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: Star Wars Episode VIII- The Last Jedi

It's a curious sensation; to suddenly go from "the last Star Wars movie came out in 2005" to "there's a new Star Wars movie every year, please God, let it end". It's a system shock that I don't know if I'll ever get used to. The Force Awakens was an enjoyable, if safe, revival of the classic saga, doing exactly what it had to do to get both old and new fans back into the series' good graces. Rogue One was a fun diversion, mediocre at worst, but its over-reliance on established iconography left many (myself included) somewhat worried about how Disney planned to move forward with the series. And now we come to The Last Jedi; in many ways, the most important of this new generation of Star Wars movies. This is the make or break moment, where we get to see whether or not this new series can survive under its own weight, without a safety net of nostalgia holding it up. I've seen the movie twice already and I feel like I'm finally ready to explore that all-important question; did director Rian Johnson pull it off? Is this a Star Wars film worthy of the name?

Ehhh... kinda.

The Last Jedi is the longest Star Wars movie to date, clocking in at just over two and a half hours. This is a dense, cluttered, complicated film, so I figure that the best way to tackle this beast is to address each of the three subplots that make up the main story. First and foremost, we pick up exactly where we left off with The Force Awakens, as Rey (Daisy Ridley) attempts to convince Jedi Master Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) to end his self-imposed exile and aid the struggling Resistance in their battle against the First Order. This was, by far, my favorite part of the entire film. It's got the most dramatic weight, the most interesting character progression, the best performances, and was, in a nutshell, everything I had hoped to see from this film (even if it went to places that I didn't exactly expect it to).

It's in this storyline that we also continue the story of Ben Solo, better known by his adopted pouty-boy title, Kylo Ren (Adam Driver). Kylo continues to be my favorite element of any of these new films; his character is filled with such conflict that, when compared to Rey (who, despite a strong performance from Daisy Ridley, is a fairly passive, static protagonist), he honestly comes out feeling more like the main character of this series. It's almost as though we're not watching the story of how Rey becomes a Jedi, so much as we're watching the story of how Kylo Ren becomes... whatever it is he's destined to become. Much of the reason this character works so well can be directly attributed to Adam Driver, who imbues Kylo with such a genuine intensity (especially during the climax) that it's hard not to become emotionally invested in his journey, despite the detestable things he does in the name of the Dark Side.

We also, of course, witness the return of Luke Skywalker, played once again by one of my favorite people ever, Mark Hamill. While Luke's story may not have gone exactly where some fans expected (even Hamill himself has stated that he "fundamentally disagrees" with nearly every decision Rian Johnson made for the character), he ends up being one of the most interesting elements of the entire film. We find him broken and disillusioned after the fall of his Jedi Academy; while he doesn't receive as much focus as Kylo or Rey, Luke's arc in this story may be the most important part of the entire plot. Mark Hamill, ever the professional, sets aside his creative differences and gives one of the best performances here, helping to deliver perhaps the biggest condemnation of nihilism in film since The Big Lebowski. This entire chunk of the movie ranks among my favorite Star Wars storylines of all time (and contains a scene that I consider one of my favorites in the entire series); had the movie been nothing but this, I would have been perfectly happy. Just Rey, Luke, and Kylo Ren growing and learning and trying to find their respective places in the universe. Unfortunately, we have other characters to focus on as well, and this is where things get messy.

The next storyline, focusing on Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac) and the rest of the Resistance fleeing from the First Order fleet, is okay. It's not great, it's not bad, it's simply okay. I can't talk too much about this plotline without getting into some pretty hefty spoiler territory, but I'll do my best to explain what does and doesn't work here. After a really strong space battle in the first act, this story just sort of meanders about until the end of the movie; the biggest issue here is the quality of character interaction we're given to work with. We're outright told in the title crawl of The Force Awakens that Poe is the Resistance's "most daring pilot". He's a hotshot flyboy who can do just about anything, so long as he's inside a cockpit. The Last Jedi adds a new dimension to Poe's personality, mainly that he's kind of an overly emotional moron who doesn't work well with authority. There are numerous times over the course of the film where I expected Poe to be (100% justifiably) confined to the brig for his insubordination, though I suppose his frustration is somewhat justified by the leadership he has to deal with.

It's here that we're introduced to Admiral Holdo, played by Laura Dern. All I'll say about this character is that she feels like a wasted opportunity; Laura Dern is a fabulous actress and she's given very little to work with here. This character really could have been something special, had the plot not been working against her. She does serve her purpose, but all in all fails to leave that much of a positive impact. It's a shame that this storyline is bogged down with so many of these fundamental issues, given how strong the concept is; the entire Resistance fleet is just out of range of a series of Star Destroyers and fuel reserves are dwindling (for anyone asking "why not just make the jump to lightspeed", stop reading this Review and go watch the movie if you care so much). It's a novel concept that generates a lot of tension and introduces a strong ticking clock element to the story. This entire plotline could have been something great if the characters weren't totally shallow; everything just falls apart the second the viewer thinks to ask "but wait, why don't they just talk to each other". The internal conflict feels manufactured for the sake of the story (whereas everything on the Rey/Kylo/Luke side of things feels totally natural), and that's this part of the movie's fatal flaw.

