REVIEW: Bright

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Get Out

Normally at the end of the month, I try to watch a movie that I know is going to be garbage going in. It's something of a tradition around here, allowing me a chance to really let loose and have fun just tearing something apart; variety is the spice of life, as they say. That said, considering the pure and utter tripe I've put myself through over the past month, I feel as though I've earned myself a little break. With Halloween right around the corner, I'm on something of a horror kick and, coming off of The VVitch, found myself hungry for more quality scares. With that in mind, it seemed obvious to check out the one film even I can't believe I didn't see back in March, director Jordan Peele's Get Out.

The plot feels like something straight out of a classic Twilight Zone or Tales From the Crypt episode; Chris and Rose (Daniel Kaluuya and Allison Williams) are a young, interracial couple who've been seeing each other for a few months. As one might expect, they reach that all important part of a relationship that all young couples dread: meeting the parents. The two depart for Rose's family home, an opulent ranch-house secluded in the woods, where Chris is introduced to Rose's mother and father (Catherine Keener and Bradley Whitford). A hypnotherapist and a neurosurgeon, the two seem to be making almost too much of an effort to make Chris comfortable (leading to more than a few good-natured but still cringe-inducing remarks) and all seems to be going about as well as expected. That is, until Chris begins to notice odd occurrences around the house, leading him to believe that everything is not quite as it seems. Much like with The VVitch, this movie is far better the less you know going in, so I'll end my plot summary here. If you want to know what happens, go watch the movie and find out.

The most important part of a movie like this, one so reliant on its subtext, is that said subtext actually works. So often you'll get a situation where the filmmaker gets too swept up in his or her own metaphor, tamping the message down the viewer's throat, completely sinking the film in the process. Get Out is a film that avoids this pitfall simply by reaching higher than the low-hanging fruit dangling right in front of it. Distilled to the most general terms possible, this is a story about the ills of racism. Now, had Jordan Peele wanted to simply deliver a generic parable about how racism is bad, he could have very easily set this movie in the deep south, instead of what looks like upstate New York or Vermont. He could have littered Rose's family house with confederate flags and jugs of moonshine instead of souvenirs from trips to Africa and bottles of expensive wine. He could have had every white character angrily shout racial slurs instead of smiling politely while mentioning how they know Tiger Woods.

This sense of subtlety, this challenge Peele took upon himself when telling this story, is exactly what makes Get Out work as well as it does. This isn't a movie about your generic, after-school-special kind of racism; the villains aren't boisterous right-wing southerners, they're just seemingly well-meaning liberals who are completely disconnected from Chris' world view. The conflict in this story shows that racism (excuse the pun) isn't entirely black-and-white, highlighting how progressive "ally" culture can be just as harmful as overt bigotry. This is a movie about how a well-intentioned majority can, through their seemingly progressive actions, rob those whom they seek to help of their voice and autonomy. Again, I don't want to delve into spoiler territory, but there's a specific point during the climax where the film lays out exactly what it's really about in spectacular fashion. All in all, it ends up coming off like a reverent throwback to the early films of George Romero and Paul Verhoeven, all while remaining fresh enough so as not to feel in any way cliché or done-before. Everything about the way this movie conveys its message subverts expectations (especially in regards to the ending), ignoring the most trite, obvious symbolism and instead going for something much more clever and, most importantly, real.

That said, all the biting subtext in the world doesn't amount to much if the film itself doesn't function properly. I'm pleased to report that, while some may find the tone somewhat inconsistent, this is a very structurally sound film (especially impressive considering, like The VVitch, this is a first-time director). The performances are all-around excellent, but I have to give some extra credit to Daniel Kaluuya in the lead role of Chris. He's our everyman, the one the audience is clearly supposed to identify and sympathize with as the situation unfolds before him. Kaluuya's performance is solid enough that it wasn't for some time after the film had ended that I realized how little there was to Chris as a character. On paper, he isn't too clearly defined; he is, in every sense, your average, ordinary guy. Kaluuya manages to elevate this, however, purely through his performance. So much is conveyed through simple facial expressions or the use of his eyes; they're even front and center on the poster I chose for this Review. Kaluuya managed to take a protagonist that, in the hands of a lesser performer, could have been totally flat and unengaging and turned him into the perfect lifeline connecting the viewer to the plot.

