REVIEW: Halloween (2018)

This isn't the first time I've spoken about the modern phenomenon known as soft-reboots on this blog and lord knows it won't be the last (at least not until general audiences and fanboy consumers get wise to the studio game and force Hollywood to come up with a new means of selling us the same product twice). Despite the negative connotation the concept of a soft-reboot carries, it's not always an inherently negative thing. Sure, it can be hard to shake the feeling that a movie was only put into production to cash in on those valuable nostalgia bucks, but there are ways for a soft-reboot to rise above being a mere cash-grab and stand on its own as a solid film and sequel. There's a reason why movies like The Predator don't work, while movies like The Force Awakens (more or less) do; each is spawned from a film that has stood the test of time and continues to stay relevant within the public consciousness, but it is only the soft-reboots that understand why that is that go on to any modicum of critical success. In a best-case scenario, a soft-reboot will not only faithfully recreate the spirit and atmosphere of a well-known property, but bring something new and original to the table, acting as a genuine continuation of the story (rather than merely shifting everyone's characters around and following the same exact plot we already know). When a soft-reboot brings something new to the table, it is able to transcend the cynical, corporate circumstances of its birth and become something truly special, such is the case with the (infuriatingly titled) sequel to John Carpenter's 1978 classic, Halloween, Halloween.

Set 40 years after the original, we once again find Michael Meyers (portrayed by both newcomer James Jude Courtney and original actor Nick Castle) escaping from captivity to wreak havoc on the small town of Haddonfield, Illinois on Halloween night. As one might expect, bodies begin to pile up, justifying the paranoid fears of a damaged, gun-toting Laurie Strode (played once again by the OG scream queen, Jamie Lee Curtis). In the years since her first encounter with The Shape all those years ago, Laurie has become a twitchy recluse, estranged from her daughter (Judy Greer), twice-divorced, and still recovering from both her severe emotional trauma and alcoholism. Convinced that someday Michael would escape to finish what he started, Laurie sets out to confront him one last time, before he can bring any more death to her little town.

The thing I'm most thankful for about director David Gordon Green's vision for this film (which he wrote alongside Jeff Fradley and, surprisingly enough, Danny McBride) is the way in which it vehemently opposes reinventing the wheel. It's made abundantly clear that this film ignores all other entries in the Halloween franchise aside from the 1978 original, cutting out all the fat and nonsense that have diluted and bogged down this perfectly simple concept since. Gone are the hokey attempts at raising the stakes; Michael Meyers and Laurie Strode are no longer secret siblings, and he's no longer under the magical control of a sinister cult. We're back to basics on this one, where Michael is just a hulking mute who feels no remorse towards his abominable actions. Really, he feels no emotions; he's a blank slate, like a shark, he just moves forward and kills without a second thought  (although he still shows a slight affinity for boiler suits and butcher's knives). It's for this reason that Michael Meyers is actually a terrifying antagonist for the first time in years. There's no attempt to explain why he does what he does. He's just pure evil given form with no rhyme or reason assigned to his actions. This unpredictability adds to the tension; the original film worked because of that sense of unease, that you were constantly being watched, and Halloween understands how to generate those same feelings. Michael Meyers could be anywhere. He could even be outside your window right now, watching you read this.

While I can't ignore the silent intensity Courtney and Castle imbue The Shape with this time around, it's no surprise that the performance everyone is talking about is Jamie Lee Curtis as Laurie Strode. In a less inspired film, Laurie would simply slip into the Doctor Loomis role, the same way Han Solo became the new Ben Kenobi, while her granddaughter (Andi Matichak) serves as the main character. Instead, we're given a Halloween movie where Laurie is once again our primary protagonist. That's not to say that her family falls by the wayside, but this is very clearly Laurie's story; we see how low she's fallen after that fateful Halloween night and watch her reclaim her agency. It's a move that, in less competent hands, would feel corny and tonally inappropriate (though likely less so than a kung-fu fight with Busta Rhymes), but is pulled off with both style and substance here. Both Curtis and the screenwriters make Laurie into a tragic, flawed character who alienates and neglects those around her. Sure, she's eventually proven right when Michael inevitably escapes from the asylum and starts carving up teenagers like so many jack-o-lanterns, but that doesn't exactly justify her toeing the line of becoming a monster herself. The other performances here are serviceable, but Jamie Lee Curtis grants this movie the legitimacy it really needs to stand on its own, and I think that's why I liked it as much as I did.

I'd definitely recommend watching this back-to-back with the original (as I did); there are a number of callbacks and references, none of which are intrusive or obnoxious, that really make this feel like a genuine continuation of the story. Michael Simmonds' cinematography manages to recreate the feeling of John Carpenter's low-key, stripped down original without feeling cheap or derivative. Paired with a haunting score (care of Carpenter himself), it really does convey the feeling that this is a true and honest follow-up to the original film. At the same time, the new blood behind the cameras bring a few of their own tricks to the table, all in service of making this stand out from its progenitor; there's an impressive tracking shot that follows Michael around the neighborhood on Halloween night that might qualify as my favorite thing in the entire movie.

That said, this is by no means a film without flaw. The plot, while engaging, starts to lose steam midway through the second act, introducing a series of plot points (such as Laurie's granddaughter Allyson's relationship with her boyfriend, played by Dylan Arnold) that never see any kind of resolution. While the climax is most definitely worth it, our means of getting there feels half-baked and sloppy (compared to the airtight first act). There's a really unnecessary twist at one point that, while surprising, makes little sense and even comes dangerously close to stripping Michael of his all-important mystique. It literally only serves to transport a character from point A to point B so that the climax can happen and it's not the only example of questionable writing to be found in this script.

