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: 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: 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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REVIEW: Bright

Despite Netflix's ever-growing success as an entertainment platform, people can be forgiven for assuming that they'll greenlight just about anything. With the exception of Stranger Things, the streaming service has yet to really set the world on fire when it comes to their own content, and it seems as though that trend is set to continue with their newest effort, Bright. Directed by David Ayer and starring Will Smith, this is easily their most high-profile (and, for lack of a better word, legitimate) effort to date. I've seen trailers and posters for Bright at my local cinema, it's clear that Netflix intends this to be the project which elevates them above being a simple streaming service; they want to be taken seriously as an entertainment empire, rather than an excuse for Tinder hookups, and this was to be the film that would do that. Unfortunately, while I certainly had my fun with Bright, I doubt this is going to be the flagship dynamo that the folks over at Netfix hoped it would be.

The film's setting is arguably its strongest selling point; imagine if the battle for Middle-Earth had actually happened thousands of years ago, with various fantasy races banding together to repel the evil of "the Dark Lord". Flash-forward to present day, and we have a modern society where Elves reside happily among the 1% and dragons are hosted at the local zoo. It's an inspired alt-fantasy concept, in which we follow LADP officers Daryl Ward (a human, played by Will Smith) and Nick Jacoby (the first ever orcish police officer, played by Joel Edgerton). Theirs is an uneasy partnership, as orcs face widespread discrimination after spending the past 2000 years on the wrong side of history. The two will have to learn to work together, however, as a magic wand appears in the L.A. ghetto. Magic wands are essentially reality-warping nukes, extraordinarily dangerous in the wrong hands, and only a select few individuals (known as brights) are powerful enough to wield them without succumbing to the raw power contained within. With a doomsday cult of fanatical elves (led by Noomi Rapace) looking to get their hands on the wand and herald the return of the Dark Lord, it's up to Ward and Jacoby to uphold the law and defend the innocent, learning to work together along the way.

Normally with these types of movies (where the premise can basically be boiled down to an interesting elevator pitch), it can feel as though the concept isn't explored to its fullest potential (usually do to either budgetary or creative limitations). Surprisingly enough, I didn't get this feeling with Bright; it left me wanting more (which is good, considering a sequel has already been greenlit), but it met the bar in a way that didn't leave me confused or lamenting any wasted potential. There's parts of this world that we don't get to see (dwarves are only mentioned and we're given only the briefest glimpse of a dragon), but the parts we do see are all relevant to the plot. There's no meandering nonsense meant to simply pad out the runtime, and the fantastical elements are treated as totally mundane and routine by our characters. This proves to be a bit of a double-edged sword, since it helps sell the reality of the world the film takes place in, but it also means we have to see an uncharacteristically intense Will Smith shouting about orcish race-relations and magical artifacts. 

While there isn't a lot of filler here, the film does fall into that mixed-genre pitfall of not being entirely sure how to sell itself in terms of tone. The concept of Will Smith teaming up with an orc to solve crimes is inherently absurd, yet the film plays itself totally straight. There's a few moments of comedic relief, but they're all very self-aware and silly (such as when Will Smith refers to Icelandic death metal as "orcish music"), so you're left wondering for most of the movie whether or not this is just a big joke. Are we meant to take the drama here seriously? Or is the drama itself the punchline? We have this schlocky setup (in an alternate reality, this existed on video in the early 80's and was called something like "Orc Cop"), but a dead-serious tone, like Men in Black meets Training Day. Again, I didn't dislike my time with Bright, but these aren't the kind of questions one wants to ask, especially when dealing with (possible) satire.