At the same time, we also have LilRey Howery as Rod, a TSA agent and Chris' best friend. He's our primary comic relief and I'm convinced that in any other movie, this character would have been completely insufferable. Through the combined efforts of Howery, Peele, and the screenwriters, Rod ended up one of my favorite aspects of the entire film, not only providing some legitimately effective levity, but actually contributing to the plot as more than a mere joke machine. Again, we see this movie's commitment to ignoring the low-hanging fruit; it would have been so simple for Rod to have ended up as your basic "goofy best friend" character. He'd spit out a few jokes, maybe act as a vehicle for some product placement, and overall just be an obnoxious, unnecessary addition used to pad out the runtime. Instead, he goes above and beyond in terms of what this kind of character usually ends up being, and the benefits of this effort are plain to see.

Get Out is a movie I simply cannot recommend enough; while it's definitely more of a suspense/mystery (with a hefty dose of satire) than an outright horror movie, it still feels like a loving throwback to a simpler time, when horror films weren't afraid to get inventive in order to get their point across. It takes what could have easily been your classic one-note exploitation premise and turns it into something a  lot more nuanced and inventive than what one might initially expect. One of the things that makes horror so special as a genre is its ability to act as a sort of universal catharsis. When the weight of the world seems that much heavier, some of us ease the burden through sunshine and lollypops, others through ghouls and gore. Whenever there's turmoil and tumult in society, the artists get busy; quality may vary, but Get Out is definitely a prime example of how it should be done.

REVIEW: Wonder Woman

I think it's safe to say that the DCEU wasn't shaping up as well as anyone had hoped (least of all the executives at Warner Bros). While Marvel is pumping out three blockbusters a year (the majority of which range from excellent at best to forgettable at worst), DC's competing cinematic superhero franchise has been puttering by on a wing and a prayer ever since Green Lantern failed to get things going back in 2011. With the exception of The LEGO Batman Movie, each new film starring the iconic characters of Detective Comics has not only fallen short of expectations at the box office, but with critics as well (I even went so far as to name Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice one of the worst films of last year in my 2016 Retrospective). Even if these movies are critical disasters that fall short of projected earnings, however, they still manage to make just barely enough to keep projects like the standalone Black Adam movie alive and in the pipeline. Which brings us to this year's first release from the DCEU, Wonder Woman. I'm going to be perfectly honest; after so many disappointing entries in this series, I wasn't even entirely sure I would bother spending money to see this one, even after the improbably positive initial reception it got on Rotten Tomatoes. Keep in mind, this was a project that had been in development since the mid-90's. Even in its current state, the original director left over creative differences, the script was re-written several times, and the original cut was reported to have featured some severely lackluster editing decisions. And that's to say nothing of the exhausting, contrived, heavily-politicised squabbling that surrounded this film close to release (because God forbid we have a modern film that happens to feature a female protagonist without people trying to force it to fit their socio-political narrative). With all of this acting against it, it's nothing short of a miracle that Wonder Woman has turned out to be, without question, the best film in the DCEU so far. I understand that the bar wasn't set especially high to begin with, but trust me, this movie is a solid good time.

Told through flashback after the events of Dawn of Justice, Wonder Woman focuses on the origins of Princess Diana (Gal Gadot), heir to the throne of the Amazonian island of Themyscira. A race of proud, all-female warriors, the Amazons live a life of quiet seclusion, magically concealed from the outside world. This changes, however, after Captain Steve Trevor (an American spy played by Chris Pine) crash lands on Paradise Island while fleeing from German forces. Trevor informs the Amazons that the world is engaged in the war to end all wars (better known these days as World War I); as far as Diana is concerned, a conflict of this scale is clearly the work of Ares, the Greek god of war. Convinced that it is her duty to seek out and destroy Ares, Diana leaves her home on Themyscira to accompany Trevor to man's world, becoming the champion of peace, justice, and love known as Wonder Woman.

Part of what helps elevate this film above its peers is the unabashedly sincere tone it puts forward. Previous DCEU films have almost felt embarrassed by their source material; clearly, Superman is too stupid an idea for anyone to take seriously (despite over 75 years as a worldwide icon), so any film focused on him should become a dour slog full of ham-fisted religious allegory, lest audiences realize they're watching a movie about a spangly man who leaps tall buildings in a single bound. Even Marvel is guilty of this, to some extent; while entries like Guardians of the Galaxy manage to balance out comedy with genuine heart, too much levity can make a movie impossible to take seriously as a result (such is the case with Age of Ultron). It belays insecurity, on the filmmaker's part, in the property that is being adapted. It implies that the filmmaker isn't talented enough to maintain the tone of the source material with a straight face, making things more silly or dour in an attempt to distract from the fact that they're making movies about people who dress up as bats and talk to ants.

