REVIEW: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

2018 has certainly been a big year for Spider-Man, hasn't it? He's had a hit video game come out, his comics aren't bad for the first time in a good long while, and he DIED. Spider-Man (or rather, the entire concept of the character) is also the primary subject of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, brought to us by the fine folks at Sony Animation and produced by Clone High progenitors, Phil Lord and Chris Miller. Naturally, anything with Lord and Miller involved is sure to get my attention (their involvement with Solo being the only reason I ever had even a passing interest in that movie), so I couldn't wait to see what they did with a character like Miles Morales, who has always felt like a wealth of untapped potential. While the end result didn't utterly blow me away, I think it's safe to say that Into the Spider-Verse is a strong contender for the best animated film of 2018 (or at the very least, the best animated superhero film of 2018).

The primary focus of the story, as mentioned before, is young Miles Morales (Shameik Moore); after acquiring spider-powers of his own and witnessing the untimely demise of his universe's Spider-Man (Chris Pine) at the hands of the villainous Kingpin (Liev Schreiber), Miles is left feeling woefully under-prepared in the face of the great responsibility that's been bestowed upon him. Fortunately for Miles, he's not the only Spider-person crawling around New York. As a result of Kingpin's experiments, alternate Spider-Men from alternate realities have been plucked from their home dimensions and deposited in Miles' version of NYC, including an older, washed-up Peter Parker (Jake Johnson). With the help of his reluctant new mentor, Miles must live up to Peter Parker's legacy, defeat the Kingpin, and find a way to save his new friends and, indeed, the world.

SPOILER ALERT: The remainder of this Review spoils key plot elements of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse!

Really, the plot is my only major issue with this movie, in that it feels as though it can't decide whether it wants to be a Miles Morales origin story or an experimental dimension-blending crossover event. It tries to go for both, but in the process ends up spreading itself too thin in some regards, neglecting elements from both sides of the story. A good example is Miles' relationship with his Uncle Aaron (Mahershala Ali); the film establishes a promising dynamic between the two, with Aaron acting as a sort of outlet for all the aspects of Miles' personality that his father, Jefferson (Brian Tyree Henry), has trouble relating to. The only problem is that Miles and Aaron really only share two scenes together. Miles hangs out with him when he gets his spider-powers (honestly one of the best sequences in the movie), then Aaron is the Prowler for the rest of the film, and then he dies and that's that. It just feels like a missed opportunity for something grander that lives up to the intrigue established early on, and perhaps less focus on the alternate universe Spider-people would have freed up more time to devote to their relationship.

On the other side of the story, we have other characters who don't get near their due in the form of Spider-Man Noir (Nic Cage), Peni Parker (Kimiko Glen), and Spider-Ham (John Mulaney). All three are brought to life through some stunningly imaginative animation and perfectly cast voice acting, yet at the same time feel wholly under-utilized. These characters dominated the trailers, yet they altogether have very little impact on the plot, entering in at about the midway point in the story and sharing what felt like a collective thirty lines between the three of them. Visually-speaking, they bring a lot to the table, but contextually they felt more like a mere aesthetic device; really, that sums up my main issue with the movie as a whole. Part of me wonders if this wouldn't be a stronger overall product if the amount of Spider-Men was capped at just Miles, Peter, and Gwen (Hailee Steinfeld), or even just Miles and Peter for that matter. Gwen, despite a cool costume and elegant fighting style, has very little to do here, and it felt like the movie didn't explore the older, dumpier Peter Parker nearly as much as it should have. 

Peter Parker, as a fictional character, is almost always trapped in a state of arrested development; writers tend to hesitate letting Pete advance beyond the stage where he's still going to school or working part-time for the Daily Bugle. The average consumer knows Spider-Man as a teenager (or vaguely 20-something at the oldest), so that's what tends to sell, meaning we rarely see portrayals of Spider-Man advance past that point (and even when they manage to, a retcon sending him back to that tried and true "aw jeez I've gotta get to class on time but now THE RHINO is attacking!" formula is never far away). Spider-Verse's take on an older, jaded Peter Parker who's simply fought too long and lost too much is a truly unique take on the character, and the film's way of twisting this archetype we all know so well presents a lot of potential for emotional depth; he's buried his Aunt May, Mary Jane divorced him, his metabolism is catching up with him, and he's just left to be a sad, lonely man in a spider onesie whose best years are long behind him. He makes the conscious decision to sacrifice himself for the greater good, even after Miles shows up during the climax to save the day. This is a Peter Parker who is actively ready and willing to die in action, yet his emotional struggle is more or less glossed over despite it having a significant impact on the plot. It's an issue we get with the Kingpin as well; the film wastes no time in establishing Wilson Fisk as a physical threat (his massive, angular design inspired by Bill Sienkiewicz's Daredevil: Love and War) and Liev Schreiber does a great job channeling his inner mafioso, but all we really get in the way of motivation is a 30-second flashback in the middle of an action sequence. The tragic reveal of why Kingpin is messing around with inter-dimensional portals makes narrative sense and sets the stage for an emotional climax, but the film doesn't really do anything with this new information. When it finally comes time for Miles to face Kingpin on his own, it's a pretty straightforward superhero fight; good guy punches bad guy, bad guy almost beats good guy, good guy triumphs, courtesy your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