This is also where we see the final appearance of General Leia Organa, played by the dearly-departed Carrie Fisher. She really gives her all this time around, and that only makes her untimely passing all the more tragic. I'm not ashamed to admit that I teared up a few times on my first viewing; Star Wars is something that was integral in so many of our childhoods, so a new film is bound to be an emotionally turbulent experience. That said, no part of this film hit me harder than seeing Carrie Fisher's name in the credits for what I knew would be the last time. My only issue is the way in which the film constantly tries to fake the audience out regarding Leia's fate. After The Force Awakens killed off Han Solo (spoilers for the highest-grossing movie of two years ago), all bets were off. Star Wars became Game of Thrones as far as fans were concerned, no one was safe. After the death of Carrie Fisher, there was naturally widespread speculation as to whether or not her character would be killed off in Episode VIII; the film seems (at least from my perspective) to be aware of this, exploiting audience expectations for easy drama. There's multiple moments where the music grows increasingly dire and we're certain we've seen the last of our beloved Princess, only for her to just happen to survive. The film plays with our emotions like a yo-yo, and while these fake-outs had my heart in my throat on opening night, they just felt cheap on repeat viewings. I hardly think that it was the goal of the filmmakers to use Carrie Fisher's real-world passing as a means to generate drama, but it's unfortunate that this is going to be a stigma that the film will have to live with.

And finally, we have our third storyline, focusing on Finn (John Boyega) and newcomer Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran) as they attempt a stealth mission that will allow the Resistance fleet to escape from the pursuit of the First Order. Their search for a code-breaker takes them to Canto Bight, an opulent city that is essentially Monaco in space. This entire plotline is, by far, the worst part of this movie (or indeed, any of this new series of Star Wars films) and could be entirely removed without consequence. Everything to do with this side-adventure in Casino Zone feels reminiscent of the prequels in the worst possible way; it's tonally dissonant, it meanders for far too long, and it just ends up feeling like filler that distracts from the actual meat of the story. In our other two plotlines, there are at least stakes; we see characters we've grown attached to dealing with their emotions and beliefs, struggling to hold onto a sliver of hope when faced with impossible odds. Here, we see Finn and Rose get into a bunch of hijinks involving alien racehorses, Benicio Del Toro, and a sample of Aqualera do Brasil.

There's just no point to it, aside to showcase a bunch of special effects. With all due respect to the artists and craftsmen and puppeteers who made this film look as good as it does, this Canto Bight plotline is the exact sort of thing Star Wars should avoid becoming. The film is too long as it is, so it really makes you wonder why something so altogether pointless is still in the film. My guess is that they fell into the same pitfall that George Lucas fell into when he was making The Phantom Menace; in that they constructed each scene to lead into the next, making it extremely difficult and expensive to cut and edit parts of the film that just don't work when all is said and done (looking at some of the deleted scenes, this might explain the film's extremely odd pacing and obvious use of ADR). The issues we see here aren't necessarily exclusive to this plotline, but this is where they're the most egregious. 

Don't get me wrong, there's elements of this film that I love. After watching it twice, I'd still say that the good by and large outweighs the bad; that said, despite it being potentially my favorite of the Disney-made Star Wars films, I still have to admit that this is, at times, a downright weird movie. The pacing feels off, the editing feels off, and the humor feels off, even when the character stuff is (for the most part) fairly compelling. I give Disney an immense amount of credit for committing to something so risky, especially considering how formulaic parts of the MCU have become and how safe The Force Awakens was; it couldn't have been easy for them to entrust arguably their juiciest plum to such a low-key director with such an unconventional vision. That said, brownie points only go so far. There are major parts of this film that just don't work (none of which have to do with it disrupting my headcanon) and these faulty elements hold The Last Jedi back from true greatness.

I'm genuinely surprised at some of the issues I had with this film, but I suppose it can be attributed to Disney's assembly-line strategy of releasing a new Star Wars movie each year. We already have three more projects in the works (not counting Rian Johnson's recently-announced new trilogy) and it really makes you wonder if this is a sustainable business model for producing quality content. Star Wars is a property that prints money; even the prequels, heinous as they were, made a hefty profit (adjusted for inflation, The Phantom Menace is the third most profitable film in the franchise). But as Disney learned in the early 2000's with their swathe of direct-to-video sequels, it's never a good idea to cheapen your brand by pumping out profitable crap. There are parts of The Last Jedi where it feels like the first draft of a script, and it really gives one pause as to whether or not the filmmakers were given enough time to properly refine what they were working with. Considering all of the sloppy problems one finds in The Last Jedi and the already infamous production issues happening behind the scenes of next year's Solo: A Star Wars Story, I think it's clear that this annual release schedule just isn't going to work out in the long run.

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi is a film of extreme highs and extreme lows. There are elements at play here that I would honestly rank alongside The Empire Strikes Back; at the same time, there are also elements at play here that I would rank alongside Attack of the Clones. I applaud the film for refusing to pander to fan-theories or headcanons, yet, much like an emo kid in gym class, it doesn't earn an automatic A just for rebelling against the status quo. There are legitimate issues here that have nothing to do with invalidating anyone's Snoke theory. The misplaced comedic relief rarely lands, there's a number of plot contrivances and odd creative decisions, and the entire thing is just too long and too jam-packed full of stuff for its own good. It's because of issues like this that this film has become so divisive amongst moviegoers; while there's always going to be those who angrily scream "not muh Star Wars" into the void, this is definitely a situation where I can understand the mixed reception it's been getting. I personally enjoyed Episode VIII a great deal (even taking all of its problems into account), but I certainly wouldn't fault anyone who doesn't like it (that is, unless they're just upset that Rey isn't revealed to be a female clone of Kyle Katarn). My hope is that Kathleen Kennedy, J.J. Abrams, and everyone else at Disney and Lucasfilm can treat The Last Jedi as a learning experience, retaining what works and refining what doesn't. And, naturally, never, ever mentioning Canto Bight ever again. Unless of course the First Order decide to use it to test out their new super-weapon in Episode IX.

