2016 End of the Year Retrospective Extravaganza!

And just like that, another year has come and gone. It's hard to believe that, in just about a week, I'll have been at this for two whole years. It seems like just yesterday I was sitting in the same exact place, rounding up all the noteworthy movies I'd watched in 2015; the more things change, the more they stay the same, eh? Every year is sure to have its high points and low points, and 2016 was certainly no exception. And what kind of internet loudmouth would I be if I didn't dissect those high and low points for the sake of your precious, precious clicks? But before we get to all of that, a few ground rules and guidelines: 
- This blog is basically a hobby to me, so this retrospective is by no means definitive. I haven't seen everything that's come out in the past year and my opinions hold all the authority that is implied by my position of "random blogger on the internet". This is simply my take on the various movies I watched over the past twelve months.
- Not every movie on this list has to have been released this year; this is a collective of films I've watched this past year.
- I've decided to only count movies I saw for the first time; no Big Lebowski, no Bigger, Longer, & Uncut, etc.

With all that out of the way, let's dive right in and explore some of the movies I saw in 2016 that stick out as being especially memorable (for better or for worse).

The Belle of the Ball Award for Prettiest Films of 2016

Computer animation, I feel, is in the midst of a sort of Renaissance. In the same way that traditionally animated films of the 80's and 90's achieved a sort of timeless look, thanks to technological advances and the use of new techniques within the industry, so is the use of CGI evolving today. Digital animation of the past has not aged particularly well; the use of CGI in movies like The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius or the Star Wars Special Editions has a tendency to look garish and out-of-place by today's standards, but I think that we may have finally arrived in an era where computer effects can age with grace. Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book features entire landscapes and characters that exist purely in the digital realm, yet the film doesn't sacrifice an ounce of grit. It was a movie born entirely of inorganic means, yet manages to maintain a totally organic look. Everything on the screen is completely homogeneous with everything else in terms of visuals, which is a massive part of what makes a live-action film with such an abundance of digital effects actually work. Meanwhile, Disney's Moana is continues the studio's proud tradition of gorgeously animated family films. Despite my issues with the story and characters, it's undeniable that Moana is a benchmark in the field of digital animation, if only for the water effects alone. So many sequences from this film are burned into my mind, simply because of the superb use of color and different animation styles; we're living in an age where studios are exploring and experimenting to see just what they can accomplish while animating with digital technology, and I couldn't be more excited to see what they discover.

The Rock and Rule Award for Underrated Animation

While we're on the subject of noteworthy animation, I'd like to call attention to two animated films that (while not released in 2016) are definitely worth checking out. The Secret of Kells is simply a work of art. I can't really think of another way to describe it, though "European Miyazaki" comes close. It's a cozy folk tale told by way of Renaissance-era illustrations brought to life, something that earns every ounce of praise I spew in its direction. The Little Prince is a similarly gorgeous film that snuck its way under my radar last year. While the CGI employed in most of the story is more or less standard, the use of papercraft stop-motion in the film's story sequences is positively enchanting to look at. The film also leaps clear over the hurdles posed by adapting a short children's book into a feature-length film, framing the events of the book within the story of a little girl who's struggling to find her way in the world. Both are imaginative, beautiful, quality films that don't receive nearly the amount of mainstream praise that they deserve. They're also both on Netflix, so you really have no excuse not to check them out.

The Spooky-Scary Award for Best Horror I Watched All Year

This one may seem like cheating, considering the films I've chosen. Sleepaway Camp is, for the most part, complete and utter low-rent schlock. It's goofy and campy and honestly genuinely not that good. But good lord that ending. As I said when I reviewed it this past summer, I don't want to oversell it, but the ending to this film was honestly strong enough to justify everything else about it. Even without the last ten minutes, it's a fun time on its own (in that Friday the 13th sequel kind of way), but the ending to Sleepaway Camp has earned it its place within the annals of horror history. Maybe it's because I first watched it in the wee hours of the night, all by myself, but that last lingering shot honestly scared the crap out of me; that doesn't happen too often anymore, so I would be remiss if I didn't mention it here. John Carpenter's The Thing, however, is an entirely different beast (both figuratively and literally). While I personally didn't find it particularly scary, the amount of work that went into it in terms of special effects and visual design was just too staggering to not mention. This is a movie where every ounce of effort by the filmmakers and effects crew totally pays off in the most explosively gory way. The 2011 soft-reboot was initially going to follow in those same footsteps, until the powers that be made the bafflingly unnecessary decision to scrap all of the already-made practical effects in favor of lame, cartoonish CGI. Both of these movies are horror classics, essential viewing for fans of the genre.

The "I'm Not Dead Yet!" Award for Most Promising Revival, Remake, or Soft-Reboot

While the idea of Cinematic Universes has gotten somewhat old over the past few years, I'd say it's fair to say that, regardless of how we feel about it, it's a trend that is here to stay for the foreseeable future. It's a strategy that makes absurd amounts of money, so it's not going anywhere until it ceases to do so. However, the one hope we have is that filmmakers branch out and take advantage of the creative opportunities presented by this kind of format, rather than sit back and allow our beloved franchises to devolve into assembly-line products meant to do nothing more than put butts in seats. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was a film I had no real expectations for; I wasn't entirely sure of what I wanted, but I definitely knew what I didn't want. I didn't want a scene where we meet young Dumbledore. I didn't want to meet Harry's grandpa, who went on similar adventures that no one ever knew about. Thankfully, the film functions exactly as it should; as a story taking place in the Harry Potter universe that has little to nothing to do with the story we already know. It doesn't rely on immersion-shattering callouts or well-trodden ground to tell its story, which is exactly the kind of thing that a spin-off that fancies itself the start of a new franchise needs to avoid. 

