REVIEW: Fullmetal Alchemist

There's a trick to getting live-action anime adaptations right; you see, the trick is to not even try. There are a scant few exceptions to the rule (though right now, the only one that comes to mind is 2008's Speed Racer, and even then that's definitely an acquired taste), but anime as a medium is just something that seldom ever translates well to live-action. It's a genre packed full of characters with over-exaggerated features and displays of emotion, with manic, physics-defying action sequences; something like Gurren Lagann would never work in live-action, just considering the scope and scale alone. The only way anime can work in live-action is if the filmmakers are prepared to get silly and inventive with their presentation (such as with Speed Racer); as Pan Pizza once suggested, it wouldn't be impossible for someone to pull off a proper live-action take on something like Dragon Ball Z or Fist of the North Star in the style of something like Kung-Fu Hustle. But such an undertaking would require equal amounts of talent and flair, a balance that Fullmetal Alchemist (the latest anime adaptation to get dumped on Netflix) sorely lacks.

Adapted from the manga and anime series of the same name, Fullmetal Alchemist follows the adventures of Edward (Ryôsuke Yamada) and Alphonse Elric (Atom Mizuishi), two brothers who attempt to resurrect their dead mother through the power of alchemy. You see, the story takes place in a fictional European country around the start of the 20th century (despite the fact that the entire cast is Japanese, but whatever) where alchemy has been refined into an advanced science. However, the ritual goes awry; due to the Law of Equivalent Exchange, the attempt at human transmutation costs Ed an arm and a leg (literally) while his brother, Al, loses his entire body. With Alphonse's soul trapped in a massive suit of armor, the two search far and wide for the legendary Philosopher's Stone, a mysterious maguffin that may hold the key to restoring their bodies. This is about all we get in terms of plot as our characters meander about from location to location for upwards of two hours, never truly advancing the narrative until the last 30 or so minutes when the film suddenly remembers that it's telling a story.

For transparency's sake, I suppose it's only fair that I admit I've never watched the anime this film is based off of. And here we come to our first major problem; this isn't an adaptation for anyone but the fans. The vast majority of dialog here is exposition used to set up a messy, confusing plot that attempts to condense however many volumes of a manga series into a single feature-length film. As a newcomer to the franchise, I was just barely able to keep up, but even then I was left feeling like this was made to be nothing more than supplementary material for those already in the know. It's less of a standalone film and more an excuse to see the events of the source material play out in live-action, so one really has to wonder why this film was even made. Considering how well the film did at the Japanese box office, it's hard to see this as anything more than a cash-in meant to make a solid chunk of change off of the curiosity of fans.

I can't imagine this was made with the intention of introducing the world of Fullmetal Alchemist to a new audience; I've heard nothing but wonderful things about the anime and manga (specifically Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood), but this movie takes a world with such a novel concept behind it and conveys it all in the most mind-numbingly boring way imaginable. Roughly the first 40 minutes is nothing but exposition and world-building, there's far too much telling and not nearly enough showing for this to really be worth anyone's time. Longtime fans will already know how everything works, so they likely won't get anything out of the plodding, clinical dialog exchanges about the rules and principles of alchemy. At the same time, it does a really poor job of selling the concept to newcomers like myself; it's an imaginative concept, but it's never really used in an interesting or entertaining way.

These are all symptoms of a greater problem, namely that the film can't decide what it wants to be. It presents this imaginative fantasy world, yet gives us exactly one entertaining action scene before the climax. There's moments of more reserved character drama, but all of it feels forced and manufactured, since our characters don't really have anything to do in terms of development. One of the best scenes in the movie is a haunting look at the darker side of what alchemy can create (fans of the series will immediately know what I'm talking about), but it comes completely out of nowhere. We start out with a boring but overall upbeat fantasy story, then take a hard turn into outright body-horror for a few minutes, and then it's never mentioned again. I'm not saying that every movie has to have the universally safe appeal of a Marvel blockbuster, but some tonal consistency would be nice. 