There's also a lot of misplaced humor here as well. I really wish that modern films would ditch the idea that everything needs to at least partially be a comedy; just because it works for Marvel movies doesn't mean I need something to chuckle at every time I go to the cinema. With the exception of a genuinely hilarious performance by young Jibrail Nantambu, almost all of the jokes here fell flat. This is a movie that thrives on suspense and tension, instilling a paranoid fear in the audience, so lighthearted humor should be used sparingly, if at all. That's not to say the original was devoid of any attempt at comedy, but I think we can all agree that moments like P.J. Soles' monologue about textbooks didn't exactly work to the benefit of the atmosphere or tension or any of the other elements that made the original film work as well as it did. For a movie that seems to understand the beast that is the original Halloween so well, creative decisions like this caused me to raise an eyebrow, to say the least.

Criticisms aside, it's very clear that this film was a labor of love, made by fans of the original Halloween, for fans of the original Halloween. They seem to have more or less cleared that all important pitfall that so many soft-reboots fall into, striking a fair balance between reverence and innovation that make for an experience that, despite its flaws, is very hard to dislike. Had the plot and script been a tad cleaner, this would have been a home run, but as is, it's still an excellent slasher flick and a worthy follow-up to the original. A sequel has already been greenlit, so here's hoping the filmmakers continue to innovate and develop their ideas further, rather than getting high off fanboy fumes and crashing the hype train entirely in favor of "subverting expectations".

REVIEW: Venom

Now here's something I definitely didn't expect to see in theaters. When Sony Pictures, the "studio" behind such "movies" as Peter Rabbit and the Ghostbusters remake, announced a standalone film starring Spider-Man's longtime nemesis, Venom, I decided then and there that I'd abstain from paying money to see it as a form of protest. It was obvious to me that Sony was simply trying to extort more money from Marvel Studios, holding Spidey and friends ransom; if Kevin Feige wasn't gonna let Amy Pascal muck up his MCU clubhouse, then Sony would simply have to do everything they could to poison the Spider-Man brand in the meantime. They're hanging on by a thread as it is, might as well bet it all on black and hope for the best. The symbiote arc felt like a natural next step for the MCU's take on the wallcrawler (considering how Spider-Man Homecoming used Peter Parker's costume as a metaphor for him becoming his own hero, and Venom is literally a living Spider-Man suit looking to control its host, but I'm getting ahead of myself), and seeing Sony squander such a concept over petty company politics left a bad taste in my mouth. Venom was not a movie I needed to pay money to see, since any financial success it enjoyed would damage the MCU that I've come to love so well. But then Disney fired James Gunn, so screw it, go team Venom!

The plot, curiously enough, contains exactly no reference to Spider-Man whatsoever (despite Sony still clinging to the movie rights for the character and his entire supporting cast); a daunting prospect, seeing as how Venom is a supervillain spawned from one of Spider-Man's old costumes (actually an alien symbiote he picked up during the Secret Wars) bonding to a bitter journalist named Eddie Brock. This backstory is the entire reason Venom himself is a sort of dark reflection of Spider-Man; naturally, I was skeptical of Sony's ability to faithfully adapt the character to the big screen without once bringing the main hero into the mix. After all, we remember how well it turned out the last time a studio tried to spin-off a supervillain as an anti-hero in a standalone film that contained no trace of their comic book origins.

Surprisingly enough, the film more or less pulls off crafting a faithful depiction of Venom without once even alluding to the existence of Spider-Man (which is more than I can say for Topher Grace's take on the character in Spider-Man 3). The specific inspiration for this incarnation comes from Venom's Lethal Protector solo-series from the 90's, in which he took on the role of a wise-cracking anti-hero, rather than a tortured soul literally consumed by notions of vengeance. Make no mistake, this is not a serious film in any sense of the word. The Venom we get here is  much more "Strangers in the Night", as opposed to the "monster metaphor for addiction and abuse" we see in more modern stories. The result is a surprisingly silly buddy flick that ends up being the best superhero movie of 2006.

This is a movie that all but entirely ignores every bit of evolution the superhero genre has gone through in the past decade, to the point where I don't think I even need to talk about the plot (but will briefly anyway, because hey). Tom Hardy plays Eddie Brock, an investigative journalist who's down on his luck after attempting to expose the shady Life Foundation and its charismatic, Steve Jobs-ian CEO, Carlton Drake (Riz Ahmed). While snooping around Drake's sinister science lab, Eddie becomes bonded to an alien symbiote named Venom (also voiced by Hardy). Together, the two form an unlikely bromance as they attempt to stop Drake's sinister schemes and win back Eddie's ex-fiance (Michelle Williams). There's some action, some comedy, finish things up with the most obvious sequel tease of all time, and roll credits. Despite a near two hour runtime, it doesn't feel nearly that long, so while the story definitely isn't what I'd call good, I can at least say that it doesn't bother wasting anyone's time.

If there's one thing I definitely liked about this movie, it would be Tom Hardy. You can tell he's really having a blast with the role, elevating the clunky dialog and bland plot, and that makes all the difference in the world when everything else here is thoroughly mediocre to outright bad. Apparently 40 minutes of footage was slashed from the final cut, the majority of which supposedly contained additional scenes of Eddie and Venom getting to know one another (scenes which Tom Hardy cited as his favorite parts of the movie). While it may have hurt the pacing, giving Hardy more screentime to talk to himself would have only improved the film for me. Eddie and the symbiote have an oddly endearing dynamic, definitely moreso than any of the other characters in the film (although Venom's odd fondness for Williams' character was pretty cute as well).

It all works in service of the surprisingly light tone, which feels much more in line with a screwball buddy comedy than a horror/action/sci-fi adventure. Like I said before, this isn't the tortured, nuanced, modern Venom we all know, so much as it is the wacky, nutty, 90's Venom of the past; part of me really wishes this was a period piece set in the early 90's, chock full of references to The Fresh Prince and Beanie Babies. At least then the film would have some sort of identity, and you could maybe write off the generic plot and story beats as "a charming throwback to a simpler kind of superhero movie". As is, this just feels like the executives at Sony dusted off the crib notes Avi Arad has had stashed in his desk drawer for the past 20 years and used them to throw a movie together while they desperately try to get the SUMC (Sony Universe of Marvel Characters, for the uninitiated) off the ground.