The real strength of this movie (aside from the stunning animation, more on that later), is when it outright revels in the new and original. One of my absolute favorite characters was Kathryn Hahn's surprise turn as a female Doctor Octopus; while it's not exactly a brand-new concept, it's little differences like these that help cement the idea that Miles' universe is a world of new and exciting spider-possibilities. This version of Doc Ock truly feels like a fresh addition to the pantheon of superhero movie antagonists, and especially to the limited pool of female bad guys (a group where, as far as Marvel is concerned, Hela and Ayesha are the only antagonists who aren't redeemed or relegated to the role of your average henchwoman). She isn't secretly insecure about her appearance and she doesn't get off easy with a heroic turn because she's more sensitive than her male cohorts in crime. She's just a mad scientist who's really into the idea of brutally murdering Spider-Man, and I'd love to see more female antagonists show this much unabashed enthusiasm in their work.

It's through details like this that Into the Spider-Verse truly shines. While I found the overall plot to be a little unbalanced, it's when the movie goes all-in on presenting us with something that we haven't seen before that it ascends to heights worth raving about. My primary criticism of the MCU's take on the wall-crawler is that, for as enthusiastic as Tom Holland's performance is, the way in which his stories are told belies a deep-seated misunderstanding of not only the character of Peter Parker, but the very concept of Spider-Man as a whole. There's no such issue present with Spider-Verse; this is a movie with a reverent love and understanding of what makes Spider-Man tick (regardless of who's under the mask) and why his stories and struggles and assorted adventures resonate so deeply with such a wide audience again and again, and it often takes risks in how it presents itself in order to convey that sense of understanding to the viewer.

The character of Miles isn't simply "inoffensively brown Peter Parker" here. They're two radically different people in radically different circumstances, the only connecting thread between them having been weaved by a radioactive spider. Spider-Man, as a concept, is all about a person (typically a younger person) being thrust against their will into extraordinary circumstances. The weight of the world is placed upon Spidey's shoulders and it's his responsibility to carry that weight so that the world may spin on. It's Young Protagonist 101, and the film doesn't harbor the delusion that a legacy character need be a 1:1 copy of the more iconic hero who preceded them in order to fill the same shoes. Miles' relationship with Jefferson and Aaron is very different from Peter's relationship with Uncle Ben, and while I felt it could have been fleshed out more in a few areas, it still managed to hit me right where I live in the same kind of way that "with great power, there must also come great responsibility" does. Brian Tyree Henry gives an amazing performance as Jeff and his dynamic with Miles is honestly strong enough to have carried an origin story all on its own. It speaks volumes about the quality of a story when the only major complaint I have is "I liked everything it gave me so much, I wish it was either longer or less jam-packed so it could give me even more".

Also, hey, not sure if you're aware of this, but the movie is absolutely downright stunning to look at. We truly are living in the renaissance of computer-generated animation, as Into the Spider-Verse looks so fantastic that Sony have attempted the ultimate scumbag move of trying to patent the animation style used in this movie. It's the kind of film I can't wait to watch on Blu-Ray, just to pick apart all of the background details (a billboard in Times Square advertising Clone College made me equal parts excited and sad). There's just loads of visual information packed into every frame. Parts of the background that, in a live-action film, would be out of focus are rendered to resemble the dye blur found in older comic books. Ben Day dots are all over the place and sound-effects are typically accompanied by animated onomatopoeia floating across the screen. After Miles gets bitten and his Spidey-Sense starts to tingle, his interior monologues begin appearing in yellow boxes near the top of the screen, complete with little wavy effect lines emanating from his head. I hesitate to use the phrase "a feast for the eyes" here, first and foremost because it's terribly cliché, but also because it honestly doesn't do the visuals here justice. The animation and shot composition are not only used as a means of giving this movie its own unique identity, but also to further the story; when Miles jumps off the side of a skyscraper during the "What's Up Danger" sequence, the camera is inverted. Because Miles isn't falling, he's rising. What Spider-Verse occasionally lacks in narrative cohesion, it more than makes up for in visual flair. It's a movie with so much evident care and thoughtful design oozing out of every pore that I simply can't not recommend it to everyone, dedicated Spider-fan or no.