On the flip side, we have Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. Compared to Fantastic Beasts, this one relies much moreso on past films in the franchise (let's be honest, there would be no story here if we didn't get that cameo from Ponda Baba and Dr. Evazan, right?), but in the end works as a lovely complimentary piece to A New Hope. The Star Wars franchise is something near and dear to my heart, so I was naturally concerned about the decision to release a new film each year. Fun as it was, The Force Awakens was totally safe and derivative and projects like the upcoming Young Han Solo movie don't exactly inspire the greatest amount of confidence. That said, Rogue One helped define what the Star Wars Story tagline actually entails; in truth, it's exactly what it says on the tin. These aren't new Episodes, they're simply "stories". Cinematic one-offs that could be told in a novel or comic book, tales that are in no way required viewing in order to enjoy the actual story of Star Wars. This revelation takes a great deal of pressure off of these films; with that lack of pressure will hopefully come a wave of innovation and risk. This is the new Expanded Universe; just as with the old Expanded Universe, there will be good things (like Admiral Thrawn) and bad things (like the talking rabbit who teaches Luke's children in the ways of the Force). The important thing to focus on here is that, above all else, there will be new things, rather than an over-reliance on what we know already works. This, in truth, is the only way for a franchise to grow.

The Darwyn Cooke Award for Most Accurate Page-To-Screen Adaptation

When I say "most accurate", in this situation, I am specifically referring to characters. And when I say "characters", I am specifically referring to Deadpool (from the film of the same name) and The Punisher (from Daredevil). Deadpool has been Ryan Reynolds' passion-project baby for years upon years now, and only recently was he finally able to portray the Merc with the Mouth as he and fans have always wished to see him; soaked in blood and rated R. Aside from all the swear words and viscera, Reynolds honestly captured that side of Wade Wilson that so few adaptation focus on; that deep down, he's a sad, sad man. I feared that the film would adapt the "wacky and random" aspects of the character that were so prevalent in the inexplicably popular Daniel Way run of the comics, only to be met with a protagonist who is genuinely sympathetic, suffering from legitimate self-esteem issues. The film takes time to slow down and explore Deadpool's insecurities towards his horribly-scarred face, as well as the genuine fear he at first feels when presented with his cancer diagnosis. The film would have gone on to make boatloads of cash had it been nothing but an orgy of fart jokes and severed limbs, but it's the filmmaker's decision to slow down and explore every aspect of the character that I truly appreciate. By the same token, we have Jon Bernthal's shell-shocked take on Frank Castle, easily the best part of Daredevil's second season. While he only dons the iconic skull in the last episode (and is only the focus of the first half of the season), Bernthal completely steals the show, utterly nailing the morally gray area in which The Punisher comfortably resides. The show makes no qualms about how dangerous and unstable Frank is, yet it doesn't turn him into an outright villain either. It's a portrayal that doesn't shy away from exploring what makes a "superhero" good or bad, and allows the viewer to draw their own conclusions as to what to make of Frank's crusade on crime. It's a portrayal that was so good, the rest of the season paled in comparison; suffice to say, Frank's own Netflix series can't come soon enough.

The Martyr Award for Worst Things I Made Myself Watch This Year

Do I even have to go into detail on these ones? Just look at what I've had to deal with here; we haven't gotten to the "Worst of 2016" category yet, but rest assured that the movies I mention there were objectively better than this bargain bin dreck. Freddy Frogface was one of the ugliest, most unpleasant things I've ever had to sit through and Guardian of the Highlands was no better. If anything, it can be viewed as a testament to all that mankind is capable of; we can create something as gorgeous as the Ocean in Moana, or as hideous as literally everything in Freddy Frogface. To be frank, I'm much more fascinated with how these films were made than I am about anything of any actual quality. Good films are usually pretty straightforward; a bunch of inspired and talented people came together and did what they do. Films like these (that is to say, objective garbage) are much more fascinating; I wouldn't be at all surprised if one of these is the result of some sort of mafia scam or blackmail. Unfortunately, I don't think we'll be getting a Criterion Edition for Sir Billi anytime soon.

The "And I've Got the Ticket Stub To Prove It" Award for Worst Movies of 2016  

Oh boy, I can hear the angry scoffing from here. Please, allow me a moment to explain myself. First of all, an Honorable Mention to Sausage Party, another movie I regretted spending money on this year. However, I have a very good reason why Sausage Party is not the sole recipient of this esteemed award. The thing is, I hated Sausage Party. Hated It. But I can, at the very least, accept the fact that, bad as it was, it simply wasn't made for me. I'm willing to bet that, had I wandered into the theater utterly blitzed out of my mind, I would have appreciated it a whole lot more than I did. I entered the theater sober, so I was not the target audience for Sausage Party. That said, I am an American male in the 20-24 age demographic who grew up with Justice League and Batman The Animated Series and reads comic books regularly. I am EXACTLY the target audience for Dawn of Justice and The Killing Joke, yet they still managed to screw it up. This was a free pass, literally the lowest bar possible, and these movies failed to make the grade. Over 75 years of collective source material to work with and these films manage to completely miss the point of the stories and characters they attempt to convey. Sure, Dawn of Justice has some excellent cinematography. Sure, Killing Joke features stellar vocal performances from the incomparable Kevin Conroy and Mark Hamill. But these aren't films I should have to make excuses for. DC is soundly trouncing Marvel on the comic book front, but we've gotten to the point where we really have to ask just what the hell is going on at Warner Bros? Why can't they get a handle on something that should be so monumentally simple? 2017 gives us Wonder Woman and Justice League; my expectations are about as low to the ground as they can physically get, but let's see if WB can't manage to surprise us. For all my griping, I'm still unironically excited against all odds for the Aquaman movie (because I unironically love Aquaman, pick up Rebirth, it's good stuff), so hopefully they'll be able to turn things around in time.

The "So-Bad-It's-Good" Award for Guiltiest Pleasure of the Year

There's just one winner for this category; The Worst Witch is going to be a Halloween party standard for me in the future. If you need to ask why, you've clearly never watched this clip:

Magnificent.