It's only exasperated by the fact that our protagonists don't really have much in the way of personality. I suppose Alphonse is nice, whereas Edward... well, Edward is really just kind of there. He wants to fix his brother's body, I get that, but he really doesn't have anything resembling a personality. He's just a bland excuse for a protagonist; despite all the dramatic yelling he does, he felt entirely devoid of any and all passion. Maybe something was lost in translation, but I honestly felt like the true star of the show was Colonel Roy Mustang (played by Dean Fujioka). A no-nonsense military official with the power to manipulate flame, Mustang is briefly introduced in the first act before being all but forgotten until he reappears in time for the climax; the climax, I should specify, is the one part of this movie that actually works. The action isn't especially spectacular, but the film had all but completely deprived me of characters with personality and stakes and emotions up until this point. I understood Mustang's motivation, I sympathized with his position, and above all, he actually does stuff, unlike Ed and Al. I wouldn't be surprised if Mustang got more screentime during the last 30 minutes than the titular character does, he just completely steals the movie. This should have been called Flame Alchemist, I'd gladly watch an entire movie about him. Unfortunately, it's all just too little, too late.

To give credit where credit is due, the special effects are quite solid for a film out of Japan; Japanese CGI has never been anything spectacular, but one could be forgiven for assuming Alphonse's suit of armor is a practical effect. The idea of using alchemy like a superpower is pretty inventive; characters make walls and pillars burst out of the ground, using the environment itself as a weapon. While the special effects somewhat limit things, you still get the feeling that the filmmakers were very excited about pulling off this kind of action with a cast of physical actors. However, the half-decent CGI doesn't change the fact that every member of the cast looks like they're wearing the cheapest pre-made cosplay the studio could afford. Edward in particular looks especially ridiculous, Yamada's natural hair poking out underneath one of the worst wigs to hit the big screen since Fant4stic's Invisible Woman. I can only assume this was a big-budget blockbuster, so one really has to wonder why the costumes look worse than the majority of what you'll find at your local anime convention. I know it might sound cheap to knock a film for something as seemingly inconsequential as the quality of the costumes, but it was something that never ceased to pull me out of the movie. 

Like Death Note, this is a project that apparently meant a lot to the people making it; director Fumihiko Sori has been quoted as saying "It is my dearest wish to turn this wonderful story into a film, and it is not an exaggeration to say that I am living for this reason", and that he "wants to create a wonderful film that uses techniques that challenge Hollywood". While this kind of attitude is nothing but admirable, it doesn't change the fact that Fullmetal Alchemist just doesn't have much to offer anyone other than hardcore fans of the original series. The tone and pacing are all over the place, our protagonists have next to nothing interesting to do, and worst of all, the entire thing was just so boring. This isn't even a spectacularly bad movie; it's semi-competent, and that almost makes it worse. I actually had a better time watching Death Note, since that was at least so bad it was hilarious. Meanwhile, Fulllmetal Alchemist ends up feeling like nothing more than a chore to get through. The last thirty minutes is pretty solid, but that's about the highest praise I can offer it. Judging from the movie's box office returns in its native Japan (and the supremely confusing post-credits stinger), I can only assume there's going to be a sequel, so maybe they'll get it right next time. In the meanwhile, if you're a Fullmetal Alchemist novice like myself, save yourself the trouble and just watch Brotherhood.

REVIEW: Fantastic Planet

As I've gotten older, I've developed a growing fascination with outsider animation. Don't get me wrong, I still greatly enjoy the annual fare from Disney and Pixar, but there's something special about the outlandish, surreal, and decidedly more adult-oriented animated films of the 70's and 80's; something that was definitely lost around the time of the Disney Renaissance. With Disney cornering the market on squeaky-clean family fun, there existed a clear niche for animation that explored themes and ideas that the House of Mouse wouldn't dare touch; a niche that was soundly filled by filmmakers like Ralph Bakshi and Don Bluth. It was imagination unrestricted by the limits of the MPAA, and it pains me to see such fantastic examples of creative expression dragged down by the most braindead form of praise art can possibly recieve; "woah, they must have been on drugs to think of this!" Whenever anyone says this, it essentially means that they have such a limited imagination that the only conceivable way a human could create anything even the slightest bit innovative or out of the ordinary is by way of a hefty dose of psychedelics. Which, to clarify, doesn't mean that drug-use didn't influence some of these films (especially considering the era they were born from). But the fact of the matter is that movies like today's film, Fantastic Planet, have far more to offer than just some trippy visuals. Behind all the surreal imagery and whacked-out animation lies subtext, and it's this vital facet of storytelling that elevates films like Fantastic Planet above simply being the cinematic equivalent of a lava lamp.

