REVIEW: Sausage Party

Why was this movie made? What was the thought, the spark of imagination, that was the creative impetus for this film's creation? Why do they constantly refer to hotdogs exclusively as "sausages"? Even the main character, Frank (Seth Rogan) is sealed in packaging that says "dogs", not sausages. If this movie is meant to be a parody of animated musicals, why is there only one song in the beginning? If humans are still able to see the food move (for instance, baby carrots fleeing in terror are shown to be slowly rolling off a counter), why doesn't anyone notice them dancing and cheering inside a shopping cart? 

Why did we have to watch a talking douche rape a juice box? Why did absorbing the juice make the douche stronger? Why couldn't the writers think of more inspired names than "Kareem Abdul Lavash" and "Sammy Bagel Jr"? I understand that the joke is that the lavash (David Krumholtz) is meant to represent Palestine and the bagel (Edward Norton) is meant to represent Israel, but those aren't even puns. While it's true that Kareem Abdul Jabbar and Sammy Davis Jr eventually converted to Islam and Judaism respectively, they hardly seem to be the prime candidates for food-based puns focused on religion. You might as well have named the character "Mel Bagels" or "Bagel Stewart" and achieved the same result. Not to mention how I imagine the target audience for Sausage Party knows as much about the Rat Pack as they do about retired basketball players.

Why did the filmmakers see fit to swindle so many animators out of their hard-earned credit? Not that the animation on display here is anything particularly groundbreaking, but credit is due where credit is due. Why were the hotdogs displayed on a non-refrigerated stand? I understand that it makes sense to position hotdogs in close proximity to buns, mustard, and other related paraphernalia, but I can't imagine a sleeve of room-temperature weenies would have a very long shelf life. Why would a modern-day supermarket sell a brand of alcohol labeled "Firewater" with a Native American motif? Even if they did, how would such a product not cause massive public outcry and be pulled from store shelves? How is it that the only non-perishable items in an entire store are a bottle of liquor, a package of grits, and a single Twinkie? Why does a film that ends in a cartoon food orgy make the assumption that a single member of its target audience would be familiar with They Call Me Mister Tibbs? Where would a talking bottle of liquor acquire enough weed to become a bonafide stoner? How does a bottle of liquor even smoke weed? Do the food characters have respiratory systems? Do they need to eat and drink? If so, what does food eat? Is there a sub-group of food-food that views our food as monstrous god-beings obsessed with murder and destruction as well?

Why was the Irish potato covered in extra eyes? Why are some products shown as being items inside a package (for instance, Frank and friends) and some shown as being the actual package itself (the aformentioned box of grits, voiced by Craig Robinson)? Considering that the cast includes a talking douche, a roll of toilet paper, and even a condom, the film establishes that not only food is sentient. Where does this end? Are all inanimate objects in some way alive? Why does a druggie (voiced by James Franco) own a large, medieval battleaxe and why is it positioned above his doorway? Why is said battleaxe kept sharp enough to cleanly sever a human head? How did a wad of gum manage to construct an electronic wheelchair and voice box? If a person under the influence of bath salts is able to see the food walking and talking the same as the viewer, then what did the blood-soaked climax look like to a sober person? Was it just a bunch of crazed shoppers and employees suffering cartoonishly fatal coincidences?

Why does the movie end in a store-wide food orgy? Was this entire movie made just because Seth Rogen realized that there's more than one way to interpret the phrase "food porn"? Why does it feel the need to shoehorn in an extremely heavy-handed metaphor about religion? Why does the half-assed message of "I guess you have to respect everyone's beliefs even though they're stupid and not real" come off as somehow more insulting and condescending than if the film had simply said "religion is dumb"? Why does the movie end on a cliff-hanger sequel tease that feels as though it's right out of a Marvel movie? Why did anyone sign on to make this? Why would anyone make this? How am I unable to muster legitimate anger towards this film despite it literally being the stupidest, most pointless thing I have ever seen in my entire life? More importantly, why did I spend actual money to go and see this?

What the hell did I even watch?

