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.