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: Tusk

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: 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.

REVIEW: Pan's Labyrinth

Chalk this up as yet another film I've known about for ages, but have yet to seek out until just now. Much like with the Coen Brothers, I consider myself a huge fan of Guillermo Del Toro. Also much like the Coen Brothers, the amount of his filmography I've experienced firsthand is embarrassingly small. Crimson Peak just oozed style out of every pore, Pacific Rim was a ton of fun, and Hellboy 2 remains a personal favorite of mine, but I can't help but feel as though this is the film that really put the director on everyone's radar. Even before sitting down and watching it, the various creatures and images from Pan's Labyrinth were the first things that came to mind whenever I thought about Del Toro's work as a filmmaker. Having finally sat down and experienced it for myself, I feel confident in saying that, of all the Del Toro films I've seen, Pan's Labyrinth may just be the best of them all.

Set in Spain just after the end of the Spanish Civil War, the film follows a young girl by the name of Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), who is traveling with her pregnant mother (Ariadna Gil) to meet her new step-father, Captain Vidal (Sergi López). Vidal has been stationed in the woods, tasked with hunting down any remaining rebels, a job he approaches with both malice and enthusiasm. It's here that Ofelia discovers an ancient stone labyrinth, home to a mysterious faun (Doug Jones). The Faun informs Ofelia that she is actually a reincarnation of the long-lost princess of the underworld, and that she must complete a series of tasks before the next full moon in order to return to her kingdom and claim her birthright. 

I'll be honest and say that I was wholly surprised to see just how much of the plot focused on the aftermath of the Spanish Civil War, compared to Ofelia's magical adventure. I was expecting something moreso along the lines of Alice in Wonderland or Labyrinth, where we spend all of a few minutes in the normal world before transitioning to a bizarre fantasy land for the remainder of the plot. Instead, the fantastical elements feel much more like an undercurrent than a primary focus; Ofelia is the only character who has any direct interactions with anything remotely not-of-this-world, so we're left wondering if what we're seeing is actually happening or if it's all simply the result of a young girl's imagination running wild while she struggles to cope with her less than ideal situation. Thankfully, the conflict between Vidal and the rebels is both interesting and compelling; this is one of the few times where, although my initial expectations were unmet, I'm not left feeling at all disappointed or wistful that we didn't get to see more of the fantasy world implied by the story. The brief glimpses we see only serve to make this fantastical realm feel all the more immeasurable. When we're given a look at what lies beyond, it doesn't feel like a soundstage, but rather a small part of a world that very much transcends the film's modest $19 million budget.

Truth be told, it feels as though Ofelia doesn't even receive that much screentime or focus from the primary plot; I was very much fascinated by Sergi López's portrayal of Captain Vidal, more than anything else. Rather than simply being an evil fascist military man, Vidal is given a rich and subtle backstory, conveyed entirely through visual indicators and context clues. He's a deeply insecure individual, obsessed with living up to the legend of his father (much like Ofelia, he's constantly preoccupied with believing in fairy tales of his own, creating a lovely contrast between protagonist and antagonist). There are brief moments where Vidal feels vulnerable and human, perhaps even relatable, but the film in no way presents these moments as an excuse for his monstrous and cowardly actions. He's a villain meant to help convey the storyteller's purpose and inner feelings, yet he never once feels at all stock, clichéd, or heavy-handed. López gives (arguably) the best performance in the entire film, and Vidal's story arc is honestly worth the price of admission alone.

Aside from the skillful way in which Del Toro tells his story, it's no surprise to anyone familiar with his work that the art direction is beyond stunning. Visually-speaking, this is a film you can completely and totally lose yourself in; the opening scenes showcasing the mountainous pine forests of Spain filled me with an urge to go hiking I haven't felt since I watched Pete's Dragon, and the cinematography of longtime Del Toro collaborator Guillermo Navarro leaves a striking impression. Everything is shot and lit superbly, in a way that feels totally natural, while also taking full advantage of film as a visual medium. It's difficult to explain, but picture something with all the visible style and flair of an early Tim Burton film, but captured within a completely naturalistic lens; a visual style that is, without a doubt, stylized, yet not in a way that's immediately noticeable or distracting.

