REVIEW: Sorry To Bother You

One of my favorite things about film as a means of artistic expression is the way in which it allows filmmakers to present a sort of funhouse mirror version of our own reality. Where certain aspects of everyday life are tweaked and exaggerated in order to convey some sort of social commentary; it's the kind of style you find in films such as Robocop and Office Space, concealing a bittersweet truth about society behind a veneer of sardonicism and parody. After catching the trailer for Boots Riley's Sorry To Bother You before a showing of Deadpool 2 back in May, I knew it was the kind of slick-looking indie flick I just had to check out. Having finally seen it, I can definitely say that, as far as style goes, I got exactly what I was hoping for and then some. As far as everything else... well, let's just say there's a reason this particular Review took so long to post. This is the kind of movie I had to sleep on for a good long while, and I wouldn't be surprised if my opinion of it continues to change after I've hit publish. It's a very unique beast of a film, and while I'm not entirely sure that's 100% a compliment in this case, it definitely gives me a lot to talk about.

The film is set in an alternate-present version of Oakland; it's more or less the same as our world, just, shall we say, less subtle. Mega-corporations are essentially pushing exportable slave labor (seen as a fairly sweet deal by many members of the lower class), advertising has devolved to the point that brands are simply named after whatever product they're designed to move (such as "Soda Cola"), and America's number one television show is an assault on human dignity aptly titled "I Just Got the Sh*t Kicked Out of Me!"; it's a dystopia in the most mundane, everyday sense, where our collective doom is brought about by sterilized corporate overreach, rather than murderous robots or nuclear armageddon. It's here that we meet our protagonist, Cassius "Cash" Green (Lakeith Stanfield, who is way too good here to have also starred in Death Note). Low on funds and unable to find a job, Cash begins working at a telemarketing firm known as RegalView. Initially, he feels as though the job isn't cut out for him, struggling to close sales and climb the corporate ladder. That is, until one of his coworkers (Danny Glover) suggests that he use his "white voice" (a squeaky-clean overdub provided by David Cross); not so much an imitation of white people, per sey, but rather a means of code-meshing that gives off the impression that Cassius is living a worry-free life where things can only get better. With the power of his white voice, Cash becomes a superstar at RegalView, ascending to the almighty and mysterious position of "Power Caller"; however, this promotion just happens to coincide with his coworkers (along with his girlfriend, Detroit, played by Tessa Thompson) organizing a labor strike in search of better wages and benefits. I don't want to go any further into the plot, as this is definitely the kind of movie you want to go into blind, but suffice to say tensions rise between Cash and those around him after he earns his first taste of what could modestly be called success.

Like I said, I've got a lot to say about this movie, so I'd like to get everything I liked about it out of the way first. As far as visuals go, this is a strong contender for the most inventive film I've seen thus far in 2018; the cinematography gets insanely creative at times, whether it's to convey a subtextual message or to simply help sell a joke. When Cassius is on the phone with a client, he's violently transported to wherever they may be when their phone starts ringing, whether they're eating dinner or having sex on the couch. It's an inventive way to make something as milquetoast as telemarketing engaging and interesting, fully taking advantage of the visual medium they're working in. It's definitely a film with a very distinct look to it, especially when it comes to details like Tessa Thompson's various outfits and earrings (her character is an independent artist, and the film takes full advantage of this opportunity to play dress-up). This is a movie about income inequality and racially-coded language and corporate America, yet it finds a way to be fascinating from a visual standpoint, rather than just from a narrative standpoint, and that's definitely a feather Sorry To Bother You wears proudly in its cap.

I also loved the sense of humor and overall tone/atmosphere; like I said before, it exaggerates key elements of our reality, calling specific attention to details we're more or less used to seeing in our day to day lives. There's a joke later on in the film involving a rap song that made me both laugh and wince until it hurt; really, it's the film's ability to pull off moments like that that make it such an enjoyable watch. For as surface-level as some of the commentary can be, it's very smart in the way it doles it out for the first two acts. Despite how absurd things appeared, I found myself seriously invested in the moral dilemma at the heart of the plot. A lot of this is not only due to the smart dialog and writing, but also to Lakeith Stanfield; he's the perfect everyman for a movie like this, fitting right into this absurd, exaggerated universe while also staying totally down-to-earth and relatable. Just about every character aside from Cash ends up being a little hyperbolic in one way or another, so it was a smart move to cast someone so naturalistic as the focal point of the entire plot. 

SPOILER ALERT: While I don't spoil that twist (the one everyone is going nuts over), I do mention a few minor plot points. If you're looking to go in as blind as possible (which is really the only way to see this movie), be warned!

