REVIEW: Aquaman

As I write this Review, James Wan's Aquaman has just blown past the $1 billion mark at the international box office. Aquaman. Even as a longtime fan of the comics, I can't exactly say I saw this coming. The DCEU has been chugging by on a wing and a prayer for years now, and while Wonder Woman earned the franchise enough good will to hold onto a glimmer of hope that the worst had long since passed, 2017's utterly abysmal Justice League tanked both critically and financially. Rumors swirled about Ben Affleck and Henry Cavill dropping out of the franchise for good, the upcoming Scorsese-produced Joker movie seemed to indicate that WB was pursuing other options, and we all had to wonder if Aquaman was merely a formality at this point; the last gasps of a dead franchise, pumped into theaters for no reason beyond recouping losses. I was excited to see one of my favorite superheroes (yes, seriously) portrayed on the big screen, but even I was apprehensive of what awaited me. One mind-numbingly long screening later and I found myself feeling something I seldom feel about many movies. Aquaman is by no means what I would call a "good" movie, and yet I had an absolute blast with it. It's flawed, bloated, and verges on being totally braindead at times, but there are also elements of this movie that I feel exemplify exactly what WB should aim to accomplish with future entries in the DCEU.

Set after the events of Justice League (let's not pretend that really matters, since the characters certainly don't), we find that Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa) has taken to superhero-ing like a fish to water, known throughout the seven seas (and his quiet hometown of Amnesty Bay) as the Aquaman. The son of a lighthouse keeper (Temuera Morrison) and the renegade Queen of Atlantis (Nicole Kidman), Curry has been reluctant to confront the wetter side of his heritage, believing the xenophobic Atlanteans to be responsible for the death of his mother. This all changes, however, after he is confronted by Princess Mera (Amber Heard, rocking one of the worst wigs this side of Spirit Halloween), who informs Arthur that his half-brother, King Orm (Patrick Wilson) intends to unite the seven undersea kingdoms and march on the surface world, establishing Atlantis' dominion over the entire planet. With the help of his mentor, Vulko (Willem Dafoe), Arthur joins Mera to locate the lost trident of King Atlan, usurp his brother's throne, and take his rightful place as the one true king of Atlantis.

Right off the bat, the movie suffers from a screenplay that toes the line between harmlessly campy and comically bad (which feels like something of a motif for 2018). While I was eventually able to adjust to the movie's cheese-factor, it doesn't change the fact that some of these lines feel like they were meant to be placeholders. The cast all do their best with what they've been given, but no actor could make a gem like "Your fish-ship has been marinating in chum-butter, I'm not coming out smelling like swamp butt" sound good. It doesn't help that we're stuck with this level of dialog for, as I mentioned, well over two hours. The plot essentially condenses the first three volumes of Geoff Johns' New52 run into a single story (which makes sense, seeing as how he has a story credit alongside James Wan and screenwriter Will Beall), so things naturally get more than a little crowded. You get the impression that WB assumed this would be their only shot at making an Aquaman movie, so very little is saved for the sequel. They put all their chips on the table and it more than paid off, so while this definitely doesn't feel like a bland corporate product, it definitely gets rather clunky here and there (especially during the first act). We get Arthur meeting Mera, contesting Ocean Master for the throne, reclaiming the lost trident of Atlan, and fighting Black Manta (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), all in one movie. As a result, despite a reasonably brisk pace, the entire thing suffers from a distinct feeling of bloat. While I didn't necessarily dislike any of these storylines, I definitely would have been fine with cutting one or more in favor of saving it for the sequel; the end result is very much a concentrated dose of Aquaman, but it may prove a little too dense for anyone who isn't already a fan of the comics.

Aside from that, we have our two main leads played by Jason Momoa and Amber Heard. In my Review of Justice League, I said that they were by far the weakest links in the main cast, and the same holds true here. Don't get me wrong, they're both extraordinarily good-looking people with charisma to spare, but their relationship lacks chemistry (especially compared to, say, Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor) and their emotional range left me wanting, to say the least. The villains definitely steal the show, with Wilson and Abdul-Mateen cranking it up to 11 as Ocean Master and Black Manta. The cornball script and bombastic presentation only does these two favors, as we're treated to two separate scenes where our antagonists look right at the camera and proclaim, "CALL ME... *insert supervillain name here*!"; if that doesn't sound like the kind of thing you could get into, then I'd recommend giving the whole affair a pass right here and now. These are two comic book villains who make up for their apparent lack of depth with sheer screen presence, exemplifying just what makes James Wan's approach to this material stick the landing, despite its many flaws. Whereas other films may hesitate to embrace the over-the-top nature of adapting a superhero story to the big screen, Aquaman pulls its absurd, pulpy roots into a crushing bear-hug, splashing hefty doses of color and melodrama across the screen to remarkably fun effect.

