REVIEW: Black Panther

Black Panther is the 18th movie in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It is completely adequate. 

I could honestly end this Review there, that sums it all up; I know I'm more than a little late on this one and people are probably looking forward to what I have to say, but really now, am I seriously expected to say this is "one of the year's best films, and one that transcends the superhero genre to emerge as an epic of operatic proportions"? The zeitgeist surrounding this movie has been insane to say the least (not unlike the buildup to last year's Wonder Woman), and I can't say I don't blame the hype surrounding this film for building up my expectations to the point that I left the theater feeling somewhat underwhelmed. It seems as though a lot of this overwhelming praise has been awarded due to the film's primarily African setting and characters; representation is, naturally, important, but I just can't understand the mindset of people who only look at these films in terms of what color the actors are. I remember talking to a coworker about Black Panther before I had the chance to see it, and literally the only detail they bothered to discuss were how many women of color were in it. 

Don't get me wrong, that's great; variety is the spice of life, and I'm glad to see different kinds of characters getting to spend some time in the spotlight, especially in the increasingly-homogenous MCU (take a drink every time the protagonist is a snarky, inoffensively-likable white guy). But it still struck me as odd that that was the one positive takeaway they had after seeing it; not the plot, or the writing, or the cinematography, or any of the other aspects of the film that make it a film. I've just had to come to the conclusion that, when it comes to modern blockbusters like this, your average moviegoer is less concerned with the actual craft on display, compared to the messy, sensationalistic politics surrounding it. And despite all my griping, I had my fun with Black Panther; I'm really more disappointed in the fans than I am with the movie. They overhyped this totally passable superhero blockbuster for all the wrong reasons. To the film's credit, it actually does try (and for the most part, succeed) to break the tried and true Marvel movie mold where it can afford to, and those moments make all the difference in the world.

Following the events of Civil War, we see Prince T'Challa (Chadwick Boseman) taking on his late father's role of king and protector of Wakanda, a hyper-advanced nation hidden in the heart of Africa. Shortly after ascending to the throne, T'Challa finds himself pitted against Ulysses Klau (Andy Serkis, acting to the rafters), an arms dealer hellbent on stealing Wakanda's most precious natural resource, vibranium (the same miracle metal which makes up Captain America's shield). With Klau is a vicious mercenary by the name of Erik "Killmonger" Stevens (Michael B. Jordan), who hopes to usurp the throne and utilize Wakanda's vast advances in military technology to bend the world to his will. It's up to T'Challa to rise to the challenge and protect his family, his home, and the rest of the world at large as the stalwart defender of Wakanda, the Black Panther.

Right off the bat, we're given some clear and relevant social commentary regarding the conflict between the safety of isolationism and the moral responsibility that comes with wielding great power on the global stage. I hesitate to call this superhero popcorn flick a "political movie", but there is a fair amount of contemporary subtext, all of which it handles tactfully. The only issue is that the film seldom does anything truly interesting with it. Thanks to the technological advances granted by the nation's vast deposits of vibranium, Wakanda possesses technology far beyond that of other world superpowers; while they could easily use these advantages to help the less fortunate of the world, they choose to remain hidden, opting to not get involved. "You let refugees in, you let in all their problems", remarks Daniel Kaluuya's W'Kabi; a little on the nose, but it lets you know exactly what the conflict in this film is about. It's a situation where both sides of the argument are shown to have objectively valid points and there are no easy answers, yet the film gives us one anyway. The entire movie we're told that these opposing concerns matter (as it's this conflict which drives the entire plot), only for the film to abruptly tell us that none of those things actually matter and everything just works itself out. It's a shame, because I was actually invested in the political intrigue of this movie (moreso than I expected to, at least), only for it to be sold short like so many of the other positive aspects here.

That said, I actually quite enjoyed the performances here. While I'm not overly-familiar with his work, I've heard that Ryan Coogler is an actor's director, and Black Panther gives me no reason to doubt that. Everyone gives a strong performance, even if they're criminally under-utilized (Serkis and Kaluuya are the big two that come to mind) and even if I didn't particularly care for the character themself (such is the case with T'Challa's little sister, Shuri (played by Letitia Wright), who honest-to-god makes a "what are thooooose" joke in this, the year of our lord 2018). Chadwick Boseman continues to play the part of T'Challa with a reserved, dignified sense of cool; he's got an air of importance and unironic seriousness about him that you don't quite get with your Tony Stark or your Star Lord or your Mister Doctor Strange. He's both a superhero and a king, and the film treats him as such; the few comedic moments he gets typically involve him playing the straight man to another character, rather than spitting out sarcastic quips and pop culture references. Some have called his performance boring, I call it exactly the kind of hero the MCU needs more of to balance the tonal scales.