REVIEW: South Park- Bigger, Longer, and Uncut

Usually on this blog, I'll take a look at a movie that I've never seen before; it keeps things fresh and exposes me to a vast number of movies I may not have checked out otherwise. However, sometimes it's refreshing (funnily enough) to kick back with an old classic that I've seen a million times before. A film that I could probably recite from start to finish with close to 100% accuracy. A film that manages to be biting, hilarious, and perpetually relevant (in addition to being a strong contender for my personal favorite musical of all time). Ladies and gentlemen, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut.

The plot of this film is about as meta as they come. After the boys attend a screening of the new Terrance and Phillip movie, South Park Elementary becomes a hotbed of profanity and Canadian toilet humor. Enraged that their sweet, impressionable children have been warped by this bawdy foreign smut, the mothers of South Park form an anti-Canadian activist organization looking to censor the film and ban anything deemed harmful to the innocent children of America. What starts as a simple protest erupts into an all-out war between the USA and their neighbor to the north; to make matters worse, the ruler of the underworld, Satan himself, is planning to ascend to the mortal plane and conquer Earth with the help of his lover, Saddam Hussein. It's as manic a plot as is to be expected from South Park, but to put it simply, as is stated multiple times in the movie, "it's about censorship".

Over the soon to be 20 years of South Park's existence, Trey Parker and Matt Stone have proven themselves to be master satirists, and BL&U is no exception. Despite the film very clearly taking place in 1999 (Bill Clinton is in the White House, Conan O'Brien is still hosting Late Night, and Windows 98 is a recent release), the overall message of the dangers of censorship and well-meaning intolerance ring true to this day. The film toes the line of being a bit too on-the-nose at times (the Academy Award-nominated "Blame Canada" ends with a gathering of parents proclaiming that "we must blame them and cause a fuss before someone thinks of blaming us"), but it is this refuge in audacity that makes the film such a brilliant joy to behold. In an era where parents are still ignorant enough to take their children to see Deadpool, only to complain to theater staff after witnessing the "Calendar Girl" sex montage, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut is a film with a timeless tale to tell.

The film also targets the MPAA (and American society in general) for the odd double-standard of embracing depictions of violence while abhorring naughty language. The list of things deemed "offensive" is growing and changing with each day, and this movie seeks to put everything in perspective. This is a film made in 1999 in which Saddam Hussein is the primary antagonist; though it's mentioned in the beginning of the movie that he was killed by a pack of wild boars, the real-life Hussein was very much alive at the time of the film's release. In a brilliant move, South Park frames its detractors as the mothers in the film; people who, despite their good intentions, are altogether more concerned with potty language than the brutal dictator amassing his power. It's a film that forces anyone who's ever gotten up in arms about "offensive" media, humor, or language to take an objective look at what it is they're fighting for, consider all the other problems plaguing the world at that moment, and then decide if this is truly the hill they wish to die on.

Any discussion of this film would be utterly incomplete without mentioning the fantastic musical numbers. While Book of Mormon stunned the uninitiated, BL&U and Cannibal! acted as early proof that Parker and Stone could construct a musical that's as airtight and masterful as it is irreverent and profane. The songs in this film lampoon every classical musical trope under the sun, from the "it's morning in my little town" opening numbers of Beauty and the Beast and Oklahoma! ("Mountain Town"), to the "longing for something more" Disney ballads of Alan Menkin ("Up There"), to the elaborate, flashy production numbers of Busby Berkeley ("I'm Super"). The film is like a skewed crash-course in musical history. Juxtaposing the upbeat, campy trademarks of classical musical theater with the sardonic, raunchy, and often bloody subject matter makes for a movie that's effective as both satire and a legitimate musical in its own right.

Though it may sound out of place to say this about a cartoon with construction paper characters and fart jokes galore, I consider South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut to be a nearly perfect film. It's as smart as it is hilarious and manages to be one of the seldom few television-to-film adaptations that remains totally accessible to those who aren't familiar with the original show without suffering quality-wise in the slightest. The humor hits hard and often, the songs will remain in your head for days, and the commentary provided proves that a film doesn't have to be self-serious Oscar bait to have something intelligent and relevant to say. If you enjoy film as an art form, this is a movie you simply have to watch. Check it out, and Viva La Resistance.