Now, if you've heard anything about this movie, you've probably heard people raving about the curveball it throws in later on in the plot; I'm going to respect the wishes of the filmmakers and not spoil it here, but I can't just pretend like I can discuss this movie without talking about it (albeit in the vaguest possible terms I can manage). While I can definitely see what Riley was going for with this plot point, I can't help but feel as though it was a punch-line to a joke nobody was telling. When the twist happened in the theater, I literally thought I was being pranked, that the entire conceit of the movie was to get people invested in an oddball but compelling dramedy about the price of success before completely going off the rails into straight-up monkey cheese territory. Now, all that said, I want to make it perfectly clear that, while it didn't really work for me, I still have to give Boots Riley and company some tremendous props for doing something so ballsy and out-there. It's really the kind of thing you have no way of predicting; if you sat 1,000 monkeys at 1,000 typewriters, they would eventually guess the plot twist to Sorry To Bother You. It's definitely a "your mileage may vary" type thing, something that no major studio would ever let a filmmaker get away with. We all act like the end of Infinity War was shocking, but it honestly has nothing on this.

While I greatly respect a filmmaker's decision to throw his audience for a loop, I still can't help but think that taking such a radical turn ended up damaging the overall narrative in the long run. In doing some research after leaving the cinema, I learned that apparently Riley had intended for the film to have a Communist message, which I found a bit concerning (for more reasons than the obvious); namely that, as far as I could tell, the film did a remarkable job of offering solid refutations to that mindset. The moral quandary that the first two acts are entirely based around involves Cash's desire to succeed, even if it means turning his back on his friends and coworkers. It's easy to see his decision as selfish at first, but we also see that he has people in his life (like his uncle, played by Terry Crews) whom he has to provide for. When Cash's friends (who aren't particularly good at their job) shame him for working hard and succeeding on his own merits, they come off as remarkably petty and hypocritical, as if Cash should allow his uncle to lose his house in order to add another body to the picket line. At one point in the movie, we learn that Detroit has a "white voice" of her own that she uses during her art installation (which is really just a more pretentious version of "I Just Got the Sh*t Kicked Out of Me!"), after she's spent the entire movie up to that point talking down to Cash for using his white voice outside of work. Steven Yeun's character (who organizes the strike in the first place) spends all of his time moralizing about unity and brotherhood and the shared struggle of the proletariat, only to act like a duplicitous, incompetent goober when no one important is watching. 

Make no mistake, Cash's hands aren't clean either (he consciously goes along with some pretty deplorable things in pursuit of a white-collar paycheck, after all), but it felt to me like the movie was doing everything in its power to avoid coming off as one-sided; all the players in the central conflict had moments where they were given realistic, human flaws, and that added a lot in terms of making this moral dilemma feel multi-faceted and real. It feels like you could make a reasonable case for either side of the argument, and it's that kind of conflict that makes for compelling drama. But then the twist happened and the film started beating us over the head with its message (which only took the form of playful and flirtatious love-taps before). When there's such a large gap between what I took away from Sorry to Bother You and what the filmmaker intended I take away from it, I seriously have to wonder where things started to get lost in translation. I certainly don't want to place this entirely on the shoulders of the film itself (Boots Riley is the one who wrote and directed it, I just paid for my ticket and interpreted what I saw from my own, lowly perspective), but I can't help but feel that something's amiss in terms of how the story is conveyed when the director's supposed intentions feel so divergent from what actually played out on screen.

For all my personal hang-ups with Sorry To Bother You, I can't really bring myself to not recommend it. There were major elements of it that just didn't land for me, but that still doesn't change the fact that this is one of the most unique films I've seen in a theater in a good long while. This doesn't feel like just another surrealist comedy, this feels like someone's unique, inspired artistic vision, and that's something I can always commend (even if, at the end of the day, it feels like it presents themes and ideas that I've seen done before and done better). The title, Sorry To Bother You, isn't only meant as a reference to the world of telemarketing, but also as something of a warning to the audience; as if to say, "sorry to bother you, but this film is gonna force you to wake up and see things as they are". I can't say for sure that Sorry To Bother You woke me up, but it sure as hell didn't put me to sleep. Avoid all spoilers, go in as blind as possible, and see what you take away from it.

REVIEW: Black Panther

Black Panther is the 18th movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It is completely adequate. 

I could honestly end this Review there, that sums it all up; I know I'm more than a little late on this one and people are probably looking forward to what I have to say, but really now, am I seriously expected to say this is "one of the year's best films, and one that transcends the superhero genre to emerge as an epic of operatic proportions"? The zeitgeist surrounding this movie has been insane to say the least (not unlike the buildup to last year's Wonder Woman), and I can't say I don't blame the hype surrounding this film for building up my expectations to the point that I left the theater feeling somewhat underwhelmed. It seems as though a lot of this overwhelming praise has been awarded due to the film's primarily African setting and characters; representation is, naturally, important, but I just can't understand the mindset of people who only look at these films in terms of what color the actors are. I remember talking to a coworker about Black Panther before I had the chance to see it, and literally the only detail they bothered to discuss were how many women of color were in it. 