Wonder Woman's Patty Jenkins, as it were, has no compunctions about being sincere. While the tone ranges from serious to lighthearted, it is all played 100% straight; Wonder Woman isn't made the butt of any jokes for being a corny 70-year-old comic book hero who wears a magic tiara. At the same time, she isn't turned into a tortured soul who enjoys angstily pouting and waxing philosophic in the rain. Jenkins understands why the character has endured for so long and what makes her such an endearing, inspiring protagonist. This is Wonder Woman, champion of peace, hope, and love, teaming up with the Allied powers to put and end to the destructive conflict of World War I. It's been some time since I've seen a comic book movie that so strongly commits to that old-school superhero spirit, and boy have I missed it.

As I mentioned before, I was admittedly a little dubious of this film walking in, partially because the part of Wonder Woman would be played by Gal Gadot. Her appearance in Dawn of Justice left me thoroughly unimpressed and I was certain that, if there was indeed a low point of this movie, it would be Wonder Woman herself. As it turns out, I'm glad to report that those fears were entirely unfounded. Patty Jenkins displays an aptitude for conjuring excellent performances out of her actors, and Gadot's turn as the titular Amazon Princess here is no exception. While she doesn't necessarily give the best performance in the movie (which is forgivable, considering the supporting cast boasts talent such as Connie Nielsen, David Thewlis, and Robin Wright), Gal Gadot definitely does a respectable job of capturing the spirit of the character, showing marked improvement from when she last appeared in the DCEU. I've no doubt that, over time, she'll continue to grow and improve as she's been doing, making the role her own and becoming a modern icon in her own right.

Personally, the highlight of the film for me was Chris Pine's portrayal of Captain Trevor. He and Gadot share a superb chemistry (despite all the groan-inducing sexual innuendos), even though he tends to outshine her from time to time. Theirs is a surprisingly balanced relationship; they both learn from one another and help out in their own, unique ways. There are no damsels or flat love interests here, everyone pulls their own weight; no where is this more evident than in the spectacular No Man's Land sequence, which was by far the highlight of the entire film (at least in terms of action). I also really quite enjoyed Steve Trevor's gang of mercenary pals (Saïd Taghmaoui, Ewen Bremner, and Eugene Brave Rock); each one of them gets their own set of personality quirks, as well as a little moment of focus for characterization and growth. These are the kind of supporting protagonists who could have easily just amounted to nothing more than set dressing (such as the Howling Commandos in Captain America: The First Avenger), yet the movie cares enough to flesh them out for the sake of a more well-rounded ensemble. I've never seen any of these actors in anything before, but would love to see them in more.

That said, for as much as I enjoyed this movie, it isn't without its flaws. Early reports had mentioned how Wonder Woman struggled both in terms of pacing and editing. While much of this has been masked in post-production, it's still easy to see the proverbial scars these problems left on the film. There are times where things can feel a little uneven and disjointed; the first act feels very rushed at times (condensing multiple flashbacks, time-skips, and exposition dumps into the first ten minutes) and there are moments where it almost feels like some parts of the story are misplaced (for example, it's never made explicitly clear whether or not Diana is especially strong for an Amazon, or if her sisters are all capable of lifting a tank above their heads as well). These are minor nitpicks, but I still found them to be a bit distracting when they came up. It's a fairly good superhero origin story, but it is still a superhero origin story.

I also enjoyed the antagonists for the most part, but they too are not free from their share of problems and setbacks. Danny Huston's General Ludendorff feels like a character directly out of a classic Indiana Jones film and fits the tone quite well, even if he's not given anything particularly interesting to do. There's also Elena Anaya as Doctor Poison, a mad scientist who concocts deadly chemical weapons for the Germans. She was actually one of my favorite aspects of the entire film, as she's given a surprising amount of characterization and vulnerability that one wouldn't immediately expect from a secondary villain. Unfortunately, our final antagonist, Ares, is responsible for the absolute weakest part of the entire movie.

I'm not going to delve into spoilers here, but Ares is by far the worst aspect of an otherwise mostly solid film. Despite all the fun action sequences and genuinely compelling character growth we've seen thus far, it all comes down to a generic, poorly-telegraphed Red Herring twist and a final fight that devolves into two CGI ragdolls smacking into each other while surrounded by fire and rubble. Out of everything this movie gives us, this is the only part of it that feels totally generic. Despite a strong buildup and some legitimate emotional beats surrounding it, the final clash between Diana and Ares ends up feeling so routine that it almost becomes boring. Don't get me wrong, the pros most definitely still outweigh the cons overall, but that doesn't change the fact that Wonder Woman's climax represents exactly what the DCEU should be desperately trying to move away from; loud, stupid action with zero emotional weight or consequence. We end up caring far more about how Steve Trevor ends up saving the day than about Diana fulfilling her destiny, and that's truly the movie's greatest sin (even if it still manages to pull out of this supremely schlocky nosedive to deliver an appropriately bittersweet payoff). 