REVIEW: Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie

It feels as though nostalgia is becoming more profitable now than it's ever been before. Sure, there was the boom of 50's throwbacks during the 80's, but it's nothing compared to the sheer amount of merchandise and soft-reboots we're seeing today. Social media is beginning to hold tremendous influence over the decisions of big-name companies, particularly in the realm of television. Over the past decade, we've seen revivals of everything from Toonami to Full House to Mystery Science Theater 3000. Hell, social media is objectively the reason why Deadpool even got made in the first place. The power of nostalgia and social media are not tools that studios should wield lightly, however; as we've seen, nostalgia-baiting only works when your heart is truly in it. When it's clear a revival was pushed through production simply in the name of making a quick buck, the results can be totally catastrophic, irreparably damaging a brand that is already, for all intents and purposes, dead. Which brings us to Nickelodeon's recent made-for-TV special, Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie, a conclusion to the classic series that, much like its titular protagonist, shows the true power of effort, teamwork, and optimism in the face of less-than-stellar odds.

The movie picks up after the events of The Journal, a television special that aired back in 2002, acting as the finale of the series (despite ending on a cliffhanger). Series creator, Craig Bartlett, had always intended to release a follow-up film entitled Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie; however, after the poor reception of Hey Arnold! The Movie and a series of complicated contract disputes at Nickelodeon, plans for the film were cancelled. In the years that followed, Bartlett would share a number of plot points and rough animation tests with fans, giving some idea of what The Jungle Movie could have been. Still, he never showed his full hand, citing his belief that, maybe someday, The Jungle Movie would see the light of day. Fifteen years later, Bartlett's optimism has finally paid off, and Hey Arnold! at long last receives the final send-off it deserved all along.

After entering a documentary contest, Arnold (Mason Vale Cotton) and his friends at P.S. 118 win a class trip to the South American country of San Lorenzo. Seeing as how this is the place where his long-lost parents disappeared to years ago, Arnold sees this as a golden opportunity to gain closure (and possibly even find them, assuming they're still alive). Once the class arrives in the jungle, however, it's clear that things aren't quite what they seem. What follows is a charming (if a bit predictable) adventure, packed to the brim with swashbuckling hijinks and a heartfelt amount of love and reverence for a Nicktoons classic.

As one might expect of a film that's been in the works for nearly two decades, there's a fair amount of hype Craig Bartlett and company had to live up to. However, living up to the hype isn't exactly the film's biggest obstacle, so much as it is living up to its full potential. I've heard from people in the animation industry that this was something of a rush-job; that Nickelodeon demanded a quick turnaround on a relatively light budget. If that's indeed true, then the effort on display is certainly admirable (the film looks exactly how Hey Arnold! should), but it's still very noticeable that a lot ended up on the cutting room floor. The end result is just under 90 minutes long, and while what's here is most definitely fun, I couldn't shake the feeling that this is something everyone involved would have much rather seen done as a full-length theatrical release.

That said, The Jungle Movie displays an adept understanding of that which eludes so many would-be revivals and remakes; it doesn't just look like Hey Arnold!, it feels like Hey Arnold!. Mainly because it is Hey Arnold!. The crew behind this includes people who worked on the original series back in the 90's, as well as newcomers who grew up with the original show as a staple of their childhood viewing. Factor in the frankly absurd amount of original voice actors who've returned (20 cast members reprising roles from over a decade ago, alongside 11 newcomers they've brought on-board) and it's plain to see that Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie is very much a labor of love. This is something that the show's creator has been trying to make happen for nearly 20 years, and thanks to fan support, he's finally been able to do it. I wouldn't say the end result is perfect, but it's certainly the kind of thing I hope Craig Bartlett and company can be proud of. Sure, there are a few plot points that felt relatively toothless and silly, but that's the jaded, broken twenty-something in me talking. I can say with the utmost faith that, if this came out alongside The Journal back in 2002, I would have lost my mind. I would have recorded this on a blank VHS and watched it until I had the commercials memorized. I probably would have gotten together with some friends and had a viewing party, featuring pizza, 007 Nightfire, and a 2-liter of Pepsi Blue. This is how well The Jungle Movie recaptures the spirit of the original show (and indeed, that whole era of Nicktoons programming).

If there's one thing I hate whenever a television property is translated into a feature-film, it's the corners that are cut in order to appeal to a wider audience. Characters are simplified, references are dumbed down, and it feels like the filmmakers almost intentionally misrepresent the kind of minor details that are sure to raise the dander of longtime fans (I still wince whenever I watch The Simpsons Movie and see Moe's rebranded as "Moe's Bar", so as to spoonfeed context to casual moviegoers). The Jungle Movie has none of this. If I wasn't clear before, I'll reiterate; this may as well have come out in 2002. There's a few new voices, yes, and the animation is clearly made with modern technology, but this is, in every sense of the word, a new episode of Hey Arnold! that just happens to be 81 minutes long. There's numerous references to iconic episodes from the show (mainly in the first half, which, while fun, dragged a bit for my taste), but none of the callbacks feel cheap or self-fellating. When Curly (Nicolas Cantu) releases a caged panther with a cry of "FREE THE ANIMALS AT THE ZOO!", it doesn't feel like a condescending wink to the audience ("remember THIS episode where he said the thing?"); mainly because these characters are so in tune with the way we left them all those years ago, despite a few new additions to the voice cast. A revival is no good if you don't still have what made the original work; so many reboots fail to recognize this and assume they can bank on nothing but brand recognition alone. The result is often cheap, lazy, and soulless. Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie is none of these, and all prospective reboot-ers should take note; this is how it's done.