Outside of Tom Hardy's performance (and the so-embarrassing-it's-amazing Eminem song during the credits), literally everything else in this movie falls flat. Ahmed and Williams are fine as the megalomaniacal villain and flat love interest, the special effects are nothing special, and the action is sparse and serviceable (except for the climax, in which a black goo monster and a gray goo monster fight in an industrial area at night against a pitch-black sky, reaching Bayformers levels of incomprehensible visual noise). It's one of the most by-the-numbers comic book movies I've ever seen, and while adhering to a formula isn't an inherently bad thing, you'd usually want at least one unique or extraordinary element to elevate the entire thing above the formula it adheres to. The only feather in Venom's cap is a pretty fun Tom Hardy performance, and it's not even close to being his best work. You can tell he's just goofing around, it's like a vacation for him in-between real movies. Tom Hardy is the one element at play here that keeps Venom from being a purely negative experience, but it's not like you can compare Eddie Brock to Max Rockatansky or Charlie Bronson. There's no emotion, no underlying themes or metaphors, it's just a series of mildly amusing sequences interspersed alongside markedly less amusing sequences.

It's no secret that Venom was originally going to be released with an R rating before being mercilessly trimmed down to a PG-13 (thus ensuring a wider audience would be able to see it in theaters). Judging from its respectable show at the October box office, I'd say this gambit paid off, but only from a purely financial standpoint. Like I've said so far, the only really positive thing about this movie is that it's kinda fun, and I can definitively say without a doubt in my mind that it would have been exponentially more fun if we got some gore, swearing, and nudity in there as well. With how CGI-intensive the fight scenes are, it's painfully obvious that the original end result was meant to be far bloodier than what we ended up with. During one sequence, in which Venom faces off against a bunch of riot cops, he picks one up over his head, one arm on the officer's torso, the other on his legs. He appears primed to tear the poor schlub clean in half, but instead just sort of gently tosses him off to the side, making me wonder why they gave that moment so much focus. And that's not even counting all the heads that are eaten off-screen and obvious four-letter words that were ADR'd out of existence. Despite a brisk pace, the film looks like it was edited with a chainsaw; it constantly feels as though it's holding back whenever it tries to be dark or comedic, which are the only two tones this movie has to offer. Venom made bank at the box office, so we're definitely getting a sequel (take a fat guess at what the sequel is going to be... congratulations, you guessed correctly). My only hope is that Venom 2 is a hard R, with Tom Hardy not only starring, but executive producing as well. He's more than earned some creative control of the franchise moving forward, considering he's literally the only thing keeping this from being a totally braindead, joyless experience.

Venom is not even close to being a good movie, but I can't say I had a bad time watching it. If you're a fan of the character (specifically his campy, dated, 90's roots), you're going to get the satisfaction of seeing Venom done justice on the big screen and exactly nothing else. The plot is clichéd nonsense, the action is toothless, and there's literally nothing special or notable about it aside from Tom Hardy. With the right audience, it could be a fun enough time, but that's all it is. I can't say I recommend it, but it's also far from the worst thing Sony has put out in recent years. If they could find some way to implement this version of Venom into the MCU, I'd be all for it. But as far as the actual movie goes, the best part part of the entire thing was the two minutes of Into the Spider-Verse footage we got to see after the credits had finished rolling.

REVIEW: Tusk

There's something to be said in favor of films that seem to revel in their own stupidity. Movies that completely and utterly understand what they're about and make no pretense about being anything more. Tusk, released in 2014, was inspired entirely by a gag hypothetical on director Kevin Smith's podcast, Smodcast. Smith had stumbled upon a bizarre personals ad (later revealed to be the work of poet/prankster Chris Parkinson) which described a room for rent; lodging was free of charge, on the condition that whatever would-be tenant wear a handmade walrus costume for several hours every day. Taken with the idea, Smith then immediately pitched a horror/comedy film built around the same basic concept. Judging from the excerpt of the podcast we hear during Tusk's credits, it was to have its tongue planted firmly in its cheek, presenting something absurd and idiotic in the most over-the-top serious fashion manageable. To some extent, the end result succeeds in what Smith and pals were going for; I love the fact that the line, "Is man indeed a walrus at heart?" made it into the final cut, as moments such as that demonstrate everything a film like Tusk should be. If only it could maintain such an overwrought facade for the entirety of its slightly-excessive 101 minute length. Whereas certain elements of this film capture the tone of a straight-faced genre parody flawlessly, the majority of its runtime left me feeling as though I was watching a comedian who couldn't stop laughing at his own joke before he'd even gotten the punchline out.

The story follows jerkass podcast host, Wallace Bryton (Justin Long), as he travels to the Great White North to interview the beleaguered star of a famous viral video. After the kid in question is revealed to have killed himself out of embarrassment, Wallace is left without a subject for his podcast segment (not to mention, any and all sympathy for the deceased or his family). That is, until he stumbles upon a personals ad hanging in a dive bar bathroom that promises free room and board to anyone willing to listen to the life stories of a former maritime explorer. Intrigued by the amount of mean-spirited web content he could generate from such a meeting, Wallace travels to Bifrost, Manitoba to interview the enigmatic Howard Howe (Michael Parks), who regales an enraptured Wallace with tales of his past adventures. Naturally, things take a turn for the absurd as Howard eventually drugs Wallace's tea and begins surgically transforming him into a walrus. Meanwhile, it's up to Wallace's co-host and girlfriend (Haley Joel Osment and Genesis Rodriguiez) to travel to Canada and, with the help of a painfully unfunny Johnny Depp cameo, rescue their friend before it's too late.