I've noticed that many big-screen comic book adaptations (especially those found in the Marvel Cinematic Universe) are often more than a little hesitant to fully commit to the levels of absurdity found within the pages of its source material, using self-aware humor as a buffer to help sell the audience on something so seemingly childish. That isn't to say that I need my superhero movies to be dour and moody, there are definitely good ways to blend humor and intimate character drama, but there are definitely bad ways to go about it as well. If the film is constantly winking to me about how goofy the movie I'm watching is, it's only going to hurt itself in the long run. If the characters in the film don't take the situation, threat, or villain seriously, how can I, as the viewer, be expected to? This is where Aquaman uses its cheesy tone to its advantage; while this is a supremely weird, goofy movie with lots of fantastical locales and impractical costumes, the universe of the film takes itself entirely seriously. This is something the DCEU has attempted in the past, to disastrous results. Fortunately, James Wan is a talented enough filmmaker to not confuse a film taking itself seriously with being a joyless, dour slog.

This is a film that is fiercely committed to playing its role as a superhero movie, and there is zero cynicism to be found in how it approaches such a task. The tone very heavily reminds me of the Sam Raimi Spider-Man films; movies that were very intentionally made to be exaggerated, stylized, sometimes downright cartoonish action romps, yet never felt the need to justify that level of silliness to the audience by pretending it was "ironic" or "deconstructive". Aquaman wears its heart firmly on its sleeve, which I find somewhat refreshing in today's contemporary superhero scene. Its goal isn't to reinvent the wheel or get audiences to think Aquaman is a "realistic" portrayal of a superhero. The mission statement here is, without question, to entertain. And if I'm judging a film purely on how well it accomplishes the goals it has set for itself, I have no choice but to give Aquaman full marks. It's not very subtle or nuanced, there's a lot of terrible acting and dialog, and it's not at all conceptually ambitious in terms of displaying what a superhero movie can be in this modern age. But I was fiercely entertained, thanks very much in part to James Wan's talents as a director. 

There are countless other films that try to coast by on sheer spectacle and fail; Justice League is a prime example. For as messy and unrefined as aspects of Aquaman are, it at the very least feels like someone's vision, rather than a sanitized product that's been focus-tested and homogenized in an attempt to appeal to as many paying demographics as possible. And that's not to say that giving a director free reign to exercise their vision is a one-way ticket to success either; films like Batman V Superman and The Last Jedi prove that a filmmaker needs to understand and respect the subject they're working with in order to create something that, at the end of the day, isn't a frustrating chore to sit down and watch. This is something Aquaman definitely gets right, mixing goofball superhero aesthetics and melodrama with genuinely engaging direction and cinematography. It's not an exaggeration to say that the majority of this film takes place on a green screen, so when I'm praising the effects, you know it's something special. Atlantis feels like a fully realized world with countless depths worth exploring (in contrast to Black Panther's Wakanda, which felt like three soundstages and a grassy field) and there are loads of imaginative creature designs which give way to some truly spectacularly realized action setpieces (especially in the latter half of the film). There's a sequence later on in the second act involving the Trench, an ancient race of monstrous fish-people, that really exhibits Wan's talent as a horror filmmaker. Although clips from this scene made it into several of the trailers, they really don't do the sequence justice; it's clear from a quick visual gag in the beginning that he's a fan of H.P. Lovecraft, and this Trench sequence just makes me wonder how long I'm going to have to wait for an adaptation of The Shadow Over Innsmouth with James Wan in the director's chair.