The Business/Pleasure Award for Favorite Movies I Watched for This Blog

This is the category I use to call attention to the films I've watched in the past year that, while not released in 2016, are without a doubt deserving of attention. I started this blog with the intention of exposing myself to all manner of different films, both good and bad. There's countless classics I simply haven't had time to check out, so keeping up with these Reviews would surely provide a good excuse to actually sit down and catch-up with some stuff that I may or may not have bothered to seek out on my own time. Goon has become one of my favorite sports comedies of all time, and I cannot wait for the upcoming sequel. It manages to multitask crude goofball humor with heartfelt character building and engaging hockey sequences, all at the same time; all in all, it's just a really fun, well-made movie. Ed Wood is one that I've missed for some time, yet rocketed itself onto my list of favorite films the second I finally sat down and watched it. It's Tim Burton in his prime, in my opinion the greatest film he's ever made. For people like myself who both love film history and have a healthy appreciation for schlock and trash, you can do no better. Of everything I watched, these are the two films that exemplify why I started doing this in the first place.

The Best of the Year Award for Best Movies of 2016

"Best" is definitely a tricky word. As I mentioned, this list is purely opinion-based and in no way definitive. Out of everything I saw in theaters in 2016, there were no two movies I enjoyed more than Disney's Zootopia and the understated, underrated 10 Cloverfield Lane. Zootopia was everything I wanted out of a kids' movie; it was colorful and charming and bursting at the seams with imagination and ingenuity. At the same time, it had plenty of depth and character growth for the adult in me as well. It's one of the most well-rounded movies I've ever seen, in that it is honestly something that everyone can enjoy. Since March was apparently a very good month for movies this year, we also got 10 Cloverfield Lane; despite it not exactly being the direct follow-up to 2006's Cloverfield that some may have hoped for, I still found this to be a masterfully made drama with some of the strongest performances of the year. It's a movie that takes place almost entirely in a cramped fallout shelter, yet the tension doesn't let up for a moment. If there's one thing these two films have in common, it's exemplary display of character dynamics; characters are the means by which the audience connects to a film. We watch movies for countless reasons, but one of the most basic and human of these reasons is to make a connection with the characters on screen. We identify with their attitudes and mannerisms, we sympathize with their plights, and imagine ourselves in their shoes. Zootopia and 10 Cloverfield Lane are two films that completely understand this relationship between art and audience and, in my opinion, are stronger for it.

And so...

From the bottom of my heart, I would like to sincerely offer my most genuine thanks to all of you who bother to read and share the things that I write. As this year comes to a close, I'd like to share a rather large number with you all. 8,840. That is the number of total pageviews this simple little blog has received at the time of writing, since I started it up just two years ago. Of those 8,840 views, over 1,000 are from the past month alone. It may not look like much compared to everything else on the internet, but to me that's astounding. I can't truly put into words how much it means to me that all of you are willing to peek into my humble little corner of the net to see what I think about the movies I watch each week. Before I start gushing, let me close by saying thank you once again, and here's to many more years of fun and film (naturally, with some garbage on the side)!

Thank you for reading, and have a safe, memorable, happy New Year!

Incidentally, here's some Honorable Mentions that I still think you should definitely check out, yet didn't feature in this retrospective for one reason or another: Tangled, Suspiria, The Big Lebowski, South Park: Bigger, Longer, & Uncut, The Iron Giant, Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates, Goosebumps, Trollhunter, Dope, and Bronson.

REVIEW: Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000)

At first, I'd considered writing this Review in rhyme, but I honestly doubted I'd be able to get across everything I had to say about this movie while putting such whimsical limits on my choice of words (plus, it's been done before). Released in the year 2000, Ron Howard's Dr. Seuss' How The Grinch Stole Christmas is an hour and 45 minute long adaptation of the classic children's short story. It's also completely and utterly baffling on every conceivable level. I watched this movie for the first time when I was about five or six. Nearly two decades later and I'm still not entirely sure what to make of it. As a kid, I loved how it was a wacky, "cooler" version of the classic 1966 television special; now that I'm older, I mostly loathe those aspects but can appreciate the oddball artistic vision the whole thing has going for it. It's a conflicting, surreal, weird mess of a film, and I'm honestly still kind of fascinated by it to this day.

The plot should be familiar to anyone who had an even slightly-literate childhood; there's a hairy, green creature known as the Grinch (Jim Carrey) who lives atop Mt. Crumpet, just north of the town of Whoville. It's a cheery little village full of cheery little people who just adore everything about Christmas; it just so happens, however, that the Grinch absolutely despises everything about them (and, by extension, Christmas itself). Fed up with the constant bombardment of noise and holiday cheer, the Grinch decides to disguise himself as Santa Claus, sneak down to Whoville in the middle of the night, and straight-up steal Christmas (or at least what he perceives Christmas to be). Having pilfered all of the presents and decorations in Whoville, the Grinch is stunned to find out that the Whos are able to still find worth in the holiday on Christmas morning. He learns that Christmas is moreso about friends, family, and togetherness than it is about material goods, returns everything he stole, and joins the Whos in their celebration. Like basically everything Dr. Seuss wrote, it's a nice, simple little story that delivers a surprisingly mature moral by way of imaginative, sing-songy prose. Naturally, this children's picture book (whose beloved prior adaptation clocks in at a whopping 26 minutes) was the perfect property to adapt into a $123 million blockbuster.

You might be wondering how the filmmakers stretched a book that can be read in a matter of minutes into a feature-length film; to be frank, they basically just accomplish this by adding an entire hour of shameless filler. The first half of the movie is devoted to the Grinch being invited to Whoville's annual Christmastime celebration by Cindy Lou-Who (Taylor Momsen, who is a good couple years older here than "two"). It seems for a moment as though he's actually embraced the Christmas spirit and made good with his festive neighbors, until he's provoked by the Mayor, played by Jeffery Tambor. The Grinch snaps and goes on a rampage, ruining the Whos' celebration in a manic, expensive-looking action sequence. Immediately afterwards, however, he returns to his home on the mountain and the Whos immediately repair all the damage he did. The Whos are hyped for Christmas and the Grinch hates them all; an hour into the movie and absolutely nothing has changed in regards to the story or character dynamics. Everything we've had to watch so far is inconsequential, the movie equivalent of busy-work until we get to the iconic "the Grinch steals Christmas" scene that everyone remembers so fondly from the book and cartoon. This isn't the only issue I found with this movie, but it's by far the most glaring and insulting.