Don't get me wrong, that's great; variety is the spice of life, and I'm glad to see different kinds of characters getting to spend some time in the spotlight, especially in the increasingly-homogenous MCU (take a drink every time the protagonist is a snarky, inoffensively-likable white guy). But it still struck me as odd that that was the one positive takeaway they had after seeing it; not the plot, or the writing, or the cinematography, or any of the other aspects of the film that make it a film. I've just had to come to the conclusion that, when it comes to modern blockbusters like this, your average moviegoer is less concerned with the actual craft on display, compared to the messy, sensationalistic politics surrounding it. And despite all my griping, I had my fun with Black Panther; I'm really more disappointed in the fans than I am with the movie. They overhyped this totally passable superhero blockbuster for all the wrong reasons. To the film's credit, it actually does try (and for the most part, succeed) to break the tried and true Marvel movie mold where it can afford to, and those moments make all the difference in the world.

Following the events of Civil War, we see Prince T'Challa (Chadwick Boseman) taking on his late father's role of king and protector of Wakanda, a hyper-advanced nation hidden in the heart of Africa. Shortly after ascending to the throne, T'Challa finds himself pitted against Ulysses Klau (Andy Serkis, acting to the rafters), an arms dealer hellbent on stealing Wakanda's most precious natural resource, vibranium (the same miracle metal which makes up Captain America's shield). With Klau is a vicious mercenary by the name of Erik "Killmonger" Stevens (Michael B. Jordan), who hopes to usurp the throne and utilize Wakanda's vast advances in military technology to bend the world to his will. It's up to T'Challa to rise to the challenge and protect his family, his home, and the rest of the world at large as the stalwart defender of Wakanda, the Black Panther.

Right off the bat, we're given some clear and relevant social commentary regarding the conflict between the safety of isolationism and the moral responsibility that comes with wielding great power on the global stage. I hesitate to call this superhero popcorn flick a "political movie", but there is a fair amount of contemporary subtext, all of which it handles tactfully. The only issue is that the film seldom does anything truly interesting with it. Thanks to the technological advances granted by the nation's vast deposits of vibranium, Wakanda possesses technology far beyond that of other world superpowers; while they could easily use these advantages to help the less fortunate of the world, they choose to remain hidden, opting to not get involved. "You let refugees in, you let in all their problems", remarks Daniel Kaluuya's W'Kabi; a little on the nose, but it lets you know exactly what the conflict in this film is about. It's a situation where both sides of the argument are shown to have objectively valid points and there are no easy answers, yet the film gives us one anyway. The entire movie we're told that these opposing concerns matter (as it's this conflict which drives the entire plot), only for the film to abruptly tell us that none of those things actually matter and everything just works itself out. It's a shame, because I was actually invested in the political intrigue of this movie (moreso than I expected to, at least), only for it to be sold short like so many of the other positive aspects here.

That said, I actually quite enjoyed the performances here. While I'm not overly-familiar with his work, I've heard that Ryan Coogler is an actor's director, and Black Panther gives me no reason to doubt that. Everyone gives a strong performance, even if they're criminally under-utilized (Serkis and Kaluuya are the big two that come to mind) and even if I didn't particularly care for the character themself (such is the case with T'Challa's little sister, Shuri (played by Letitia Wright), who honest-to-god makes a "what are thooooose" joke in this, the year of our lord 2018). Chadwick Boseman continues to play the part of T'Challa with a reserved, dignified sense of cool; he's got an air of importance and unironic seriousness about him that you don't quite get with your Tony Stark or your Star Lord or your Mister Doctor Strange. He's both a superhero and a king, and the film treats him as such; the few comedic moments he gets typically involve him playing the straight man to another character, rather than spitting out sarcastic quips and pop culture references. Some have called his performance boring, I call it exactly the kind of hero the MCU needs more of to balance the tonal scales.

The highlight here, by far, is Michael B. Jordan as Erik Killmonger; in an ironic twist for the MCU, the villain this time around is fleshed-out and interesting, while the protagonists are all comparatively flat and underdeveloped. An American black-ops mercenary looking to give Wakanda a brutal premiere on the world stage, Killmonger is an ethno-nationalist who believes in subjugating (if not outright mudering) those he deems "privileged"; a topical villain if ever there was one. I don't want to spoil his backstory (although, given his aspirations, one could probably make a solid guess), but we'll say that he's completely and totally justified in his outrage; we understand why he feels the way he does and sympathize with his anger. At the same time, it's the way he expresses this outrage (typically through mass, unapologetic bloodshed) that makes him a villain; being able to understand where a character is coming from while being morally opposed to their actions is the stuff great antagonists are made of. I'll admit, when I saw the trailers and realized Black Panther would have to fight "evil Black Panther", I all but wrote the character off, only to be surprised by just how engaging he was. When we see what Killmonger has planned for Wakanda's resources, we understand the kind of responsibility that rests on T'Challa's shoulders; I'm fairly sick of Marvel villains who are "a dark reflection of the hero" (see Iron Man, Ant-Man, Doctor Strange, and most other MCU films), but this is an instance where the symmetry is more than just skin-deep. My only issue is that he unquestionably steals the show from the titular character, who ends up with the short end of the stick in terms of characterization and development.