In addition to the technical aspects of the film, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the top-knotch creature work of Doug Jones (another name that constantly appears in Del Toro's work). Jones pulls double-duty here as both the enigmatic Faun and the monstrously unpleasant Pale Man, seamlessly blending into the mountains of prosthetics and makeup he's been covered in (care of David Martí, Montse Ribé, and Xavi Bastida). When I said earlier that Sergi López arguably gives the best performance in the movie, I mean that the only other contender for that title is Jones himself. So much is conveyed through movement and body language alone, it's no wonder that Jones is considered one of the biggest names in modern creature performances. It's a true display of dedication to one's craft, making good use of the resources at hand and managing to still look impressive over the years since its release; despite being over a decade old and costing nearly half of what it took to make Snakes on a Plane (which came out that same year), the creature effects shown here still hold up (and then some), blending live actors, puppeteers, animatronics, and CGI touch-ups to create visuals that are fine-tuned to capture the imaginations of all who watch.

It's also worth noting that, while Pan's Labyrinth is most assuredly a feast for the eyes, there's also a great deal worth unpacking in terms of symbolism and metaphor. The film provides commentary on themes such as the nature of innocence and youth, sacrifice, personal independence, and the sins of past generations. Ofelia's personal story is more thematically in-tune with the Civil War plot unfolding around her than one might initially believe, and much of this can be difficult to see on a first-time viewing. The futility of war is juxtaposed alongside the often dark and cruel undertones found in many classical fairy tales and myths, merging these two seemingly divergent genres together in a way that works better than just about anyone could have predicted. It's definitely the kind of film that requires active participation on the audience's part in order to shine, I think. Many details are left open for interpretation, and to leave these threads unfollowed would be a disservice both to the film itself and the viewer.

That said, this is also a surprisingly digestible film, not overly-reliant on obtuse symbolism or deeper meaning. The story, visuals, and characters are easily engrossing enough to carry a viewing all on their own; the deeper elements are there, should you choose to seek them out (and by all rights you should choose to seek them out), but it's also perfectly reasonable to enjoy this film as just a story all on its own. I could see myself throwing this on in the afternoon, just to have something to watch, just as easily as I could see myself actively engaging in the elements that are at play just below the surface. It's my favorite kind of film, much like The Big Lebowski or Spirited Away; there are seemingly endless depths to plumb, should you feel the need to explore, but you can also involve yourself as much or as little as you'd like and still find something to enjoy. This is a dense, rich film, but by no means is it a chore to watch. That, I believe, is the mark of a truly skilled filmmaker.

What else needs to be said about Pan's Labyrinth? Incorporating classic fairy tale tropes (a wicked step-parent, a sleeping potion, etc.) with allusions to classic horror and fantasy films (The Shining, Alice in Wonderland, etc.), juxtaposed against a tale of war and rebellion, bursting at the seams with relevant (but not remotely overwrought) symbolism and metaphor, this is simply one of those films that acts as a true testament to the power of imagination. It will suck you in and place you under its spell, as it did me; I'm already eager to revisit it and see what's changed. I make no exaggeration when I say this is arguably Del Toro's finest work and you'd be remiss to wait even nearly as long as I did to give this one a watch. Definitely check it out, if you haven't already. If you already have, check it out again; there's indescribable value in revisiting films such as this, visible only to those who know where to look.

REVIEW: The Brothers Grimm

There's something to be said, I think, in defense of well-meaning schlock. Unlike your usual soulless cash-grab, an otherwise lackluster film can be elevated by some degree of creativity on the part of the filmmaker. This is something we saw last year with Kong: Skull Island; in terms of plot and character development, it was about as basic as they come. However, the cinematography, creature design, and overall atmosphere of the film illustrated just how much of a difference a little artistic effort can make. One could make a similar case, I feel, for today's subject, The Brothers Grimm. Before the mid-aughts tsunami of edgy fairy tale adaptations (Snow White and the Huntsman is likely the most infamous, but Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters is easily the most ludicrous), Monty Python alum Terry Gilliam gave us his own spin on the mythos behind the classic folk tales (and the men who collected them). It's a movie I could see working well in a double-feature with Sleepy Hollow, but I admittedly enjoyed The Brothers Grimm a good deal more (despite its flaws).

A fictitious tale of the real-life Brothers Grimm, the film paints the siblings as a pair of con-men, travelling from town to town across French-occupied Germany, using smoke and mirrors to perform phony exorcisms. After being arrested by the French military, the siblings (played by Matt Damon and Heath Ledger) are instructed to investigate the disappearance of a number of young girls in the small village of Marbaden. Suspected to be the work of fellow con-artists, the brothers are offered amnesty for their various grifts if they can expose whatever scheme is being cooked up and rescue the missing girls. However, they soon discover that the curses and folklore surrounding the supposedly enchanted forest is far more real than what they're used to dealing with. Alongside Mercurio Cavaldi (an Italian torturer played by Peter Stormare) and a hunter named Angelika (Game of Thrones' Lena Headey), it's up to Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm to solve the mystery of the enchanted forest and save a host of kidnapped children from succumbing to a grisly fate.