While I'd still hesitate to call Into the Spider-Verse the greatest Spider-Man movie ever made, it's an easy lock for one of the top 3, and I absolutely wouldn't fault someone who put it at the very top of their personal list. It's not without its flaws (personally, the soundtrack felt very hit-or-miss at times), but as a piece of Spider-Man media, it's not hard at all to place this near the top of the stack. Now that the origin-story bloat is over and dealt with, I can't wait to see what the creative team behind this has in-store for the sequel; if the post-credits scene is any indication of where the plot is heading (which I hope it is, seeing as how it was easily my favorite post-credits stinger of 2018, possibly of all time), I'm beyond excited to see what the future will bring. Congratulations, Sony. You actually did good. Now don't screw this up. I mean... good luck.

REVIEW: The Favourite

It may be jumping the gun to say something like "Yorgos Lanthimos is one of my all-time favorite filmmakers" after only seeing two of his films, but... here we are. While I still have yet to see The Killing of a Sacred Deer or Dogtooth (they're on the list, alongside the rest of his filmography, I promise), The Lobster put him on my radar in a big way. When I heard that he would be directing The Favourite, I leapt at the opportunity to see one of his films in theaters. Again, it may be premature to say that he is one of my favorite filmmakers of all time (and indeed, one of the finest filmmakers working today), but saying the man is two for two in my books would be an understatement. I was excited to see what he had to offer with The Favourite and left the theater not only satisfied, but fairly confident that I had just seen the best film of 2018.

Set during the War of Spanish Succession right around the start of the 18th century, the film focuses on the tumultuous relationship between Queen Anne (Olivia Coleman) and her close adviser/secret lover, Sarah Churchill, the Duchess of Marlboro (Rachel Weisz). Ill and eccentric after a life of tragedy, Anne cares little for governing or warfare, delegating the majority of her decision-making to Sarah (much to the dismay of Earl Robert Harley (Nicolas Hoult) and his fellow Tories in Parliament). This all changes with the arrival of Abigail Hill (Emma Stone), a former lady of status and Sarah's younger cousin. Hoping that her connection to Sarah will allow her to gradually re-build her social standing, Abigail eventually begins to usurp her cousin's role as the Queen's favourite. What follows is a brutal, hilarious ballet of deception, blackmail, and wit as the two women vie for the affections of the ailing Queen (and all the privileges that come with it).

The most immediately striking thing about this film has got to be the performances. Everyone in the supporting cast does a fine job (shout-out to Horatio, the fastest duck in the city), but the main trio of women absolutely make this film. Olivia Coleman gives one of the best performances of the year as Queen Anne, playing the sickly monarch in a way that's as hilarious as it is multifaceted. She's damaged and crazy and unpredictable, but you never get the impression that she's nothing more than a punchline. She's very much an active player in the conflict between Abigail and Sarah, even if it doesn't appear as such at first glance. She's a character who could have been little more than a plot device, a living maguffin for Stone and Weisz to quarrel over and manipulate, but Coleman imbues her with a true sense of pathos; we get occasional glimpses into her world, revealing her to be a flawed, pitiable person who's suffered repeated and tremendous loss in her time as Queen. There's a strong undercurrent of mockery directed at aristocracy and the ruling class, but Anne is still primarily painted as a truly sympathetic character. "The Queen is crazy" isn't the fullest extent of the joke, as The Favourite goes for something a little more conceptually ambitious in how it deals with conflict and drama.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the relationship between Abigail and Sarah. I'm a big fan of movies that subvert audience expectations, when done properly. It's a tricky business to get right, and I always see people defending poor examples of subversion by insisting naysayers only want movies to break the mold in ways that they were already expecting (and therefore comfortable with). In reality, it's far from being so simple. Anyone can do something unexpected; I could write the rest of this Review in Mandarin, because surely you wouldn't normally expect that to happen, but doing so wouldn't give my work an inherent value for that reason alone. Well-crafted subversions of audience expectations serve to enhance the story, taking things in a new and exciting direction that adds a new dimension to the events playing out on-screen. This is something screenwriters Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara understood when crafting the characters that Stone and Weisz brought to life.