Despite the strong direction and performances, I still can't help but feel as though Black Panther is a woefully inefficient movie. It's as though every positive aspect of the film has to have an ominous "but" attached to it; the performances are great, but the majority of the characters are under-developed. The cast is talented, but very few of them were utilized to their fullest potential. The subtext is engaging, but it lacks a satisfying payoff. This is a film that clocks in at just over two hours long, yet its main character is denied any kind of impactful, drastic arc. By the time the credits roll, T'Challa is basically the same person he was at the end of Civil War; a proud, young king who just wants to live up to his title, only now he views the past without the aid of rose-tinted glasses. There's a good twenty-minute stretch where the movie unironically pretends as though T'Challa is dead, despite Chadwick Boseman appearing in literally every piece of promotional material for next month's Infinity War. It's clear that, from the story concept to the art design, a lot of thought and care went into making this movie, but details such as this just make the whole thing feel lazy. 

The action is passible (I particularly enjoyed a close-quarters brawl that spilled out into a car chase on the streets of South Korea), but at the same time manages to feel utterly toothless to the point that I found myself growing bored during the film's climax. Early on, Shuri develops a new suit for T'Challa that allows him to harmlessly absorb the kinetic energy of any impact he's hit with; while it's definitely a cool power, it completely and utterly kills the tension in every following action sequence. The only fight scenes with any kind of dramatic weight to them are the moments where T'Challa is challenged for the crown and has his powers and costume ritualistically stripped away. We're given a character like Black Panther (whose powerset is built around acrobatic movement and close-combat martial arts) directed by the man who gave us Creed, yet the majority of the action is bloodless, tensionless, and pointless. It's not helped by the shockingly cheap-looking CGI; Wakanda is a fantastically imaginative concept, but it ends up feeling like nothing more than three or four sets and a green screen. The filmmakers were working with a budget of over $200 million, yet we're subjected to a scene with a CGI rhino that looks like something fresh out of Attack of the Clones. You can't honestly tell me that it was cheaper, quicker, and easier to synthesize a hilariously fake rhinoceros inside a computer than it would have been to take a day-trip to a nature preserve or sanctuary and just get some footage with a real rhino. They were working with one of the few superheros whose powers can be portrayed with nothing more than some martial arts training and tight choreography, yet the action looks like something out of a Playstation 2 cutscene. It's creative decisions like these that give the film an air of cheapness, which is a shame, since it's an utter joy from a conceptual standpoint. For as much as I'm ragging on this movie, I need to make clear that there were a lot of fantastic ideas here, it's just that very few of them were represented to their fullest potential.

Black Panther isn't a bad movie, nor is it a great one. It's fine. I don't regret paying for my ticket, but I can't help but cock a skeptical eyebrow in the direction of everyone who's spent the past month raving about it. That said, I guess you could say that I'm happy that people are happy with it; it's great to see a movie as large as this with a black protagonist that doesn't completely revolve around the pain and horrors of racism. This isn't 12 Years a Slave or Detroit; kids who watch this movie will think it's awesome to be like Black Panther, and that's an objectively positive thing to take away, regardless of what your personal take on the film itself is. While it's definitely not a bad movie, I just don't think it's one of Marvel's best. Like a lot of what the MCU has to offer, it's fairly likable and inoffensive, despite its faults; I only hope that Kevin Feige and company can aspire to something more substantial for King T'Challa and pals next time around.

REVIEW: Fantastic Planet

As I've gotten older, I've developed a growing fascination with outsider animation. Don't get me wrong, I still greatly enjoy the annual fare from Disney and Pixar, but there's something special about the outlandish, surreal, and decidedly more adult-oriented animated films of the 70's and 80's; something that was definitely lost around the time of the Disney Renaissance. With Disney cornering the market on squeaky-clean family fun, there existed a clear niche for animation that explored themes and ideas that the House of Mouse wouldn't dare touch; a niche that was soundly filled by filmmakers like Ralph Bakshi and Don Bluth. It was imagination unrestricted by the limits of the MPAA, and it pains me to see such fantastic examples of creative expression dragged down by the most braindead form of praise art can possibly recieve; "woah, they must have been on drugs to think of this!" Whenever anyone says this, it essentially means that they have such a limited imagination that the only conceivable way a human could create anything even the slightest bit innovative or out of the ordinary is by way of a hefty dose of psychedelics. Which, to clarify, doesn't mean that drug-use didn't influence some of these films (especially considering the era they were born from). But the fact of the matter is that movies like today's film, Fantastic Planet, have far more to offer than just some trippy visuals. Behind all the surreal imagery and whacked-out animation lies subtext, and it's this vital facet of storytelling that elevates films like Fantastic Planet above simply being the cinematic equivalent of a lava lamp.