As I said before, the origin and mission statement of this movie are arguably the best things about it. There's something pure and wonderful about the idea of a filmmaker coming up with a hilariously stupid idea, gathering some friends, and saying "this sounds fun, let's make it". Honestly, good for Kevin Smith; he started at the bottom and has long-since shilled his way to the top, finally amassing enough disposable wealth and studio clout that he can make literally whatever he wants. That's every filmmaker's dream, and I don't blame him for utilizing the advantages he's accumulated over the course of his career in order to make that dream a reality. I just wish he'd take it even slightly seriously; Tusk is designed from the ground up to be something nonsensical and absurd, which I get. The only problem is a terminal lack of commitment. It tries to be a horror/comedy and fails on both fronts, deciding to be nothing instead.

There are moments in Tusk in which the horror is legitimately effective (namely when, spoiler-alert, Wallace is completely transformed into a grotesque approximation of a human walrus). There are also moments where the deadpan "I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a joke" style comedy works well (see the aforementioned "Is man indeed a walrus at heart" line). The problem is, these moments are few and far between. Tusk clearly aims to lampoon the Human Centipede school of horror films, in which irritating protagonists suffer comically grotesque consequences at the hands of mad doctors who scream inane platitudes over classical music, acting to the rafters while covered in buckets of fake blood. The foundation is there, but the execution is what kills this experiment in its tracks. You get the impression that Smith and company are just screwing around; while a sense of behind-the-scenes fun can often enhance lesser films and make for a more entertaining, enjoyable experience, here it just feels like a millionaire wasting everyone's time. I'm totally down for a self-aware genre parody about Justin Long getting turned into a walrus, but I found myself wishing that Kevin Smith would just stop dimly giggling into a bag of Funyuns and tell an actual joke for once.

Nowhere else is this feeling of frustration more evident than the scene where Johnny Depp appears as a former inspector who has been hunting Howard down for several years. Imagine a friend of a friend telling a supposedly hilarious story of the last time they were drunk; it drags on forever and ever and is not once even remotely entertaining, only to end with "well I guess you just had to be there". That's Johnny Depp's character in this movie. It's Johnny Depp doing a bad Québécois accent and eating a cheeseburger while he tells a monotonous story. Every time he says someone's name, he says their full name and title. Every. Single. Time. This is the joke, please laugh.

Really, the only notable performance here is Michael Park as Howard, and I get the feeling that he only stood out because he's a dignified-looking older gentleman with a very nice voice saying completely ridiculous things. His part could have been played just as well by any kindly-looking actor, a John Hurt or Jim Broadbent type. He does his job well, but it's not anything mind-blowing. Justin Long pulls off the insufferable fame-hog role a little too well, but I will give him credit for how well he tapped into his inner walrus once he was sewn inside the massive, stitch-covered suit. There are honestly some things I liked about Tusk; they just had nothing to do with the script, performances, or overall execution of the film itself.

Tusk is a movie I sincerely wish I could love. The entire reason it was made in the first place is that some friends came up with something that made them laugh, they said "we should make this into a movie", and then they went and did it. That's a remarkable, beautiful thing that should be celebrated and lifted up as a paragon of artistic expression. The key words being should be. The reality of the situation is that Tusk is nothing more than a self-indulgent waste of time that thinks it's far more clever and hilarious than it really is. The concept is solid in an unapologetically silly kind of way, but that's where the thought process on this project started and ended; Kevin Smith said "wouldn't it be funny if we made a horror movie about a man getting turned into a walrus?", dug three million dollars out of his couch cushions, and the end result is Tusk, a movie that provides nothing especially entertaining to anyone but the people who made it. That said, I've heard that it's still far better than Yoga Hosers, so maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge.

REVIEW: The Predator

There are a few notable trends that I keep noticing in modern movies that I'd like to talk about for just a bit. The first (and most irritating) is Hollywood's obnoxious over-reliance on 80's nostalgia. G.I. Joe, Transformers, Ninja Turtles, Robocop, Terminator, Thundercats, Ghostbusters; if it existed in the 1980's, you're probably gonna see its fetid corpse unearthed and propped up by a hack studio to make a quick buck. We've also witnessed the rise of the soft-reboot; a film that is, for all intents and purposes, a remake/reboot of a classic film franchise, except it's stated to take place in the main series continuity, making it a sequel, and thus okay. I feel like the most notable of these is The Force Awakens, but it's hardly a rarity nowadays, especially for big-budget franchises with a lot of brand recognition. We've also been seeing a lot of movies get utterly destroyed through reshoots. Normally, reshoots are a relatively innocuous practice, but it feels like as of late, more and more big-budget projects are suffering the slings of studio interference, producing an end result that turns out worse than anyone could have possibly predicted. The reason I choose to mention all of these phenomena is that Shane Black's The Predator manages to be a sterling example of all three with shockingly little effort.

The film opens as one would expect a Predator film to, with a spaceship hurtling towards Earth. After crash-landing in the South American jungle, everyone's favorite human-hunting space monster has a run-in with an Army Ranger by the name of Quinn McKenna (Boyd Holbrook). Battered from the crash, the Predator (Brian A. Prince) is actually incapacitated by the hard-boiled sniper, who makes off with the creature's mask and wrist gauntlet. Sensing that he's seen something he wasn't meant to have seen, Quinn mails the alien tech back home before he's taken into custody by government agents. Naturally, the government has captured the Predator as well, who inevitably escapes and sets out in search of his stolen gear (which has since ended up in the hands of McKenna's autistic son, Rory, played by Jacob Tremblay). With the help of a renegade biologist (Olivia Munn) and a ragtag gang of disabled veterans, it's up to Quinn to keep his son out of the way of an interplanetary blood war, all while avoiding the shadowy government agents who want him disappeared. Despite how exciting that may sound, I assure you large chunks of this movie are dull as all get-out.

When this movie was first announced, I was understandably optimistic. Shane Black is a solid director (who also starred in/wrote parts of the original Predator), and a natural choice to helm the next entry in the franchise (redundant title notwithstanding). Predator is one of those rare films like Robocop that works both ironically and unironically well; it's the movie that made Arnold Schwarzenegger an action superstar, and it's chock-full of all the hilariously dated tropes and clichés one would expect from such a film. At the same time, it executes its deceptively simple premise startlingly well, balancing both action and suspense until things reach a head at the surprisingly small-scale climax. It's got all the excess that 80's action movies are lauded for to this day, but it also understands and appreciates the effect some quieter, more intimate moments can have when establishing atmosphere and tone. If they wanted to have a soft reboot of Predator that took itself seriously for the most part, they could certainly do so and have it work out nicely; 2010's Predators is living proof of this.