If I'm being honest, I was incredibly surprised to see just how poorly Bright was received by critics (especially since the majority of viewers seem to like it just fine). It's almost like a reverse of The Last Jedi, where the critic and audience scores on Rotten Tomatoes seem to outright contradict each other (at the time of writing, 88% of audience members seemed to enjoy it, while only a pitiful 30% of critics had anything nice to say). Part of me feels like the intense bile being flung at this film has something to do with the recent controversy surrounding screenwriter Max Landis, but I also think (like The Last Jedi) that part of this response has to do with audience expectations not lining up with what the film turned out to be. With a premise like this (in which a cop has to overcome his racial hangups to work in harmony with his unlikely partner), one would automatically expect some sort of metaphor for the current racial climate in America. I've seen so many critics assume that the thuggish, violent orcs (with their tight-knit gang communities and inherent dislike of police) simply must be a metaphor for black people. Ignoring what an implicitly racist can of worms an assumption like that is, we see where the expectations of the audience deviate from the intent of the filmmakers. The orcs aren't meant to represent black culture or latino culture or even white culture (despite their designs incorporating elements of all three); they're meant to represent orc culture.

This isn't meant to be a film about race relations in our America, so much as it is meant to be a film about race relations in a fictionalized, fantastical version of America. You can draw connections to the real world (the same way one can say any politician they dislike is "literally Voldemort"), but it's not meant to be an outright parable. Anyone who watches Bright looking for obvious parallels to Black Lives Matter or the standard buddy-cop moral of "racism is bad you guys" is going to be disappointed. This is, of course, partially the film's fault for building up these expectations in the first place (within the first ten minutes, Will Smith's character delivers the line "fairy lives don't matter"); the people behind this knew exactly what it looked like and exactly what people would expect going in, so you can't fault the viewers too much for being disappointed. I do think, however, that it's not exactly fair to judge the film on what it isn't. Much like with The Last Jedi, there are plenty of good reasons to judge the film for what it is; the tone is all over the place, the cinematography is bland, and there are parts of the plot that feel extraordinarily half-baked. The practical effects are both appreciated and impressive, yet the whole thing is shot in a way that makes it look like an early-2000's television show. There's a reason I described the concept as an "elevator pitch" before, since that's exactly what this film feels like. It just sticks the landing marginally better than most other films in that same wheelhouse. 

Bright is not the worst movie of 2017. Anyone who claims it is is likely just looking for easy clicks. This has been a fairly solid year for movies, especially compared to last year. There was no shortage of obvious whipping horses in 2016 (Suicide Squad, Sausage Party, Ghostbusters, etc.), so writing the annual "Worst of the Year" listicle came fairly easy to a great many bloggers like myself. 2017, on the other hand, was overall pretty solid; if you need a headline with some real punch, you've got two options. On one hand, you could continue beating the mangled pile of horse parts that was The Emoji Movie (and come on, what self-respecting blogger would waste his time seriously dissecting and nitpicking films made for toddlers, anyway?). Alternatively, you could fling a few hyperbolic statements at something like Bright, a film that is, at worst, lazy and mediocre. I found it to be a fun enough cop flick with an imaginative premise that pulled it all off much better than most. I can't say I'm excited for the sequel, but I'm willing to give it a shot. It certainly has its flaws, but I've suffered through worse. If that sounds like enough of an endorsement of quality, then by all means, give Bright a watch. There's certainly worse ways you can spend your time on Netflix.

REVIEW: Death Note (2017)

Death Note might just be the best comedy of 2017. It might sound like I'm joking or just being smarmy, but I simply refuse to believe that the impeccable sense of comedic timing in director Adam Wingard's direct-to-Netflix adaptation of the classic anime/manga series was nothing more than a happy accident. If you want to laugh, and I mean really laugh, then I can't recommend this movie enough. Stop reading, get a nice buzz going, and go watch it right now. If you're looking for a more true-to-the-source adaptation, however, well... I haven't seen or read the original Death Note, but something tells me it's less laugh-out-loud hilarious than what I just watched.

