all but completely sucked into the madness.

The longer Lockhart stays, the creepier things get, the more he questions his own sanity, the louder the Inception “vrooms” become. Jason Isaacs reprises his role from Netflixes The OA, this time as a doctor who tricks people into his care. The first half of the film is devoted to building the many moving parts of the mystery. It all unfolds so slowly leading to a two and a half hour run time that feels a lot longer. There are eels, a bizarre woman-child, and a historical mystery, plus the fact that no one leaves the center because no one ever wants to.

The primary issue with the film is that the audience seems to understand things so much sooner than Lockhart, who’s supposed to be our eyes and ears. This forcefully sucks out all the suspense, because Lockhart is searching for the answers we already suspect. And anything we don’t seem to figure out before Lockhart, is in fact, never truly answered. For example, the fact that no one ever wants to leave the hospital would seem to any sensible audience member that the the patients are being brainwashed. Lockhart doesn’t reach this conclusion until much later.

The second problem is that the film doesn't earn its ridiculous ending. The end is so deeply entrenched in this weird sexual mystery from history. It’s all so unbearably bizarre without ever properly building up to this end. This is what I mean when I say it doesn’t earn the ending. To be clear, the ending would have been horrible no matter what led up to it. There is something to be said about finishing on a note no one could have anticipated, but when it seems to come so far out of left field it’s not satisfying or surprising, just exhausting.

If there’s one bright spot it’s that Dane DeHaan is a talented actor who gives his all to this film despite its utter silliness. Verbinski, who in addition to directing, wrote the film, deserves some credit for his ambitious idea. It just turns out the idea was half-baked to begin with and devolved into quite the mess.

Imperial Dreams

★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ 6/10

Imperial Dreams follows the life and trials of recently released Bambi (John Boyega). Bambi was locked up for assault with a deadly weapon after being involved in gang life in Watts, Los Angeles, the place he must return after more than two years in prison. It was in prison that he becomes a self-taught writer, even getting a story he writes published in a small literary magazine. Now that he’s out, Bambi wants to write— write about the only thing he can, his rough life, as a way to inspire younger generations to choose a better path than he did. He not only returns to his old stomping ground, a place of poverty that seems to have stayed the same, but to his young son who is now, for the first time in a long time, under his care.

Almost immediately Bambi is confronted with the choice to return to his old life of crime. His uncle asks him to go on a low-risk drug run to Portland, but a resolute Bambi refuses. His uncle is enraged more and more with each refusal, which is seen as betrayal. Without a way to make money to take care of the bare necessities, Bambi is lost. Rehabilitation is his goal, but this seems impossible.

The film tackles a lot of issues in its 87-minute run time: the catch-22 of social services (Bambi can’t get a good job without a driver’s license, which he can't get without paying the child support he owes, which he can’t pay without getting a job), the way police (minority police included) ride on people trying to do the right thing in poor communities, and the overall lack of support for those released from prison, perpetuating a cycle and deepens social stigmas. Bambi has no way of becoming a writer, and more pressing, has no way of providing the things he and his son need day-to-day.

Imperial Dreams feel incredibly familiar, in part, because the situation is true. It’s also because this is familiar ground for film. It’s reminiscent of 2013’s Fruitvale Station, which chronicles Oscar Grant, the character, who compassionately makes strides to change the direction of his life in the hood. In the 2015 comedy, and one of my favorite films from that year, Dope, a poor kid in an underfunded school is ironically forced to sell molly to get into a college program. And even White Girl from last year explores the cycle that lands people with good hearts and few options back in prison. These films, though, were able to accomplish something that Imperial Dreams did not. Each one, a stronger addition to the cannon of films about the struggle in the hood, had something that made it special— something that made it stand out. Fruitvale Station’s tension is heightened by the fact that we know Grant’s life will unjustly end in a penultimate scene. Dope is all around a film quite like nothing else, and while White Girl resembles Imperial Dreams in that no matter what the protagonists try, nothing improves, the central character in the earlier film gives it a stronger sense of itself.