Alternatively, if Shane Black wanted to turn the whole thing into an utter farce, lampooning the various action tropes that the original Predator helped establish, I could see that working out as well; plenty of relatively serious films have successfully made the transition to more comedic fare as time's gone on (the most notable example that comes to mind being the Evil Dead trilogy). Black has a penchant for snappy dialog, and his role as Hawkins in the original film provided much of the early comedic relief. This appears to be the approach that The Predator is going for, but unfortunately the whole thing runs into a critical error; it's not particularly funny. There's a few one-liners that got a sensible chuckle out of me, and the gore has the tendency to reach Monty Python and the Holy Grail levels of cheap, slapstick-y excess, but I doubt anyone would describe The Predator as a rollicking good time (unless a character saying "get to da choppa" before escaping on a bunch of stolen motorcycles is your idea of clever writing). Really, the script here is so bad that it gives Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom a run for its money, with such winners as "Motherf-cker hacked our vehicles" and "F-ck me in the face with an aardvark".

In the film's defense, the first act is more or less exactly what I wanted it to be; it's by no means groundbreaking, but it's a reasonably fun monster movie with some solid action (in particular, the sequence in which the Predator escapes from a government lab). But everything goes downhill quickly soon after that scene, up until the point that our bigger, badder, entirely CGI rival Predator shows up. After this new monster is introduced, the entire film breaks and goes down the drain, devoid of any intellect or charm it may have possessed beforehand. Before that point, the lackluster performances, groan-worthy one-liners, and bland, forgettable characters were just sort of there, but it was around this time that it all compounded and started actively making the movie worse, dragging it down into the realm of pure trash. From what we've learned, apparently the entire third-act of the movie was rebuilt from the ground up at the behest of 20th Century Fox, so it seems as though this is another film that may have had the potential to actually be something not terrible before a bunch of studio suits decided to stick their slimy paws all over it. Honestly, I'd have happily accepted a Predator movie that was "just okay", but instead got something that appears to put active effort into being terrible. And that's not even touching the way The Predator attempts to tackle such weighty topics as mental illness and climate change.

There was a clear attempt at having some subtext, pitting a team of mentally-disturbed veterans and a young child with Asperger's up against an alien menace who has modified his own DNA to become a genetically-perfect being. Truth be told, giving the main group of heroes in an action/slasher flick a host of neuroses and disorders to deal with in addition to the impending extraterrestrial threat is a pretty fascinating idea that could really result in something spectacular if handled properly by a talented filmmaker (like, say, Shane Black). Instead what we get is a series of jokes where the punchline is "the guy with Tourette's said something profane" and a kid who can use the power of autism to operate alien technology as if he were R2-D2. The disorders in this movie are treated as either a punchline or a plot convenience; I'm not even going to harangue The Predator for how potentially offensive such a portrayal is, that's just lazy writing. I'm still struggling to wrap my head around how this even turned out so bad; this is a movie written by Shane Black and Fred Dekker. These are the guys who gave us The Monster Squad for crying out loud, what the hell happened? Was this a Producers-esque scam? Or did the studio seriously interfere that much? No amount of explanation is really going to save this trainwreck, but I'll admit that I'm the least bit curious.

I'll admit, for all of its problems, The Predator would actually make for a pretty good bad movie. I can easily see this working well in a room full of intoxicated friends, or with a rowdy audience at the local theater; but at the same time, it's important that everyone understand that statements such as these aren't exactly points in the film's favor. If the kindest thing you can say about a movie is "it's not offensively bad, it's just stupid and forgettable", there's clearly a problem, especially when talented people are involved. It could be fun with the right audience, but then again so is the first Predator. Predator didn't need to be "ironically good", it was just "good". Every idea we see here (Predator hounds, genetic modification, a crazed government alien-hunter, a ragtag gang of ex-military guys throwing out vulgar banter, etc.) was already done far better in other Predator movies (yes, even Predator 2). Is it the worst thing ever? No. But is there a solid reason to run out and watch it? Also no.

If you're at all curious about just how stupid the plot to The Predator can get, make sure to check out my fresh-out-of-the-theater plot rundown on YouTube!

REVIEW: The Meg

Honestly, what did you even expect? Am I supposed to talk about The Meg like it's a real movie, and not just an absurd pile of schlock made to milk millions and millions of dollars out of the ever-growing Chinese movie market? We've all watched the trailer, we all know what this movie is about. There's a giant prehistoric shark and Jason Statham is gonna go deck it in the schnoz. I knew what I was getting into when I bought my ticket, and I got exactly what I expected. It's a curious kind of situation, since this is a blatant cash-grab without an ounce of creative intent behind it; one could very easily make the case that movies like this are causing the death of cinema the world over. But then again, I didn't exactly have a bad time with The Meg, so that raises the question of whether or not there's a place for big-budget trash, so long as it at least manages to be enjoyably entertaining.

The plot is, as one might expect, basically just an excuse to get Jason Statham to duke it out with a giant shark. I actually wasn't expecting it to take so long to really get going; this is a movie that, surprisingly enough, sticks by the genre convention of not showing the monster until after the first act is finished. An exploratory expedition is sent to the bottom of the Marianas Trench on the off-chance that the bottom of the ocean isn't actually the bottom; it turns out that the researcher's hypothesis was correct, and that the "bottom" of the trench was really just a cloud of super-cold hydrogen-sulfide or whatever. It's B-movie science, so I don't really feel the need to pick it apart that much, the important thing is that there's megalodons in them hills, and wouldn't you know it the submarine they've sent down to investigate just so happens to be piloted by Jason Statham's ex-wife (Jessica MaNamee). After rescuing the submarine, the megalodon follows the team up through the resulting gap in the thermocline, entering into an all-you-can-eat buffet of whales, boats, and tasty tasty humans. The Meg's got a hankering for some Chinese food, and it's up to Jason Statham to make it extinct all over again.