An adaptation of the 1957 French novel, Oms en série, the film takes place in the distant future, on the far-away alien world of Ygam. Long after wiping out their own civilizations on Earth, humans were brought to Ygam by the Draags, an advanced race of blue giants. On Ygam, humans (known as Oms, a play on the French word "homme") are regarded as little more than common vermin; while a good number of Draags have domesticated Oms they keep as pets, there are also roaming colonies of savage Oms who are routinely exterminated (not unlike rats or mice). The film follows one Om in particular, Terr (voiced by Barry Bostwick in the English dub); orphaned as a baby, he finds himself adopted by the daughter of a Draag diplomat, eventually escaping and joining a wild colony of Oms with the intent of ending the oppression of his species once and for all.

The most immediately striking aspect of the entire movie (and the detail which lead me to eventually watch it) is the art design, care of painter/writer Roland Topor. Given the setting and themes of the story, it's immensely important that Topor was able to create a world that looks truly and honestly alien in nature; none of the creatures on Ygam even remotely resemble anything on Earth, and the eerie landscapes help foster an atmosphere of unfamiliarity and foreboding. It all really adds to the situation the Oms find themselves in; you're able to get a powerful sense of how far humanity has fallen and how separated they are from the civilization we know today (even if their base instincts and motivations remain more or less the same, but more on that later). Admittedly, there are moments here and there where the design falters and aspects of the Draag civilization end up looking as though they're simply meant to appear strange for strange's sake; this isn't a film like Treasure Planet where every single aspect of the film's visuals are designed with the idea that it must serve some sort of in-universe purpose. Then again, one must think of the artist's intent when judging aspects like this; world-building isn't exactly meant to be the main takeaway of Fantastic Planet. The subtext is meant to be the primary focus here, and in that area it very much succeeds (but again, more on that later).

My only other gripe with the design of this film is the limited animation. Whereas films like Yellow Submarine give the impression of a watercolor painting brought to life, Fantastic Planet feels much more akin to the work of Terry Gilliam (who, coincidentally, would release his animated short, The Miracle of Flight, just a year later). While Topor's designs are hauntingly beautiful, the animation at play simply doesn't do them justice; everything moves in a very stilted, deliberate manner and character movements tend to lack any and all sense of weight. I also wasn't overly fond of the soundtrack (care of French jazz pianist, Alain Goraguer); while some praise the psychedelic atmosphere the score brings to mind, I found that it just didn't work for me. This is a thoughtful, surreal experience filled with haunting visuals and themes drenched in existential dread. It feels like exactly the sort of concept that would be best complimented by an equally eerie orchestral or prog-rock score, only to be undercut by a dated and altogether unfitting collection of funky beats and wah-wah guitars. This is a score that would have worked perfectly in just about any other film, but just feels wrong here. Then again, it could also be argued that the ill-fitting music and limited animation only serve to enhance the existing atmosphere of unfamiliarity and unease, so these are aesthetic details that (much like the all-important subtext) are free to be left up to the viewer's individual interpretation.