While it's hardly what I'd call a groundbreaking success in the superhero genre, I simply can't hide the amount of fun I had with Aquaman. It's a movie with a myriad of problems holding it back from true greatness, yet it managed to keep me thoroughly entertained throughout its somewhat bloated runtime. There are glaring issues with the script, story, and performances, but there's such a distinct lack of cynicism here that I can't bring myself to hate it. This isn't a bad movie in the same way something like Batman V Superman or the Michael Bay Transformers films are, where the lack of quality comes off as insulting to the viewer. This is more akin to something like The Fate of the Furious, where you get the sense that everyone on set knew exactly what they were making; a bombastic, cartoonish spectacle that plays all of its candy-colored melodrama 100% straight. I caught myself groaning at the downright embarrassing dialog in the beginning, but then Black Manta shot Aquaman with an electric harpoon and said "I'm gonna gut you like the fish you are" and I realized this movie and I were, in a way, very much on the same page in regards to what an Aquaman film should be. The costumes are fantastic, the effects are impressive, and the last thirty minutes are pure visual opium. It's silly, it's stupid, and I had an absolute blast with it. If you're not a fan of superhero comics or prefer your cape stories to be a bit more on the low-key and serious side, there's little here that would be worth your time. But if you're a fan of the comics, nostalgic for a time when superheroes didn't have to be reimagined to make sense in the real world, Aquaman will definitely quench your thirst.

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: Avengers Infinity War

Well, it's finally here. 10 years after Iron Man kicked off the modern superhero craze, 6 years after the first Avengers teased this particular storyline in its post-credits stinger, and just over two months since Black Panther set all those impressive box office records that this is inevitably going to demolish; Avengers: Infinity War is finally upon us. There are many who view this as the grand finale of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the designated jumping-off point for anyone (like myself) beginning to feel the strain of superhero fatigue. It's taken 18 movies over the past decade to get to this point, so it's understandable if it's all starting to feel like a bit much nowadays. Having at long last seen Infinity War, I can safely say that Joe and Anthony Russo have accomplished the impossible; not only have they crafted a blockbuster with over 30 main characters that doesn't feel like an incoherent mess, they have reignited my excitement for the latent potential of the MCU, leaving me to eagerly await whatever comes next.

The film begins directly after the post-credits scene of Thor Ragnarok, as we find the mad titan Thanos (Josh Brolin) making his way across the galaxy collecting the ubiquitous Infinity Stones, six glowy ingots that each control some basic element of existence. With all six stones, Thanos would possess the power of a literal god, a power he intends to use to wipe out half of all living things in the universe (all for the supposedly-altruistic goal of restoring cosmic balance, naturally). As one might expect, his plans put him in conflict not only with the recently broken-up Avengers, but with the Guardians of the Galaxy as well. What follows is a two and a half hour long event, taking us from the streets of Manhattan to the far reaches of space, and right about now is probably a good time to mention that there will be mild, implicit spoilers from this point onward. I'm not going to be outright stating what happens to whom, but this isn't the kind of thing you'll want to read if you intend to go in totally blind. So once more, for the people in the back:

SPOILER ALERT: the remainder of this Review reveals certain plot elements of Avengers: Infinity War!

The most immediately striking thing about this movie, for me, was how smartly put-together it was. When describing this movie, it's understandable to assume it would sail about as smoothly as the Titanic; it's got over 30 superheroes in it and acts as a sequel/finale to 17 other movies (I'm not counting Ant-Man since Scott Lang isn't present here), all while acting as a part one to it's own finale. Balancing a stage full of spinning plates isn't even an apt metaphor, it's more like the Russos are balancing live tigers on top of lit sticks of dynamite while riding a tilt-a-whirl. There's no shortage of things that could go wrong with a situation like this, but it's obvious that everyone involved in the production of Infinity War was perfectly cognizant of these possibilities and did everything in their power to avoid making any fatal mistakes (not unlike a certain Sorcerer Supreme).

I've seen a fair share of critics accuse this film of being an exercise in excess, and I can only assume said critics are completely new to the superhero genre. Infinity War shows a frankly miraculous level of restraint in how it doles out its eye-candy; there's no headache-inducing, nigh-incomprehensible action bukkake here like you'd find in Age of Ultron or X-Men: Apocalypse. We aren't given an extended sequence where all 30+ characters attack Thanos at the same time, reducing the screen to an eye-melting visual cacophony of CGI laser beams; instead, everyone is divvied up into teams and given something important to do. Everyone has a plot line to contribute to and, as such, everyone feels as though they matter to some degree. Naturally some characters are more prominent than others (Doctor Strange and Thor play much bigger roles than Okoye and the Winter Soldier, for instance), but no one really feels completely tertiary or useless. It doesn't revel in its own scale this early on, not while there's still half a story left to be told in next year's Avengers: Untitled (a daring, but unique naming convention, if I do say so myself).