An adaptation of the 1957 French novel, Oms en série, the film takes place in the distant future, on the far-away alien world of Ygam. Long after wiping out their own civilizations on Earth, humans were brought to Ygam by the Draags, an advanced race of blue giants. On Ygam, humans (known as Oms, a play on the French word "homme") are regarded as little more than common vermin; while a good number of Draags have domesticated Oms they keep as pets, there are also roaming colonies of savage Oms who are routinely exterminated (not unlike rats or mice). The film follows one Om in particular, Terr (voiced by Barry Bostwick in the English dub); orphaned as a baby, he finds himself adopted by the daughter of a Draag diplomat, eventually escaping and joining a wild colony of Oms with the intent of ending the oppression of his species once and for all.

The most immediately striking aspect of the entire movie (and the detail which lead me to eventually watch it) is the art design, care of painter/writer Roland Topor. Given the setting and themes of the story, it's immensely important that Topor was able to create a world that looks truly and honestly alien in nature; none of the creatures on Ygam even remotely resemble anything on Earth, and the eerie landscapes help foster an atmosphere of unfamiliarity and foreboding. It all really adds to the situation the Oms find themselves in; you're able to get a powerful sense of how far humanity has fallen and how separated they are from the civilization we know today (even if their base instincts and motivations remain more or less the same, but more on that later). Admittedly, there are moments here and there where the design falters and aspects of the Draag civilization end up looking as though they're simply meant to appear strange for strange's sake; this isn't a film like Treasure Planet where every single aspect of the film's visuals are designed with the idea that it must serve some sort of in-universe purpose. Then again, one must think of the artist's intent when judging aspects like this; world-building isn't exactly meant to be the main takeaway of Fantastic Planet. The subtext is meant to be the primary focus here, and in that area it very much succeeds (but again, more on that later).

My only other gripe with the design of this film is the limited animation. Whereas films like Yellow Submarine give the impression of a watercolor painting brought to life, Fantastic Planet feels much more akin to the work of Terry Gilliam (who, coincidentally, would release his animated short, The Miracle of Flight, just a year later). While Topor's designs are hauntingly beautiful, the animation at play simply doesn't do them justice; everything moves in a very stilted, deliberate manner and character movements tend to lack any and all sense of weight. I also wasn't overly fond of the soundtrack (care of French jazz pianist, Alain Goraguer); while some praise the psychedelic atmosphere the score brings to mind, I found that it just didn't work for me. This is a thoughtful, surreal experience filled with haunting visuals and themes drenched in existential dread. It feels like exactly the sort of concept that would be best complimented by an equally eerie orchestral or prog-rock score, only to be undercut by a dated and altogether unfitting collection of funky beats and wah-wah guitars. This is a score that would have worked perfectly in just about any other film, but just feels wrong here. Then again, it could also be argued that the ill-fitting music and limited animation only serve to enhance the existing atmosphere of unfamiliarity and unease, so these are aesthetic details that (much like the all-important subtext) are free to be left up to the viewer's individual interpretation.

As I mentioned before, inspired visuals can only support so much. While it's very much true that film is a visual medium, it is the way that movies are able to combine all manner of sensory expression that sets film aside from other artistic outlets. When a film ignores any of the tools provided, focusing purely on visuals and ignoring its story (or vise-versa), it is doing itself a disservice. In the case of Fantastic Planet, you come for the tripped-out visuals, but stay for the thought-provoking subtext. The film raises a number of intriguing (and, depending on your perspective, uncomfortable) questions about the nature of life and sentience. What makes the life of one being inherently more valuable than another? By what standard do we judge if a living thing is sentient, or civilized, or even alive? There's obviously a clear "how would you like it?" aspect regarding man's relationship with the natural world, but in truth there's so much more here to unpack and explore. It's very easy to feel inherent sympathy for the Oms, the same way it's very easy to feel a deep resentment towards the Draags. We want to side with the downtrodden and oppressed humans over the beady-eyed, emotionless aliens, despite the fact that the Draags are us. They adhere to their own, odd social rituals and exert callous control over the natural world without a care, simply because they've deemed themselves the most advanced race and that gives them the right to do as they please. 