As I mentioned before, inspired visuals can only support so much. While it's very much true that film is a visual medium, it is the way that movies are able to combine all manner of sensory expression that sets film aside from other artistic outlets. When a film ignores any of the tools provided, focusing purely on visuals and ignoring its story (or vise-versa), it is doing itself a disservice. In the case of Fantastic Planet, you come for the tripped-out visuals, but stay for the thought-provoking subtext. The film raises a number of intriguing (and, depending on your perspective, uncomfortable) questions about the nature of life and sentience. What makes the life of one being inherently more valuable than another? By what standard do we judge if a living thing is sentient, or civilized, or even alive? There's obviously a clear "how would you like it?" aspect regarding man's relationship with the natural world, but in truth there's so much more here to unpack and explore. It's very easy to feel inherent sympathy for the Oms, the same way it's very easy to feel a deep resentment towards the Draags. We want to side with the downtrodden and oppressed humans over the beady-eyed, emotionless aliens, despite the fact that the Draags are us. They adhere to their own, odd social rituals and exert callous control over the natural world without a care, simply because they've deemed themselves the most advanced race and that gives them the right to do as they please. 

There's an obvious environmentalist tilt to the whole thing, but it never feels so cut-and-dry, so narrow in scope. One could also easily view the conflict between the Oms and the Draags (in which one species, deemed inferior by those with more power and technology, is systematically exterminated) as an allegory for genocide and racism. The Draags don't think much of the Oms until the Oms become educated and organized; then the downtrodden and oppressed suddenly become a legitimate threat to their oppressors, and only then is peace and equality considered to be an option. Personally, I took the film as a metaphor for how humanity is often manipulated into destroying itself by any number of higher powers (be it competing governments, religions, or what have you); the Draags often make their domesticated Oms fight for each other's amusement, inspiring internal conflict and squabbling among the oppressed, preventing actual progress from being made towards freedom, enlightenment, and prosperity. Whatever your personal interpretation, they all feel equally valid. Not in a half-baked, lazy kind of way, as though the filmmakers didn't put enough thought into what they actually wanted to say with this film, but rather in a sense that denotes extreme care taken on the part of the filmmakers to ensure that the underlying messages could be conveyed to any number of perspectives. The fact that this film is open to so many interpretations could easily come off as needlessly vague in theory; in practice, however, it feels like anything but, and it's this kind of potential for exploration that represents what I consider to be Fantastic Planet's true worth as a film.

In terms of entertainment, I'm not 100% certain I'd recommend Fantastic Planet to just anyone. While I definitely took a lot away from it, I wouldn't exactly call this an "entertaining" movie; despite being just over an hour long, it's quite slow-paced and very dense from a conceptual standpoint. It's not the kind of thing I see myself ever throwing on to unwind after a long day at the office. That said, as a film, I consider this to be mandatory viewing, especially if you consider yourself a fan of animation. The art direction is worth the investment alone and the underlying themes and messages are sure to stick with you well after the credits finish rolling. This is the kind of movie I can't help but recommend everyone watch at least once (although I'm sure repeat viewings will do nothing but enhance one's overall experience). If you feel as though you're in the proper mindset for something in this wheelhouse, you'd be hard pressed to go wrong with giving Fantastic Planet a watch.

REVIEW: The Cloverfield Paradox

I've said it before and I'll say it again; Netflix really will greenlight just about anything. True as that is, they can almost be forgiven for pulling the trigger on The Cloverfield Paradox, the latest entry in J.J. Abrams' Cloververse. After 10 Cloverfield Lane (my personal favorite film of 2016), a sci-fi horror anthology series seemed like a sure thing. With J.J. Abrams' considerable funds and studio clout being used to thrust smaller directors with new and original ideas into the spotlight, I found myself incredibly excited to see what would come out of this fresh take on the rapidly-aging "cinematic universe" gimmick. I remember being so excited during the Superbowl last Sunday; the next Cloverfield movie is already finished, and I can watch it right after the game. Even if you're not particularly a fan of these movies, it's impossible to deny how well J.J. Abrams and company understand the ins and outs of stunt marketing. Unfortunately, I'd later discover that stunt marketing is about all that The Cloverfield Paradox gets right as I took in what might be the first major disappointment of 2018.