Let's talk about Jason Statham for a bit, because he's honestly the lynchpin that makes this movie work at all. I'm not sure if he legitimately thought this was a good script or if he's just a true professional, but while literally everyone else is yukking it up and not even trying (except for Li Bingbing, who I'm sure isn't as terrible when she doesn't have to speak English), Jason Statham is taking his role as a submarine-driving shark fighter 110% seriously. See, my problem with movies like Sharknado and the like is how they're so obviously made to be comedies. You can't intentionally make a movie that's so bad it's good. That's just not how it works. A person slipping on a banana peel is funny. A person throwing themselves to the ground intentionally with the intended goal of making people laugh is just embarrassing.

With Statham putting in a totally stone-faced performance, he ends up acting as the straight-man to literally everything else in the movie, and the end result provided more than a few laugh-out-loud moments. Sure, it's not exactly low-concept humor, but I defy anyone to watch Jason Statham throw on a wetsuit and dive into the ocean to go confront a shark the size of a Greyhound bus and not at least crack a smile at how absurd a visual it is. Tonally, it very much reminded me of something like Deep Blue Sea or TriStar's 1998 Godzilla reboot. I grew up loving these schlocky monster movies, as mediocre as they may be, and I could very much see someone getting the same kind of enjoyment out of seeing Jason Statham take on the Meg in the same way I got a kick out of watching Saffron Burrows and LL Cool J take on a gang of super-smart makos. The only problem is that, for as big and bombastic as The Meg tries to make itself appear, the action we get comes off as totally toothless, especially for a B-movie about a giant shark.

It's safe to say that, after serving as the villains in so many monster movies, sharks have gotten something of a bad rap. As I'm sure we've heard time and time again from various Snapple facts, you're actually about 23 times more likely to die from being struck my lightening than you are to die from a shark attack. Ever since Jaws came out, they've been portrayed mostly as mindless eating machines, despite even species as fearsome as the great white coming close to becoming endangered. Shark finning is a serious problem (as The Meg takes the time to tell us about in an odd, tonally-dissonant moment) and it's important to remember that sharks aren't monsters; they're simply animals doing what animals do. With all that said, The Meg is a monster movie about a giant dino-shark terrorizing the Pacific. As far as sharks go, it's not a stretch to say that they're just swimming mouths; biting, gnashing, and eating are about the only means of attack they have. So, to quote the film's lead, "Where’s the f---ing blood? It’s like, 'There’s a shark.'"

Half the fun of these kinds of monster movies is watching a cast of paper-thin characters eat it when the titular terror decides to eat them. While we do get a few good deaths here and there, they're all completely bloodless; the film avoids showing any humans getting chomped or ripped apart, opting instead for everyone to just be cartoonishly swallowed whole. It really puts a damper on an otherwise perfectly enjoyable B-movie, since well-done gore can add a ton to the enjoyment factor of an otherwise unremarkable movie. The only problem with turning a movie like The Meg into a blood-soaked gore-fest is that such violence would inevitably result in an R rating, greatly cutting into the film's potential profit margins. Seeing as how The Meg has already managed to out-perform the latest Star Wars movie, I suppose this gambit paid off. I can honestly say I'd have had more fun with it if I also got to see some blood and gore (and let's be honest, some tongue-in-cheek nudity never hurt anyone either), but those box office numbers don't lie. I saw a 9:45 showing with some friends at our local cinema, and just one row in front of us was a pair of parents with two kids who couldn't have been older than 6 or 7. They even brought blankets and stuffed animals, presumably for if the kids got bored (or fell asleep, considering we left the theater just after midnight); truly, The Meg is a movie with universal appeal. The only problem is that the movie's attempt to please every single paying demographic leaves it without a real sense of identity, and its hesitation to commit to a singular tone or audience leaves the whole thing feeling somewhat middling overall.

All in all, The Meg is a fun enough time, I suppose. It's surprisingly competently made (there's a fake-out just after one of the larger action sequences that actually got me) and the effects look pretty solid for something that was mostly shot in massive water tanks surrounded by green screens. At the end of the day, I paid for my ticket to see Jason Statham fight a giant shark and got to watch Jason Statham fight a giant shark. All in all, not a bad way to spend an evening; I know "I don't regret spending my money" isn't exactly the highest praise a film can receive, not every movie I've paid to see this summer can make the same boast. There are definitely better B-movies out there (and certainly better shark movies), but The Meg is an altogether inoffensive excuse to get together with some friends and share some laughs. Just don't expect anything even remotely memorable, original, or intelligent.

REVIEW: The Night is Short, Walk On Girl

For as much as I like to say I enjoy anime, the irrefutable truth of the matter is that I'm basically just a novice; I've watched Fooli Cooli and Gurren Lagann  a couple of times and I'm currently enjoying My Hero Academia, but it's safe to say that there are vast parts of the medium that I still need to explore. I was, for example, completely unfamiliar with the work of Masaaki Yuasa; that is, until I decided to check out The Night is Short, Walk On Girl (loosely adapted from the Japanese novel of the same name). I saw the trailer on Facebook just by chance (or perhaps it was fate), but the fluid animation, whimsical art design, and catchy music told me that I just had to go check this one out (especially since it would be in US theaters for two nights only). 90 minutes later and I'm not only convinced that I need to seek out the rest of Yuasa's work, but that The Night is Short, Walk On Girl is my personal pick for the best movie of 2018 (even though it was technically released in 2017, though only in the UK and its native Japan).