The filmmakers knew that, going in, all of our most pressing questions would involve Thanos. All he's done for the past decade is sit in a chair, so they waste no time at all in establishing him as a credible threat. How do they do this? By showing him beating the incredible Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) into submission with nothing but his bare hands in the first five minutes of the movie. The character that has been a trump card for essentially every film he's appeared in is dispatched in the very first scene and doesn't appear again for the rest of the movie (fake trailer shots like the one above are a trend I wholeheartedly endorse, incidentally). The inevitable rematch is something we're denied until the next Avengers film comes out; while some may find this unsatisfying, all it does is make me even more excited for next May.

I also appreciated how Infinity War refuses to waste its audience's time. We've waited this long to get here, so there's no justifiable excuse for any filler. There's a scene near the end of the first act where a broken and battered Thor (Chris Hemsworth) comes across the Guardians of the Galaxy. After an offhand mention that Gamora (Zoe Saldana) is Thanos' daughter, Thor begins to dramatically advance on her while the other Guardians try to fast-talk their way out of a godly beating. Things grow tense for just a moment, only for Thor to pat Gamora on the shoulder and remark "family can be tough". In a lesser film, we'd surely be subjected to a 5-10 minute action sequence where Thor fights the Guardians of the Galaxy over a misunderstanding. It would accomplish nothing beyond padding the runtime with more unnecessary action and feel like a trite waste of our time which, in a movie that's already well over two hours long, is something we cannot abide. Instead, Infinity War makes the mature choice to forego mindless action in favor of a small character moment. It knows exactly what it wants to accomplish and adjusts its priorities accordingly; we've already had entire movies about Black Panther (Chadwick Boseman) and Spider-Man (Tom Holland). This one is all about Thanos.

With the recent addition of characters like Killmonger, Ego the Living Planet, and the Vulture to the MCU pantheon, there've been rumblings that Marvel's supposed "villain problem" is finally over. Nowhere is this better illustrated than in Infinity War's handling of Thanos; Josh Brolin is far and above the breakout star here, delivering a performance that more than lives up to nearly ten years of hints and teases. I haven't been this taken with a villain performance since Heath Ledger's turn as the Joker in The Dark Knight, screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely have somehow found a way to take a giant purple cartoon character who has done nothing but sit in a chair for the past decade and turn him into the most nuanced Marvel antagonist this side of Loki (Tom Hiddleston). I've seen a lot of people praising Thanos' motives as being relatable, which I honestly don't understand; his motivation for enacting a universe-wide culling is essentially to preserve resources and vastly improve the quality of life for those who survive (rather than an obsessive infatuation with Lady Death, as seen in the comics). His logic is inherently flawed (considering he could just make more resources appear with a snap of his fingers), but then that's sort of the point; he is the mad titan, and the film makes it perfectly clear that Thanos is insane. He truly believes in his heart of hearts that he's doing the right thing, that he's the iron-willed savior of life as we know it, and that's what makes him such a tangible threat. He isn't simply evil because (as the misleading trailers put it) murdering billions of people puts a smile on his face. He's the hero of his own story; if you watch Infinity War as a film where Thanos is the protagonist, the seemingly odd structure and pacing suddenly make perfect sense. This is a movie where the main character is the villain. It's got a horrifying, depressing, downer of an ending, unless you're watching from Thanos' perspective, in which case everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to.