And speaking of the characters, Bambi and everyone around him feel muted and not fully realized, making the film an ineffective character study despite the slow pace of the unfolding drama. Actually Keke Palmer, playing Bambi’s son's mother in two short scenes, was perhaps the strongest character appearing in a well-written and well-acted scene where Bambi and son visit her as she sits behind a wall of glass. What’s surprising is that Bambi’s dream of becoming a writer seems to come easier than anything else in a world where it’s been established that everything is hard for people like Bambi.

What I will say for the film is that its heart is in the right place. Co-writer and director Malik Vitthal offers his distinctly black voice and perspective, something we could use more of, with this feature. He has a genuine compassion for his characters and treats them with enough dignity to simply and clearly show their lives playing out. Ultimately, though, it’s not enough to make a major splash.

Split

★★★★★★★★☆☆ 8/10

M. Night Shyamalan’s movies, at least the good ones, are known for having one to several plot twists. But the most pressing question for his newest feature wasn’t what the twists would be, but would Split be one of the good ones. There was a lot going against it even before I entered the theater and spilled half my popcorn on the floor as I sat down. (Life is hard) One, this film was released in January, which is never a great sign. January is known as dump month, a time when studios just throw out films they think will bomb. The month is also full of Oscar bait that turned out to be not-so-hot, and this year’s special January treat, A Dog’s Purpose, which looks absolutely unwatchable. Two, it’s an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Sure Shyamalan wrote and directed The Sixth Sense, which is one of the best films of in more recent history, but he’s had some trouble as of late making anything that is good, much less that resonates. I heard he was on the up and up with last year’s The Visit, but I didn’t see that, so the only thing I could think of was how he ruined the Avatar: The Last Airbender series with an unacceptable live-action movie. So it turns out the biggest twist is that Split wasn’t just good, it was excellent.

Split is the story of a man with multiple personalities (what to call him is hard to decide exactly) who abducts and holds hostage three high school girls. The trailers seem to reveal just about the whole movie, including the fact that this man is planning to unlock his 24th identity, a beastly thing, while the girls are in his care. But in fact, the film conceals what’s most important—the heart of the story. Shyamalan uses a series of flashbacks, an overused device, often the product of lazy writing, to fill in the details we don’t yet know. But his flashbacks are masterfully placed and spaced throughout the film, revealing bits and pieces of information that don’t always seem pertinent at the moment we see them, but actually add to the tension of the overall experience. Of course because it’s Shyamalan, there’s an added dose of the supernatural and the kind of adjoining spiritual rules he comes up with— kind of like how the ghosts in The Sixth Sense “only see what they want to see” and “can’t see each other.”  

Shyamalan is reminding us why he is the master storyteller we knew and loved in the late 90s and early 2000s. His mind comes up with these stories that are either wild and all over the place, or run-of-the-mill until he comes along and weaves the narrative so tightly together that there’s no holes for even air to escape. With Split he has created not only a thriller, reminding us why he might be the closest thing we have to Hitchcock, but a tension-filled ride that, at times, relentlessly tugs at the heart.

We grow to have sympathy for Casey (Anya Taylor-Lord), one of the abducted girls, who turns out to be their best hope for escaping their makeshift dungeon. We begin the journey not knowing why she’s actively anti-social to the point that we judge her for it, like her schoolmates. The very talented Taylor-Lord is all eyes as Casey plays the game she’s been dragged into by accident. Shyamalan has this way of making his fantastical premises still feel grounded in reality. I think it’s because he surrounds his protagonists and antagonists with regular characters we recognize from our own lives. The everyday people who fill out the movie reveal who the remarkable ones are. Of the three teenage girls, Casey is special.

Then there’s the captivating and rapturous performance from James McAvoy. He plays our man with multiple personalities, each with such distinct feeling. We mostly only see five of the man’s 23 identities, identities that not only share the same body, but alter the host body’s chemistry and physiology when they’re “in the light.” For example McAvoy’s most enthralling character is a 9-year-old boy who obviously just learned the word “etcetera” and is a huge Kanye fan. It’s clear, without being overdone, that McAvoy has studied boys that age— their mannerisms, how they speak, and their motivations. McAvoy seems to channel Tatiana Maslany, from the British television series Orphan Black, because, like her, he plays so many different characters so well, including playing one character pretending to be another. As strong as the story is, without McAvoy’s range, there is no way Split would have worked.