Despite the first half of the movie being an unapologetic waste of my time, I can actually sort of respect what the filmmakers were going for here. The best way to make a short story into a long story is to expand upon its themes; unlike The Lorax (where the moral of the source material is completely thrown out the window in favor of another upbeat musical number), this is an adaptation that completely understands what the book was saying and tries its best to do that message justice in its own unique way. The movie takes the idea that "maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store" and runs with it. The Whos, with the exception of Cindy Lou, are portrayed as borderline unlikable. They're totally obsessed with the commercial aspects of the season, buying up gifts and assembling decorations while completely ignoring friends and family. Everything in Whoville looks as though it's made out of washed-out plastic, giving the impression that, while the set design is whimsical and festive, this is a town that lacks a soul.

The colors are drab and dreary, the picture is constantly cloudy, and every other shot is taken at a dutch angle (honestly, this movie and Battlefield: Earth are the first things that come to mind when I think of tilted cameras). While it's true that this off-putting aesthetic serves to enhance the film's message as a kind of overarching visual metaphor, that doesn't mean that it's at all appealing to look at. By making the Whos into a community of materialistic consumers, the Grinch is given some degree of moral high-ground, which is something that I feel just totally misses the point of the original story. We're not exactly supposed to relate to the Grinch, at least not entirely; the entire crux of his character is that he's clearly the bad guy. By giving us a clear villain in the form of the Mayor, we lose the impact brought on by the Grinch's change of heart in the end. As far as we're convinced, the Grinch is the endearing protagonist from the very beginning. As much as this movie devotes itself to the anti-consumerist message of the source material, there are many other areas where it completely misses the mark.

For instance, there's a number of blatant sexual innuendos that really feel out of place. Never have I ever wanted to see Christine Baranski channel Jessica Rabbit while expressing her carnal desire for Jim Carrey in a Grinch suit, and I'm fairly certain no one else wished for that either. I also never imagined I'd see a Dr. Seuss adaptation with the line "the sun is shining and the powder's bitchin'", but as I said, this is a very surreal experience. There's a flashback featuring the musical stylings of Smash Mouth, anything goes in this wacked-out and radical adventure. It feels as though it can't decide whether it wants to be a sardonic take on a classic kids' story for the older crowd or a live-action cartoon for the whole family. Instead it just sort of double-dips and the entire thing feels very inconsistent in terms of tone and execution. 

The only thing I feel is at all consistent is Jim Carrey; rarely have I ever seen an actor so completely disappear into a role. It probably helps that he's covered in pounds of seamless, incredible makeup and prosthesis (care of special effects master, Rick Baker), but Carrey really goes the whole nine yards in this part. That's not to say that he's flawless; as good as the makeup is, I can't help but imagine pages upon pages of the script which simply read "the Grinch mugs at the camera". Carrey's enthusiasm is infectious, but his rapid-fire Sean Connery/James Cagney impression tends to border on grating and incomprehensible from time to time. Thankfully, the Grinch's dog, Max, is endlessly endearing (played by a rescued stray); this may come off as something of a tangent, but this is a remarkably cute mutt with a real knack for acting. It's almost enough to make me forget the scene where the Grinch tricks a sleeping Jeffery Tambor into kissing said dog on the butthole.

What else can be said about Ron Howard's Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas? It's a thoroughly weird movie. That's honestly the only way I can describe it. It's unpleasant to look at, the tone is all over the place, and it can't seem to decide exactly what it wants to be. Most of what it does doesn't work at all, but I also have to give Ron Howard and company an enormous amount of respect for going with such an out-of-the-box artistic vision with what could have easily been a very cut-and-dry children's adaptation. But then again, the original television special was as cut-and-dry as you can make it (only straying from the narrative of the book for the sake of the few musical numbers, all written by Dr. Seuss himself), and that adaptation is undoubtedly the more iconic take on this classic story. So would this have been a better movie, had the filmmakers dropped all pretense of aesthetic and just made a simple, by-the-numbers kid's flick? While I'm not sure anyone can answer that, I do know for a fact that the film we do have is in no way boring or uninteresting. There's a new, computer-animated adaptation in the works, to be released by Illumination Entertainment in November of 2018, so maybe that will hit closer to the mark (and hopefully be devoid of Minions). Regardless of how that turns out, I doubt anyone is liable to forget this particular version of the story, for better or for worse.

REVIEW: Rogue One- A Star Wars Story

It's a genuinely strange feeling to get two Star Wars films in two consecutive years. Disney has made it clear that they intend to follow the path of their Marvel properties and release each film annually, one year after another. While it's naturally exciting to see more adventures set in the Star Wars universe, it's also potentially worrying. A constant stream of annual releases tends to lead to a series of progressively middling, formulaic films which take few risks and rarely improve upon the groundwork laid by prior entries. Sure, the films may be passable, but is that truly all that we want? A never-ending stream of "not bad" movies, year after year, quantity trumping quality? One nice thing that can be said about the prequels (heinous as they are) is that they were very different films compared to the original trilogy. As much as I adored watching The Force Awakens last year, it was a painfully safe outing. As time has gone by, the hype has worn off and its flaws and imperfections start to shine through all that lovely nostalgia. The only way this modern-day revival of Star Wars doesn't end up like the result of a Monkey's Paw wish is if the filmmakers responsible for each of these films take real risks and deliver innovative, original stories that branch out on their own, independent from what's safe and profitable. Having seen Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (the first in a series of anthology films framed around the background of the main series), I can safely say that they're definitely on the right track.

The film takes place literal days before A New Hope; Luke is still farming moisture on Tatooine, Han is off ducking Imperial freighters, and Darth Vader is totally jazzed about his fancy new Death Star. Built by the reluctant Galen Erso (Mads Mikkelsen), the weapon is nearing completion and could likely spell doom for the galaxy (specifically places occupied by the ragtag Rebel Alliance). Overcome with an Oppenheimer-esque sense of guilt over what he's created, Galen entrusts a renegade Imperial pilot (Riz Ahmed) with delivering a message to the Rebels, informing them of the Empire's planet-killing capabilities. This information finds its way to his long-lost daughter, Jyn (Felicity Jones); under the command of Captain Cassian Andor (Diego Luna), Jyn and a team of Rebel spies must steal the plans to this new battlestation and deliver them to the Rebellion, before the Empire's stranglehold over the galaxy is made absolute.