REVIEW: The Little Prince

The Little Prince is a project that those of us in North America wondered if we would ever see in our neck of the woods; originally released in France, the film was planned to debut in North America this past March until Paramount mysteriously dropped it a week from release. Luckily for us, this adaptation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's iconic novella has found new life on Netflix, allowing everyone to enjoy director Mark Osborne's gorgeously animated tale of love, loss, and growing up.

Though I have never had the pleasure of reading the book on which the film is based (though I have a strong urge to now), it's clear that this is not strictly a direct adaptation of the source material. The actual story of the Little Prince is presented by way of a framing device involving a little girl (Mackenzie Foy) and her high-strung single mother (Rachel McAdams) attempting to find a place in the prestigious halls of Werth Academy. After moving to a new house in the heart of gray, homogenous suburbia, our unnamed protagonist meets her quirky neighbor, the Aviator (Jeff Bridges). The two become inseparable, as the Aviator tells the Little Girl of his adventures in the Sahara Desert with a young boy from outer space named the Little Prince (Riley Osborne). 

Though some die-hard fans of the book may not appreciate the way in which this story is presented, I found it to be a wholly unique and original way to adapt a relatively short children's story into a feature-length film. It would have been very easy to make the entire film focus exclusively on the tale of the Little Prince, perhaps with a few extended action sequences to fill the runtime (see literally any feature-length adaptation of a Dr Seuss story). However, by creating this new plot to frame the core story, the filmmakers found a way to expand upon the themes of the original book. The themes and lessons presented in the story of the Little Prince are wholly relevant to the life of the Little Girl; she, like every other character, goes unnamed throughout the entire film. Her struggle could be that of any modern child; she acts as a stand-in for the viewer, specifically younger viewers, when listening to the Aviator's story. While this may sound like it overly simplifies the themes and metaphors present in Saint-Exupéry's original work, it really just makes the whole thing more digestible and refined as a film. It's a gamble that requires careful craftsmanship to be effective (see 2012's The Lorax for an example of what could go wrong), but luckily The Little Prince is well-written enough that the entire story is made stronger for it. The core meaning of the film resonates so much deeper when we have a protagonist we can align ourselves with who is experiencing the deeper meaning of the story at the same time we are, and there are particular moments (such as when the Little Girl learns how the story ends) that feel ripped directly from anyone's real-life experiences.

The animation on display is quite impressive for such a small budget (less than half of what it cost to make Finding Dory), but the real visual artistry comes into play during the Aviator's story. The tale of the Little Prince is told via gorgeous stop-motion segments that make it look as though the watercolor illustrations from the original book have come to life. It's truly some stunning artistry at work; each model looks so delicate, yet moves with such fluidity. Films like The Nightmare Before Christmas and Paranorman have stunning stop-motion animation, to be sure, but there's never truly a question as to how it was accomplished. We all know that Jack Skellington was clearly made of resilient, pliable plasticine with a hardy metal skeleton underneath. Characters like the Little Prince, the Conceited Man (Ricky Gervais), and the Fox (James Franco) present much more of a challenge, considering they take on the appearance of living tissue paper. It's truly some of the most gorgeous, imaginative animation I've ever seen, and it's a legitimate shame that it doesn't occupy more of the movie. That's not to say that the default art style is bad (on the contrary, there are a number of striking, memorable, well-thought-out designs in this movie), but it's all considerably more standard than what we see when the Aviator is telling his tale.

Though it isn't a film without flaw (the pacing drags somewhat and the action-packed third act feels tonally out of place with how reserved the rest of the film is), I still found The Little Prince to be a genuine triumph. This is a film that speaks to the child in all of us; it is a film that will make you feel young again as you watch it. It's somewhat ironic, considering how the film stresses the importance of retaining the magic of youth through adulthood, but this is one of the most mature children's films I've ever seen. It would have been so simple to ruin this property. I can easily see this as a major studio release, the trailers filled with slapstick and pop songs, the main plot replaced with a wacky adventure through space, the overall message replaced with the same obnoxious "ADULTS ARE LAME" diatribe we've seen in every 90's toy commercial. The Little Prince is a film that goes out of its way to be above all of that, and the payoff is plain to see. This is a movie with something for everyone, both kids and grown-ups alike. You'd be remiss not to check it out.