The film also takes an opportunity to put other, less prominent Avengers in the spotlight; after Infinity War, I think my favorite character in the entirety of the MCU may be Thor, which is an insane testament to how far we've come. Between Thor: The Dark World and Infinity War, the God of Thunder has been re-worked from a complete jobber with exactly one joke ("I say mortals, what is this "Twitter" you all speak of? Is it anything like the Casket of Ancient Winters???") into a true king who's lost everything. By the time he meets the Guardians in Infinity War, he's lost his family, his friends, his kingdom, his home, his hammer, and his eye, and we finally get a feel for how all of this senseless loss has affected him deep down. My favorite scene in the entire movie is a quiet moment between Thor and Rocket Raccoon (Bradley Cooper), in which his typical bravado is slowly chipped away as we see him truly begin to process his grief. Chris Hemsworth has truly come into his own with this character and I'm praying to Odin and Frigga and all the powers that be that he's not among the deceased in the next Avengers outing. I also came out really enjoying Benedict Cumberbatch's Doctor Strange, who (much like in Thor: Ragnarok) seems to shine best when he's got some other parts of the MCU to bounce off of. Special kudos must also be awarded to Tom Holland, who feels more like Spider-Man here than in any other MCU film (including his own).

With a budget falling somewhere between $300 and $400 million, Infinity War is easily one of the most expensive films ever made; and boy does it look it (can you imagine how embarrassing it would be if the visuals here were complete and utter trash?). It's safe to say that most Marvel movies don't look bad when it comes to their use of CGI, but this is the first time in a very long while where I've actually been impressed by the visual effects in a blockbuster like this. We've reached a sort of singularity where the visuals all mesh together perfectly, and we start to forget that characters like Thanos are made entirely inside a computer. Spider-Man has lost that offputting, overly-animated action figure look he had in Civil War and Homecoming, and I don't even bat an eye when I see Rocket Raccoon and Groot (Vin Diesel) interacting with a room full of real humans. This is also the first film to be shot entirely with IMAX cameras, so perhaps that distinction added something to the visual fidelity we're left to enjoy. When you're dealing with something of this scale, it's important that the action never feels overly-cluttered, and that's something the visual effects artists completely nailed.

The cinematography (care of longtime Russo collaborator, Trent Opaloch) is also quite good, maintaining the Russos' standard up-close-and-personal approach while (for the most part) ditching the requisite shaky-cam we find in The Winter Soldier and Civil War (I suppose shaking an IMAX camera would be both very difficult and potentially very expensive). One sequence in particular that I absolutely adore happens very early on, when two members of Thanos' Black Order (The Ebony Maw, played by Tom Vaughan-Lawlor, and Cull Obsidian, played by Terry Notary) do battle on the streets of New York with Iron Man (Robert Downy Jr), Doctor Strange, Spider-Man, and Wong (Benedict Wong). The beginning of the sequence, where we see the Black Order's ship descending on Bleeker Street, is shot entirely from street-level; we see the ship for the first time the same time Stark and Strange do, and it's this choice of camera angle (along with the seat-rattling sound design) that makes this sequence so immersive. Imagine being a civilian in a post-Avengers NYC; there's a big donut-shaped spacecraft ominously humming above a residential neighborhood and Tony Stark is running towards it alongside two wizards. Things are about to get real. It's a feeling I haven't gotten from one of these movies since I saw the first Avengers film back in 2012, and I think it's Infinity War's ability to not only recapture that same feeling, but to improve upon it that has me so taken with it.

Really, that sums up my entire takeaway here; Avengers was an unforgettable experience the first time I saw it, but it mostly coasts by on spectacle alone. Once you've seen it, it's never quite as good on repeat viewings (especially when you're at home and not in a theater). Infinity War, on the other hand, has so much more to offer right off the bat; already, I'm able to appreciate it on a level beyond the sheer scale of it all. Despite all my praise, it's not quite a perfect film. There are definitely some who will find the length and pacing exhausting, while others will be disappointed in how much screentime is given to certain characters (you can definitely tell this was made before Black Panther went on to make over a billion dollars, and I'm pretty sure Captain America has less than ten lines in the entire thing), but these minor speedbumps can't change the fact that this is an expertly-crafted event of a film that more than lives up to the hype Marvel Studios has spent so much time building. Anyone dismissing this for not feeling like a standard Marvel movie or requiring viewers to do their due-diligence in keeping up with the MCU canon is completely missing the point of this movie; this is not your traditional Marvel movie. At the same time, those who are quick to write off the numerous character deaths as "inconsequential" fail to realize that, in this situation, it's very much about the journey rather than the destination (mainly because we haven't reached the destination just yet). It should be obvious to anyone over the age of 10 that a number of the characters killed off in Infinity War will return for the next Avengers outing, but that doesn't invalidate this film's contributions to the overarching, multi-film narrative that is the MCU.