The most immediately-striking thing about this entire film (and my favorite detail) is the absurd-yet-macabre atmosphere Gilliam is able to establish. Before being sanitized and mass-produced into a multi-million dollar franchise by the Disney Corporation, the original Grimms' Fairy Tales was chock-full of stories of death, murder, and other assorted horrors. Cinderella's step-sisters were mutilated and blinded for their sins and the evil Queen in Snow White was literally forced to dance herself to death while wearing red-hot shoes. The content and themes of these stories tended to be a tad heavier than the usual "wish upon a star and believe in your dreams" schtick we're used to today, and it's that sense of tone that Gilliam captures magnificently here. While it is an action movie, it's not especially violent or profane, no moreso than any given Pirates of the Caribbean movie. This is a perfectly acceptable film to let children watch (almost like a more adult Over the Garden Wall), that is if you're willing to deal with the series of morbid and surreal night-terrors The Brothers Grimm is sure to inspire. 

Yes, everyone still lives happily ever after in the end, and yes, the majority of these moments employ liberal use of dodgy mid-2000's CGI, but there were a few moments where even I, a grown-ass man, found myself getting a little unsettled by just how morbid some of these sequences were. Maybe it's because so many of these scenes (again, true to their 19th century inspirations) involve horrific things happening to children; then again, it's not much of a stretch to define a scene where a small girl is eaten alive by a horse full of spiders as pure, high-octane nightmare fuel. There's also a sequence later on in which a gingerbread man forms out of a pile of mud and proceeds to steal a child's face, leaving her to stumble around blindly, attempting to scream despite not having a mouth. While some people may find scenes like this offputting, I absolutely loved it; it's all presented without a hint of shame or irony, perfectly capturing that sense of foreboding and dark humor you see all the time in old-world folklore. The film knows what it's about and it has no intention of apologizing (as illustrated in the scene in which an adorable kitten is kicked into a rotor-blade). You get the sense Gilliam wanted to present the side of these classic stories you seldom see anymore in popular culture, and it ends up being arguably the biggest feather in the film's cap.

I also adored the way that Gilliam was able to tie all of the notable Grimm folklore together, without it coming off as trite or unnatural. The idea behind the film is that Jacob (the more studious brother, played by Heath Ledger) is constantly taking down notes in a leather-bound journal, the implication of course being that these notes will eventually serve as the inspiration for the characters and stories collected in Grimms' Fairy Tales. The wicked Mirror Queen (Monica Bellucci), for example, is meant to serve as a sort of amalgam of the Evil Queen from Snow White and the titular princess from Rapunzel. The woodsman (Tomáš Hanák) is also the big, bad wolf. The film doesn't try for the overplayed "well here's what ACTUALLY HAPPENED" gimmick like so many other modern twists on classic stories, instead putting a unique spin on things that, overall, feels like a cohesive and believable backstory for each of these timeless fairy tales. Granted, I mean believable in a world with blood-moon enchantments and living gingerbread men, but the point I'm getting at is that, considering the world the film establishes, we're able to connect the dots between fiction and "reality". There are countless examples of the creative process working like this in real life (the Chain Chomps in Super Mario Bros were inspired by a neighborhood dog that would chase a young Shigeru Miyamoto around, Professor Snape was based off of J.K. Rowling's firm but fair chemistry teacher, etc.), so it's interesting to see a film work embrace its own fictional aspects and work backwards in such a way.

Attention to detail aside, I was most surprised at how taken I was with the relationship between the titular brothers; in the opening scene, we see a destitute family waiting for a doctor to help their sick little girl. Her brother returns home, only to reveal that he sold the family cow for "magic beans" that would supposedly cure his sister. As one might expect, the beans aren't magic at all and the little girl succumbs to her sickness and dies, much to the dismay of her brothers (who grow up to be Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm). It's a surprisingly dramatic origin for the two, illustrating just why they've taken up work as travelling con-artists, as well as providing context for their dynamic (both as brothers and as business partners). Wilhelm (Damon) is the more profit-minded of the two, typically taking charge; whenever anything sparks Jacob's imagination, Wilhelm is quick to drag him back down to Earth by mentioning the magic beans. And it's because of this inciting incident that, when the enchantments in the forest are proven to be real, Jacob is driven to get to the bottom of things while his brother would be content to collect what they can and skip town. If he can prove the existence of magic, then he can absolve himself of guilt for his sister's death; if magic exists, then she died because of a scam artist, rather than because of Jacob's ignorance and naïveté. It's an unexpectedly resonant aspect of an otherwise schlocky, offbeat action film, and one that I greatly appreciated in the end.