In the end, was The Jungle Movie everything I wanted it to be? No, not quite. It feels a little rushed (despite sitting in development hell for a decade and a half), some plot elements are a little too simplistic and convenient for my taste, and it feels as though the made-for-TV budget really held this back from being all that it could be (at least considering what was originally planned). But then if it was up to me, this would be a two hour long theatrical release; that's just not how the business works, unfortunately. For what it is, Hey Arnold! The Jungle Movie is an admirable, genuine, satisfying conclusion to one of my favorite childhood television shows. It's nothing groundbreaking, but it feels good to have closure on this series after so long, especially when it's presented in such fine form. I've heard rumblings about The Jungle Movie serving as a jumping-off point for a complete revival of the series; I say, if Craig Bartlett and company are willing to give a new Arnold series the same level of care, attention, passion, and authenticity that they gave to this, then bring it on. 

Hey Arnold! stands out as one of the few cartoons of my childhood (alongside Spongebob) that wasn't preoccupied with being edgy or cynical (not that there's necessarily anything wrong with that, but I digress). Ol' Football Head is a pure, optimistic force for decency and human kindness; a kid who devoted his time every episode to solving problems, sometimes for his close friends, other times for people he just happened to meet on the street. Aside from being a funny, inventive, entertaining cartoon, it's a positive thing for kids to be exposed to, and it absolutely revels in that atmosphere that comes with early childhood, when life was all about treehouses and bicycles and ice cream trucks. If you grew up with Hey Arnold! like I did (or heck, maybe you've got kids of your own who watch it in syndication on TeenNick), I simply can't not recommend you check this out. It's a fun, enjoyable trip to what was, for many of us, a simpler time. And I think that's something special.

REVIEW: Justice League

It's taken me quite some time to form an opinion on Justice League. A week has gone by since I first saw it in theaters and, to be perfectly honest, I'm still not 100% sure what to make of it. I feel like my confusion mainly has to do with my attempts to look at Justice League as a film; therein lies the problem. You see, Justice League isn't a film, so much as it is a product. It's been focus-tested, sanitized, and mechanically shaped into something that's designed to right the wrongs of the DCEU; given my stance on Batman V Superman, you'd think this would be exactly what I wanted. And while it's true that Justice League didn't fill me with as much befuddled rage as Dawn of Justice did, that doesn't mean that Justice League isn't a big fat mess all on its own.

The plot feels like something that's all but completely ignored the last two decades of growth we've seen in the superhero genre. Thousands of years ago, Earth was threatened by a big bad guy named Steppenwolf (a gormless CGI miniboss played by Ciarán Hinds). Against the combined might of mankind, Amazons, Atlanteans, the Olympian Gods, and some cameos meant to generate hype for 2020's Green Lantern Corps (judging how Justice League is doing at the box office, I wouldn't hold my breath; but I digress), Steppenwolf's army is repelled back to Apokolips and his three maguffin boxes are hidden away on Earth. After the death of Superman (Henry Cavill), fear is more rampant on Earth than ever before (yes, Superman dying is implicitly defined by the movie as quantifiably worse than 9/11, the Cold War, and the Holocaust). Thanks to all of the bad vibes generated by the passing of an emotionless alien who levels cities, the Mother Boxes activate and call Steppenwolf back to Earth (since a demoralized populace makes the conquering that much easier). With the man of steel stuck six feet under, it's up to Batman (Ben Affleck) and Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) to round up the likes of Aquaman (Jason Momoa), The Flash (Ezra Miller), and Cyborg (Ray Fisher) in order to mount a super-powered counter-offensive; for if they fail, Steppenwolf will use the awesome might of the Mother Boxes to... do... something. They're never 100% clear on what the Mother Boxes actually do, and I honestly think his evil plan is just ends up being a rehash of General Zod's from Man of Steel.

Despite a runtime of just barely two hours, there's a lot in this movie; normally this would make things feel overstuffed, but somehow Justice League manages to spread itself thin. It's like emptying an entire bottle of mustard onto a single hotdog and still being able to taste the meat, it just doesn't make any sense. With everything there is to unpack, I'm going to start by talking about everything this movie got wrong. Well, not everything (unless either of us has the time to dissect the finer points of executive meddling and committee planning in the film industry), but the major things, at the very least. First and foremost, let's address the elephant in the room. After the tragic loss of his daughter earlier this year, Zack Snyder stepped down from directing Justice League, at which point Joss Whedon took the helm, finishing up production and directing any and all necessary reshoots. If you can name a more stylistically different pair of filmmakers working on the same project, I'd certainly like to hear it; Whedon and Snyder's styles are night and day (in some cases literally) and the end result is just as much of a patchwork mess as you'd expect. One moment we have Synder's dreary symbolism and melodrama, the next we have a series of Whedon's eye-rolling quips. I don't plan on ever watching Dawn of Justice or Suicide Squad again (unless it's bad movie night), but I'll at least be able to revisit Justice League with a fun drinking game in mind; take a sip every time there's a noticable shift in direction. If I end up dying of alcohol poisoning shortly after Justice League is released on The Pirate Bay home video, you'll know what happened.