While it's not exactly perfect, Wonder Woman is still a thoroughly enjoyable comic book film; a shining example of what DC should strive for in future installations. Sure, movies like Supergirl, Punisher: War Zone, and Tank Girl have since stolen any "first female anything"-type accolades, but Wonder Woman holds the distinction of being the first theatrically-released, female-led, female-directed superhero film that is actually any good. Despite all of the nonsensical political turmoil that was whipped up before the film's release, the movie focuses on being a quality film first and foremost. It's a story that champions ideals such as hope, love, peace, and equality; while some painfully stupid individuals are sure to take issue with this, it doesn't change the fact that Wonder Woman is a movie that sets out to elevate itself above the petty squabbling of the internet. Wonder Woman hears you crying about clean-shaven armpits and women-only screenings and it doesn't care. There's a world that needs saving.

REVIEW: Wizards

Cult classics are a tricky lot, especially when it comes to psychedelic cinema. There's always the chance that a film with a large following will simply fail to live up to the hype when viewed without the assistance of a bag of hallucinogens. All the same, there are times when one comes across an entry in this genre that amounts to more than just a trippy collection of pretty colors set to acid rock. 1977's Wizards is definitely responsible for blowing the minds of more than a few burnout college kids, I'm sure, but that's not to say that there isn't something worth exploring beneath the surface. One of the more tame creations of animation legend Ralph Bakshi (who proved that animation could be used for more than just cheery Disney children's films with such X-rated fare as Fritz the Cat and Heavy Traffic), Wizards paints an extraordinarily out-there portrait of a far-off, fantastical future over a subtextual exploration of morality and the power of propaganda.

The plot in this is a bit much to take in, but I'm going to do my best to sum it all up as succinctly as possible. In the future, the Earth is annihilated by nuclear weapons and terrorism, eradicating all life on the planet. However, over the next two million years, human life begins to re-emerge; those who populate the idyllic good lands regress into humanity's true ancestors, fantasy races of elves, dwarves, and fairies. In the heavily irradiated bad lands, humans devolve into hideous mutants, ogres, and goblins. After thousands of years of peace, two wizards are born; the good and kindly Avatar (Bob Holt) and his brother, the sinister mutant, Blackwolf (Steve Gravers). After many years, the two eventually do battle, with Avatar emerging victorious. His brother leaves for the dark lands of Scorch, vowing to return one day and reap his vengeance. If this sounds like the entire plot of the movie, I think it's worth noting that this is all mere backstory, established within the first five minutes. 

The incredibly dense prologue sets the tone for the adventure to follow, letting the viewer know that they're watching something that's about to get very strange very quickly. We then flash a few thousand years further into the future; Blackwolf is still consolidating his power and Avatar has grown old and somewhat cynical. The peaceful kingdom of Montagar has long since outlawed science and technology while Blackwolf  reigns as the ruler of Scorch, excavating ancient relics from a time before the nuclear holocaust. One such relic is an old film projector loaded with Nazi propaganda; using the ancient footage to motivate his dimwitted troops (and to traumatize his enemies), Blackwolf puts his plan into motion and declares war on the peaceful free states. It is up to Avatar, the fairy princess Elinore (Jesse Welles), the reprogrammed robot assassin Peace (David Proval), and the elfin spy Weehawk (Richard Romanus) to seek out and destroy the "dream machine", putting an end to Blackwolf's sinister machinations and preventing the second coming of the Third Reich.

I did say that this film went to some far-out places, didn't I? It would be very easy to simply brush this film off as hyper-stylized stoner fodder, packed to the brim with Tolkien-esque fantasy creatures and rotoscoped footage from World War 2 movies, but there's really a great deal more this has to offer just beneath the surface. To write Wizards off as "something cool to watch while high" (or even worse, with the old-as-time "woah, they must have been on drugs to come up with this!") is a tremendous disservice to the clear amount of deliberate thought and imagination Bakshi and company implemented when making this film. There's a reason the plot creates a false sense of build-up towards an anti-science moral, the same way there's a reason so much Nazi imagery is used throughout; Wizards is a puzzle, and it's up to the viewer to put the pieces together. Just about everything we're given serves some sort of a greater narrative purpose, even if it doesn't appear so at first glance.