When we're introduced to Emma Stone's Abigail, she's a polite and filthy young girl, having just been shoved out of a moving carriage into the mud. It's a sharp contrast to Weisz's Lady Sarah; cold, manipulative, and at times downright cruel in her indifference towards the Queen's problems. It establishes a clear protagonist/antagonist situation with Queen Anne stuck in the middle. Abigail has been used and abused her entire life, robbed of her birthright and reduced to working as a scullery maid. She's a humble yet ambitious young lady who's found herself in a particularly low place in life through no fault of her own, so she's easy to root for at first. Meanwhile, Sarah enacts her will on the country by whispering in the Queen's ear and slipping into her bedchamber behind her husband's back, seemingly looking out for none but her own interests. At first glance, it all appears very cut and dry, but that's where the truly gripping elements of the plot come into play.

As the story progresses, we notice a gradual shift in character dynamics as more and more comes to light. We learn that, although she exploits her position as the Queen's favourite for personal gain, Sarah truly does care for Anne, both as a friend and lover. What on the surface appears to be a simple lust for power is eventually revealed to be a legitimate sense of duty; the Queen is far more concerned with playing with her rabbits than she is with waging war on the French, leaving Sarah with the responsibility of maintaining a nation. It's Sarah's dedication to the war effort that leaves her momentarily unavailable to stay by Anne's side, allowing Abigail the chance she needs to hook her claws into the sad and lonely Queen. What first appeared to be the story of an underdog hoping to improve her station in life soon becomes the tale of a malicious schemer, drunk on power and status, eventually resorting to truly abominable actions to ensure her position is secured. We really get to see a 360 view of this seemingly straightforward conflict, with first impressions dissolving before our very eyes as we learn more and more about who these characters actually are.

Of course, the actors aren't the only element of this film worth praising. As with The Lobster, Lanthimos exhibits his truly distinctive directorial eye, creating a style that compliments both the dry, comedic elements and the more serious, dramatic elements of this story. From a stylistic standpoint, the film is very unique without feeling as though it's trying too hard to stand out from the crowd. There's a real sense of creative confidence at play here; nothing is presented the way it is for a purely superficial reason, and you never lose the feeling that Lanthimos (along with cinematographer, Robbie Ryan) knew exactly what he was doing with every scene and shot.

The whole thing is shot on-location at Hatfield House in Hertfordshire, England, so nothing feels like a set. The spaces these characters inhabit feel appropriately lived-in, lending the whole thing a real air of authenticity (even though the actual historical accuracy of the plot is questionable at best). I admittedly found myself getting a lay of the land as the film went on, becoming very familiar with spaces such as the Queen's bedroom and the lush, well-kept grounds. The strong reliance on naturalistic lighting and use of classical music only adds to the authenticity, and that atmosphere of historical realism contrasts wonderfully with the dry, absurdist humor at play. It's a relationship summed up in a visual sense through the film's occasional use of a fish-eye lens, moving away from the many spacious wide-shots the film is littered with and portraying things from a warped, exaggerated perspective. It's like a metaphor for the presentation of the film as a whole; aesthetically, this is but one or two degrees away from your standard period drama, yet the dry sense of humor and use of visual comedy keep things skewed just enough to stand out from the herd, at least on a subconscious level.

Overall, I don't really have anything remotely negative to say about The Favourite. It's a hilarious comedy, a compelling drama, and a gorgeously-shot period piece all in one. Brought to life by a remarkably talented cast of actors all giving award-worthy performances and helmed by one of the most unique and talented directors working today, I can't very well think of a reason not to recommend this to just about anyone. I suppose, as with The Lobster, the unorthodox presentation may at times seem intimidating to those in search of something more by-the-numbers, but like The Lobster, I feel this is absolutely a film worth engaging with, even if it's outside of your typical comfort zone. I'd go as far to say it's a modern classic and absolutely can't recommend it enough, go check it out.