The setting of The Cloverfield Paradox is something of a paradox in and of itself. It takes place in the year 2028; the world is caught in the grip of an energy crisis and war looms over the horizon. Orbiting around Earth is the aptly-named Cloverfield Space Station, manned by a team of scientists tasked with successfully activating a particle accelerator that could provide free, unlimited energy for the entire planet. And herein lies the first problem; we aren't certain if this is the same universe as the original Cloverfield or if it's a totally separate timeline (as was the case with 10 Cloverfield Lane). If this is the same timeline as the original Cloverfield, then the canon narrative is left with more retcons, plot holes, and timeline disparities than the Star Wars prequels and OT Special Editions combined. However, if this is it's own original universe, then the film is exposed for being a shallow cash-grab, incorporating existing elements from the first Cloverfield movie for marketability's sake and nothing more. As I said, it's a paradox (where neither outcome particularly works in the film's favor). I don't want to say much more regarding the plot, as the story is easily the most interesting and engaging aspect of this entire mess. 

This is a movie where the plot is driven moreso by the novel concept rather than the characters. The situation that the crew of the Cloverfield Station have been placed in is a frightening and fascinating one; imagine floating through the emptiness of space, only to look out the window to discover that planet Earth has disappeared. It reminds me a lot of Event Horizon in this regard, but done in a much more interesting, coherent way. The station  doesn't just turn into a haunted mansion, there's a steady rhythm of mystery and gradual payoff that keeps the viewer invested until the final act. However, the film also suffers from many of the same pitfalls that befell Event Horizon, namely paper-thin characters and tonal inconsistency.

The only actor really pulling their weight is Gugu Mbatha-Raw as our main character, Ava Hamilton. She gets all of the characterization and backstory, while everyone else gets basically nothing. There was one point in the story where I was certain her arc was going to take a sudden dark turn, only for things to play out in a much more conventional way. In fairness, I can't really hold that against the film; Gugu Mbatha-Raw gives a really solid performance whereas everyone else is passable at best, and while her character arc is nothing revolutionary, at least it's something. She's the only person we see with some kind of backstory and emotional stake in the events of the plot (aside from Elizabeth Debicki's character, but she hardly gets enough screentime to make it worthwhile).

The Cloverfield Paradox also commits the cardinal sin of utterly wasting Daniel Brühl. He's proven in films like Inglorious Basterds and Captain America: Civil War that he's capable of giving an intense, impactful performance (even when confined to a mere supporting role), but here he's given absolutely nothing to do. His character is the German guy, and that's it. There's a moment early on where the Russian crew member (played by Askel Hennie) accuses Brühl's character of sabotaging the particle accelerator; they've been trying to get it working for the past two years, and Germany is on the verge of taking military action against Russia. The implication here being that Brühl's character may be a German operative planted in the Cloverfield Station in order to ensure Germany has justification to invade Russia. It's a really fascinating idea with a lot of potential for engaging character drama, only to be dropped within minutes and never referenced again (except for a brief fake-out scene during the second act, which is similarly brushed aside without any fuss or muss).

That said, the hands-down weakest element in this entire cast is Chris O'Dowd as Mundy, the comic-relief Irish engineer. Look, I love The IT Crowd as much as the average person (considering the continent I'm on, likely more than the average person). And I totally get where they were coming from with this character; in films like this, it can help to introduce a little levity so the audience doesn't get burned out on tension. Even films like Alien (which Paradox takes obvious influence from in a number of areas) had moments of comedic banter to help endear the doomed crew to the audience. I get it. But O'Dowd just feels completely out-of-place in this movie, cracking jokes and one-liners at the most horrendously inappropriate of times. Again, I understand levity, but one doesn't typically pull out a wacky quip immediately after watching one of their friends and co-workers convulse to death, vomiting up blood and earthworms as they go. The rest of the characters weren't fleshed out in the slightest, but they at least generally acted like human beings might act when met a horrific or distressing circumstance. The material given to O'Dowd actively drags the rest of the movie down and completely kills what could have been a really solid sense of atmosphere.