At first, it appears as though the film is going for the classic "nature trumps technology" theme we've seen so many times before. The villains all use WW2-era panzers and rifles while the barefoot forest creatures fight with swords and arrows. However, the film gradually subverts the audience's expectations, espousing the merits of pragmatism and compromise. The World War 2 parallels are plain to see; the downtrodden mutants are clearly in dire straits, forced to reside in an unforgiving hellscape where both the air and water are toxic. However, they end up rationalizing their misfortune as justification to adopt the ideals of the Nazi party, lashing out at those they deem as oppressors. Meanwhile, the peaceful fairy-folk have outlawed science and put all their faith in peace and harmony and happy feelings of oneness with nature. This essentially makes for a population of complacent layabouts who fall into disorganized shambles the second their leaders are compromised; when asked why they can't simply fight back and win, a fairy mother tells her child "because, they have weapons and technology. We just have love."

It seems to be a recurring theme in fantasy fiction that there is no greater force in the universe than generic feelings of love, but Wizards is having absolutely none of that. Make no mistake, love matters a great deal, but the film shows the importance of balance in both beliefs and morals. The good creatures place far too much reliance on love, peace, and harmony, and are thus wholly unprepared for the ruthless enemies that seek to do them harm. Meanwhile, the slovenly mutants are completely devoid of such emotions, and thus end up nothing more than dull cowards with no drive or conviction. This is where the power of propaganda comes in. The propaganda used by the villains is so overt, it's easy to miss that the "good" creatures make use of it as well, albeit through subtler means. It's fascinating how quickly one is able to accept something as egregious as outlawing science and technology as no big problem at first glance; perhaps it's because so much media exists warning us of the dangers of valuing technological progress over nature, but Wizards shows flat-out that both sides of the primary conflict are equally indoctrinated in their respective dogma. 

This is, again, where a sense of balance comes into play. The film pokes fun at the superstitions and rituals associated with organized religion, yet also levels with the audience, stating that a silly, complicated moral code is better than no morals at all. We see countless creatures slaughtered by superior firepower, despite their belief in love, magic, and the natural world. In the end, the side that claims victory doesn't win because of their superior morals, but because they are willing to bend and change as is necessary, without losing a sense of who they are. This is a story where the most powerful weapon is literally the use of propaganda; it can be used to inspire both hope and fear, to keep populations complacent or rally them to commit acts of violence. The film inspires the viewer to take a hard look at their own beliefs and ponder whether or not the viewer is just as indoctrinated as those they would call enemies. By painting morality as anything but gray, the nuances of a given conflict are buried and obscured, all in favor of saber-rattling and battle cries, ensuring that a peaceful resolution remains elusive to those who need it most.

While Wizards certainly offers a lot to think about, there are other aspects of the film that don't hold up quite as well. Ralph Bakshi is a legend of animation for a reason, yet while the character designs and backgrounds are sheer works of art, the animation quality tends to wildly fluctuate from good to bad and back again. The voice acting is also relatively hit-or-miss and the plot completely falls apart when viewed as anything other than a surrealist parable on the dangers of indoctrination. It's definitely a cult film for a reason, as I could very easily see someone not picking up what the film is putting down. Personally, I was somewhat lukewarm on it at first, yet I find myself loving and respecting this film more and more the more I think about it. While it's not for everyone, Wizards is most definitely a well-crafted, thoughtful, and thoroughly bizarre work of art that has earned its place of recognition in the annals of animation history.

REVIEW: Shin Godzilla

The Godzilla franchise, I feel, is one that doesn't get nearly the respect it deserves. Yes, we're all too familiar with the hilariously bad dubbing jobs and overwhelming silliness of the 60's and 70's, but Godzilla represents a very culturally significant moment in the history of Japan. The first film was released in 1954, not even a decade after the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The first film, while somewhat quaint in terms of its special effects budget, represents a national catharsis. Godzilla was created as a symbol of nuclear destruction, bathing the landscape in a hellstorm of atomic fire. Despite the sometimes corny special effects, the original film is played entirely straight. There's very little levity and it all comes off more like a natural disaster than a goofy sci-fi monster flick. It wasn't until later that the franchise took a cue from Gamera and recast the Big G as a friend to children and champion of the Earth. After countless sequels, reboots, and re-imaginings, we finally have a new Godzilla film from Toho, the studio that started it all. With Legendary Pictures' Monsterverse seeking to establish its own, Westernized brand of Godzilla movies in the coming years, is there still a place for homegrown kaiju action? At the end of the day, does Shin Godzilla deserve a place at the table?