REVIEW: Halloween (2018)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: The Night is Short, Walk On Girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Sorry To Bother You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Redline

I've been on something of an anime kick as of late (getting up to speed on both Konosuba and My Hero Academia in less than a week), so it felt appropriate to finally tick off a film that's been sitting in my backlog for a good couple of years now; 2009's Redline. I normally tend to avoid summarizing movies as "X crossed with Y", but I simply can't help myself in the case of Redline. This is Speed Racer crossed with Wacky Races in the style of Mad Max: Fury Road, but in space. It's a film every bit as absurd as that description, more than making up for what it lacks in plot with some of the most stunningly engaging animation I've ever seen.

Set in the far reaches of space, the film follows "Sweet" JP (Takuya Kimura), a rockabilly racer with a checkered past whose driving skills are nearly as impressive as his pompadour. When JP finds himself voted in as a participant in the titular Redline race (a highly anticipated annual event using traditional motors only), he can't help but say no, even though the race is set to be held on the aptly-named Roboworld, a planet populated entirely by cyborg zealots. The president of Roboworld (Kōsei Hirota) is staunchly against hosting the Redline on his planet, as he fears the broadcast of the race could reveal a number of illegal military operations (which would undoubtedly violate a great number of treaties); as such, he has pledged to terminate any and all racers he finds on his planet. As if that wasn't enough, JP is oblivious to the treachery of his longtime partner, Frisbee (Tadanobu Asano), a mechanic who's gotten in deep with the mob. Not only does he need to win the Redline, he has to survive, all while pursuing the heart of fellow racer, Sonoshee McLaren (Yû Aoi). It's a romance/drama/action/sci-fi extravaganza and I honestly had so so much fun with it.

I tend to use the term "feast for the eyes" regrettably often whenever it comes to discussing animated films, and Redline is definitely no slouch when it comes to visuals. I love everything about the way this movie looks, feels, and moves. The character designs are imaginative and endearing, never getting too silly or outlandish so as to distract from the action. Along with JP and Sonoshee, we have a dirty-cop gorilla man (chasing after the other participants for speeding, naturally), a pair of bounty hunters that definitely aren't parodies of Batman and Robin, and a well-mannered robot who literally is his own car (among others). It feels trite to say something like "this film is bursting at the seams with pure imagination", as if something as abstract and subjective as imagination could be measured, but I really can't think of a better way to express myself here. It's an animated feature that most definitely leaves a big impression. There are obvious influences from existing works (see the initial Speed Racer/Wacky Races/Mad Max comparison), but it's got its own distinct identity as well. The designs of everything from the racers to their vehicles to the various planets themselves are just so vivid and creative; it's one of those films like Wizards or Fantastic Planet, where I just want to completely immerse myself in the art direction and design.

With such fantastic designs, it should go without saying that the animation here is also top-knotch. I don't know if I've ever uttered, "wew, that looked expensive" at an animated film as often as I did with Redline. According to my rudimentary research, the film was in production for some seven years, and took over 100,000 individual drawings to complete; rest assured, the final project looks it. I especially loved the fish-eye effect used to convey mind-blistering speeds (a winning combo when paired with JP's towering hairdo). If you're into psychadelic visuals like those found in FLCL or Yellow Submarine, you'd be doing yourself a disservice not to add Redline to your "must watch" list.

If I have any real criticism, it simply has to do with the plot. Redline is by no means a complex or thematically-heavy movie; there's a race, our main character wants to win said race, said main character drives really really fast. That's about it. It's most definitely more about the visuals here than it is the plot, which I honestly feel is somewhat forgivable, given the circumstances. The entire plot of Redline focuses in on this one race, and damned if it isn't one hell of a race. It doesn't attempt to be anything more than it is by spouting off pseudo-intellectualisms in an attempt to trick the viewer into thinking that there's anything close to a healthy balance between style and substance. This is a film that 110% knows what it is about, and I honestly respect that. The filmmakers knew that they were making a movie about really cool-looking cars that drive really quickly across stunningly-detailed alien planets, and that's exactly what we get. 

Even then, with how simple the plot is, I found myself surprisingly invested in the drama between JP and Frisbee; the film does slow down at points to give us some insight into their history together, allowing us time to breathe between the insanely engaging action beats. For as simplistic as the plot is, the character interactions are given a good amount of attention (at least moreso than one might expect with a project as visually-focused as this). The time we spend with our main cast isn't just a formality before we can get back to the fast cars and hellacious crashes. Rather than having the characters outright state what their motivations are, the audience is left to piece everything together from implicit details after the credits roll; some might call this lazy, I call it efficient. Both the film and the audience are on the same page, the movie's strongest suit is the manner in which it liberally doles out speed and adrenaline. Additional exposition would have just weighed everything down, so I appreciate the film's confidence in its audience to figure out why certain characters act the way that they do without spoon-feeding it to us, getting in the way of the main event in the process.