For all my praise, the film is far from perfect. The plot tends to meander about in search of something interesting to do, and scenes tend to just happen one after another. At just under two-hours, it definitely feels its length (despite some fun action setpieces scattered throughout). It doesn't exactly follow a traditional plot structure, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I have to say that this is one element where I wish Terry Gilliam had played it a tad more traditional. Your typical three-act structure is pretty hard to mess up, and while one can definitely divide the film up into a beginning, middle, and end, it's hardly three clean, even sections. The second act lasts essentially from when the brothers arrive at Marbaden all the way to the climax, and while this is where the majority of memorable scenes are found (such as the aforementioned nightmare horse and gingerbread man sequences), they're all spaced out between long spans of nothing. Our villains, while easy to root against, lack any and all subtlety or nuance and arguably the most interesting character (Angelika, a stoic hunter played by Game of Thrones' Lena Headey) is written out of the main conflict just before the final battle, relegated to nothing more than a typical damsel in distress who, oddly enough, ends up something of a romantic reward for both the brothers. At the same time, however, we also get Peter Stormare acting to the rafters as a morally-questionable Italian man. So at least there's that.

All in all, I enjoyed my time with The Brothers Grimm. It's heavily flawed, but it's also a ton of fun in a really offbeat, darkly humorous sort of way. You get the sense that there was some degree of a creative vision here, rather than just an attempt to make a cheap action movie out of some public domain fairy tales. The sets and costumes and lighting are all spectacular, as is the creature design and overall idea behind the plot. It's the kind of concept that would have crashed and burned in the hands of someone like Brett Ratner or Paul W.S. Anderson, but instead found something special with Terry Gilliam. Sure, it can technically be classified as a "guilty pleasure", but why over-complicate things? It's a fun, schlocky, imaginative bit of work that'll scare the pants off of any child you put in front of it. If you find yourself in the mood for that specific kind of fantasy film that seems to intentionally stray away from that Peter Jackson standard of "epic", you could certainly do a lot worse than this.

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.

2017 End of the Year Retrospective Extravaganza!

365 days later (give or take a week or so) and here we are once again. The new year is, traditionally speaking, a time when we look back and reflect on what we've accomplished. A time of hellacious binge-drinking and brutal hangovers, of ill-fated gym memberships that collect dust after the first week and celebrity death pools that are never quite as entertaining as they seem on New Year's Day. And naturally, if you're anything like me, the new year is the time when everyone comes together to fight it out over which movies represented the best (or worst) the past year had to offer. 

If I'm being real, I feel like 2017 was a pretty damn good year for movies (despite a few obvious low-points); there was certainly a lot to talk about in the realm of cinema, so before I get to my rankings, I think it'd be best to reiterate some ground rules:

• I don't get paid to do this blog. It's purely a hobby of mine and a lack of both time and finances prevents me from seeing everything that comes out in a given year. By no means should you expect anything professional or definitive; the opinions expressed here are purely my own, so take them with how ever many grains of salt suits your fancy.
• Not every movie I discuss here has to have come out in 2017; this is a look back on my year, specifically on the movies I watched in 2017.
• I'm only featuring things I've watched for the first time. That means nothing like Spectacular Spider-Man or Prince of Egypt (though they may receive an Honorable Mention at the end).

So without further ado, let's get right to it!

The Haruo Nakajima Award for Most Fun Monster Movies I Watched in 2017

We lost a lot of talented people in 2017, one of the most underrated being Haruo Nakajima, the original suit actor for the Godzilla movies (as well as countless other kaiju films of the 50's, 60's, and 70's). However, we also got two tremendously enjoyable giant monster movies this past year in the form of Shin Godzilla and Kong: Skull Island. It does my heart good to see these kinds of larger-than-life creature features making a comeback in such a big way, especially when they're done with so much care. Shin Godzilla was a stellar return to form for the king of the monsters, yet it still managed to innovate in so many important ways. It's not often that my reaction to the last shot of a movie is "WAIT, WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?", but I sure wish it would happen more often. Meanwhile, Kong: Skull Island was simply a blast, a monster romp that knew exactly what it wanted to be and exactly what it wanted to do. Inspired by everything from Apocalypse Now to Princess Mononoke, it's a prime example of how much a little care, effort, and imagination can bolster a project that, in less passionate hands, could have turned out totally unremarkable. I feel like these movies didn't really set the world on fire with mainstream audiences, but they both represent the kind of commitment to vision that I'd like to see out of more big-budget blockbusters moving forward.