Avengers: Infinity War is a dark, daring blockbuster that soundly breaks the modern superhero movie mold while upholding and celebrating all the elements that made the genre the box office behemoth it is today. It's a modern-day Empire Strikes Back; in 20-30 years, when we ask the new generation of filmmakers what movie inspired them to pursue such a career, I would be shocked if at least one of them didn't cite Infinity War as the film that changed their life forever. It's a new high for the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and it made a True Believer out of me all over again. Go check it out.

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: Strawinsky and the Mysterious House

As I've said before, I like to avoid punching-down on this blog, especially when it comes to children's entertainment. It's not exactly fair to critique something made on a shoestring budget and marketed to toddlers the way I would look at something like Logan or The Lobster; there definitely has to be some sort of sliding grade scale, otherwise this whole operation of mine looks totally pathetic (even moreso than it already does). I'm not here to make fun of a film because it lacks a blockbuster budget, the same way I won't go out of my way to poopoo the efforts of criminally mistreated animators. No, what I hone in on for these end-of-month Reviews is the ill-intent of the filmmaker. I'm a firm believer that, despite abundant amounts of evidence to the contrary, film is still very much an art form. In turn, laziness and greed are two motivators I simply cannot abide. Though I must say, in all my years of seeking out awful, low-budget heaps of trash to watch and the end of each month, I have never once come across something so outwardly malicious and underhanded as today's subject. Ladies and gentlemen, I present for your consideration; Strawinsky and the Mysterious House.

There's a good chance you're already aware of this trainwreck, thanks to the power of the internet meme machine. But to fully grasp what makes this 30-minute children's special such an abhorrent piece of work, I need to provide the necessary context. Fret not, The Globglogabgalab will get his in due time. Strawinsky is directed, produced, animated, edited, recorded, and distributed by a man named David Hutter; much like Tommy Wiseau (who infamously wrote, directed, produced, and starred in The Room), Hutter displays an impressive degree of confidence for someone who has absolutely no idea what the hell he's doing. He describes his brainchild as "a magical adventure inspired by the Chronicles of Narnia, Walt Disney animated musicals and the parables by Jesus Christ". At first I was totally baffled. Clearly this would end up being some sort of dime-store religious thing, but I was altogether unprepared for what Mr. Hutter had in store for me. I pondered what in God's good name the movie that gave us The Globglogabgalab could have to do with the word of the Bible, but I soon learned that my questions would be answered in increasingly uncomfortable ways as the film progressed.

We start out to find our bunch of animal friends awkwardly t-posing through the woods before stumbling upon a mysterious house, at which point the leader, Strawinsky, suggests breaking inside and having a look around. They find themselves in a basement full of books, who all implore the little critters to take a load off and read them; so far, it all seems innocuous enough, right? Anthropomorphic British animals in a magic house full of magic books, clearly they're building to some stock moral about how "reading is the most magical adventure of them all" or whatever, yeah? Well... stay with me here, because things are gonna go downhill very fast. 

It's at this point that the friends run into the house's caretaker(?), a troll who looks and sounds like a stereotypical caricature of a Scotsman. The troll mentions how the Scarlet Queen (more on her later) had commanded him to multiply a bag of gold she'd given him; his failure to increase the number of zeroes at the end of the Scarlet Queen's account balance has left him a little on-edge, as he fears what horrible retribution she would have in store for him, should he continue to fail in his quest to produce yet more money for someone who is apparently already royalty. So right off the bat, you'd assume we have our villain in the form of the Scarlet Queen, correct? A vengeful monarch obsessed with gold and negligent to the needs and concerns of her underlings; again, I ask you to just stick with me here. There's a turn coming, and it'd be a damn shame if you were to miss it.

As the troll meanders off to contemplate what hellish torment surely awaits him at the hands of the Scarlet Queen, Strawinsky decides to leave his friends to their books and explore the remainder of the house. He comes across an anthropomorphic cello who explains how she used to belong to the Scarlet Queen; the cello feels understandably forgotten (dare I say, foresaken?) at having been left to rot in a dusty old house by its previous owner. Strawinsky, ever the empathetic paragon of virtue, decides to leave the cello to its wallowing and return to the basement. It's here that he meets the true star of the show, The Globglogabgalab. Essentially, he's a massive, obese, shape-shifting slug man who feeds on the knowledge of books for sustenance. As he explains in his transcendentally bad pan-flute rap song, he is "the yeast of thoughts and minds".