There's an obvious environmentalist tilt to the whole thing, but it never feels so cut-and-dry, so narrow in scope. One could also easily view the conflict between the Oms and the Draags (in which one species, deemed inferior by those with more power and technology, is systematically exterminated) as an allegory for genocide and racism. The Draags don't think much of the Oms until the Oms become educated and organized; then the downtrodden and oppressed suddenly become a legitimate threat to their oppressors, and only then is peace and equality considered to be an option. Personally, I took the film as a metaphor for how humanity is often manipulated into destroying itself by any number of higher powers (be it competing governments, religions, or what have you); the Draags often make their domesticated Oms fight for each other's amusement, inspiring internal conflict and squabbling among the oppressed, preventing actual progress from being made towards freedom, enlightenment, and prosperity. Whatever your personal interpretation, they all feel equally valid. Not in a half-baked, lazy kind of way, as though the filmmakers didn't put enough thought into what they actually wanted to say with this film, but rather in a sense that denotes extreme care taken on the part of the filmmakers to ensure that the underlying messages could be conveyed to any number of perspectives. The fact that this film is open to so many interpretations could easily come off as needlessly vague in theory; in practice, however, it feels like anything but, and it's this kind of potential for exploration that represents what I consider to be Fantastic Planet's true worth as a film.

In terms of entertainment, I'm not 100% certain I'd recommend Fantastic Planet to just anyone. While I definitely took a lot away from it, I wouldn't exactly call this an "entertaining" movie; despite being just over an hour long, it's quite slow-paced and very dense from a conceptual standpoint. It's not the kind of thing I see myself ever throwing on to unwind after a long day at the office. That said, as a film, I consider this to be mandatory viewing, especially if you consider yourself a fan of animation. The art direction is worth the investment alone and the underlying themes and messages are sure to stick with you well after the credits finish rolling. This is the kind of movie I can't help but recommend everyone watch at least once (although I'm sure repeat viewings will do nothing but enhance one's overall experience). If you feel as though you're in the proper mindset for something in this wheelhouse, you'd be hard pressed to go wrong with giving Fantastic Planet a watch.

REVIEW: Bright

Despite Netflix's ever-growing success as an entertainment platform, people can be forgiven for assuming that they'll greenlight just about anything. With the exception of Stranger Things, the streaming service has yet to really set the world on fire when it comes to their own content, and it seems as though that trend is set to continue with their newest effort, Bright. Directed by David Ayer and starring Will Smith, this is easily their most high-profile (and, for lack of a better word, legitimate) effort to date. I've seen trailers and posters for Bright at my local cinema, it's clear that Netflix intends this to be the project which elevates them above being a simple streaming service; they want to be taken seriously as an entertainment empire, rather than an excuse for Tinder hookups, and this was to be the film that would do that. Unfortunately, while I certainly had my fun with Bright, I doubt this is going to be the flagship dynamo that the folks over at Netfix hoped it would be.

The film's setting is arguably its strongest selling point; imagine if the battle for Middle-Earth had actually happened thousands of years ago, with various fantasy races banding together to repel the evil of "the Dark Lord". Flash-forward to present day, and we have a modern society where Elves reside happily among the 1% and dragons are hosted at the local zoo. It's an inspired alt-fantasy concept, in which we follow LADP officers Daryl Ward (a human, played by Will Smith) and Nick Jacoby (the first ever orcish police officer, played by Joel Edgerton). Theirs is an uneasy partnership, as orcs face widespread discrimination after spending the past 2000 years on the wrong side of history. The two will have to learn to work together, however, as a magic wand appears in the L.A. ghetto. Magic wands are essentially reality-warping nukes, extraordinarily dangerous in the wrong hands, and only a select few individuals (known as brights) are powerful enough to wield them without succumbing to the raw power contained within. With a doomsday cult of fanatical elves (led by Noomi Rapace) looking to get their hands on the wand and herald the return of the Dark Lord, it's up to Ward and Jacoby to uphold the law and defend the innocent, learning to work together along the way.

Normally with these types of movies (where the premise can basically be boiled down to an interesting elevator pitch), it can feel as though the concept isn't explored to its fullest potential (usually do to either budgetary or creative limitations). Surprisingly enough, I didn't get this feeling with Bright; it left me wanting more (which is good, considering a sequel has already been greenlit), but it met the bar in a way that didn't leave me confused or lamenting any wasted potential. There's parts of this world that we don't get to see (dwarves are only mentioned and we're given only the briefest glimpse of a dragon), but the parts we do see are all relevant to the plot. There's no meandering nonsense meant to simply pad out the runtime, and the fantastical elements are treated as totally mundane and routine by our characters. This proves to be a bit of a double-edged sword, since it helps sell the reality of the world the film takes place in, but it also means we have to see an uncharacteristically intense Will Smith shouting about orcish race-relations and magical artifacts. 