I don't really have much else to say about Redline. It's an awesome little flick. If you're a fan of animation (or anime specifically), consider this mandatory viewing; the same goes for those of you who are into cars. It's not an overly-complicated movie, it's just an all-around good time. The plot isn't much to write home about, but Redline more than makes up for its lack of subtextual depth with its positively stunning animation and art direction; watch it on a big screen with a good sound system and all the lights turned off, it'll blow you away.

REVIEW: Hereditary

This is going to be awkward. Many a time on this blog, I've sung the praises of A24, the company responsible for distributing some of the best films I've seen in recent years (The VVitch, The Lobster, and The Disaster Artist, among others). It's gotten to the point that I get excited whenever I see an A24 logo in a trailer; the films they put out vary in terms of tone and genre, but it's safe to say that I haven't seen anything from them that I haven't completely loved. That is to say, until now. Horror is one of my favorite genres and 2016's The VVitch is one of my all-time favorite horror films; so when I heard that A24 was putting out another low-key horror film helmed by a first-time director that relied heavily on atmosphere and tension, I was all-in from the very beginning. The media push didn't hurt either, with critics calling Hereditary one of the scariest films of all time, comparable to classics like The Exorcist. I was chomping at the bit to see it, hoping for something that would surely haunt my dreams for countless nights to come. What I got instead is a somewhat clunky yet spectacularly well-acted thriller that unfortunately doesn't amount to more than the sum of its parts.

Without giving too much away, the story focuses on Annie Graham (Toni Collette, giving the performance of her career), a mother of two and independent artist working through the loss of her mother. That's honestly just about all I can say, without giving away vital plot details (or just outright lying), but I think the strong points of the film's narrative definitely lie moreso in the themes it attempts to convey rather than the actual story itself. This is a film that is very much about the grieving process, as well as the less concrete things we inherit from our parents. In case the title wasn't clear enough, I'm talking about mental illness; we're told in the opening scene that Annie's mother suffered from dissociative identity disorder and dimentia, and we gradually come to learn as the film goes on that Annie herself (as well as her children) are definitely struggling with their own issues and conditions (as such things are typically, all together now, hereditary). It's a fascinating concept to base a horror film off of; the idea that mental illness is something we're saddled with against our will from the day we're born, almost like it's been decided for us by some sinister, unknown power. The film definitely has fun with the ways in which it weaves these underlying themes into its base plot, but whether the way it does so is effective or not will definitely vary depending on one's personal tastes and expectations.

Before I delve into the elements of this film that left me feeling somewhat let-down, I think it would be a good idea to discuss what this film does right; horror (especially horror built heavily around a thematic metaphor) tends to be a subjective beast, but there are definitely several areas in which Hereditary objectively succeeds. Despite a meager budget of only $10 million, the film looks stunning. Cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski has his work cut for him on this project, his eerily still, symmetrical framing mirroring the posed precision found within Annie's various miniature models. Combined with Ari Aster's superb direction (much like Robert Eggers with The VVitch, this is a shockingly strong debut that's sure to leave a lasting impression), the film presents a truly distinct visual style. The Graham house looks completely mundane in the best kind of way, making the eerie atmosphere hit all the more closer to home, and the stark day-to-night cuts are used to remarkable effect in the film's final scenes. It's definitely a film that, visually-speaking, knows exactly what it wants to be; it's as beautiful as it is haunting, leaving the audience with a legitimately creepy atmosphere that had me curling into my seat on more than a few occasions. This is, of course, helped along by one of the finest performances in a horror film (or indeed, any film) I've ever seen.