The highlight here, by far, is Michael B. Jordan as Erik Killmonger; in an ironic twist for the MCU, the villain this time around is fleshed-out and interesting, while the protagonists are all comparatively flat and underdeveloped. An American black-ops mercenary looking to give Wakanda a brutal premiere on the world stage, Killmonger is an ethno-nationalist who believes in subjugating (if not outright mudering) those he deems "privileged"; a topical villain if ever there was one. I don't want to spoil his backstory (although, given his aspirations, one could probably make a solid guess), but we'll say that he's completely and totally justified in his outrage; we understand why he feels the way he does and sympathize with his anger. At the same time, it's the way he expresses this outrage (typically through mass, unapologetic bloodshed) that makes him a villain; being able to understand where a character is coming from while being morally opposed to their actions is the stuff great antagonists are made of. I'll admit, when I saw the trailers and realized Black Panther would have to fight "evil Black Panther", I all but wrote the character off, only to be surprised by just how engaging he was. When we see what Killmonger has planned for Wakanda's resources, we understand the kind of responsibility that rests on T'Challa's shoulders; I'm fairly sick of Marvel villains who are "a dark reflection of the hero" (see Iron Man, Ant-Man, Doctor Strange, and most other MCU films), but this is an instance where the symmetry is more than just skin-deep. My only issue is that he unquestionably steals the show from the titular character, who ends up with the short end of the stick in terms of characterization and development.

Despite the strong direction and performances, I still can't help but feel as though Black Panther is a woefully inefficient movie. It's as though every positive aspect of the film has to have an ominous "but" attached to it; the performances are great, but the majority of the characters are under-developed. The cast is talented, but very few of them were utilized to their fullest potential. The subtext is engaging, but it lacks a satisfying payoff. This is a film that clocks in at just over two hours long, yet its main character is denied any kind of impactful, drastic arc. By the time the credits roll, T'Challa is basically the same person he was at the end of Civil War; a proud, young king who just wants to live up to his title, only now he views the past without the aid of rose-tinted glasses. There's a good twenty-minute stretch where the movie unironically pretends as though T'Challa is dead, despite Chadwick Boseman appearing in literally every piece of promotional material for next month's Infinity War. It's clear that, from the story concept to the art design, a lot of thought and care went into making this movie, but details such as this just make the whole thing feel lazy. 

The action is passible (I particularly enjoyed a close-quarters brawl that spilled out into a car chase on the streets of South Korea), but at the same time manages to feel utterly toothless to the point that I found myself growing bored during the film's climax. Early on, Shuri develops a new suit for T'Challa that allows him to harmlessly absorb the kinetic energy of any impact he's hit with; while it's definitely a cool power, it completely and utterly kills the tension in every following action sequence. The only fight scenes with any kind of dramatic weight to them are the moments where T'Challa is challenged for the crown and has his powers and costume ritualistically stripped away. We're given a character like Black Panther (whose powerset is built around acrobatic movement and close-combat martial arts) directed by the man who gave us Creed, yet the majority of the action is bloodless, tensionless, and pointless. It's not helped by the shockingly cheap-looking CGI; Wakanda is a fantastically imaginative concept, but it ends up feeling like nothing more than three or four sets and a green screen. The filmmakers were working with a budget of over $200 million, yet we're subjected to a scene with a CGI rhino that looks like something fresh out of Attack of the Clones. You can't honestly tell me that it was cheaper, quicker, and easier to synthesize a hilariously fake rhinoceros inside a computer than it would have been to take a day-trip to a nature preserve or sanctuary and just get some footage with a real rhino. They were working with one of the few superheros whose powers can be portrayed with nothing more than some martial arts training and tight choreography, yet the action looks like something out of a Playstation 2 cutscene. It's creative decisions like these that give the film an air of cheapness, which is a shame, since it's an utter joy from a conceptual standpoint. For as much as I'm ragging on this movie, I need to make clear that there were a lot of fantastic ideas here, it's just that very few of them were represented to their fullest potential.