Like many Godzilla films before it, Shin Godzilla is a complete and total reboot. The events of all prior films are ignored, even those of the 1954 original. Unlike many of the later Godzilla films, however, the plot is as straightforward as they come; after a massive aquatic creature makes landfall near Tokyo Bay, the Japanese government amasses every expert available to assess the situation. By the time a response is readied, the creature has seemingly evolved into a larger form before returning to the sea. Research indicates that the creature is the result of genetic mutation, dubbed "Godzilla" by the United States. By the time Godzilla reappears, he is twice his original size and still showing signs of evolution; the world flies into a panic and the UN proposes using nuclear weapons to stop the impending threat. It's up to a small team of Japanese researchers to develop a means of stopping Godzilla before the rest of the world drops the bomb, sacrificing all of Tokyo in the process.

It's amusing to compare this to 2014's Godzilla, as it suffers from many of the same problems. Mainly, a lack of interesting characters. We're introduced to a great many scientists, government employees, and military personnel over the course of the film, but very few are all that memorable. No one truly gets a chance to develop, since the threat of a giant monster and nuclear annihilation takes precedent in the plot. There isn't really anyone for the audience to latch onto and connect with, though I also feel that the movie isn't exactly going for anything particularly intimate. It sacrifices in-depth character development for a massive scale and scope, and in those aspects it definitely succeeds.

Godzilla, in this film, is treated like a pure force of nature (even moreso than Legendary's take on the character). This Godzilla is an inexpressive, deep-sea abomination, bane of all mankind. A monster in every sense of the word. This is a movie that definitely gets what makes Godzilla scary and understands how to convey him as a legitimate threat (even his doofy, huggable early forms). There's a specific moment in which we first see his iconic atomic breath put to work; where Legendary's take on this classic ability was unquestionably awesome, Shin Godzilla manages to turn something as absurd as a giant dinosaur firing laser beams from his mouth into a legitimately shocking, horrifying moment. The destruction on display here never feels cheap or over-indulgent. If there's one thing this movie gets right, it's the tone.

Just as the original Gojira was inspired by a nuclear tragedy, so was Shin Godzilla. Despite being released in 2016, it's clear that it took some direct inspiration from the infamous Fukushima disaster of 2011. The sense of destruction, the displaced civilians, the trail of nuclear fallout; it's all clearly meant to put the viewer in a specific kind of headspace. Even moreso when one considers the snide social commentary at play here, taking digs at the way the Japanese government responded to the disaster. When Godzilla first makes landfall, precious time is wasted in the name of decorum. The PM takes his sweet time to convene with his advisers, attend various conferences, and essentially do everything in his power to delay making a difficult decision. When the time finally arrives, it's far too late, and Godzilla is nigh-invincible. 

While there isn't much going on with the characters, the story has more layers of meaning than one would expect from a giant monster movie. It was directed by Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi (known mainly for their work on Neon Genesis Evangelion), and their influence is definitely felt here. The film espouses the virtues of teamwork in the face of crisis; the group of researchers assembled to stop Godzilla are told outright from the beginning that titles and decorum no longer matter. Those who remain hung up on protocol and procedure when the situation has clearly escalated beyond such trivial matters are resigned to failure. Meanwhile, it is those who are able to sort their priorities and think outside of the box who eventually save the day.

Shin Godzilla is notable for receiving overwhelming praise within its native Japan and a more lukewarm reception everywhere else. Having given it some thought, I have to side with the Japanese on this one; Shin Godzilla is an excellent movie. It's by no means perfect (the characters are for the most part bland and some of the dialog scenes can drag here and there), but it represents a true return to form for the King of the Monsters. Boasting surprisingly excellent special effects (considering it was made on roughly a tenth of the budget of Legendary's Godzilla) and an engaging plot, Shin Godzilla is a true treat for any kaiju nut. Whether you're new to the franchise or a long-time fan, this is an exemplary monster flick, not to be missed.

REVIEW: Small Soldiers

Since I started this blog over a year ago, it's been a stellar excuse to discover new films that may have passed me by. By the same token, it's also an excellent excuse to rediscover old films from my youth. Movies that I remember watching endlessly, but haven't seen in well over a decade. Movies like Small Soldiers. For me, this was just another late-90's action flick with a badass toy line; I could care less about the plot or characters, it was all about the special effects and the merchandise. I honestly hadn't seen this since I was around five years old, having rented it countless times from the local Blockbuster. Since then I couldn't help but notice how no one seems to talk about what, at the time, felt like a very prevalent movie to me. Perhaps it was just the power of advertising and action figures warping my impressionable young mind, but Small Soldiers struck me as anything but obscure back in the day. It was because of this dissonance that I felt it deserved a revisit; imagine my surprise to find out that it was in fact directed by the mastermind behind Gremlins, Joe Dante.