Aside from an inconsistent identity, the film also suffers from an extraordinarily bland plot and villain. I've seen (and made) complaints that Marvel's stories are getting a little stale (often involving some generic antagonist firing a big blue beam into the sky), but even the worst of the MCU has nothing on Justice League. Steppenwolf is a cardboard bad guy; he monologues about fear and power and conquest, only to be defeated without issue, leaving no impression whatsoever. I hate to make the inevitable comparison to Marvel Studios, but I think it's necessary in this case, in order to outline exactly how Warner Bros screwed up on this one. When Marvel put out the first Guardians of the Galaxy, Ronan the Accuser served as a stepping stone to Thanos. He was a bland villain who was only really interesting whenever he was sharing the screen with the bigger, badder bad guy that everyone really wanted to see. I get the sense that WB attempted something similar here with Steppenwolf (since he answers to DC's seminal Kirby-created big bad, Darkseid). 

However, when Marvel did it, you got a sense that they at least knew where they were going with it all. Even though Ronan was a bland, one-dimensional villain, he served his purpose in the grander sense of the MCU, establishing Thanos as more than just a post-credits teaser. Comparatively, Darkseid doesn't even appear in Justice League, not even in a quick cameo; to those unfamiliar with the comics, Steppenwolf is just some guy from space who wants to do something vaguely evil with some magic cubes. A throwaway villain isn't ideal, but they can still serve a greater purpose when a series is attempting a multi-film narrative as the MCU (or DCEU) is. With Justice League, it just comes off like blind emulation; like a child who tries to mimick his older siblings by leaping off the high-dive (despite not knowing how to swim). And when he hits the water, it flops just as hard and sinks just as quickly as you'd expect.

Despite Justice League tying with Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End as the second most expensive film ever made, there's still an unshakable aura of cheapness to the whole thing. The plot is a generic "we need to stop the doomsday plot and also learn to work together" mishmash of clichés, the CGI is merely passable at best (outright embarrassing at worst), and several of the performances leave a lot to be desired. Gal Gadot continues to carry the entire franchise as Wonder Woman (she's not quite as strong here as she was in her solo film, but she's still good enough) and I was quite surprised at how much I enjoyed Ray Fisher in the role of Cyborg. On the other hand, however, Ezra Miller's Flash served no purpose other than to be a quip machine; while he had a few fun moments, it just felt like there could have (and should have) been more depth to this character than what we've got here. You also have Ben Affleck as Batman, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. I honestly find myself feeling tremendously sorry for Affleck; he once took the role of Daredevil because he assumed it was the closest he would ever get to playing Batman on the big screen. Over a decade later and he's landed his dream role, only to have completely soured on the idea after a single film. That said, Affleck's shotgun wedding of a performance doesn't even hold a candle to the clear weakest links of this cast; those being Jason Momoa and Amber Heard as Arthur Curry and Mera.

As a fan of both Aquaman and Jason Momoa, it pains me to say this, but he's absolutely terrible here. Every line he has is delivered in exactly the same gruff, generic dudebro cadence. The blame doesn't rest entirely on Momoa, as he's given next to nothing to work with (he doesn't even summon any sharks, the lowest of the low-hanging-fruit when it comes to neat Aquaman gimmicks), but it still doesn't change the fact that his character feels like a cheap imitation of Chris Hemsworth's Thor. I don't want my argument to boil down to "not muh Aquaman", but as a fan of the comics, this take on Arthur Curry is nothing like what I had hoped to see. Meanwhile, Amber Heard appears for only one scene, yet leaves enough of a stunningly bad impression that I find myself questioning how excited I even am for James Wan's upcoming Aquaman standalone movie. Just like Wonder Woman before it, the film entirely hinges on whether or not the director can conjure a worthwhile performance out of his lead actors; if their performances in Aquaman are anything like their performances here, then I think it's safe to say that that film is as good as sunk (I'm so sorry). That said, amidst all these middling performances, we still have my favorite part of the entire movie (and, arguably, the entire DCEU). It's a bird, it's a plane, it's...

Spoiler Alert, Superman comes back to life. And his portrayal this time around makes Justice League feel like a two-hour long apology for every sin Zack Snyder previously committed against his character. This is a Superman who is bright, cheerful, and takes visible joy in saving civilians and doling out justice. Sure, it feels completely unearned that he's suddenly treated with such reverence after his last two appearances, but I honestly don't care at this point. Superman is portrayed as he should be (to the point that Batfleck takes a good five minutes to explain to all the fanboys in the audience why Superman is a more human, relatable character than Batman is) and I'm just happy that Henry Cavill is finally being allowed to do the character justice. It's clear (when one looks behind the scenes) that Cavill holds a great deal of regard for the character and history of Superman, yet he was constantly held back by poor writing and direction. Finally, he's free to fight for truth, justice, and the American way and it's honestly the only thing in this entire film that feels 100% right. His resurrection represents the only interesting facet in a supremely bland plot and he ends up being both the most useful and most likeable member of the League (despite, unfortunately, getting the least amount of screentime). 

Alongside Superman's portrayal this time around, I greatly enjoyed the tone and atmosphere Justice League had to offer at times. It often felt inconsistent, true, but there were moments when it felt like exactly the sort of feeling the DCEU should be shooting for; not so self-important and dreary that it becomes a parody of itself, but not an outright comedy like so many recent Marvel films. I also quite enjoyed the score, care of the legendary Danny Elfman. When I had first heard that Elfman planned to sample his 1989 Batman score (and the classic John Williams Superman theme) in his compositions for this film, my eyes practically rolled clean out of my skull. It felt like the most transparent marketing move yet; remember this music from the good DC movies? Doesn't that make you want to like this movie more? That said, having actually heard the score, I must admit, it does it's job well. In hindsight, I would have been perfectly happy had Spider-Man: Homecoming's score been nothing but a gorgeous orchestral remix of the 60's cartoon theme. At the end of the day, those tracks are the iconic themes of Superman and Batman; it's a cheap exploitation of nostalgia, yes, but the end result is still pretty damn good. Really, that explains so many of the parts of this film that I enjoyed. If only WB could figure out a way to just make these films work on their own merit, perhaps they could provide even adequate competition for the MCU (which, at the time of writing, has another 20 films in the planning stages, to be released in the coming years).