Black Panther isn't a bad movie, nor is it a great one. It's fine. I don't regret paying for my ticket, but I can't help but cock a skeptical eyebrow in the direction of everyone who's spent the past month raving about it. That said, I guess you could say that I'm happy that people are happy with it; it's great to see a movie as large as this with a black protagonist that doesn't completely revolve around the pain and horrors of racism. This isn't 12 Years a Slave or Detroit; kids who watch this movie will think it's awesome to be like Black Panther, and that's an objectively positive thing to take away, regardless of what your personal take on the film itself is. While it's definitely not a bad movie, I just don't think it's one of Marvel's best. Like a lot of what the MCU has to offer, it's fairly likable and inoffensive, despite its faults; I only hope that Kevin Feige and company can aspire to something more substantial for King T'Challa and pals next time around.

REVIEW: The Polka King

It's generally accepted that the worst thing a film can be is mediocre; when it lands right in the middle of not being exceptionally good or bad and ends up just being "okay". An unironically great film is the ideal that all (or at least most) filmmakers strive for, whereas a so-bad-it's-good flick can provide hours upon hours (hell, possibly even years) of entertainment. When a film's greatest accolade is that it's competently made, you run into real trouble; fortunately, even the most middling movie can eek by, so long as it has the support of a strong focal point. In the case of The Polka King, a biopic comedy released straight to Netflix, that focal point is Jack Black. Turn up your nose all you wish, I still feel that Jack Black is a supremely under-utilized performer. His casting in Peter Jackson's King Kong struck many as a total shot in the dark, but smaller films like this and Bernie demonstrate what an endearing character actor he can be when allowed to break out of his mold a little. I love Tenacious D as much as the next guy, but it's clear there's potential that Kung Fu Panda just isn't tapping.

The plot follows the real-life story of Pennsylvania Polka King, Jan Lewan (Black), a happy-go-lucky immigrant from Poland looking to make it big in the land of opportunity. To help sustain his struggling polka band, Jan begins accepting investments from his elderly fans, inadvertently creating a Ponzi scheme. The conflict between Jan's guilt and the mental gymnastics he performs in order to stay the course make up the primary conflict of the movie; the film creates an interesting moral dilemma and leaves it up to the viewer to cast judgement for themselves. I can't say whether or not the real-life Jan Lewan was so altrusitic in his intentions, but Black's take on the band leader paints a portrait of an optimist who simply wants to do right by those around him. Like with Bernie, he plays a nice, endearing guy who does something terrible. He does what he does entirely in pursuit of the American dream, a well-meaning immigrant who only seeks to do right by those around him in the land of opportunity. Whether or not you choose to buy this as justification for his actions is left entirely up in the air, and that, I feel, is where the movie's most interesting detail comes into play.

Audience interpretation can play a large part in a number of films (arguably every film), but here it's served up as the main course; how much should intent factor into the way we judge criminals? Is the character of Jan Lewan a genuine dreamer who simply got carried away in following his passions? Or is he little more than a grinning egomaniac, too in love with the sound of his own voice? He cons old couples out of their money, but he does make a genuine effort to return their investment and make things right. We see him using religion to justify his actions, attending confession whenever the guilt starts to get to him. But when retribution finally does come, he welcomes it with open arms and a smile on his face, overjoyed that God is making things right. We see this endearing, friendly man lie, cheat, and steal for what he claims to be only the purest of reasons, but we're still left feeling a trace of doubt and inherent distrust. We see him go about his merry work, using his natural charisma and folksy foreign charm to manipulate those around him, and we're forced to ask ourselves, "do you think the professional showman is just putting on an act?"

While this moral quandry is by far the most interesting takeaway the film has to offer, it also enables the film's greatest flaw, namely in that it doesn't make any kind of statement of its own. There's an inkling of some kind of underlying theme regarding the way we view immigrants (especially those who eagerly attempt to integrate during their pursuit of the American dream), but the whole thing still ends up feeling noncommittal (except for one oddball exchange between two SEC agents that comes off like a blunt soliloquy condemning Libertarianism). Without a strong central theme or message, the plot ends up feeling like a series of events, moving from one scene to another without feeling entirely structured (this becomes more of a problem in the latter half). Not to say that every film needs to present some kind of revolutionary moral (especially one adapted from real-world events), but it certainly would have helped the structure. Thematically-speaking, the viewer is doing most of the work, so it feels a little lacking in terms of artistic intent (even if the story and characters are all interesting people).