This makes perfect sense, seeing as how this movie is positively oozing with Dante's trademark themes and motifs. After the Heartland Toy Company is acquired by military contractor GloboTech Industries, toy designers Larry and Irwin (Jay Mohr and David Cross) are pressured to come up with the next big thing; a state-of-the-art toy that "plays back". Seeing no other option to meet his deadline, Larry uses his new security clearance to order a surplus of advanced microchips from the company's military branch. The chips are used in a new line of action figures; the Commando Elite, a stalwart brigade of army men sworn to destroy a gentle race of monsters known as the Gorgonites. The toys find their way into the hands of Alan Abernathy (Gregory Smith), who tries to sell them in his dad's struggling toy store. Naturally, putting military-grade hardware inside action figures proves to be a less-than-smart idea, as the toys awaken, escape, and begin waging war on one another.

Watching this movie as an adult, it's painfully obvious that Joe Dante directed this. It's very much in the same mold as Gremlins, condemning society's over-reliance on technology, as well as the blatant ruthlessness that lies at the heart of big business. It falls into that same category as films like Robocop or Videodrome, in which a critique of society is conveyed through over-the-top action, mutilation, and one-liners. The CEO of GloboTech (Dennis Leary) scoffs at the idea of educational toys, instead opting for a line of in-your-face military action figures. The Commando Elite come off like G.I. Joe on steroids (all, coincidentally, voiced by the cast of The Dirty Dozen, with the exception of Richard Jaeckel, who died prior to shooting), making a bold statement about how we readily present concepts of war and violence to children as a game in exchange for profit. The Gorgonites (all voiced by members of Spinal Tap, plus Frank Langella) are clearly a more imaginative, inclusive concept for a children's toy, yet end up branded as cannon fodder enemies for the Commandos to blow away. Ironically enough, the film's darker content was reportedly toned down in order to more effectively market a toy line to children (like myself).

The cast is surprisingly varied; as mentioned, this movie acts as a stealth-reunion for both The Dirty Dozen and This is Spinal Tap. We have Frank Langella giving a very Peter Cullen-esque performance as Archer, leader of the Gorgonites, as well as Tommy Lee Jones providing the voice of Chip Hazard, the commanding officer of the Commando Elite. The film also features a young Kirsten Dunst as a bland and forgettable love interest, Kevin Dunn in the same high-strung dad role he would later play in Michael Bay's Transformers movies, and voice cameos from Jim Cummings, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Christina Ricci. This is also, most notably, the final theatrical role of the late, great Phil Hartman. I didn't expect to feel any wild emotions at the end of Small Soldiers of all things, but it's hard not to get misty-eyed when the credits end with a simple blooper and the dedication, "for Phil".

As much as I enjoyed the cast and the special effects (care of another dearly-departed master of his craft, Stan Winston) and the general Joe Dante-ness of this movie, there's no denying that Small Soldiers isn't without its problems. The whole thing can, at times, come off as a not-as-good Gremlins and, while the practical effects remain excellent, the CGI hasn't aged particularly well at all. The romantic subplot is entirely superfluous and out of the blue, which isn't helped by Dunst and Smith having practically negative chemistry with each other. Their attempts at flirting are downright painful to listen to and she initiates their relationship without ever consulting or dumping her current boyfriend. When it's not coming off as painfully awkward and forced, it settles for totally skeezy instead. 

I also honestly wasn't that sold on the Gorgonites; I remembered them having a much larger role when I was a child, but that's likely because of how prevalent they were in the merchandise. The vast bulk of the screentime is given to the Commando Elite (which is earned, since they're easily the best part of this movie), leaving little time for us to care at all about Archer and his crew of quiet monsters. As they explain, the Gorgonites are programmed to do exactly two things; hide and lose. As great as their designs are, we don't really end up caring about them since they don't have any agency. We're meant to care whether or not these toys are destroyed or not, despite the fact that they're hunks of plastic with low-self-esteem. It honestly feels like the film originally only featured the Commando Elite, only for the Gorgonites to be thrown in to appeal to kids (and, of course, sell action figures). It's a damn shame, since there's few things I find more tragic in a film than wasted potential, especially in regards to wicked cool creature designs.

Despite my gripes, I still found Small Soldiers to be a fun time. It drags here and there and the characterization is either a total bore or nowhere to be found, but it definitely makes up for it in terms of sheer wackiness. There's a part of me that will always have a soft spot for this kind of movie, where there's a big threat in the heart of a suburb in Anytown, USA, and the only person who knows what's really going on is the troublemaking kid whom no one believes. It's a fistful of beefy metaphors wrapped around a whole lot of animatronic army guys getting blown up and set on fire; considering the plot, I don't know what else one could realistically ask for. It's far from Joe Dante's best, but I'd definitely say it qualifies for cult status, considering how often it made me smile. Check it out.