To anyone who's seen Star Wars before, this plot would seem somewhat inconsequential at first glance. Apologies for spoiling a film that was released in 1977, but the Rebels get the Death Star plans and use them to blow up the Death Star. Shocking, I know. It's true that we never saw how the Rebels ended up with the plans (the title crawl in A New Hope simply says they were stolen by Rebel spies following their first victory over the Empire), but the outcome of this film was literally the first part of the Star Wars story ever experienced by the public. Thankfully, the film understands this and thus places emphasis on the journey, rather than the destination. We're left in suspense not in regards to the plot, but moreso in terms of our characters. There's no question that they accomplish their mission, so the drama focuses on whether or not they'll make it out alive (or at the very least, unscathed). Up to this point in the saga, we've only ever followed the point of view of heroes like Luke Skywalker; Rogue One, to put it bluntly, is a film starring the cannon fodder that makes up the remainder of the Rebel forces.

The film takes full advantage of the fact that, while every other Star Wars film has focused on the heroes of the story, none have focused on the soldiers. This is an entry in the series that feels much more like a war movie than a space opera; the characters are vulnerable, the conflicts are brutal, and the morality is framed through many varying shades of gray. We see through Galen Erso that not everyone who works for the Empire is a villain; at the same time, not every Rebel is a hero. Though they fight the totalitarian regime of the Emperor, there's no shortage of killers, assassins, and extremists allied with the Rebel cause. The movie sets out to show that heroes are born when people stop "just following orders" and do what is right. Appeasement isn't the answer, yet neither is extremism. There's a fine-line separating good and evil, and it can be very easy to step over that line whilst fighting for what feels "just". This is definitely a story that takes full advantage of its spin-off status and expands upon the comparatively black-and-white morality we get in the standard Star Wars adventure.

That said, a heavier tone comes with its own set of problems. The first half of this movie tends to drag a great deal; while watching it for the first time, I found myself flashing back to The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochy Show, asking when our gang of Rebels was going to get to the proverbial fireworks factory. Conversely, the pacing in the beginning is as erratic as the opening of Suicide Squad, jumping from planet to planet for the express purpose of getting the character introductions out of the way so that the plot may begin. As sloppy as it starts out, the film more than finds its stride in the last hour; everything comes together gorgeously into one of the absolute strongest third acts in a series known for pulse-pounding and iconic third acts. 

The characters are all more or less fine, with a few standouts. Felicity Jones is a serviceable protagonist, though she often lacks the raw emotion and conviction one would expect from a main lead. Diego Luna's Captain Cassian presents a very interesting character arc, as he learns just what separates the freedom fighters from the Stormtroopers. Mads Mikkelsen acts his heart out in this role and feels much better implemented here than in Doctor Strange; he's got a defined personality and a clear sense of purpose in the plot. He feels necessary, which is more than I could say for Strange's Kaecilius. My personal favorite additions to the cast include Donnie Yen and Jiang Wen as Chirrut Îmwe and Baze Malbus, protectors of an ancient Jedi temple in the Imperial-occupied city of Jedha. These two had great chemistry and were a joy to watch in any given action sequence (in particular Yen, though this should come as no surprise to anyone familiar with his past work). I also really enjoyed Alan Tudyk as K2-SO, a reprogrammed Imperial security droid who accompanies Cassian on missions for the Alliance. The character feels like a bizarre blend of the best elements of C-3PO, Han Solo, and Chewbacca rolled into one; it's altogether refreshing to see a droid character who has a purpose that generally goes beyond unlocking doors and being cute.

We also have Ben Mendelsohn as our antagonist, Imperial Director Krennic. He does a good job playing the part of the top-brass slimeball who was put in charge of the Death Star project, but he's unfortunately overshadowed by the return of Darth Vader (Daniel Naprous and Spencer Wilding) and Grand Moff Tarkin. Vader is voiced once again by James Earl Jones (who hits the mark, despite the age evident in his voice) and you'd be forgiven for thinking Tarkin was played by the late Peter Cushing, risen from the dead. In reality, he's portrayed by Guy Henry under a heavy layer of CGI prosthesis. It's noticeable, of course, but I still found the effect to be absolutely stunning. I won't spoil anything here, but Tarkin is not the only jaw-droppingly innovative display of the power of digital makeup and unused archival footage. It's this clear sense of care and attention to detail that makes Rogue One the perfect compliment to A New Hope. It manages to enhance the original film and frame it in a new light, all while standing on its own as a wholly engaging tale of its own.

While I found the pacing to be equal parts plodding and erratic for the first half of the runtime, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story manages to rise above its flaws and stand out as its own film, amounting to more than the sum of its parts. The characters aren't necessarily as endearing or memorable as Han, Luke and company, but their story is one that feels entirely necessary and relevant within the universe of the Star Wars saga. Most importantly, this is a film that takes risks; the Star Wars name prints money, so quality isn't necessarily a factor. Despite the overwhelming amounts of evidence at our disposal in regards to the questionable quality of the prequels, those films still made literal billions of dollars at the box office alone. The studio could have easily played it safe, keeping director Gareth Edwards on a tight leash to ensure that he create something inoffensive, serviceable, and profitable. Instead, we have a film that, while flawed in some ways, is immensely successful in others. It's a gorgeously-shot, unique take on an iconic, established universe that paints a wholly optimistic picture for the future of the franchise. Whether you're a long-time fanatic or a newcomer who was introduced to the saga by The Force Awakens last year, Rogue One is a bold, essential entry into this classic saga.

REVIEW: The Thing (1982)

If there's one subgenre I wish modern horror films would care to dabble in more often, it's that of the special effects-laden creature feature. One would think that, considering the advancement of digital technology, horror flicks starring grotesque monsters would become more common, if anything. I suppose the lack of such films makes sense from a financial standpoint, considering studios can make yet another found-footage ghost movie for a measly $10 million and see their investment returned nearly tenfold at the box office (thanks to hordes of easily-impressed teens, no doubt), Still, my heart years for a time when movies like The Fly and Alien were commonplace. I'd love to see a brand-new wave of horror films that take place somewhere more imaginative than an upscale home in suburban California. I want a new generation of monsters that exist firmly in the horror genre, without having to turn the whole affair into a blockbuster action flick. Judging from current trends, none of this is likely to change anytime soon. Thankfully, I'll always have the classics to turn to, such as John Carpenter's 1982 gorefest, The Thing.