For what it is, The Polka King is a fine time. Its main problem is that the level of depth here is dependent entirely on how deep the viewer is willing to dig. It makes up for its lack of structure and themeing with a host of fun performances and a fascinating story that's so strange it simply had to be true. It's easy to say Jack Black carries the entire thing, but he's backed up by a really solid supporting cast (especially Jackie Weaver as Jan's skeptical mother-in-law). It captures the "small-town legend" tone exceedingly well; it's an entertaining little story, and even if that's all it is, I still enjoyed my time with it.

REVIEW: The Lobster

Dry humor is, generally speaking, a really tricky beast to pin down. I don't like to use the phrase "hit or miss" when describing my preferences, since I usually like to fall back on some kind of gold standard, but dry humor is just one of those things that, for me, can only go one of two ways. Either it works or it doesn't; maybe I'll still be able to appreciate what the creator was going for, but it's definitely far from a sure thing for me. Films that take this approach with their tone often run the risk of feeling as though they're trying too hard, as though everyone involved isn't confident enough to find their own, properly-weird kind of weirdness to make it all come together. It requires the filmmaker to take advantage of every detail that defines film as a medium (from the cinematography, to the performances, to the sound design) to sell humor that's presented in an unconventional way; to make the unnatural feel natural in its own unnatural-ness. While it's definitely a genre with its own conventions, it can still be a challenge to do properly. For anyone seeking an example of this style of comedy done right, look no further than 2015's The Lobster.

Directed by The Killing of a Sacred Deer's Yorgos Lanthimos, The Lobster follows a recently-single man named David (played by Colin Farrell, as one of the few named characters in the film). After his wife leaves him for another man, David checks himself into a hotel in hopes of finding a new partner. As the hotel staff explain, David has 45 days to find someone new to fall in love with; if he fails, he will be turned into an animal of his choosing (he decides on a lobster, which the hotel staff assure him is an excellent choice). If this plot sounds the slightest bit absurd, that's because it is, and the entire movie reflects this in its every detail. There's an underlying surreality to everything that happens here, making it perhaps not the easiest watch for your casual moviegoer. I adored nearly everything about it, but this is definitely not the kind of film I would put on at a party (then again, I suppose that depends entirely on what kind of party we're talking about here). There's a lot to unpack, subtextually-speaking, which is one of the reasons I loved it so much.

The film acts as a biting bit of social satire, offering up an all-too-relevant critique of the way society treats the idea of being in a relationship. If you're an adult who hasn't found that special someone yet, you barely qualify as a human in the eyes of society. You're basically an animal. You might as well be dead. The Lobster confronts these ideas with no-holds-barred absurdity and the effect is as deeply resonant as it is frequently hilarious. Couples in the hotel aren't matched up by virtue of their ability to get along with one another or chemistry or anything that real, true romance is made out of. They're boiled (get it?) down to nothing more than a single, base characteristic; one man has a chronic limp, another woman suffers frequent nosebleeds, and John C. Reilly's character has been cursed with a lisp. The clock is ticking and these characteristics are all anyone really has to go off of; there's no natural love to be found among those within the hotel, it's all cold, emotionless, and born out of a desire to not be alone. To not be an animal.

Society dictates that the default end goal for a human being, the one true path to happiness and fulfillment in life, is to get married, settle down, and start a family. When prospective couples in the hotel are on their trial run to test for compatibility, they may be assigned designated children to help resolve any conflicts that arise. This is the level of absurdist dystopia Lanthimos builds for us, a world where children are accessories and relationships exist purely to fulfill a need for sex and security. It isn't so much about finding someone who truly loves and understands you as it is about having a warm body next to yours when you sleep, or an extra pair of arms to help you out if you happen to choke on a bit of food. It's been said that love and death are the two facts of life which dictate our every desire, and The Lobster takes this idea to its logical, sterile, comical extreme.