REVIEW: Suicide Squad

Every superhero has to have their arch-nemesis. Superman has Lex Luthor. Batman has the Joker. And the DC Expanded Universe, it seems, has a team of Warner Bros executives. After two less-than-good entries from Zack Snyder, the DCEU was sorely in need of a critical hit. While it's true that these films continue to be financially successful, a profitable but continuous weakening of DC's brand likely isn't the best course of action for this series to pursue. To many, including yours truly, David Ayer's Suicide Squad appeared to be the film that would break free from the constant drudgery we'd gotten thus far; most of the problems with Man of Steel and Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice could be attributed to the distinct talents of Zack Snyder and David S. Goyer. If any live-action DC film stood a chance of being any good this year, Suicide Squad was definitely that film. Unfortunately, it's worth noting that every other problem with Man of Steel and especially Dawn of Justice can be attributed to blatant executive meddling.

Based off of the comic of the same name, Suicide Squad follows a team of convicted supervillains assembled by one Amanda Waller (Viola Davis) for the express purpose of defending the United States from the emerging threat of metahumans. The logic here being that, should the Squad fail to fulfill their duties, they can be succinctly thrown under the bus, taking the brunt of the blame while the government gets off scott-free. The team, comprised of various rogues including Deadshot (Will Smith), Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), and Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), is placed under the command of Colonel Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman) and deployed to Midway City in response to one of the Squad members, The Enchantress (Cara Delevingne), going AWOL and attempting to bring forth a cataclysmic event unto the world. Why the Flash doesn't just take care of it (considering he seems to be on top of just about everything from Central City to Australia), I'm honestly not sure.

This movie truly feels like the next chapter in the tragic comedy that is DC's attempts at a live-action adaptation in recent years. Following the mountains of negative feedback BvS received for being a dour, self-serious slog of an experience, Suicide Squad went through a number of reshoots and edits in order to inject more levity into the film. This seemed like a fairly smart move (since plenty of quality films have gone through reshoots in the past, not to mention how obviously well the "witty action team-up" formula has worked for Marvel), but alas, the gods of fate did not see fit to smile on DC. When the film attempts to establish a dour or dramatic mood, it actually works well (unlike the entirety of the gray, drizzly melodrama found in Dawn of Justice). This sense of atmosphere is shattered on a regular basis thanks to the addition of unfunny, lazily-read joke lines that were clearly added in in a daft attempt to ape the Marvel formula. Every bit of "levity" that was added in the reshoots sticks out like a sore thumb, since it doesn't mesh in the slightest with the rest of the film (not to mention, it all sounds like it was written in an afternoon by someone with only the loosest grasp on the concept of comedy). 

Thanks to the studio-mandated reshoots and edits, the pacing of this film is left a complete and utter wreck; the first act was my favorite part, since it features some really strong worldbuilding, but even I must admit that the way it was put together was amateurish at best, embarrassing at worst. We jump from scene to scene, location to location, pop song to pop song with all the smoothness of a pint of spoiled milk. Call me a cynic, but this brightly-colored film about a gang of misfits and marauders who come together to save the world from a poorly fleshed-out villain in a stupid outfit who hopes to use glowy blue cosmic energy to destroy a planet (all to the tune of instantly recognizable chart-toppers) at times really just comes off as a blatant rip-off of Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy. I really have no idea how I came to that conclusion, but I just can't shake this feeling of familiarity. It's especially tragic, since the film honestly really works when it's doing its own thing. There are parts of this movie that exemplify exactly how DC should be handling their various film properties; not copying the Marvel formula outright, embracing the fun and color of the source material, but still producing something that feels unique. There are aspects of this movie that I love, but they are all handicapped by the intrusive meddling of studio executives (who, if certain leaks are to be believed, are responsible for leaving various scenes and moments of character development and growth on the cutting room floor).