The Spooky-Scary Award for Best Horror I Watched All Year

Horror is, without question, easily one of my favorite genres. Rarely do I find a pair of horror films (back-to-back, no less) of such quality as The VVitch and Get Out. These are two of my absolute favorite films I watched this entire year, films that I plan to enthusiastically revisit time and time again in the future. The VVitch is a positively stunning effort for a first-time director. Low-key and slowly paced, it's not exactly in line with the majority of modern horror films. Jump scares and obnoxious musical stings are replaced with a genuine atmosphere of creeping, natural dread that stuck with me well after the credits stopped rolling. Make no mistake, this is a masterpiece in the same league as The Shining and The Exorcist, and I honestly have no idea how Robert Eggers expects to top it (though he has my sympathies). Get Out, meanwhile, definitely errs more on the side of satire and outright comedy than pure horror, but it was still a very clever, well-crafted, and effective film. Jordan Peele's sense of subtlety and foreshadowing is the rich glue that makes this film such a blast (especially on repeat viewings). It feels like a loving throwback to things like The Twilight Zone and They Live, wrapped up in an eternally topical bundle of modern sensibilities. I simply can't recommend either of these enough; they represent so many of the things I love about the horror genre and I hope to see more from both Eggers and Peele in the future.

The Awesome Mix Award for Best Use of Established Music in 2017

After the first Guardians of the Galaxy took the box office by storm with its "bombastic action sequences set to pop music" approach back in the summer of 2014, it seems like every blockbuster under the sun is out to give it a try (though some are far less successful than others). Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 and Baby Driver show how to use this stylistic trick the right way. Anyone can slap a popular song over a given sequence without any finesse or nuance, but that doesn't mean it'll work. Why was Fortunate Son playing when we were introduced to Killer Croc? Was the implication that he served in Vietnam? When music is added to a sequence with no rhyme or reason, it comes off as totally shallow; as though the filmmakers are banking on the audience dully exclaiming "HEY, I KNOW THAT SONG" before declaring it the best movie of the year. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 and Baby Driver are two films that make it extremely evident that a lot of care and discretion was used when making selections for the soundtrack. The Brandy sequence in Guardians (between Kurt Russell and Chris Pratt) is the first breadcrumb James Gunn gives us, illustrating the parallels between the soundtrack and the events of the plot. After some investigation, the true genius of the film begins to reveal itself (such as how the opening sequence, set to ELO's Mr. Blue Sky, foreshadows the climax). Meanwhile, the visual flair Edgar Wright uses in tandem with the sound design of Baby Driver is just something to behold; watch the opening sequence a few times and see if you can't pick up on all the extraordinarily subtle details in the background and dialog (spoiler alert, it's going to take a good couple viewings to even spot most of them). These are two films that take what many use as nothing more than a cheap gimmick and turn it into a multi-sensory experience; when filmmakers put this kind of thought, care, and hard work into these subtle details, the end result is all the more satisfying to watch. Take note, this is how it's done.

The Hugh Mungous Award for Most Pointless Controversy

I'd hoped we could leave all the endless internet slap-fighting over garbage that doesn't matter in 2016 with the bombed-out corpse of the Ghostbusters remake, but alas, 2017 was no stranger to pointless controversy and squabbling either. Despite enjoying Patty Jenkins' sincere take on an iconic superhero with Wonder Woman, the lead-up to the film's release was so intolerable that I actually added "wonder woman" to my list of blocked keywords on Twitter. First we had complaints about Gal Gadot's hairless armpits and the news that the Alamo Drafthouse planned to host woman-only screenings during the opening weekend. We saw Wonder Woman symbolically inducted into the UN as an ambassador for peace and women's rights, only to have that title revoked for being conventionally-attractive and white. Then the film came out and we had to endure the sour grapes of countless critics who championed Wonder Woman as the most important film of 2017, only to find themselves disappointed by the heterosexual romance and lack of misandry. It was an absolute mess; all of this anger and vitriol over a totally okay superhero movie marketed to children. Similarly, we have the eternally divisive fan reactions to Star Wars: The Last Jedi. Some fans proudly declared "NOT MUH LUKE" and labelled the film as (somehow) worse than the prequels. Others displayed such a fanatical devotion to this flawed, messy sequel that it's a wonder Jedi haven't emerged as a real-world extremist group. Either you're a Disney shill who's been paid off by the Mouse, or you're an unapologetic racist who "just didn't get it". Both sides are pathetic, both sides are wrong, both sides need to stay in 2017, because I will be damned if I have to go through this all again when Black Panther comes out next month.