An adaptation of the 1938 sci-fi story, Who Goes There? (which had previously been adapted by Howard Hawks with 1953's The Thing From Another World), the plot follows a team of researchers stationed at U.S. Outpost #31 in the frozen wasteland of Antarctica.  After an ominous encounter with a Norwegian helicopter pilot pursuing a runaway sled dog, the team finds themselves in the presence of a hostile alien creature, one with the ability to imitate the appearance and behavior of any living thing. Naturally they deduce that, if this thing was to reach civilization, the result would be catastrophic at best, potentially apocalyptic at worst. Determined not to allow it to escape, the team plans to destroy the creature, all the while not sure who among them they can really trust. Tensions run high and the constant threat of betrayal and assimilation hangs in the air; spectacular effects aside, this is by no means a light watch. The conflict and uncertainty make for an uneasy tone that doesn't let up for a second.

In reviewing the film upon its release, the late Roger Ebert referred to it as "a great barf bag movie". No truer words have been spoken. The mind-blowing special effects come to us care of Rob Bottin, only 23 years old at the time of production. I'm not easily impressed when it comes to special effects; years of making-of documentaries have led to me more appreciating the effort of capturing an effect, rather than the effect itself. This is not the case with The Thing. While some may view Bottin's creations as excessively distracting, I found myself totally floored by how organic and visceral things are. It's hard to explain exactly what makes these effects stand out the way they do. Of course, the Thing itself is just a series of puppets, but it's the way these puppets and animatronics and make-up effects are put together and shot that really makes them shine (and glisten, though that's more due to sheer gallons of K-Y jelly). 

It may sound detrimental to say that this movie wouldn't be nearly as strong without its special effects, but I feel that can be forgiven considering how integral the effects are to establishing the overall tone. Everything but the creature designs is totally understated; the performances are for the most part reserved, the landscape is white and barren, and the soundtrack (care of Ennio Morricone) is composed of pulsing bass and methodical synths. When you put a character against this backdrop, only to have their chest explode outward in a fountain of viscera while their head sprouts eye stalks and spider legs, it creates a stark contrast. The Thing never reveals itself in a subtle way. Each scene is a powder keg waiting to devolve into panicked chaos the moment someone bursts open to reveal a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth.

Unfortunately, the strong emphasis on visual effects leads to my only real gripe with this film. While it's a joy to look at (thanks in no small part to the cinematography of frequent Carpenter collaborator Dean Cundey), I felt as though the characterization received less attention as a result. Kurt Russell is a fine leading man and a few cast members (Wilford Brimley, Moffat, and Keith David in particular) manage to leave an impression, but the script just doesn't devote much time to developing these characters. The majority of the inhabitants of Outpost #31 simply exist to turn into Things and are more or less distinguishable by appearance alone. This is a common issue with horror movies that unfortunately comes with the genre; some characters are naturally going to get less screentime than others (on account of death), so it's almost expected for there to be a few who feel flat or underdeveloped. Films can circumvent this by going for the slow-burn approach and devoting the entire first act to character building, but this doesn't necessarily work for every creative vision (after all, not every horror film can be Alien). This is definitely a movie that knows what its priorities are; its strengths lie in building an oppressive, paranoid atmosphere that permeates throughout the entire film. This unfortunately comes at the cost of particularly strong characterization. It's less of a story about people and more a cerebral experience for the viewer. When a character is revealed to be the Thing in disguise, we're meant to feel surprise, rather than sympathy. It isn't exactly a revolutionary display of characterization, but then that's not necessarily what the film's goal was. The goal was to keep viewers on their toes, constantly guessing who was human and who wasn't, and in that regard it works very well.

Though it was financially underwhelming and received generally poor feedback upon its initial release, audiences have really come around on The Thing in the years since. It's visually vulgar and a tad over-indulgent at times, yes, but it's also a genuinely compelling experience. Director John Carpenter has stated that "of course, The Thing is a metaphor for whatever you want to say. It's disease, could be AIDS, could be whatever. But it comes from within you." It's this idea of assimilation, of danger lurking just under the skin, where you cannot see it, that makes for such an effective experience. It's a very existential kind of horror, feeding off of our inherent fear of the unknown. It's a movie that preys on doubt and suspicion and disbelief, and it does so with gallons of blood and gore galore. It's a classic entry in the horror genre, not one to be missed.

REVIEW: Scrooged

What exactly is it about Dickens' A Christmas Carol that makes it so endlessly adaptable? This one simple story takes up so much real estate in the realm of holiday specials to the point that it boggles the mind. Is it because the story is so ingrained in the public consciousness that we simply can't get enough of it? Is A Christmas Carol just the yuletide monomyth? Personally, I feel as though it's just an easy out for content creators; need a Christmas episode that writes itself? Christmas Carol parody! Need something to rake in those holiday weekend box office dollars? How's about a star-studded Christmas Carol remake? Need a story to tell your kids on Christmas Eve? Dickens, baby. It's always Dickens. When it comes to entertainment, A Christmas Carol is the bread and butter of the holiday season. It's an adaptation that not only writes itself, but which can be revisited year after year after year. It's one hell of a racket. Thankfully, this laziness can be subverted with a hefty dose of ingenuity, such as in the 1988 Richard Donner film, Scrooged.

Bill Murray stars as Frank Cross, a bloodthirsty TV executive charged with airing a live production of A Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve; he's inconsiderate, arrogant, and completely blind to the plights and tribulations of his employees. An effective Scrooge stand-in if ever there was one. As one might expect, he is visited by three ghosts who hope to convince him to change his ways before it is too late to save his immortal soul. It's A Christmas Carol. The key factor here is how creative the filmmakers got in presenting this time-honored tale in a new and unique way. It hits all the beats of the story without feeling derivative; instead of Tiny Tim, we have Calvin, the son of Murray's overworked assistant. Rather than sporting a crutch, he's been mute for the past five years after witnessing his father's murder. This is a film that is definitely not all tinsel and gumdrops. It goes to some truly dark places and, while I found this tone more or less refreshing, I admit that it may be too dour and mean-spirited for some.