The plot follows the insufferably-named Light Turner (Nat Wolff), a bumbling moron who comes into the possession of a mysterious book known as the Death Note. As the book's keeper, the mysterious death god known as Ryuk (portrayed by Jason Lyles and voiced by the magnificent Willem Dafoe), explains, whosoever has their name written within the Note will die in whatever manner the writer chooses. Things start simply enough, with Light testing the book's capabilities on a school bully (and later the man who killed his mother), but soon escalate, as Light (along with his girlfriend, Mia, played by Margaret Qualley) begin enacting large-scale vigilante justice on terrorists, drug traffickers, and child molesters. Drunk off of their own power, the two hide behind the pseudonym "Kira", painting their school-shooter-esque antics as the work of a mysterious demigod. This attracts the attention of an enigmatic detective known only as L (Lakeith Stanfield), and thus begins a convoluted game of cat and mouse run by some of the most boldly idiotic characters ever written.

The most immediately striking thing about this film is probably the cast, for obvious reasons. In the original Death Note series, Light "Turner" was originally Light Yagami and his father "James" was originally named Soichiro. Really, the only thing that carried over from the original story was Ryuk, and surprise, he's by far the best thing here (though that's moreso due to how wonderful Willem Dafoe is than the obvious ties to the property's Eastern roots). There's been a lot of controversy and criticism surrounding this film, as it's been accused of "whitewashing" a foreign property. This film has a lot of problems, but changing the backdrop from Japan to Seattle is the least of them. It's essentially a non-issue here, especially since Japan does this sort of thing to Western properties literally all the time and no one seems to care. Death Note isn't hilariously bad because Light is played by a white guy or because L is portrayed by a black guy; no, Death Note is bad because the characters are cartoonishly incompetent, the tone is all over the place, and the plot (while a legitimately intriguing concept) thinks it's way smarter and more nuanced than it really is.

Let's start with the cast; Nat Wolff is simultaneously the best and worst thing about this movie. Light is an awful character, a hopeless idiot with a God complex who is way too eager to toy around with the Death Note, a plot device that may as well be made of red flags (seriously, the only way this object could be more of a bad omen is if it appeared to the tune of a Rod Serling monologue). At the same time, he's a major part of why the comedy (both intentional and unintentional) works as well as it does here. Wolff has a knack for over-exaggeration; everything he does, he does to the rafters. When he's meant to be scared, he shrieks like a little girl. When he's feeling edgy, he glares like Anthony Perkins at the end of Psycho. This is a movie that is meant to explore ideas like the frailty of human life and the moral quandry of using death to make the world a better place, yet Wolff treats the whole thing like a mid-90's Jim Carrey vehicle. Subtlety escapes him and the film is better off for it.

Then we have L, played by Lakeith Stanfield. He tries very hard to fill the role of "snarky oddball who is by far the smartest man in the room", yet just comes off like the only non-white kid at a high school anime club meeting. He provides an entirely different comedic angle than Light, rattling off pseudo-intellectual zingers like a preteen who just discovered internet memes and nihilism. He wears a hoodie and face mask that marketing execs might describe as "urban hacker chic" and, for reasons that escape me, perches on every chair he comes across like he's about to frog-splash the Fabulous Moolah at Summerslam. Every aspect of this character, from his appearance to his mannerisms, is meant to make us think "what a mysterious nonconformist", yet he just comes off like the kind of kid that would wear a trilby and cape to class. The kind of kid who claims to be "part of Anonymous" and buys all of his clothes at Hot Topic and Spencer's Gifts. You know exactly the kind of kid I'm talking about. L is that kid.

There's also Mia, a character who, as far as I can tell, is so different from her manga counterpart that she may as well be an original creation altogether. Margaret Qualley actually does a fairly decent job with what she's given, nicely selling that gradual shift from edgy high school girl to total psychopath. This character's issues all lie less within the performance and much moreso within the story; it's made very clear from early on that she's totally unhinged and should never be let anywhere near something as potentially dangerous as the Death Note, yet Light just keeps on trusting her again and again and again. Adolescent lust aside, to any young men reading this, take note; if a girl suggests you use a magical tome to murder your own father, she's probably bad news. You should dump her and cut off all communication, and you should definitely not let her continue using said evil book (that is, need I remind you all, capable of killing literally anyone the user desires).