What else can I say about Justice League? If Warner Bros' goal was to keep the life support for the DCEU plugged in for but one more year, then I suppose it did its job. Like I said, this film is a complete mess, but it doesn't make me angry the way Batman V Superman or Suicide Squad did. It's harmless, like a rabid dog that's been lobotomized; it's not aggressively stupid anymore, but it's by no means good. It's been just over seven days since I've seen Justice League and it already feels like something I watched ages ago. Honestly, I doubt I'll even remember most of it in a month or two. That said, while it's still on my mind, I think it's worth pointing out exactly what WB needs to do to make this franchise a hit, not just with consumers, but with critics as well. 

All it needs is a little fresh perspective; the Marvel films aren't consistent mega-hits because of their scale or quips or Joss Whedon (hell, certainly not because of Joss Whedon). For the DCEU to succeed, Warner Bros needs to try emulating Marvel's business strategies rather than the content of their films; bring on filmmakers who have proven they know what they're doing (James Gunn, Taika Waititi, Shane Black, etc.) and let them do their thing. Don't try and bend the product to the will of focus testers and studio execs. Treat these films like films. Marvel Studios is a monolithic conveyor belt of content that turns comic book iconography into millions upon millions of dollars thrice annually on a yearly basis. Make no mistake, it's very much a business, and films in the MCU still need to tick a requisite number of shared-universe boxes before they can get the all clear; but at the end of the day, Kevin Feige and company understand which parts of that business should be left in the hands of creative people who understand how to make endearing and entertaining films. Full disclosure, I'm enjoying DC's comic book offerings leagues more than what Marvel's putting out nowadays (no pun intended). It pains me to see the DCEU fail to represent these iconic characters and storylines time and time again with flop after flop, especially since there's so many good elements hidden within this mire of mediocrity (such as Patty Jenkins' Wonder Woman film). But until Warner Bros learns to stop worrying about every other film studio and focus on themselves, I see no reason to expect the DCEU to get any better anytime soon.

REVIEW: Thor Ragnarok

It feels like, consistently, out of all of Marvel's characters, Thor and Hulk always get the short end of the stick. Not only are they arguably the two Avengers that are hardest to take seriously, their considerable power levels lead to them either mysteriously disappearing or getting conveniently dispatched during most group action sequences (because let's face it, it's a lot easier to make compelling action setpieces when hordes of CGI henchmen are going up against squishy humans with fancy toys rather than two invulnerable flying bricks). It's really a shame, because these two have such amazing potential that has never really been realized in the span of the MCU; The Incredible Hulk (back when Bruce Banner looked mysteriously like Edward Norton) is fun but standard, and the previous two Thor films are easily the most forgettable entries into Marvel's cinematic universe. It seemed like a stroke of genius taking the two most under-appreciated (not to mention, under-utilized) Avengers and putting them in the same film, especially since their buddies/rivals dynamic has been a highlight of previous team-ups. While Thor Ragnarok is by no means a game-changer, it was definitely a lot of lovingly-crafted fun.

The plot takes place two years after the events of Age of Ultron, highlighting exactly what Thor and Hulk were busy doing while that whole Civil War mess was going down. After unsuccessfully attempting to track down the Infinity Gems and running afoul of the Norse demon known as Surtur (voiced by the one and only owner of the Krusty Krab, Clancy Brown), Thor (Chris Hemsworth) finds himself at long last returning to his home of Asgard. As we saw at the end of Thor: The Dark World, Loki (Tom Hiddelston) has taken advantage of his brother's long absence, disguising himself as their father, Odin (Anthony Hopkins) and seizing control of the throne. This leads to a chain of events that results in the return of Hela (Cate Blanchette), Odin's firstborn daughter and goddess of death. After failing to stop their vengeful sister from returning to Asgard, Thor and Loki find themselves flung into the far reaches of space, landing on the gladiatorial planet known as Sakaar (run by the flamboyant Grandmaster, played by the immortal Jeff Goldblum). Once there, who should they run into but the everlovin' Hulk (Mark Ruffalo), who's spent the last two years on Sakaar as the Grandmaster's champion. With Hela seizing control of Asgard, it's up to the mighty Thor to assemble what allies he can, escape Sakaar, return home, and prevent the coming of Rangarok; the end of all things.

While I very much appreciate Marvel beginning to step out of their comfort zone when it comes to the premise of these films (Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 ended with the team fighting a living planet, after all), it still feels as though they're too timid to fully commit to something totally wild and original. Even with its bombastic sense of humor and planet-hopping storyline, Thor Ragnarok is still, at its core, your standard "we gotta get home and stop the bad guy from taking over" plot. It very much feels as though director Taika Waititi (who created one of my favorite comedies of all time) and the executives at Marvel Studios had two different visions of what this movie should be. Waititi clearly wanted an offbeat cosmic road movie, while Marvel seemed to have a checklist of criteria that needed to be fulfilled in order to set up future event films in the MCU. There's a number of major events and character deaths that don't receive nearly the amount of attention one might expect, and that sense of unbalance and disharmony ends up taking a toll on the film as a whole.