The plot is, shall we say, difficult to describe. This is one of those situations where I feel as though I'd be walking a fine line between describing the premise and simply recounting every scene; it's very much like Alice in Wonderland or The Wizard of Oz, where our protagonists move from situation to situation, encountering a host of unique characters as they go on their journey. The film follows a nameless girl with black hair (typically just referred to as Otome, the Japanese word for "maiden", and voiced by Kana Hanazawa) on a night of heavy-drinking through Kyoto. Meanwhile, a similarly nameless classmate of Otome's (referred to as Senpai, voiced by Gen Hoshino) is determined to confess his feelings towards her on this fatefull night. As he explains, he's implemented a long-term plan of crossing paths with Otome as often as he can manage, under the guise of their encounters being sheer coincidence. When the time is right, he will reveal his true intentions and it will seem as if the two had always been intertwined by the red string of fate. What follows is a delightfully charming, psychadelic rom-com that utterly annihilated my expectations in the best sort of way. This is just one of those movies that feels like a vivid dream, boasting the kind of atmosphere I'd like to curl up inside of for the rest of my life.

While the movie is, aesthetically-speaking, undeniably gorgeous, the real draw for me was the thematic subtext underneath it all. This is one of those films that focuses in on that sort of "quarter-life crisis" that twenty-something college students tend to go through. We've seen so many coming-of-age stories, but what happens after the protagonists have already grown up before the plot truly began? We're told from high school onward that we're "young adults", but that feeling honestly didn't kick in for me until after I'd completed my undergrad, got a job, and moved into a place of my own. For those who go right from high school into college, the question of what comes after is something that really starts to weigh on you after you get acclimated. We act like the transition from high school senior to college freshman is a massive change, but it's really nothing compared to spending the first 22 years of one's life adhering to a more or less consistent system of schooling and socializing, only to finally cross the finish line into the stage of your life when you have to start thinking about taxes and rent and insurance. You get your degree, then what comes next? Graduate school? A career? Or just another job to pay the bills? Should you get married? Start a family? Buy a house? Do you even have the means to do any of those things? These are all the questions you start to mull over as you begin to fully and finally transition into the adult world, and said questions tend to weigh heavily on the minds of chronic over-thinkers like Senpai (or myself, for that matter).

The character of Senpai manages to transcend the usual "awkward nerd who's hopelessly smitten with the girl of his dreams" trappings by really delving into his mindset. He isn't just another gawky buffoon in pursuit of his manic pixie dreamgirl; he's insecure to the point that he outright questions if he even deserves to have his insane plan work out, or if it would be more fitting that he just shrivel up and die alone. He's become accustomed to failure, putting up walls to protect himself from the terrifying idea of what might happen if he actually gets what he wants for once, the only outcome he's completely unprepared for. Otome, meanwhile, is in the exact opposite situation; she's naturally talented at everything she tries, resolved to simply go with the flow and see where the night takes her. While she hardly has to put in any effort in order for things to go her way, she's left with a life that, compared to Senpai, lacks any semblance of drive, ambition, or purpose. The film establishes that her easy-breezy attitude towards life tends to leave those around her in the dust, leaving her with her own kind of loneliness to deal with. They're two sides of the same coin, yin and yang, but that doesn't mean they don't need to grow and change in their own ways before they're fit to be together.

The film hypothesizes that who we are is but an amalgamation of those we meet in life; whether we know them for the rest of our days or just for one drunken evening, the impact and influence they leave us with is what determines who we are and how we grow as people. The emotions these people inspire and the stories they leave us with are the things that life is made of. Feelings of isolation, loneliness, and disassociation are hardly rare for young people, especially those who find themselves in the midst of a great transitory period in their lives, and The Night is Short, Walk On Girl goes to great lengths to remind us that no man is an island. Whether you believe in fate or not, your existence is immutably intertwined with those around you (and even those you've yet to meet). We're all players in the funny, tragic, oddball play that is the human race; everyone matters, no one is truly alone, and happiness will always inevitably win out over nihilism.

Although it's obvious that the underlying motifs this movie set forth resonated with me on a deep emotional level, I want to make it clear how much I adored everything else in this movie. Like I said before, the animation is absolutely stunning (putting Masaaki Yuasa on my radar in a big way) and I really love the use of color and sound to establish a sensory experience that's at the same time fantastical and immersive. As the night goes on, an entire year seems to pass; we begin on a warm spring evening, transition into summer heat, and by the time the climax rolls around, all of Kyoto is stuck inside with the flu as unforgiving winds and snow rip through the empty city streets. I also found myself surprisingly invested in the stories of the various side-characters Otome and Senpai come across, absurd as they are. My personal favorite would have to be Don Underpants ( Ryûji Akiyama), a writer and hopeless romantic who has pledged to not change his underwear until he reconnects with a girl he had a fated encounter with some time ago. At first we assume he's just there for a one-off joke about his self-appointed nickname, but then he shows up again much later on, setting up guerrilla plays at the student festival as a means of attracting his mystery love's attention. These side-characters are all bit players compared to our two main leads, but their stories are told in such a way that it truly feels as though the plot thread doesn't end the moment they walk off-screen. We really get the feeling that this isn't just an extraordinary night for Senpai and Otome; everyone has their tale to tell, and that's really the entire message of this movie in a nutshell.

The Night is Short, Walk On Girl is really just a remarkable little movie. It's a surprisingly conventional, feel-good love story that's conveyed in the most unconventional of ways; pair that with sublime animation, supremely comfy atmosphere, a killer soundtrack, and loads of endearing and memorable characters, and you've got a winning recipe for my personal favorite movie of 2018 thus far. Yes, I know, it technically came out in 2017 everywhere but the USA, but I'd be outright lying if I said that, out of everything I've seen in theaters this year, The Night is Short, Walk On Girl wasn't my favorite. If it wasn't clear already, I absolutely adore this lovely, lovely film and would like nothing more than to just immerse myself in all the charm and good vibes it's constantly putting out. If you're a fan of anime or animation in general, you owe it to yourself to give this one a watch.