The film is very much a character study, rather than an ensemble piece. We have actors such as Karen Allen, David Johansen, Bobcat Goldthwait, and John Forsythe, but none of them really get much of an opportunity to leave a huge impression, considering the focus is always on Bill Murray. He does a good job, considering he takes up so much of the spotlight, but it would have been nice to see a little more of the people he has such a negative effect on over the course of the film. It almost spreads itself too thin with the cast, to the point where we need to tie up too many loose ends by the end of the third act. Characters who are made to feel very important (such as Grace, Frank's assistant played by Alfre Woodard) are given the same amount of closure and attention in the end as characters like Brice Cummings (John Glover), an LA slimeball gunning for Frank's job. This is, by nature, a very intimate story, looking at exactly what led a generally kind, good-natured man to become a real genuine dirtbag. We can feel that intimacy and emotion in regards to Murray's life, but those feelings are somewhat absent for the members of the supporting cast.

The humor, for the most part, works well. As I said, it may be a little too mean-spirited for some, but I personally had a blast with it. Few can play sardonic and exasperated as effectively as Bill Murray, and the film is just oozing with his token personality. It's when the movie veers into more traditional fodder for jokes (like the uncharacteristically slapstick stylings of Carol Kane's Ghost of Christmas Present) that the film falls flat. Murray commands the humor in this film, and its when the comedy attempts to steer itself out of his sarcastic, irreverent wheelhouse that it suffers and stalls. There's tons of subtle little touches that make this a joy for anyone remotely familiar with the television industry (such as the studio head's insistence that he's found "a study which shows that cats and dogs are beginning to watch television"). It's subtle moments like these that raise the film up and really make it something special. It's a dry, irreverent idea for a film to begin with, so the humor works best when it's matching that tone. 

That said, the one glaring issue with this film is without a doubt the rampant tonal inconsistency. There's an undercurrent of cynicism and subversion that comes with adapting a classic Christmas story in such a modern, hard-edged kind of light. At the same time, it is also attempting to pass as a straightforward Christmas Carol adaptation. There are moments when the schmaltz required by the story actually works (such as when Frank unwraps a handmade picture frame from his brother), but these moments are few and far between. This disparity really only becomes obvious during the final act, when everything falls apart. Up to this point, the film had been subversive and sardonic in a fun, coherent kind of way. Everything meshed together well, since the more emotional aspects of the story so far had been just as dark as the comedic aspects. It is in the third act, however, that everything goes utterly off the rails. Bill Murray, normally cool as a Christmastime cucumber, plays his change of heart with all the vigor of someone suffering a psychotic break. He interrupts his own live broadcast to give a rambling, tonally all-over-the-place speech about the true meaning of Christmas that doesn't mesh with the rest of the film in the slightest.

We're made to believe that this is a beautiful, inspiring moment, yet I couldn't stop myself from thinking that there's no way this has a happy ending, especially for Bobcat Goldthwait's character (who, after getting fired in the beginning of the film, had gone completely postal and was holding the channel's control room at gunpoint). Going by the film's sense of logic, I can only assume that Frank got fired, Bobcat went to prison, and no one's situation improved in the slightest. Despite all the ghostly hijinks, this feels like a very grounded film. It had never been afraid to present the audience with the grim reality of a situation; Frank is forced to find out that his actions lead to a homeless man freezing to death and his assistant's child ending up in an asylum. Not to mention Bobcat Goldthwait showing up at the office with a loaded shotgun. But then immediately after presenting us with these bleak, pessimistic possibilities, the film expects us to believe that everything works out like a Christmas miracle. It leads to a real sense of tonal whiplash, considering that the movie doesn't adhere to its own established sense of logic. This is the one time I actually would have much preferred the movie stick closer to the source material, with a generally reserved, intimate finale that tugs the heartstrings and more aligns with what we'd gotten used to over the past hour and a half.

It's a real shame that Scrooged fumbles with its ending as roughly as it does; had it pulled it off, it would have easily been my favorite Christmas Carol adaptation, hands down. As it is, the rest of the movie is really quite good regardless. It's definitely not for everyone, but I found its brand of mean-spirited irreverence to contrast nicely with the usually saccharine Christmas season. Then again, I'm the type to watch Gremlins or Krampus this time of year, rather than It's a Wonderful Life, so take my words with as many grains of salt as you deem necessary. It's a subversive take on a holiday standard that makes for a solid good time that I can't help but recommend, despite its flaws. It's an example of real creativity on display in what could have been a painfully milquetoast experience; for that alone, I feel as though it's worthy of praise.

REVIEW: Moana

It's no secret by now that I'm a tremendous fan of Disney Animation, especially considering their recent output. Zootopia remains one of my favorite films to come out this year and, while it's definitely over-exposed, I'd be lying if I said Frozen wasn't a rock-solid musical. The house of mouse has been on a roll as of late, which is why I was so pumped up to see their latest film, Moana. A Disney animated musical inspired by Polynesian folklore, starring The Rock as a shape-shifting demigod; it's like this movie was made for me. And while I did certainly have my share of fun at Moana, I have to say that it left me feeling somewhat underwhelmed at first. Don't get me wrong, it's a good enough time, but I feel as though this is the first instance of the more recent, modern Disney formula actively making a film feel lesser than what it could have been.

The titular character, Moana (newcomer Auli'i Cravalho), is the daughter of the Chieftain of the Island of Motonui (Temuera Morrison). While she must learn to one day lead in her father's stead, her true passion lies with the ocean. Ever since she was a baby, she felt the call of exploration and adventure on the high seas, an interest that naturally causes a fair amount of friction between herself and her hydrophobic dad. After an ancient curse begins poisoning Motonui's natural resources, Moana sets out on her own across the waves to find Maui (Dwayne Johnson), a wayward demigod whose actions brought on the curse in the first place, in order to undo his mistakes and save her people. For all its mythology and set-dressing, this is honestly a pretty straightforward story; girl needs to deliver maguffin, has a crisis of self, gets over it, and accomplishes her goal. Simplicity isn't necessarily a bad thing, especially in a children's film, but considering this is the studio that released Zootopia, a film noir crime-mystery about casual racism, it's not exactly unreasonable to expect a few more surprises than what we get.