We often lie to ourselves and others in order to avoid ending up alone (or to avoid ending up with who we think of as the wrong person). There are times throughout the film where David passes up what might be legitimate shots at happiness and fulfillment, instead choosing to focus on pointless minutiae like hairstyles and accents. It's an uncompromising look at the 21st-century dating scene brought to us by apps like Tinder, where any and all personality and nuance is removed from the experience of finding a mate. We see other characters, motivated by fear of ending up alone and becoming an animal, make harsh compromises to ensure they end up with someone, anyone, it doesn't matter who. A very nice widow (played by Ashley Jensen) feels so insecure about her age, she outright offers her body up to David in the hopes that a series of sexual favors between strangers will somehow lead to a relationship. We also see one of David's few friends at the hotel (Ben Whishaw) begin mutilating himself, smashing his face into hard surfaces in order to induce nosebleeds, all so that he can have something in common with his chosen partner; something that makes them "compatible".

For as bad as things are in the hotel, we're also introduced to a colony of loners; hotel guests who failed to find anyone to pair up with and, rather than accept their fate as an animal, decided to flee and establish a commune in the nearby woods. These characters are hunted like sport by the hotel guests (each loner they tranquilize earns them an extra day to find a mate), so we're initially meant to see them as the sympathetic underdogs when compared to the oppressive, conformist horrors that lurk within the hotel. But we soon come to discover that this order of loners has their own set of rules and mores that must be followed at all times; I don't want to spoil anything, but it ends up being a very Fox and the Grapes type scenario. Truthfully, this element exhibits my only real gripe with this film, as it cleanly divides the narrative into two distinct halves, with the majority of interesting story beats and ideas residing in the first half.

Despite this feeling of unevenness, the film still manages to make you care a great deal about these characters. A true testament to both the actors and the writing, as everyone here is giving an intentionally awkward, emotionless performance. They all act like robotic, repressed individuals; you get the impression that everyone is screaming internally, desperate to express some form of genuine emotion without fear of being shunned by those around them. Like I said before, an intentionally awkward tone such as this requires a filmmaker to take advantage of every facet of film as a medium in order to truly leave a bold impression. The cinematography is flat and static, which would be a problem in just about any other movie, but here it compliments the overall tone and atmosphere. We're given a series of beautiful, but awkward shots that linger for just a little too long, at some points giving off some distinct The Shining vibes (which, despite this not being a horror film in the traditional sense, adds an exquisite kind of flair to the overall look of the film).

The soundtrack (care of Johnnie Burn) also adds to the atmosphere, though I wouldn't be surprised if this aspect was a bit more hit or miss with some viewers. It's droning and repetitive, but it also occasionally escalates to something that's downright cacophonous, both punctuating the more dramatic moments and adding a lovely comedic flair to some of the more awkward bits (such as a positively hilarious fistfight out on the hotel's shooting range). All of the awkward, stilted, inhuman moments merely serve to make the few instances of genuine love, romance, and emotion shine all the brighter. It all comes together, bolstering the underlying social commentary and wrapping everything up in a charming, sorrowful, darkly-hilarious package; many will be tempted to write The Lobster off as "weird" and call it a day, but I promise that you'd be doing yourself a disservice to stop there.

The Lobster is a true work of art, through and through. Though some scenes linger on a bit longer than they might need to and the more interesting story beats take place within the first two acts, it's still a fantastically imaginative look at one of the most frequently taken-for-granted aspects of the human experience. Love plays a part in all of our lives (whether we want to admit it or not), hence why this is a film with something to offer for everyone. If you've ever been uncomfortably single or felt disillusioned by the notion of modern love, you owe it to yourself to give The Lobster a watch. It's a film that upholds the idea that love is blind, despite existing in a cynical, material world. If you haven't found the one, there's nothing wrong with you. Though society says otherwise, you are not an animal; and even if you were, it would still be better than the alternative.

Best Boys: A Podcast About Movies!

It's my distinct honor to present to all of you the very first episode of Best Boys: A Podcast About Movies! This episode, I'm joined by Chris and Jams as we discuss all the big Superbowl trailers, why J.J. Abrams is a scam artist, and the secret meaning behind the title of Isle of Dogs. Plus, a dramatic reading of select excerpts from Ready Player One! Check it out, and remember to subscribe if you'd like to see more!