REVIEW: Eighth Grade

I'm honestly surprised it's taken this long for Bo Burnham to venture into feature films. He's a remarkably talented guy, so you can understand how excited I was for Eighth Grade, his first foray into the world of writing/directing for the big screen. Comparing the trailers for Eighth Grade to Burnham's stand-up specials, it struck me as not the sort of thing one would necessarily expect from his typical musical-comedy wheelhouse. Really, that only made me more excited to see it; I love watching comedians step outside of their comfort zones to make something that's not necessarily meant to be laugh-out-loud funny, first and foremost. The most successful comedians tend to have a knack for tapping into other base emotions aside from just laughter, and I'm happy to report that Eighth Grade does nothing to dispel that hypothesis.

The film follows eighth-grader Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) through her final week of middle school, just before summer vacation (and the move to high school after that). It's worth noting that this isn't your typical "teen" movie; there's no big dance or talent show that Kayla needs to prepare for, and the popular girls don't go out of their way to make Kayla's life a living hell (rather, they hardly even acknowledge her existence). The plot foregoes every adolescent trope by being as purposefully mundane as possible, casting aside theatrical dramatization in favor of just being real. And not in the "omg that's literally me" kind of way, either; there are moments where Eighth Grade almost feels like a nature documentary on the middle school ecosystem, rather than an attempt to forcibly relate to a younger audience. I'm well beyond my middle school years, but this film still felt like a time-capsule based on its atmosphere alone. It takes us back to a time in our lives when pool parties and trips to the mall weren't just run-of-the-mill, everyday occurrences, but events where everything (especially image) mattered. There are small details that are sure to strike a chord with everyone for different reasons; for me, it was an unseen class clown shouting "are you my mom?" after the principal handed the mic off to a teacher during a school assembly. The film doesn't need to go out of its way to make these little moments feel important or theatrical, because they already are for Kayla; she's the focal point of the entire story. We care about her, and by extension everything she cares about (even if we're old enough to know better).

The film displays a remarkable knack for inspiring its audience to empathize with Kayla's adolescent struggles, thanks in part to the incredibly naturalistic writing and dialog. However, the factor that carries this entire film is the performances, Elsie Fisher's shining above all else. The character of Kayla is the rock on which the entire film is built; if she doesn't work, the entire thing falls apart. It's a tricky balance, given the premise of the movie, to write a protagonist who is both endearing and believably flawed. If Kayla was portrayed as overly self-aware and wise beyond her years, she'd cease to feel like an everygirl on the brink of young adulthood and start to feel more like every other stock "insecure tween" character in existence. On the flip-side, if she acted too childishly, older audiences would be alienated from her struggles with the pressures of social media and prepubescent peer interaction. It's thanks to Fisher's performance that this balance is kept intact; we'll shake our heads when Kayla makes a mistake, but we never stop rooting for her to succeed.

I honestly saw a surprising amount of myself in her, both now and looking back to my middle school years. I can remember being in middle school, making YouTube videos in my spare time (which I've naturally long since deleted, seeing as how you can watch my voice change a little bit with each upload). Middle school was a time of insecurity and immaturity, where we simultaneously don't care about anything but also care about literally everything. I remember the moments in my childhood, attending parties I wasn't sure I was wanted at, stressing out over nothing, and wanting to be treated like both an adult and a kid at the same time. The film hits a lot of easily-relatable beats without coming off as generic or clichéd, which isn't exactly an easy thing to do. I'm really looking forward to revisiting this as time goes on, maybe even after I've had kids of my own, to see how I respond to it then.

It's worth noting that the supporting cast is excellent as well; suffice to say, there are no bad performances in this entire film (a credit not only to the cast, but to Bo Burnham's skills as a first-time director, working primarily with relative unknowns and children). Jake Ryan is a delight as Gabe, the gawky cousin of one of Kayla's more popular classmates. I like to think I wasn't this much of a dweeb back in middle school, but the way I both smiled and cringed at his Rick and Morty impressions imply otherwise; his performance was yet another of the things in this movie that hit very close to home in a fun, endearing kind of way without feeling as thought it was trying too hard to make me relate. I also utterly adored Josh Hamilton as Kayla's dad; his chemistry with Elsie Fisher is fantastic, and I find that he carries a deceptively large amount of the emotional weight in this film; you get the sense that he's got his own story going on behind the scenes, as though he's the star of his own, unseen movie. I'll always cheer on the death of the idea that father figures in movies must be incompetent, pigheaded idiots, and Hamilton's performance is yet another nail in that proverbial coffin. Not to say that he's an ineffectual pushover either; he's just a man who desperately wants his daughter to be the happy person she was a few scant years ago. Arguably my favorite scene in the entire movie is what could loosely be called the climax (in a film as low-key and down-to-earth as this), and Hamilton's performance solidified it as one of the most heartfelt things I've ever seen.

Eighth Grade is the kind of movie I wish I had back in middle school (kudos to any theater that organizes all-age screenings of this film, incidentally). Heck, it's the kind of movie I wish I had in high school. Regardless, I'm glad I have it now; despite some odd pacing and unambitious cinematography, the film really has a talent for hitting you with moments that makes you realize just how emotionally invested you are in Kayla's journey into adolescence. One scene in particular had me clenching my fist so hard I'm surprised I didn't draw blood (incidentally, I'm also a little disappointed we didn't get any kind of closure regarding what happens therein, but I digress). It's definitely going to hit hard for people in my generation and younger, who found (or find) themselves growing up in an age of social media, where the forced social interaction doesn't necessarily end when school lets out. We've reached a point as a society where we're constantly bombarded with the absolute prettiest moments of everyone else's lives, and that kind of 24/7 connectivity has a unique way of making one feel completely and utterly alone. Eighth Grade is the kind of movie I intend to show my kids (if I ever have any) when they're old enough, and that's just about the highest praise I can give it. It'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry, and it'll make you look back on some of the worst years of your life with a twisted, nostalgic sort of fondness. If there's one movie this summer that deserves your hard-earned money, Eighth Grade is it. Go check it out.

REVIEW: Sorry To Bother You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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