While there isn't a lot of filler here, the film does fall into that mixed-genre pitfall of not being entirely sure how to sell itself in terms of tone. The concept of Will Smith teaming up with an orc to solve crimes is inherently absurd, yet the film plays itself totally straight. There's a few moments of comedic relief, but they're all very self-aware and silly (such as when Will Smith refers to Icelandic death metal as "orcish music"), so you're left wondering for most of the movie whether or not this is just a big joke. Are we meant to take the drama here seriously? Or is the drama itself the punchline? We have this schlocky setup (in an alternate reality, this existed on video in the early 80's and was called something like "Orc Cop"), but a dead-serious tone, like Men in Black meets Training Day. Again, I didn't dislike my time with Bright, but these aren't the kind of questions one wants to ask, especially when dealing with (possible) satire.

If I'm being honest, I was incredibly surprised to see just how poorly Bright was received by critics (especially since the majority of viewers seem to like it just fine). It's almost like a reverse of The Last Jedi, where the critic and audience scores on Rotten Tomatoes seem to outright contradict each other (at the time of writing, 88% of audience members seemed to enjoy it, while only a pitiful 30% of critics had anything nice to say). Part of me feels like the intense bile being flung at this film has something to do with the recent controversy surrounding screenwriter Max Landis, but I also think (like The Last Jedi) that part of this response has to do with audience expectations not lining up with what the film turned out to be. With a premise like this (in which a cop has to overcome his racial hangups to work in harmony with his unlikely partner), one would automatically expect some sort of metaphor for the current racial climate in America. I've seen so many critics assume that the thuggish, violent orcs (with their tight-knit gang communities and inherent dislike of police) simply must be a metaphor for black people. Ignoring what an implicitly racist can of worms an assumption like that is, we see where the expectations of the audience deviate from the intent of the filmmakers. The orcs aren't meant to represent black culture or latino culture or even white culture (despite their designs incorporating elements of all three); they're meant to represent orc culture.

This isn't meant to be a film about race relations in our America, so much as it is meant to be a film about race relations in a fictionalized, fantastical version of America. You can draw connections to the real world (the same way one can say any politician they dislike is "literally Voldemort"), but it's not meant to be an outright parable. Anyone who watches Bright looking for obvious parallels to Black Lives Matter or the standard buddy-cop moral of "racism is bad you guys" is going to be disappointed. This is, of course, partially the film's fault for building up these expectations in the first place (within the first ten minutes, Will Smith's character delivers the line "fairy lives don't matter"); the people behind this knew exactly what it looked like and exactly what people would expect going in, so you can't fault the viewers too much for being disappointed. I do think, however, that it's not exactly fair to judge the film on what it isn't. Much like with The Last Jedi, there are plenty of good reasons to judge the film for what it is; the tone is all over the place, the cinematography is bland, and there are parts of the plot that feel extraordinarily half-baked. The practical effects are both appreciated and impressive, yet the whole thing is shot in a way that makes it look like an early-2000's television show. There's a reason I described the concept as an "elevator pitch" before, since that's exactly what this film feels like. It just sticks the landing marginally better than most other films in that same wheelhouse. 

Bright is not the worst movie of 2017. Anyone who claims it is is likely just looking for easy clicks. This has been a fairly solid year for movies, especially compared to last year. There was no shortage of obvious whipping horses in 2016 (Suicide Squad, Sausage Party, Ghostbusters, etc.), so writing the annual "Worst of the Year" listicle came fairly easy to a great many bloggers like myself. 2017, on the other hand, was overall pretty solid; if you need a headline with some real punch, you've got two options. On one hand, you could continue beating the mangled pile of horse parts that was The Emoji Movie (and come on, what self-respecting blogger would waste his time seriously dissecting and nitpicking films made for toddlers, anyway?). Alternatively, you could fling a few hyperbolic statements at something like Bright, a film that is, at worst, lazy and mediocre. I found it to be a fun enough cop flick with an imaginative premise that pulled it all off much better than most. I can't say I'm excited for the sequel, but I'm willing to give it a shot. It certainly has its flaws, but I've suffered through worse. If that sounds like enough of an endorsement of quality, then by all means, give Bright a watch. There's certainly worse ways you can spend your time on Netflix.

REVIEW: Get Out

Normally at the end of the month, I try to watch a movie that I know is going to be garbage going in. It's something of a tradition around here, allowing me a chance to really let loose and have fun just tearing something apart; variety is the spice of life, as they say. That said, considering the pure and utter tripe I've put myself through over the past month, I feel as though I've earned myself a little break. With Halloween right around the corner, I'm on something of a horror kick and, coming off of The VVitch, found myself hungry for more quality scares. With that in mind, it seemed obvious to check out the one film even I can't believe I didn't see back in March, director Jordan Peele's Get Out.