As much as the studio interference put a damper on things, I must say that this film features a host of genuinely strong performances. While not everyone feels entirely necessary to the plot (Killer Croc and Katana, I'm looking in your direction), the characters we spend the most time with are appropriately endearing. Will Smith does his usual thing here, but I must say it fits the role well. It's been a good long time since we've seen this kind of classic, smart-ass Will Smith, and it's nice to see him back in action. Jai Courtney's Captain Boomerang was a personal favorite of mine, remaining just as over-the-top and deplorable as his comic book counterpart (though some less-savory aspects of his personality were reportedly edited out and will hopefully be restored in the inevitable Director's Cut). I was also pleasantly surprised by Jay Hernandez as the pyrotechnic Diablo; I knew absolutely nothing about this character or actor going in, but he ended up being easily one of the best aspects of the entire film. Margot Robbie was the one I was most worried about, seeing as how the character of Harley Quinn has lost her way somewhat in recent years (going from "tragically sympathetic villain" to "basically Deadpool, but with more cheesecake"); I wasn't entirely sure if this interpretation of Harley would be one I would enjoy. However, I am glad to report that Margot Robbie completely and utterly nails it here. This is the classic Timm/Dini-era Harley I know and love and I'd honestly be hard pressed to imagine a better way to depict Harleen Quinzel in live action form. 

The real MVP of the cast by far, however, is Viola Davis as Amanda Waller. Her character is known for being cunning and ruthless in equal measure, an angle that Davis pulls off flawlessly. She completely dominates any scene she's in, giving a performance that perfectly adapts the Wall from the page to the screen. That said, despite every strong performance, despite every spot-on characterization, this movie does have a glaringly obvious weak link. Which brings me to Jared Leto, as the Joker.

I will not mince words here. Jared Leto is, by far, the absolute worst live-action Joker ever committed to screen. Putting aside how his character barely has any relevance to the plot (aside from the obvious connection to Harley Quinn), his performance comes off as bland and derivative, while at the same time feeling as though he's trying way too hard. I could get past the oh-so edgy design if only his characterization made him feel like the Clown Prince of Crime, rather than a common gangbanger with a clown motif. The Joker has never struck me as the kind of guy to own a trendy night club or wear copious amounts of bling; that always seemed more like something befitting the Penguin or Two-Face or even Carmine Falcone. Basically, the kind of chump mobsters that the Joker typically eats for breakfast. This is a Joker that is trying very hard to be "cool", which is precisely why it doesn't work. This is not a Joker who would be found hanging around an abandoning carnival or poisoning crime lords. This is a Joker who wears fashionable clothes and has legitimate feelings for Harley Quinn. I understand that my argument here essentially boils down to "this isn't the kind of Joker that I like to see", but that's only because I like to see a Joker who's at least somewhat faithful to the source material beyond his name and taste in hair color.

To be perfectly fair, considering he's in the film for a collective ten minutes at most, Jared Leto really doesn't have enough screentime for me to fully judge his performance (especially considering we don't get to see how he plays off of Ben Affleck in the batsuit). However, I can say with 100% honesty that, going off of what I saw, I'm very much hoping for a drastic redesign in time for the standalone Batman film. No matter what David Ayer says, it's not too late to say he really WAS Jason Todd all along and that the REAL Joker was just over there, being played by Willem DaFoe this entire time.

Suicide Squad is a film that I almost feel bad condemning. With the exception of Jared Leto, no one really gives a spectacularly bad performance, the direction was solid, the action was fun, and you can really tell that there was a half-decent movie there at one point. However, thanks to the ineptitude of Warner Bros, a potentially fun, solid comic book flick was chopped up and stitched back together in the sloppiest way possible. There are aspects of the film that work perfectly, but that doesn't excuse the obvious problems that are present here. I feel as though a Director's Cut would (and hopefully will) be objectively better than what I saw, but all my wishful thinking doesn't change the fact that the supposed final product released into theaters is heavily, heavily flawed. It's the best DCEU movie to date by a fairly wide margin, but then again, that's not exactly saying much.