The Poochy Award for Plot Points 

That Died on the Way Back to Their Home Planets

One of the biggest problems with building films around the framework of a cinematic universe is the danger that not every detail will eventually carry over into anything that matters. We watched Age of Ultron all but ignore the character development present in Iron Man 3 and Captain American: The Winter Soldier; this is the price of attempting to tell a long-form narrative between dozens of different creative teams, generating a clash between studio direction and artistic intent. Sometimes, however, it's not entirely the studio's fault. Sometimes a a bad idea is just a bad idea; such is the case with Spider-Man Homecoming's Michelle (played by Zendaya). This character almost made Homecoming a shoe-in for Most Pointless Controversy, but it just missed out for the simple fact that, in 10 years, I'm willing to bet people will still be arguing about The Last Jedi; not a soul will have anything to say about the character of Michelle. She was used exclusively to drum up clickbait drama before the release of the film, only to amount to barely more than nothing. We get a quick gag in which she mentions that her friends call her "MJ" and that's it. Based off of Kevin Feige's explanation, I wouldn't be surprised if this character was nothing more than a stress test to see what the studio could get away with from a stunt-marketing standpoint. Michelle was hardly the breakout star of Homecoming, so I doubt we'll be seeing "MJ" in any kind of major capacity down the line (especially since Gwen Stacy has already been confirmed for the sequel). On the other hand, we have Justice League. As in, all of it. The entirety of Justice League is, as far as I'm concerned, dead-on-arrival at this point, it's absolutely pitiful how little public faith WB appears to have in their own franchise. We can't officially declare it until Aquaman comes out (since that's been in active production for a while), but the writing is on the wall. The days of the DCEU (at least, in its current iteration) are numbered. With the Flashpoint movie around the corner, I wouldn't be surprised if major parts of this cinematic universe are retconned out of existence, with a number of major roles recast in favor of actors who are much less expensive and emotionally broken than Ben Affleck (and that's assuming WB doesn't just cut their losses and reboot the entire miserable mess a few years from now).

The Unpoppable Bubble Award for Best Superhero Stuff of 2017

On a more positive (yet still superhero-themed) note, we have my absolute favorite comic book films to come out in 2017, Logan and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. Tonal opposites, perhaps, but these are the two superhero movies that, I feel, exemplify that the genre still has more to offer beyond firing blue beams into the sky. I never thought I would be one of those suffering from superhero fatigue, yet here we are. My excitement for Infinity War, a film I've literally been waiting a decade for, is lukewarm at best. I didn't even bother watching The Defenders. Hell, I didn't even bother watching The Punisher. I haven't even seen the trailer for season 2 of Jessica Jones. It's all just becoming too much, we've eaten so much delicious Marvel-branded candy that we've become sick of it. It dawned on me around the time I saw Baby Driver that it was the first film I had seen in the theaters in 2017 that wasn't a comic book adaptation, a sequel, or a sequel to a comic book adaptation. But whenever the looming death of cinema gets me down, I take comfort in knowing that all is not lost; we can still get genuinely effective, well-made films out of this blockbuster fad. Both Logan and Guardians made enough of an emotional impact on me that I still think about them to this day. If you're like me and harbor the occasional fear that the MCU is slowly revealing itself as the outcome of a monkey's paw wish, give these two a look. There are still stories to be told, but it takes a talented filmmaker (like James Gunn and James Mangold) to make them into stories worth telling.

The Bill Finger (Not Bob Kane) Award for 

the Only Good Film of 2017 to Feature Batman

This is the only category on this Retrospective with only one winner, simply because I find it so insane that, out of all of the DC movies featuring Batman to come out in 2017, the best one was the animated comedy where the caped crusader is portrayed by a plastic building toy and voiced by Gob from Arrested Development. The LEGO Batman Movie is many things. It's a heartwarming family film, a hilarious comedy, and a gorgeously-put-together display of computer animation. Above all else, it's also the best portrayal of Batman and pals since The Dark Knight. There's something about that fact that I find hilarious in a cosmic sort of way. If you went back in time to 2007 and told everyone "ten years from now, a movie about Batman LEGO sets is going to be way better than a movie about the Justice League", not a soul would believe you. Hell, they probably wouldn't believe that a LEGO Batman movie would even exist. Yet here we are. It's a grand old time and, aside from most of the first two acts of Wonder Woman, it was the only bit of mercy WB decided to show us DC fans in 2017. Here's hoping with Aquaman and Batman Ninja coming out later this year that 2018 is a damn sight better.