After Thor ends up on Sakaar, the film splits into two storylines; Thor trying to get home, and Hela seizing control of Asgard. Obviously, the two converge during the final act, but I found myself feeling a real sense of tonal dissonance. Everything on Sakaar is more or less comedic (especially when Jeff Goldblum is on screen) and everything on Asgard is 100% serious (especially when Hela is on screen). Not to say that things felt jarring or uneven (each storyline was tonally consistent in its own way), but it made the film feel like it was in conflict with itself. The Asgard storyline feels like a fantasy action/drama, where supporting characters are brutally offed on-screen and innocent families are forced into hiding for their own protection. Meanwhile, the Sakaar storyline feels like a sci-fi comedy/adventure, full of slapstick and comedic subversions. The film's habit of cutting back and forth between each storyline with every scene results in a sort of water and oil situation, where the film struggles with developing a consistent identity.

I don't mean to keep bringing up Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, but seeing as how that might just be my favorite MCU movie, it ends up being a fine example of how to craft exactly the sort of film Marvel Studios should strive to make. Despite being very comedic in tone, the constant jokes didn't really clash with the drama; we still felt for the characters and cared about their stories. The comedy is used as a way to get the audience invested in and attached to the characters, rather than simply as a way to make everyone laugh; James Gunn understood this well enough that, by the time the movie is over, there was hardly a dry eye in the theater (despite the final shot consisting of a talking CGI raccoon at a space funeral). It's important not to lose track of that human element, which is something that both Spider-Man Homecoming and Thor Ragnarok struggle with. It's something I touch on in my Wonder Woman Review, how many Marvel movies seem to default to lighthearted action comedy as a way of dispelling the tension that arises when you expect an audience to actually take a flying space viking seriously. Usually it works out well enough, but relying too much on undercutting drama with a joke can make the film predictable. Don't get me wrong, Ragnarok is a very funny movie (I would expect no less from Taika Waititi), but by the third act it had gotten to the point where I didn't take anything at face value. Whenever the music began to swell and something dramatic was about to happen, I immediately thought to myself "what would be the most obvious way to make this scene funny"; cue exactly that happening mere seconds later.

The film's breakneck pace also contributes to this lack of emotional attachment; despite clocking in at just over two hours, there are plenty of elements at play here that don't get nearly the amount of attention we'd hope for. There's never really a dull moment or a stretch of the film where I felt bored (which, don't get me wrong, is excellent), but it also feels like we didn't get enough time with some of the exciting new elements they introduced this time around. There's exactly one gladiator fight (despite how much of the plot takes place on Sakaar), Jeff Goldblum doesn't get nearly as many scenes as he deserves (although this is true of every movie ever made), and a number of character deaths feel brushed over. Karl Urban appears as Skurge the Executioner and, judging from his performance, he could have easily been my favorite part of the entire film, had he been given more attention. This is a film with little to no fat on it, but in removing the excess, they seem to have cut off some of the good meat as well. The opening scene might be my favorite in the entire movie; it's a fun, exciting action sequence that really hypes you up to watch the mighty Thor in action. But from that point on, Thor is removed from the Asgard plot until the climax and thrust into a new setting that isn't really given a chance to shine whenever Jeff Goldblum isn't onscreen. Despite the entertaining cast, this is a movie where the plot is driven moreso by the story rather than the characters.

Now despite all my issues, I think it's worth noting that I really did enjoy myself with Ragnarok. After years of desperately trying to find his MCU niche, it feels like we've finally gotten to a place with the character of Thor where he can really come into his own as a protagonist. While I never really felt the kind of emotions I got with something like Guardians 2, I really can't emphasize what a fun, endearing road movie this is. Jack "The King" Kirby would have turned 100 this year, and this film feels like the ultimate tribute to his influence on Marvel's comics; it's a whacked-out cosmic fantasy romp full of weird aliens and weirder architecture, where ancient mythologies and deep-space civilizations collide. There's even a strong focus on the classic "Kirby Dots" during the credits; this is a classic-era Marvel story with a modern twist, and the result is just a load of fun. The main cast all give strong performances and play off of each other wonderfully; I especially liked Tom Hiddelston as Loki this time around. Not only does he continue to show off what a genuinely solid comedic actor he is, but his arc is easily the most interesting, as he comes to terms with the fact that, while he may be more clever than his big, dumb jock of a brother, he still hasn't accomplished much, despite all of his supposed intellect and trickery. While it's true that there's not much here in the way of ingenuity, you'd be hard pressed to sit through this without having a good, fun time.

Despite its shortcomings, Thor Ragnarok is still a thoroughly enjoyable romp that is really quite hard to dislike. While it's not necessarily among the absolute best of the MCU, it's very easily the best Thor movie to date; it's an offbeat space adventure with a lot of laughs and imagination that has an unfortunate habit of getting in its own way. While I'd still like to see Thor done with a bit more sincerity, what's here is in no way bad or disappointing. There's a load of great performances and some really excellent cinematography, all framed around a delightfully quirky score care of DEVO's Mark Mothersbaugh. If the film did nothing else, it finally accomplished what so many MCU films have tried to do for so long; it gave Chris Hemsworth's Thor something fun and interesting to do. It's not my favorite MCU film by any means, but I definitely got a kick out of it; check it out.

Hey wait a minute, where the hell was Lady Sif?

REVIEW: The Last Unicorn

I've always found it interesting how the benefit of hindsight can add or subtract to a film. Some movies have a habit of taking root in our minds, where subtext reveals itself to the viewer and creative decisions become that much clearer to understand; we're able to step back and see the full picture, sometimes as early as when the credits begin to roll. Oftentimes this kind of post-viewing rumination can lead to that magnificent kind of eureka moment, where the pure artistry at work is pulled into the limelight and given a time to shine. Other times, as the afterglow fades, plot holes begin to make themselves known and the film begins to disintegrate before our very eyes. The Last Unicorn, a 1982 cult classic from the iconic Rankin/Bass Productions, falls moreso alongside the former rather than the latter; while I found my viewing experience to be very hit or miss, it was after the credits had stopped rolling, when I had a chance to really consider the plot from a subtextual standpoint, that the film's true value made itself known to me.