The paper-thin characters are nothing, however, to this film's true fatal flaw. Like with 10 Cloverfield Lane, this was not originally a Cloverfield movie. Rather, it was to be a standalone film titled God Particle; it wasn't until part-way through production that J.J. Abrams decided it should be a sequel to the original Cloverfield, adding additional scenes during filming to tie the two stories closer together. Which brings us to our B-story, where we follow Hamilton's husband, Michael (Roger Davies) on Earth where (presumably, it's never 100% confirmed) the events of the first Cloverfield film are taking place. This side-plot is the death-knell for this movie; whenever it shows up, it distracts from the main plot, adding nothing substantial beyond a series of potential plot holes. The only purpose it serves is to justify billing this half-decent sci-fi film as a Cloverfield movie. 

It's worth noting that a similar thing happened with 10 Cloverfield Lane (originally a spec-script known as Cellar), but it's also worth noting that 10 Cloverfield Lane wasn't a direct continuation of the Cloverfield story. It took place in a totally different universe, and while some were naturally disappointed not to get any further context on the mysteries established in the first movie, it managed to stand on its own as a well-made film. The Cloverfield name was slapped on for marquee value, but the overall plot and script were more or less unchanged. Compare this to The Cloverfield Paradox where (prepare for the most obvious spoiler of all time) the iconic Cloverfield monster does make an on-screen appearance. Now normally I might write this off as a creative choice; the filmmakers laying the groundwork for more films to come. But we know explicitly why this thing was put in the movie. We know that J.J. Abrams and director Julius Onah didn't plan for this to be a Cloverfield movie when they started filming. Which brings me to a major problem I've noticed with a lot of Abram's recent work.

Looking at Star Wars: The Force Awakens and now this, it's clear that J.J. Abrams doesn't think long-term when it comes to plotting out his stories. The Force Awakens seemed ripe with set-up for future films, but after The Last Jedi came out, we learned that that wasn't the case at all. Abrams simply wrote a bunch of unanswered questions and passed the buck to Rian Johnson, assuming it would all work out. It's a storytelling technique Abrams refers to as "the mystery box"; while I can appreciate the intentions behind wanting to preserve a sense of wonder and mystery to surprise the audience, there's a fine line between creating engaging mysteries and simply making things up as you go. And that's not to say that filmmakers can't create something great by accident; we only remember Jaws as a masterpiece of suspense because Steven Spielberg couldn't get the mechanical shark to work. He didn't intend to shoot the film the way he did, the end product is simply the result of a filmmaker having to creatively work around a technical problem on-set. 

With The Cloverfield Paradox, I'm reminded of the Halloween franchise; originally intended to be an anthology of horror films (each telling a different story set on Halloween), the series turned back to relying on the established characters and story of the first two films after Halloween 3 had people wondering where Michael Meyers was. It's the same exact situation here, but with the Cloverfield monster. As the film ended, I was left thinking less about the actual plot and characters and more about how this could possibly fit into the existing canon of the first film (if it even does at all). Shoehorning in all these elements from Cloverfield comes off as nothing more than a cheap and transparent marketing gimmick; I know I likely wouldn't have given this a chance, had it not been called The Cloverfield Paradox. I don't like to admit it, but it's true. They got me, hook, line, and sinker. The film pretends like it's going to explain the origins of the Cloverfield monster in order to distract from the weaker elements of the main plot, but in doing so only serves to introduce the most flagrant flaws of the entire film. They soundly shot themselves in the foot on this one and the end result is downright embarrassing.

The Cloverfield Paradox is not a good film. Granted, it's not terrible, but it's certainly not good. The only reason I'm not angrier about it is that I didn't pay money to see this in a theater; Abrams and company made the right decision in unloading this on Netflix. I feel like most people lower their expectations for anything labeled a "Netflix Original", and while the reviews for The Cloverfield Paradox are hardly glowing as is, I guarantee the response would have been downright brutal had it actually gone to cinemas. This works out great for J.J. and pals, covering up their lazy storytelling with a soundly lowered-bar, but the real victim here is Netflix. They've worked so hard in recent years to establish themselves as the next big entertainment outlet, only to constantly put their energy behind projects like this. Granted, there are gems on there if you're willing to look, but constantly giving top billing to its more mediocre fare like The Cloverfield Paradox is what keeps people from taking Netflix seriously as a legitimate media empire. It's why "Netflix original movie" has all the punch and legitimacy of "made-for-TV movie". There was a time when everyone assumed Netflix was ahead of the curve, taking risks with their content and thinking outside the box. But now, much like with J.J. Abrams, it's clear that they're just throwing everything at the wall to see what sticks. Which is fine, until things just stop sticking. If you're a fan of the Cloverfield series thus far, there's a good chance you've already watched The Cloverfield Paradox. If you're just tuning in, this is without a doubt the weakest entry in the series. As far as horror/sci-fi films go, you could certainly do worse, but you could also objectively do better. My advice? Just watch 10 Cloverfield Lane. If you've already seen it, watch it again. You'll get more out of it than I did with this.