That's not to imply that the story is bad, of course; it's an entertaining adventure with a lot of really fun, beautifully animated moments and setpieces. It's straightforward, but that's not the film's key problem. For me, my issue came with the choice of protagonist. Auli'i Cravalho does an excellent job as Moana, especially considering this is her first ever film role and especially considering she provides the character's singing voice as well. She's a fifteen year old newcomer and manages to match the energy of Dwayne Johnson, a professional wrestler. That's no small feat. Despite how much I enjoyed her performance, I just felt that Moana wasn't that interesting a protagonist. Right from when the film begins, we see that she's basically just great at everything. She has a good rapport with her people and is shaping up to be a great Chief. Despite being self-taught, she's reasonably adept at sailing and is able to handle herself in a fight, both physically and intellectually. She makes exactly one mistake over the course of the film and it ends up having literally no consequences. Sure, she's forced to choose between her responsibilities and doing what she loves, but it turns out in the end that she's able to just choose both. Moana is a likeable, capable protagonist, but she doesn't have a real arc; in the end, it is everyone else who develops and changes, while she remains more or less the same. At the end of the day, I would have much preferred the movie to focus more on Maui, since he's infinitely more interesting.

Maui's entire motivation boils down to reclaiming his magic fish hook so that he can go back to being a hero of legend again. It allows him to perform all manner of supernatural feats of wonder, in addition to granting him the ability to shapeshift. Basically, the hook represents his ego; in Maui's eyes, he is worth exactly what he can do for others, and no more. His boastful, larger-than-life nature is a front, hiding his myriad insecurities and fear of abandonment and rejection; the only reason he agrees to accompany Moana on her journey is so that mortals will love him again. I'll try to stay light on spoilers, but there is a moment in this film where Maui is faced with the possibility of losing his fish hook. Rather than continue on and risk losing the only thing that, in his eyes, makes him Maui, he simply decides to give up and run away. As one would expect, he of course has a change of heart and returns to help during the climax; the problem is, we don't get to see this change of heart take place. He's out of the film until he comes back out of the blue. 

The film takes its most interesting character and turns him into a deus ex machina while instead choosing to focus on the protagonist who only began to feel insecure at that exact moment. Granted, the Song of the Ancestors sequence was utterly gorgeous and one of the highlights of the film; I am in no way saying it should have been cut or replaced with another Maui song. But I see no reason why we had to completely ignore one protagonist over another, considering they're both on the same journey for very similar reasons. A good comparison would be if Flynn Rider was absent from I See the Light, or if Anna disappeared entirely after Fixer-Upper, only to return when she saves Elsa from Hans. This may seem like a nitpick, but the absence of this kind of character development and growth only serves to make Moana feel somewhat dumbed-down when compared to every other recent film from Disney Animation.

I also felt as though it relied just a bit too heavily on the new Disney formula. Since the studio has had its resurgence, it seems to have become almost too comfortable in its ability to produce hits; these films are all made around the same time by the same production studio, so some overlap in terms of characterization and story threads is to be expected, but it's beginning to get a bit distracting. Primarily in the princess/fairy tale stories, we always have a spunky young girl (Rapunzel/Anna/Moana) team up with a gruff, smart-alecky guy (Flynn/Kristoff/Maui) to go on some sort of physical journey. Along the way they're accompanied by a comedic relief who acts as a sort of moral center for the guy (Maximus/Sven/Maui's Tattoo) and a comedic relief who is definitely there to appeal more to kids (Pascal/Olaf/Heihei the Chicken). Sometime in the third act, there's a moment where the color goes flat to indicate a serious dramatic turn. These trends are less evident in the non-princess films, but are still there in some way, shape, or form (the dynamic between Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps, when Wreck-It Ralph smashes Vanellope's car, and so on). Don't get me wrong, all of these films are enjoyable (Moana included), but Disney definitely has to be wary of this in the future (in terms of their animated, Marvel, and Star Wars franchises).

Now that I've got my griping out of the way, I'm free to say that I absolutely loved everything else about this movie. Disney continues to be a house of bonafine pioneers when it comes to making something as commonplace as CG animation look astoundingly gorgeous. There are more than a few "oh wow" moments in this movie, mostly involving the ocean. This is a film bursting with color; the cool, vibrant palette of greens and blues gives everything a lively, organic feel, despite how obviously animated it is. The cast is also a delight, as small as it is. I already mentioned what a good job Auli'i Cravalho does as Moana, but I also naturally found Dwayne Johnson to be beyond enjoyable as Maui (though I almost feel inclined to like him no matter what he does). The Flight of the Conchords' Jemaine Clement appears as Tamatoa, a glam-rock crab that was clearly inspired by David Bowie; he's given the closest thing the film has to a villain song and it definitely doesn't disappoint. The best performance, however, I feel came care of Rachel House, who voiced Moana's Gramma Tala. This is a role that requires inspiring the majority of the film's emotional and spiritual weight, and House completely nails it with aplomb. This is one of those casts where there is no weakest link, just a few that are especially strong.

Overall, I had a lot of fun with Moana. It's gorgeously animated and the songs (care of Hamilton's Lin-Manuel Miranda) stayed consistently strong and memorable throughout. The cast is immediately endearing and the visuals are mind-blowing for anyone remotely into animation, but I still felt as though the story was somewhat lacking. Had this had stronger character growth, I could easily see this becoming the new gold standard of this Disney Revival period; unfortunately, like so many Disney Princesses before me, I'm left wanting more. Moana is a perfectly inoffensive film, just don't expect anything especially groundbreaking beyond its visuals. It honestly feels like a film straight out of the 90's Renaissance, for better and for worse. If you enjoy Disney's animated musicals, then this should be right in your wheelhouse; it doesn't exactly have the complexity or ingenuity of the more modern Disney films, but it's sure to make you smile.