The plot feels like something straight out of a classic Twilight Zone or Tales From the Crypt episode; Chris and Rose (Daniel Kaluuya and Allison Williams) are a young, interracial couple who've been seeing each other for a few months. As one might expect, they reach that all important part of a relationship that all young couples dread: meeting the parents. The two depart for Rose's family home, an opulent ranch-house secluded in the woods, where Chris is introduced to Rose's mother and father (Catherine Keener and Bradley Whitford). A hypnotherapist and a neurosurgeon, the two seem to be making almost too much of an effort to make Chris comfortable (leading to more than a few good-natured but still cringe-inducing remarks) and all seems to be going about as well as expected. That is, until Chris begins to notice odd occurrences around the house, leading him to believe that everything is not quite as it seems. Much like with The VVitch, this movie is far better the less you know going in, so I'll end my plot summary here. If you want to know what happens, go watch the movie and find out.

The most important part of a movie like this, one so reliant on its subtext, is that said subtext actually works. So often you'll get a situation where the filmmaker gets too swept up in his or her own metaphor, tamping the message down the viewer's throat, completely sinking the film in the process. Get Out is a film that avoids this pitfall simply by reaching higher than the low-hanging fruit dangling right in front of it. Distilled to the most general terms possible, this is a story about the ills of racism. Now, had Jordan Peele wanted to simply deliver a generic parable about how racism is bad, he could have very easily set this movie in the deep south, instead of what looks like upstate New York or Vermont. He could have littered Rose's family house with confederate flags and jugs of moonshine instead of souvenirs from trips to Africa and bottles of expensive wine. He could have had every white character angrily shout racial slurs instead of smiling politely while mentioning how they know Tiger Woods.

This sense of subtlety, this challenge Peele took upon himself when telling this story, is exactly what makes Get Out work as well as it does. This isn't a movie about your generic, after-school-special kind of racism; the villains aren't boisterous right-wing southerners, they're just seemingly well-meaning liberals who are completely disconnected from Chris' world view. The conflict in this story shows that racism (excuse the pun) isn't entirely black-and-white, highlighting how progressive "ally" culture can be just as harmful as overt bigotry. This is a movie about how a well-intentioned majority can, through their seemingly progressive actions, rob those whom they seek to help of their voice and autonomy. Again, I don't want to delve into spoiler territory, but there's a specific point during the climax where the film lays out exactly what it's really about in spectacular fashion. All in all, it ends up coming off like a reverent throwback to the early films of George Romero and Paul Verhoeven, all while remaining fresh enough so as not to feel in any way cliché or done-before. Everything about the way this movie conveys its message subverts expectations (especially in regards to the ending), ignoring the most trite, obvious symbolism and instead going for something much more clever and, most importantly, real.

That said, all the biting subtext in the world doesn't amount to much if the film itself doesn't function properly. I'm pleased to report that, while some may find the tone somewhat inconsistent, this is a very structurally sound film (especially impressive considering, like The VVitch, this is a first-time director). The performances are all-around excellent, but I have to give some extra credit to Daniel Kaluuya in the lead role of Chris. He's our everyman, the one the audience is clearly supposed to identify and sympathize with as the situation unfolds before him. Kaluuya's performance is solid enough that it wasn't for some time after the film had ended that I realized how little there was to Chris as a character. On paper, he isn't too clearly defined; he is, in every sense, your average, ordinary guy. Kaluuya manages to elevate this, however, purely through his performance. So much is conveyed through simple facial expressions or the use of his eyes; they're even front and center on the poster I chose for this Review. Kaluuya managed to take a protagonist that, in the hands of a lesser performer, could have been totally flat and unengaging and turned him into the perfect lifeline connecting the viewer to the plot.

At the same time, we also have LilRey Howery as Rod, a TSA agent and Chris' best friend. He's our primary comic relief and I'm convinced that in any other movie, this character would have been completely insufferable. Through the combined efforts of Howery, Peele, and the screenwriters, Rod ended up one of my favorite aspects of the entire film, not only providing some legitimately effective levity, but actually contributing to the plot as more than a mere joke machine. Again, we see this movie's commitment to ignoring the low-hanging fruit; it would have been so simple for Rod to have ended up as your basic "goofy best friend" character. He'd spit out a few jokes, maybe act as a vehicle for some product placement, and overall just be an obnoxious, unnecessary addition used to pad out the runtime. Instead, he goes above and beyond in terms of what this kind of character usually ends up being, and the benefits of this effort are plain to see.

Get Out is a movie I simply cannot recommend enough; while it's definitely more of a suspense/mystery (with a hefty dose of satire) than an outright horror movie, it still feels like a loving throwback to a simpler time, when horror films weren't afraid to get inventive in order to get their point across. It takes what could have easily been your classic one-note exploitation premise and turns it into something a  lot more nuanced and inventive than what one might initially expect. One of the things that makes horror so special as a genre is its ability to act as a sort of universal catharsis. When the weight of the world seems that much heavier, some of us ease the burden through sunshine and lollypops, others through ghouls and gore. Whenever there's turmoil and tumult in society, the artists get busy; quality may vary, but Get Out is definitely a prime example of how it should be done.