REVIEW: A Futile and Stupid Gesture

The practice of tackling a biopic is often an interesting beast. Like with adaptations of fictional works, filmmakers need to find ways to skirt around the inherent conflict that tends to arise between staying accurate to the source material and the story's ability to stand on its own as a work of film. It's (usually) not enough to just reenact real-world events without some kind of creative spin; this was one of my main issues with The Disaster Artist. A tremendously well-acted and entertaining movie, yes, but with disappointingly modest ambitions. Some of my favorite films of all time, such as Ed Wood and American Splendor, find unique and interesting ways to tell the (mostly) true stories of notable individuals. Even though the bulk of the story has been written by life itself, it's still the filmmaker's responsibility to turn someone's life into a story worth telling (and more importantly, worth watching). Which brings us to one of the more recent independent films released through Netflix, A Futile and Stupid Gesture.

The film tells the story of the life and times of Doug Kenney (Will Forte), the main creative force behind the iconic humor magazine, National Lampoon. The film covers Kenney's rise and fall, from his time at Harvard through the creation of films like Animal House and Caddyshack. I will admit, I wasn't exactly well-read on the subject of Doug Kenney before watching this movie, and I feel my overall experience was better off for it. I'd recommend at least being familiar with the classic Lampoon films, as well as the early days of Saturday Night Live to fully appreciate the context that the story takes place within, but any research into Kenney's actual life risks spoiling the movie. Shocker, I know; if you already know the true story, then you'll be able to predict how the biopic ends. Without going too deep into spoiler territory, I'll simply say that, taking certain narrative devices the film uses into account, entering altogether unfamiliar with Doug Kenney as a person (as I did) will only serve to enhance the viewing experience. I'll say this and nothing more.

When you're working with adapting a real-life story, it's important to understand that your main character needs to function as more than just an excuse to adapt the events of their life to the screen; it doesn't matter how fascinating their situation is if they don't work properly as an engaging protagonist. Thankfully, director David Wain (of Wet Hot American Summer fame) understands this and spends ample amounts of time building Kenney up as a complex and nuanced character. As a human, he's deeply flawed; we see the darker side of a humorous personality, as he's always starved for attention and affirmation. This underlying desire to be loved is the driving force that fuels nearly all of the misfortune Doug manages to make for himself over the course of the film. At the same time, we also see why Doug is like this; every creative choice he makes seems to be either an appeal or attack directed towards his estranged father (played here by Harry Groener). This doesn't excuse the less-savory decisions Doug makes, but it does offer some insight as to why he makes them. That trace amount of context, explaining his actions without attempting to condone them, is what allows us to effectively sympathize with our protagonist. Although this is the story of the man behind the National Lampoon, it's worth noting that this story is much less a comedy and moreso a sardonic tragedy.

Don't get me wrong here, there are a good number of jokes in this film, they're simply not the main focus. The humor present in this film is a symptom of its subject matter rather than the primary focus, so anyone looking for something as bombastic and laugh-out-loud funny as Animal House is going to be left wanting (and likely a little depressed). The film uses comedy to effectively paint a portrait of a man who, deep down inside, is hurting. My only complaint is that we don't get too many "real" moments with the extended cast; to be fair, I almost feel as though that's what the filmmakers were going for. Every other comedy writer at the Lampoon has a hard time turning it off, spitting out one-liners even when a situation clearly calls for anything but. It illustrates how an environment of sarcastic misfits and misanthropes often isn't the best place for someone who truly needs help (sharply contrasting with the camaraderie we see among the endearing slobs of Animal House and Caddyshack). At the same time, this also leaves Doug Kenney and Henry Beard (Doug's college collaborator, played by an unrecognizable Domhnall Gleeson) feeling like the only fleshed-out, three-dimensional characters in the entire movie. Suffice to say, it's something of a double-edged sword.