Adapted from Peter S. Beagle's novel of the same name, the story follows the titular unicorn (Mia Farrow) as she attempts to cope with the revelation that she is, indeed, the last of her kind (hence the title; already the film begins to reveal itself to us). After hearing tell of a mysterious Red Bull that supposedly chased all of her unicorn brethren to the ends of the earth, the unicorn sets out on a grand adventure to find and return all the world's unicorns. Along the way, she meets an insecure magician by the name of Schmendrick (Alan Arkin) and a beleaguered maid named Molly Grue (Tammy Grimes), who accompany her on her journey. After a harrowing run-in with the Red Bull, Schmendrick uses his magic to turn the unicorn into a mortal woman (since the bull only pursues unicorns). As the unicorn (now under the assumed human name of Amalthea) adjusts with her new body and place in the world, the group arrive at the seaside castle of King Haggard (Christopher Lee), in hopes of solving the mystery of where the unicorns disappeared to once and for all.

While the plot is very much your standard fairy tale fare (characters go from point A to B to C, encountering different story beats along the way), it's truly the subtext behind it all that keeps everything moving. I must confess that, upon watching this for the first time, I found myself growing quite bored on more than one occasion. The film carries itself slowly to begin with, lingering on individual scenes and focusing moreso on character interactions and dialog than outright action and adventure, but once our trio reaches King Haggard's castle, things grind to a complete stop until the climax. This isn't helped by our protagonists; the only one with any kind of drive or grit is Molly, and she isn't given nearly as much attention as Schmendrick and the unicorn (who are completely passive by comparison). Yes, everyone has an arc and yes, everyone contributes something by the time the story is ended, but there's still not really anyone for the audience to latch onto until Molly is introduced. Schmendrick is endearing thanks to Alan Arkin's humble performance, but that doesn't change the fact that he barely does anything aside from feel sorry for himself for the majority of the film. Meanwhile the titular unicorn comes off as detached and mopey until she's turned human, at which point she basically goes catatonic from having to deal with her newfound mortality. Despite all my griping, I actually really like the kind of offbeat, melancholy tone this gives the entire film; I just wish there was a protagonist I could forge a greater connection with.

With a classically simplistic plot and characters to match, the film is 100% carried by its subtext. Despite essentially being a film targeted towards children, the story is heavy with themes of life, death, and notions of mortality and immortality. One of my favorite scenes involves the unicorn immediately after she is turned human; terrified of her newfound mortality, she describes how she can feel her new body slowly dying around her. It's surprisingly hefty stuff for an animated children's film about a pretty unicorn who turns into a pretty princess. In turning human, the unicorn experiences a sort of loss of innocence, transforming from a pure and immortal creature of the woods to yet another doomed-to-die dime-a-dozen person. However, there's a clear look at the give and take associated with mortality and immortality; the unicorn is shaken by her sudden transition, yet, in the end, values her experiences. Though she'll forever be different from the other unicorns (tainted, in a way), she is the only of her kind to have possessed the proper perspective that allows her to feel emotions such as love and regret. 

By the same token, we have characters like Mommy Fortuna (a witch who runs a traveling sideshow, voiced by Angela Lansbury) and The Skull (a talking skeleton, voiced by Rene Auberjonois); both clearly favor immortality and both possess unending life in their own, personal ways. Mommy Fortuna, despite using illusions and trickery to disguise mundane creatures as fantastical beasts, seeks to establish her own dominance over the legendary animals she imprisons. She covets the immortal life that the unicorn (as well as the harpy she imprisons) both possess, and thus seeks to make her mark as best as she can. Despite meeting her end at the hands of said harpy as her captives escape, she still achieves her own kind of immortality; as she explains, the harpy will spend the rest of its unending life knowing that Mommy Fortuna was the one who held it in captivity. She achieves immortality within the memories of the beast she captured, but at the cost of her own life. Meanwhile, the Skull has been around for an unquestionably long time, laying about in the depths of King Haggard's castle. Despite his eternal life, he still longs for something as simple as the taste of wine. They even establish that, as a skeleton, he's unable to even taste wine, let alone drink it; he explains that it's the feeling, the memory of the wine, that truly matters. Both have achieved eternal life, yet at a cost so terrible, it may as well make the entire point moot. Immortality is life without end, but life without end is no life at all.

Aside from that, the art design is quite gorgeous, even if the animation is nothing to write home about. There's several songs performed by America (the band behind A Horse With No Name) and all of these are quite good; it's when anyone else tries singing that things get really embarrassing really quickly (Jeff Bridge's forelorn love ballad and Mia Farrow's infamous "NOW THAT I'M A WOMUUUUUN" songs are the unintentionally hilarious highlights). All in all, while I've certainly seen better, I can at least understand why The Last Unicorn  is considered a cult classic by so many. I found myself slipping into boredom and frustration here and there while watching it, but in hindsight, I can really appreciate it from an artistic and subtextual standpoint. It's not necessarily for everyone; I found myself in a similar position when watching Wizards, where the film really only revealed itself to me after I was done watching it. Looking back, however, at least Wizards had me thoroughly engaged throughout. There are definitely good things here, but I don't know if I'd call it essential viewing, at least more than once. That said, I'm fairly confident that it would improve upon future viewings. Either way, it's certainly a film I plan on showing my children down the line, so take that as you will.