The Martyr Award for the Worst Things I Made Myself Watch This Year

You know, this was supposed to be fun. When I put this blog together, I thought "huh, well if I only watch stuff that looks interesting, there'll be way too many positive reviews, and things will get boring, so I should watch some really terrible stuff every month, just to mix it up!" What an idealistic fool I was. But now it's tradition, so I can't escape it. I bet you thought Ivan the Incredible was gonna be here, didn't you? Surprise, for as horrid as that was, at least there was a sort of mean-spirited entertainment one could get out of it. It wasn't a good trip by any means, but man was it a trip. Dragonball: Evolution and Jurassic School, on the other hand, represent everything I hate to see in film. There's something to be said in defense of movies that are so bad they're good (more on that later), but I can't abide laziness. Both of these are just such boring, bland, cynical cash-grabs; if I had to say anything nice about either of them, I feel like Dragonball has the potential to be a blast with the proper company and potent enough refreshments. Jurassic School is just hopeless, such a gross scam of a movie that it actually makes me angry. This blog is something I look forward to making each week, but it's movies like these that really put me through my paces, so I guess I've at least got that to be grateful for.

The "And I've Got the Ticket Stubs to Prove It" Award for Worst Movies of 2017

Like I said at the start of all this, 2017 was (all things considered) a damn good year for movies. That said, even the best year isn't exempt from its low points; and my God, where these some low points. Alien: Covenant is the latest in the exciting saga of me gradually losing any and all faith in Ridley Scott as a filmmaker. It feels like Scott only learned the most superficial of lessons from Prometheus; RedLetterMedia wants to know what the black goo was? Let us explain! People were upset there was no xenomorph? Here's the cheapest-looking, least exciting xenomorph in the history of the franchise for exactly the last 20 minutes of the film! Everyone says the scientists acted like idiots? Well now they're not scientists anymore, so they can be as stupid, shortsighted, and incompetent as the plot requires! It's seriously an insultingly stupid movie; it doesn't feel as insufferably full of itself as Prometheus and Michael Fassbender continues to prove himself one of the finest actors of our time, but there's only so much that can be done to salvage such a broken concept. And there's still two more sequels on the way. Meanwhile, we also have DC making their second-annual appearance in the Worst Of category with Batman and Harley Quinn, an animated abomination so heinous that I had to get a buzz going just to finish it. I honestly feel bad about lumping Covenant in with something as horrendous as Batman and Harley Quinn; there's a fair power gap between the two. At least Covenant, braindead as it is, has a handful of decent ideas that it occasionally executes in a serviceable way; that's infinitely more than I can say about Batman and Harley Quinn. To be totally transparent, the title of this category is a bit of a misnomer, in that I didn't even pay to watch Batman and Harley Quinn. Despite this, I still want my money back. It's bad.

The "So-Bad-It's-Good" Award for Guiltiest Pleasure of the Year

There's something really special about finding a movie that's legitimately worthy of the title "so bad it's good". You can't get that kind of magic with a movie that goes out of its way to be bad; if it's sincere and it's entertaining, the end result is often something sincerely entertaining. I was so surprised to see just how many people behind Netflix's westernized adaptation of Death Note legitimately believed in it; the idea of taking a famous anime property and setting it in an American high school is riddled with red flags for a reason (just ask Dragonball: Evolution). But the end result is something so hilariously entertaining, I just can't hate it. It's got everything one could want; an interesting concept wasted on a nonsensical story, laughably over-the-top performances (complete with melodramatic monologues), absurd choices in music, and Willem DaFoe. Death Note may have been the film I recommended most to people in 2017 and I'm not even joking; that's how funny it is. Meanwhile, we have another film that I did not expect to enjoy as much as I did. This one came right at the end of the year when I was positively swamped with Reviews, so it didn't get it's own blog post. Here's the jist of Fate of the Furious, the first Fast and The Furious film I've ever seen; Vin Diesel starts committing crimes for Charlize Theron and Tormund Giantsbane with his car, so Kurt Russell recruits The Rock and pals to use their cars to capture Vin Diesel, but his car is better than their cars. Then we get to the climax, where Charlize Theron (in her blonde dreads) remotely pilots a nuclear submarine while Jason Statham rescues a baby from a private jet and The Rock kicks a torpedo into a car full of Russian soldiers. It's insane. I could criticize the cheesy performances, or the over-the-top plot, or the action setpieces that took my suspension of disbelief, curbstomped it, and dissolved the corpse in a vat of quicklime. I could do any number of those things, but I'd just be shouting into the void. This movie knows exactly what it wants to be and doesn't care what anyone has to say about it, and that's why I absolutely goddamn loved it. I'll admit, I was hesitant to watch this at first, but by the time the credits rolled, I wanted to give it a standing ovation for being one of the most unironically entertaining things I had ever seen in my entire life. I get it now. It's about family.