The only legitimately good part of the cast is, you guessed it, Willem Dafoe as Ryuk. Aside from the base concept, this is the only part of this movie that works as intended; Dafoe is both menacing and mysterious and the film suffers for not giving him a bigger focus. He's not only the best actor performance-wise, he's the most interesting character. You could cut out Mia and L and have the majority of the character interactions be Light dealing with an invisible death god breathing down his neck, tempting him with great and terrible power, and I honestly believe the movie would be stronger for it. The special effects are also quite good for a low-spectacle Netflix release; Ryuk looks perfectly accurate to the source material and the gore is (as far as I can tell) more or less entirely practical. That's one genuine point I can give this movie, it uses its resources well. Ryuk is a great creature design, but he's also kept in shadow and/or out of focus, helping to sell the special effect while creating a sense of atmosphere. The movie stays within its means and understands what it has, so no part of it looks in any way cheap or unprofessional. The Dawson's Creek level cast and cinematography put a damper on things, sure, but for the most part this is a fine-looking mess of a movie.

At the end of the day, would I recommend Death Note? It's stupid, it's silly, and it's altogether an unnecessary cash-grab that really didn't need to be made. It's full of lofty ambitions and bloated subtext, all conveyed through some truly awful performances working off of a truly awful script. Would I recommend Death Note? Yes, absolutely. I know this movie is bad, I know I just tore it apart, and I know the phrase "so bad it's good" gets tossed around a lot these days; so many SyFy Originals aspire to that title, confusing ironic quality with a total lack of effort, but Death Note is one of those few bad movies that truly gets it. A movie doesn't get to be "so bad it's good" simply by being terrible. The viewer needs to feel a genuine sense of effort, that an attempt was made to make something good. The idea that a group of people legitimately tried their best, and this was the result. You have bad movies like Dragonball Evolution, that are bad because not a single person involved cared in any way, shape, or form. They're not "so bad they're good", they're so bad they're bad and the whole thing ends up being a painful experience for everyone involved. But when you get a movie like Death Note, a movie that is a complete and utter (and above all, genuine) mess, you can't help but laugh along at the magnificent failure taking place before you. Death Note is one of the funniest movies I've seen in recent memory and I foresee it becoming an enthusiastic go-to on many a bad movie night to come. By all means, go check it out.

REVIEW: A Series of Unfortunate Events

If there's one thing I'm thankful for in this heyday of digital streaming, it's the wealth of opportunities the format presents to the field of adaptation. There are so many stories that simply wouldn't work as standard-length films; the idea that a but a single of George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire books would be condensed into a single two-hour film (roughly the equivalent of two episodes of Game of Thrones) is laughable. As technology has evolved, it has become a more feasible venture to adapt long-term stories into long-term series, as evidenced not only with Game of Thrones, but also with Netflix's latest offering, A Series of Unfortunate Events. I recall reading several of the books as a child and was excited to see the works of Lemony Snicket done justice (at least, moreso than the 2004 film adaptation starring Jim Carrey).

The story, as told by the enigmatic Snicket (Patrick Warburton), follows the three Baudelaire children; Violet (Malina Weissman), Klaus (Louis Hynes), and Sunny (Presley Smith). After their parents are killed in a mysterious fire, the three orphans are carted off to their (physically) closest living relative, a sinister actor by the name of Count Olaf (Neil Patrick Harris). As is stated in their parents' will, the children are to inherit an enormous fortune once Violet comes of age; it is Olaf's ambition to seize the Baudelaire fortune in any way that he can. The series follows the three children as they are sent from guardian to guardian, constantly pursued by Olaf and his troupe of villainous acting buddies. The events that transpire are sardonic, macabre, and, as the title would imply, unfortunate.