Finally, a word of advice. Be sure to stay to the end, because just when you think it’s all done, M. Night throws in one final twist that’s sure to satisfy.

Hidden Figures

★★★★★★★☆☆☆ 7/10

**Spoilers ahead**

There is a moment Hidden Figures when you feel blown away, awash in a sea of rage and sadness. Katherine Goble, played with a tender nervousness up until this point by a brilliant Taraji P. Henson, returns to her desk at NASA. She’s the only person of color and the only woman in the room. Katherine is there because NASA needs her to do things only she can. Her boss (Kevin Costner) is in the middle of chewing her out for taking long breaks during the day. Something snaps, and Katherine passionately explains, after enduring unending passive aggressiveness from her white male colleagues, that she had to run a half mile just to get to the only “colored” women’s restroom on the NASA campus. Henson’s anger is palpable in this moment as she raises her voice to share the reality of Katherine’s miserable work life. The moment is so satisfying. It feels like a gift.

Certainly I’ve imagined a similar kind of magic moment. Perhaps we all have. That moment when we let someone have it, saying all the right things so eloquently that we’re met with nothing but shameful silence once we’ve ended. Each of the primary characters has a moment like this, a moment where they triumph. And it feels so good to watch.

The figures from the title are Dorothy Vaughan (Octavia Spencer), Mary Jackson (Janelle Monae), and the aforementioned Katherine Goble (she becomes Katherine Johnson after she gets married). All three are black women working as computers at NASA who make waves as the U.S. space agency is attempting to travel outside our planet. Of course it’s the ‘60s and every ‘ism is blatantly at play making advancement nearly impossible for them. These women are considered hidden because no one really knows about them, which is, of course, a shame. Each made huge contributions to the space program, Katherine’s being the most notable in that she figured out the math to make it possible for astronaut John Glenn to safely return to earth after orbiting it.

While this film is certainly one about injustice, it is more a story about liberation. Granted, that road to liberation is long and arduous. But there’s a stark contrast in the feeling of this film verses something like Selma or 12 Years a Slave, two recent masterpieces exploring the sordid history of discrimination and brutality against black Americans. Far better than my words, nothing really captures the mood of the film like Pharell and Hans Zimmer’s score.  Pharell uses bouncy horns and his own floating voice to bring a sense of brightness to a film that could have easily been much darker. Then Zimmer fills in the gaps with strings-heavy and sweepingly Hollywood mood music. It’s refreshing that the film is one of unrelenting positivity and hope. You leave the theater lighter than when you came in, proud of these real-life women and knowing that they deserve their story to be told for all they did. It is always a remarkable accomplishment when a film can change your countenance. And that is why this film is just so good.

I want to finish this review with an open-ended question. I’ll say up front that I don’t have the answer, even though I’m writing about the question. There’s no denying that the filmmakers expertly crafted a story of great gravity into something that is also a joy to watch. It requires vision to seamlessly merge the two ends of that spectrum. My question: Is this hopefulness, this almost overwhelming positivity, the brightness of the score, the mood of the whole film, irresponsible in some way?

I ask this as I think about where we are now and my own life. Most people in my generation and with at least a middle class level of privilege, regardless of race or gender, grew up with the idea that this country has made a great deal of progress. I’m not saying we haven’t, but I think we’re seeing now that we overestimated how much we moved forward. I was never one of the people who believed we had reached a post-racial country. I was still a black child. But even being the black child that I was, I believed that so many of the problems of the past had been solved. In school, we are taught that they were solved. Optimism is the American way, but so is amnesia, and it seems to me that these two things so often go hand in hand.

I’ve written about this previously, but for me it was the Trayvon Martin case that completely shifted my worldview. That was when I began to realize that I had been taught half-truths about our history. I was already on the road to acute cynicism. Now I live there. It’s an interesting question to ask about this film, one that shed light on people that history forgot. So it’s not so much about the content, rather than the feeling, mood and overall themes. If we continue to present our history with fairytale flair, do we risk repeating the blissful ignorance that we’re already prone to?