The Business/Pleasure Award for Favorite Movies I Watched for This Blog

and

The Rock and Rule Award for Underrated Animation

Take anyone who says "animation is for children" and show them these two films. Kubo and the Two Strings remains my deepest regret of 2016; rather than paying to see Kubo in theaters, I saw... another movie, and it's haunted me ever since. I can only hope that I'm able to make amends by never, ever shutting up about how spellbindingly brilliant this movie is. The geniuses at Laika continue to demonstrate why they are the name in modern stop-motion; the amount of blood, sweat, and tears that went into making something like Kubo is the stuff of Renaissance-era legend. I don't want to gush too much over the animation, lest I give the impression that visuals are all Kubo has to offer. There's some films where I want to boil them down to their sheer essence, the artistry and effort and imagination that gave it being, and inject it into my veins; Kubo is one such film. We also have Wizards, from animation legend Ralph Bakshi. This is the film that really sparked an interest in 70's animation for me. While it may be too obtuse for some, I was hooked on its incredible art design and insanely original story right from the get-go. There's so much to dissect and explore with Wizards; it's a movie that doesn't start to show its full hand until the viewer cares enough to take a look for themselves, and that's something that I treasure (whenever I'm lucky enough to find it).

The Best of the Year Award for Best Movies of 2017

As if there was any doubt how this was gonna turn out. I apologize if anyone is disappointed that my Best of 2017 picks are two films already featured in the Retrospective, but come on now. Logan is, without question, my favorite film of 2017 (hell, it's my favorite film of the past several years). It took nearly 20 years of superhero iconography and used it as a jumping-off point to tell a story that was small in scope, yet with incredible emotional weight to it. It's just perfect. The culmination of Logan's journey after all this time, the conflict between the hero he was built up to be and the weapon he never wanted to become. His relationship with Xavier and the Professor's struggle against the steady march of time. The mutual fatigue of these two main characters, their temptation to just give up and die, and the fleeting hope that helping Laura could be the last good thing either has a chance to do. It's all just so perfect. The more I think about it, the more I fall in love with it. Baby Driver, conversely, takes the silver medal this year, which is nothing to be ashamed of by any means. True, I had my nitpicks with the story (and it's tragic that such an excellent film will always have to be associated with Kevin Spacey), but at the end of the day, Baby Driver is pure art. Edgar Wright continues to prove himself as one of the most talented directors of our time, instilling all of his movies with a distinct comedic flair and attention to detail, managing to mix scenery, music, humor, drama, and action in such a stylish, seamless, yet altogether human fashion that you might as well just say it's magic and call it a day. These were my two favorite films of 2017; if 2018 has anything to offer that even comes close to these two, then we've definitely got something to look forward to in the new year.

So without further ado...

Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you all so much for stopping by each week. I seriously can't properly articulate how surreal and wonderful it feels whenever anyone tells me that they read what I write on this blog, and I don't think I'm ever going to get used to it. 2017 has been a big year from me; I graduated college, got a new job, and started working towards a Master's Degree. There's been a lot of changes and there have been times where the transition has hardly been smooth; I missed more deadlines this past year than I would like to admit, yet you all stuck with me through thick and thin. In 2017 alone, Jurassic Mark has received nearly 100 Thousand page views. At this time last year, we were right around 8,000 total. Again, I can't properly articulate how that makes me feel, so I'll simply say this.

Honestly, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart; thank you for reading.

And here's wishing you and yours a happy, safe, prosperous 2018!

And like always, here's a list of Honorable Mentions that just didn't make the cut for one reason or another: The Disaster Artist, Over the Garden Wall, Dunkirk, The Spectacular Spider-Man, Tarzan, Clue, The Prince of Egypt, Pete's Dragon (2016), The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), and Fargo.