The first season of the show covers the first four books in the series: The Bad Beginning, The Reptile Room, The Wide Window, and The Miserable Mill. Each book takes up two episodes and each episode clocks in at more or less an hour a piece. It's one of the neatest formats I've ever seen for a series such as this, keeping everything organized and easy to absorb. The 2004 film condensed the first three books into a single movie, sacrificing the subtle, methodical tone and pacing of the source material. Here, everything unfolds at a perfectly respectable rate, not too quickly and not too slowly. This is definitely a point in the show's favor, considering this is a series which aims for a decidedly younger crowd than the bloody action of Daredevil or the existential dread of Bojack Horseman. 

I can easily see some criticizing the show of losing sight of its target audience; while the books can be found in elementary school libraries, the show's dry tone and drab, stylized visual style may be a turn-off for the younger crowd. While I can agree that not every child will be taken in by what this show has to offer, I feel as though those who enjoy things on the macabre side will greatly enjoy themselves. This is very much a show for the bookworms, packed to the brim with literary humor and colorful language. That is to say nothing of the underlying theme of the whole thing; at the heart of the Baudelaire's plight is the sad, simple truth that adults often just don't listen to children. The siblings are all very intelligent, well-spoken, and well-read, yet are constantly held back by their age. Nearly every authority figure they come across is either condescending, naive, villainous, or some combination thereof; it's very much a tale for kids who feel disenfranchised and talked-down to by authority figures, and it gets this message across in superb form.

That said, I do have my share of nitpicks to address as well. While I adore the set design and visual style of the series (which implements sharp, contrasting colors and striking anachronisms to create a sort of hybrid aesthetic between early Tim Burton and Pushing Daisies), the use of CGI is simply painful in most cases. I don't fault the showrunners for using digital effects to portray giant leeches gnawing through a boat hull or a baby gnawing bark off a log; in those cases, it actually looks mostly passable for an online series. But I don't understand why, with all the gorgeous (and likely expensive) practical sets, they felt the need to use digital effects for something as simple as a shot of the main characters riding a trolly. It's something that completely pulled me out of this unique, immersive world whenever it showed up. I can only hope, with the massive acclaim the series has been receiving, that Season 2 will see an increased budget.

I also feel as though the show sometimes thinks it's a bit more clever than it really is; while I love the various literary references, absurdist humor, and dry dialog exchanges, the show can sometimes layer it on a bit too thick. Though that may just be my jaded cynicism talking. I did, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoy the performances of all the main cast. The show boasts talent such as Alfre Woodard, Aasif Mandvi, and Catherine O'Hara, and no one at all feels wasted. The three Baudelaires all do well as young protagonists, coming off as believable, capable, and relatable without once coming off as grating (important for any story starring children, absolutely vital for this particular property). As is to be expected, the one who steals the show is Neil Patrick Harris as Count Olaf (though my personal favorites were his acting troupe).

The role was formerly filled by Jim Carrey in the aformentioned film, so it's safe to say that Harris had some rather large shoes to fill; the character of Count Olaf is one who operates on theatricality and trickery, adopting various disguises in an attempt to swindle the Baudelaires out of their family fortune. Thankfully, NPH pulls it off with aplomb, burying himself under tons of prosthetic makeup and seemingly having a ball. I do wish that his character had more chances to come off as genuinely threatening (since he's responsible for some genuinely uncomfortable moments early on in the series), but even his goofy showmanship is fun and engaging to watch. Carrey's take on Olaf was undoubtedly the strongest aspect of the 2004 adaptation, and the same is true of Neil Patrick Harris' performance here.

Regardless of the various disclaimers presented by the very catchy theme song, I do heartily recommend you check out A Series of Unfortunate Events. There may not be much here for those who didn't grow up with the books, but I still found myself having a fun, engaging time watching it. The underlying lore of the source material is definitely more pronounced here than in the books, since the show explores other characters from time to time, aside from the three main children. The mystery which runs through the story of the Baudelaire orphans is interesting enough to keep the audience engaged, leading up to a fabulous end-of-season twist that has me eager to come back for more. It's a drier, darker, more subversive breed of children's entertainment that I feel the world could always use more of. Definitely give it a watch.