This is arguably the most important moment in the entire movie, since this is where David Hutter lays all his cards on the table and reveals what this film is really about. It's like sitting in a time-share presentation; you know the sale is coming, but you're not sure when until it's too late. Up to this point, it had just been another incompetently made kids' movie with your standard sweatshop CGI, but it's after Strawinsky meets The Globglogabgalab (I refuse to type that out anymore, so hence forth he shall be referred to as G-Man) that things take a hard, sinister turn into Orwellian propaganda. After his disquieting rap number, Strawinsky floats the idea over to G-Man that maybe, just maybe, he should be careful about the books he consumes; maybe it's not a good idea to read books at all, because they can fill your head with dangerous ideas.

As if this message railing against the perils of free-thought wasn't clear enough, we then find out that all of Strawinsky's friends have turned into zombies because they read too many books. Distraught that his loyal sheep friends have grown self-aware and disappeared from the flock, Strawinsky begins desperately praying to Jesus Christ The Scarlet Queen. She arrives in a great pillar of light, leaving the troll and G-Man looking like they were just caught with their hands on the golden calf. After stroking Strawinsky's comatose buddies back to peak woke-ness (yes, the narrator uses the word "stroking"), the Scarlet Queen explains the origin of G-Man; once a beautiful forest elf, G-Man soon found himself seduced by those nasty, wicked books. He just fell in love with the written word, to the point that he grew fat and ugly. This was apparently a punishment bestowed on G-Man by God the great Elohim, an unseen deity who exerts his almighty whim on the poor pathetic pawns who populate the Earth.

It's also here that we learn about Satan the Ratking, who shows up for exactly one scene to tempt our heroes(?) through song. Faced with Strawinsky's incessant evangelizing, G-Man relents and decides to give up his precious, stupid books in favor of devoting himself to the teachings of Christianity whatever religion followers of Elohim keep up with. Despite G-Man making the correct(?) choice and bending the knee to her Scarlet-ness, the narrator makes it painfully clear that, although he has earned his seat at the table in the afterlife, he will never regain his old, beautiful body. G-Man will remain fat and misshapen for all eternity, as punishment for his heinous transgression of reading. As we all know, if there's one thing Jesus is super big on, it's petty retribution. Traits like forgiveness and "turning the other cheek" are for the other, weaker messiahs. The troll, meanwhile, decides not to follow the way of the Scarlet Queen, only because he is so terrified of the prospect of her retribution. As the Scarlet Queen ascends into the great hereafter with her cello, we're left to assume that the fires of Hell await the troll whenever he kicks the bucket (likely whenever the Scarlet Queen finds out he didn't make all that gold for her). Everyone goes home, Strawinsky vows to dedicate his life to the great Elohim, and I'm left feeling horrendously filthy for what I've just witnessed.

Is there even anything left to say at this point? I want to make myself clear, there is nothing wrong with being religious. So long as you're not harming anyone, feel free to believe in whatever you please. But I draw the line at outright propaganda, especially when it's propaganda that's shamelessly targeted at children. Taking a child to Church on Sunday is one thing, but sitting them down in front of a cartoon that outright says that God won't ever truly forgive you if you decide to read books is something entirely different. Never before have I seen such a self-destructive endorsement of organized religion; it practically comes off like satire made by a militant atheist. The positive side of religion is literally portrayed as blissful ignorance and blind allegiance while any attempt to gain knowledge is shown to be the work of the Devil. Normally, I can brush off media that's simply incompetent, but that's hardly what we're dealing with here. And yes, I recognize the irony of saying "don't watch this media that presents dangerous ideas, it pushes a narrative that we should avoid media with dangerous ideas". I'm not saying not to watch this; just don't subject your kids to this dreck. Consider Strawinsky and the Mysterious House a "must-see" in my book, just make sure you've got some manner of mind-altering substance on hand before you hit play.

REVIEW: Bright

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

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

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

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

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

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

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