REVIEW: Big Trouble in Little China

"This is like a radical Alice in Wonderland"; a surprisingly apt description of John Carpenter's 1986 cult classic, Big Trouble in Little China. Of all the cult films to come from the 1980's, Big Trouble has become one of the most celebrated. But to someone who has never seen the film until just now, is it deserving of such esteem? Or is Big Trouble's enduring popularity simply due to an overuse of nostalgia goggles?

At first glance, one would assume that the plot centers around Jack Burton (Kurt Russell), since he's clearly the focus of the immaculate Drew Struzan poster. In reality, the story is more about Jack's pal Wang Chi (Dennis Dun); after his fiance, Miao Yin (Suzee Pai) is kidnapped by a local street gang, it's up to Wang, Jack, and company to get her back. We later find out that this is all part of a master plan by the ancient sorcerer and crime boss, David Lo Pan (James Hong); cursed centuries ago by the first emperor of China, Lo Pan must marry a woman with green eyes in order to regain his human form. Miao Yin happens to fit the bill, leading our heroes under San Francisco's China Town on a mystical rescue mission packed to the brim with monsters, sorcery, and kung-fu action.

Right away, it's immediately evident both why this film bombed at the box office and went on to become a celebrated cult classic years later. This is a strange, strange movie. Exposition is spat out left and right, characters get little introduction, and the whole thing feels like a sequel rather than a new beginning. That said, this is precisely why I feel that the movie is so brilliant. Once we are introduced to Jack Burton, we immediately latch onto him; his worldly monologue over the CB radio of his truck, The Porkchop Express, paints him as a seminal 80's action protagonist. He's a blue-collar badass who fancies himself something of a wandering hero as he hauls freight from place to place; it's something everyone can identify with, being the protagonist of their own, admittedly pedestrian, story. Once he arrives in San Fran and the plot begins, Jack is left totally in the dark; everyone around him seems to be an expert on the subjects of Lo Pan and ancient Chinese mysticism, but Jack spends the majority of the plot hardly knowing which way is up. He is the perfect link to the audience. We identify with him in every capacity, including his ignorance towards what it is exactly he's dealing with. As Jack is a stranger lost in the wild world of Chinatown, so is the audience. His reactions to the magic and mystery that plague the streets of Little China are our own; his turn as main protagonist makes for a perfect deconstruction of the action/adventure genre. And the best part is, Jack Burton isn't even the protagonist of the movie.

As I said before, the role of protagonist belongs wholly to Wang Chi, a simple restaurant owner and martial artist trying to save his fiance from an ancient evil. The movie plays with our expectations; in any other film, it'd be fairly obvious that Jack, the two-fisted caucasian outsider, is the main hero who saves the day, while Wang is his trusty sidekick. In reality, the roles are reversed. In Chinatown, Jack is the minority. He's an occasionally useful buffoon who fancies himself an action hero despite doing very little of consequence. Conversely, Wang is by far more capable; he's smarter, tougher, and all-around better than Jack in basically every way. At first glance, one would expect Big Trouble to be yet another 80's asskicking flick that survived in the cultural consciousness simply for being "awesome" or "radical". The fact of the matter is, Big Trouble in Little China, like Robocop and They Live, is a biting subversion of the standard action fare that was so prevalent at the time. It's an action movie where we spend the majority of our time focusing on the comedic relief sidekick while all the other, more important characters do the actual heavy-lifting.

Big Trouble in Little China has most definitely earned its place of recognition and reverence in the annals of film history. While it's goofy and irreverent on the surface, one only has to look just below what's visible to find something truly clever and intelligent. It's a great bit of fun commentary on the "burly white guy goes on an ethnic adventure" genre, aside from just being a genuinely strong, fun action flick in its own right. John Carpenter is a director who knows how to make practical effects work for him, resulting in a film that's as fun to look at as it is to watch. If you're looking for something that's secretly clever in addition to just being a genuinely fun time, Big Trouble in Little China is a solid choice.