Speaking of, I also foresee some of the casting being quite hit-or-miss for some people. The main cadre of lead actors is relatively airtight; Forte continues to demonstrate his chops as a legitimate dramatic actor, giving us a raw, decidedly un-Hollywood look at the kind of misanthropic personality that is usually obscured behind a series of well-meaning gags. Kenney strikes you as the kind of class-clown personality everyone wishes they knew; quick with a joke, down to party, and chock full of potential for amazing stories down the line. But Forte manages to pull the curtain back and expose just how much pain and damage is hiding behind such a bombastic facade. This is where Gleeson compliments Forte perfectly, keeping all of his frustration inside. We see Henry forced to clean up after Doug time and time again, making their friendship feel much more flawed (and much more realistic) than the frat boy antics one might expect going in. The two work in tandem, illustrating just how dangerous it can be to have something to prove without the perspective needed to understand when a lifelong passion devolves to just being work. We also have Martin Mull, but I don't want to say too much; he's very much a part of that narrative device I mentioned earlier, and the less you know about his purpose in this film going in, the better. But it's Martin Mull, so of course he does a good job.

On the more controversial side, we have every other supporting cast member portraying comedic icons like Gilda Radner (Jackie Tohn), Chevy Chase (Joel McHale), and Christopher Guest (Seth Green). The film even breaks the fourth wall (as it frequently does) to address the audience and point out how these actors don't look exactly like the people they're meant to be portraying (before presenting a lengthy list of other creative changes the filmmakers made over the course of production); while not everyone is going to be totally sold on these performances (there's nothing here that even comes close to Martin Landau's take on Bela Lugosi, for example), I still had my fun picking out who was meant to be who. It almost feels like voices played a greater role here than appearance; while some members of the cast definitely look the part (Lonny Ross and Rick Glassmen are dead-ringers for Ivan Reitman and Harold Ramis), there are others who definitely struggle to blend in. Joel McHale looks nothing like Chevy Chase; really, he looks more like Joel McHale about to attend a 70's theme party in a wig he bought for $5 at the local Spirit Halloween. At the same time, when he reads off his lines on the The National Lampoon Radio Hour, he does sound startlingly like Chevy Chase. The same goes for Jon Daly as Billy Murray; there's little to no physical resemblance, but damned if he doesn't have Murray's Lounge Singer voice down perfectly. Like I said, these performances are going to be much more hit-or-miss depending on who's watching, but I definitely had my fun with them. You get the impression that everyone is having fun paying tribute to the comedic minds that influenced them from an early age, and that sense of fun and reverence really elevates these performances beyond the simple impressions they appear to be at first glance.

While I definitely foresee the slow pace, dry humor, and offbeat presentation alienating some, I still found A Futile and Stupid Gesture to be anything but. I can't emphasize enough; this is not a comedy. It is a drama about comedy. All that said, there's still an oddly feel-good undercurrent to the whole thing. It's a bittersweet story with all manner of emotional ups and downs, the kind of film where the viewer is left either feeling touched or depressed or both (depending entirely on who happens to be watching it). That kind of parity makes it a challenge to recommend to just anyone, so I'll close by saying this; this is a film about creative types, for creative types. Beneath every comedian and class clown, there's often years upon years of bottled-up pain. A deep-seated need for not only attention, but affirmation and acceptance. It's a film about insecurity, abuse, and the kind of humor that, to this day, makes the upper-crust of society spit out their champagne and clutch at their pearls. We see a man with a clear set of goals and aspirations build himself up, then question if he's strong enough to continue living the dream he himself has made. If you've ever wondered if your work truly matters, regardless of what field you're in, you owe it to yourself to check this one out.

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