Everyone here more or less gives an excellent performance (in particular young Milly Shapiro, who makes her feature film debut as Annie's creepy daughter, Charlie), but they're all a distant second place to Toni Collette as our lead. I'll be honest and say I'm not 100% sure I've ever seen her in anything before this, but she's most certainly on my radar now and forever more. I can't think of any other way to describe this performance other than simply "real", in both the best and worst kind of ways (and I of course mean "worst" in the best kind of way). As one might expect, there are those moments where we simply get to see life go on as usual (lulling us into a false sense of security before things get ominous), and Collette pulls those off with aplomb. She feels like any average woman we might cross paths with at the store. And sure, once things start to get spooky, she can play scared as well as anyone. But then there are the moments where she has to completely break down, and this is when the movie becomes pure gold. Again, I'm completely avoiding spoilers here, but there's a moment around the end of the first act (those who have seen the movie know exactly what I'm talking about) where we really see her disappear into her role as this grieving, troubled mother of two. And that's not even the only moment where her performance completely blew me away; it's merely the first, where I suddenly understood that there simply had to be some sort of award nomination in her future. I'll be frank; for me, Toni Collette's performance is basically the only thing elevating Hereditary in my mind from being nothing more than a very pretty mess.

While there are undoubtedly some elements at play here that transcend the vast majority of horror films in recent years, there are also those that, as far as I'm concerned, have a much harder time getting off the ground. First and foremost is the runtime; at just over two hours, this is a film that very much feels its length. While a slow pace is often beneficial when it comes to building tension (which, as I mentioned, is something this film admittedly does very well), there has to be some sort of payoff in order for that time to come off feeling like a good investment. You have horror classics like Alien that most definitely fall under the mantle of "slow burn", but the buildup is used efficiently, generating momentum to propel us from scene to scene (and from scare to scare). With Hereditary, there isn't really much payoff to that tension until the last ten or so minutes, when the film becomes a very traditional modern horror film. Those like myself who have spent the whole film waiting for something scary to happen will feel cheated, and those who enjoyed the quiet, tense atmosphere will be disappointed in the film's regression into more conventional "haunted house" style scares. Whether you were enjoying the film or not, everyone will feel in some way dissatisfied by the time the credits roll, which is unfortunate, considering how effective some parts of this film can be.

I also wasn't entirely taken with the overall plot; the long runtime is only exasperated by the film's reluctance to show even a hint of its hand until it's far too late (and, again, rushing out an entire film's worth of exposition during the climax). I don't need my films (especially my horror films) to be predictable or straightforward, but I need a hook in order to stay engaged. The film takes a shocking turn at one point that I truly didn't see coming, and then proceeds to do nothing even remotely as interesting or unexpected until the very end. With other metaphor-driven horror films, it's typically not too difficult to get from point A to point B when dissecting the underlying themes and motifs buried within. This doesn't mean that the film lacks depth, but rather that it's conveyed in such a way that the audience doesn't have to strain themselves in order to connect the dots. For example, take The Babadook, another atmospheric horror film that is essentially one big metaphor for mental illness. The film doesn't need to dumb itself down in order for the viewer to understand what it's really about; the filmmaker makes it look easy. But Hereditary just keeps getting in its own way, bouncing from story beat to story beat without really honing in on anything specific. Instead, it places all its chips on mood and atmosphere, which, while strong, makes the entire thing feel somewhat aimless and needlessly obtuse from a plot perspective. It places story cohesion on the backburner so that, once it's all explained in the last five minutes, the audience can go "ohhhhhh, I get it" and it ends up working out about as well as you'd expect. After the first act, you spend the remainder of the film waiting for the other shoe to drop, only for the film to then spend the next hour and a half pretending like it's about to drop before gently placing it on the ground and immediately cutting to credits.

In spite of everything, I still think I would recommend Hereditary. While it definitely didn't click with me, I definitely can't speak for everyone in this case. Every element of this film that isn't related to the way the story unfolds (the camerawork, the direction, the performances, etc.) is sheer brilliance, absolute 10/10 filmmaking. The issues come in when you try to combine the haunting visuals and stellar cast with the clunky, unintuitive story. It feels like a product composed entirely of gourmet ingredients that was left in the oven for about 20 minutes longer than intended; while you can definitely appreciate the individual components on their own, it's the execution that leaves the whole experience feeling not quite as good as it should have been. But then again, I happened to see this movie with a friend of mine (who utterly loathed it, I might add). After the credits rolled, we spent a good couple of hours discussing the various themes and metaphors at play, so there's definitely something to it (though your mileage may vary). It's simply a matter of whether or not it will click for you better than it did for us. I think The VVitch is a masterpiece, yet didn't care much for this, and I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who would champion the exact opposite. If you're looking for a horror film that definitely favors the road-less-traveled in this age of generic, jump-scare-filled ghost flicks, give Hereditary a shot and see how it leaves you.