REVIEW: Marvel's Luke Cage

As the proverbial snowball that is Marvel Studios grows larger and larger with time, one has to wonder; when will the cracks begin to show? Even the weakest entry into the MCU  manages to be merely "okay" at worst. While I'm no fan of everything Marvel has put out (especially considering the current state of their comics), their entries in the realm of live-action entertainment have been reasonably air-tight. Captain America: Civil War was a fun, powerful second act break before the climax that is Infinity War and I'm finding myself more and more excited for Doctor Strange as time goes on. 2016 is shaping up to be a good year for Marvel, especially considering the most low-key offering from Kevin Feige and company, Luke Cage. Like Daredevil and Jessica Jones before it, the show helps to not only establish Netflix as a legitimate entertainment platform, but also to maintain the Marvel Studios stranglehold on the public consciousness.

Taking place after the events of Jessica Jones, the series focuses on the life of Luke Cage (Mike Coulter); wrongfully incarcerated, he participated in a risky prison experiment that imbued him with superhuman strength and bulletproof skin. After making his escape, Cage finds himself laying low in a Harlem barbershop owned by Henry "Pop" Hunter (Frankie Faison). After the criminal activity of local nightclub owner Cornell "Cottonmouth" Stokes (Mahershala Ali) begins to take its toll on Cage's neighborhood, he's forced to step out of the shadows and become a bonafide hero. Noble as his deeds are, Luke's actions have consequences; though he may be bulletproof, the same can't be said of the people caught in the crossfire.

The performances here are for the most part strong, despite dialog that tends to fluctuate from "powerful and engaging" to "trying a bit too hard for its own good". Coulter does a fine job as Luke, though his range occasionally leaves a bit to be desired. He can command attention like no one else when a scene requires him to be angry or passionate, but its when he needs to be more subtle and reserved that his performance lacks a certain energy compared to his supporting cast. Frankie Faison is sure to be a fan-favorite as Pop, and Simone Missick manages to be both flawed and endearing as Detective Misty Knight. Rosario Dawson returns again as Claire Temple, fulfilling her role as the unifying thread that ties each Netflix series together. Her role here is more prominent than ever before, easily a point in the show's favor considering how soundly Dawson manages to sell it every time. 

As is usual for Marvel's entries on Netflix, however, the heroes tend to pale in comparison to the villains. Mahershala Ali is a dynamo as Cottonmouth, playing the classic role of "despicably likeable gangster" to a T. Despite all the awful things this character does, you can't ever really bring yourself to totally hate him; he's just too endearing. Playing the part of his cousin/partner-in-crime, we have Alfre Woodard as "Black" Mariah Dillard, a local politician who hopes to use the racial divide of Harlem to deflect attention from her own criminal activities. She's a thoroughly modern, painfully relevant villain, and watching her slowly transition from crooked civil servant to full-on crime boss was definitely one of the highlights of this season. Both Cottonmouth and Dillard manage to be layered, sympathetic, and despicable; all the marks of a truly great villain.

The only antagonistic element I wasn't totally sold on was Willis "Diamondback" Stryker, played by Erik LaRey Harvey. While Harvey's performance commands attention whenever he's on screen, I felt as though not enough thought went into this character. He's built up for the first few episodes, then introduced practically out of the blue. He feels somewhat vestigial, compared to Ali and Woodard, as if the only reason he was introduced was so Luke could be faced with a more obvious physical threat to go up against. There's definitely a lot of potential with this character, but I can't help but feel that he should have either been introduced earlier or not at all, as what we have currently is somewhat half-baked in execution.

It's a prime example of what's becoming a recurring symptom of Marvel's Netflix shows; with the exception of Daredevil's first season, every one of these series is met with a mid-season slump. Roughly halfway through the thirteen episodes we're given, something abruptly changes the status quo and the entire season is left feeling somewhat stunted, as if it is two short seasons being passed off as one full-length arc. Both Jessica Jones and the second season of Daredevil are guilty of this, and Luke Cage is no exception. While I still enjoyed all of these shows overall, this trope tends to make the entire thing feel poorly thought-out in hindsight; it may just be a side-effect of marathoning the entire show in one sitting (rather than watching an episode a week, as though it were airing on network television), but it's still a wrinkle I would like to see ironed out as these shows continue on (especially with The Defenders just over the horizon).

Arguably the show's strongest feature, however, is the atmosphere. This is a series that is able to immediately distinguish itself from the rest of the MCU, as well as the rest of Marvel's Netflix series. The vast bulk of the story takes place in Harlem, and Luke Cage positively revels in the culture. Everything from the sets to the struggles to the dynamite soundtrack helps sell the setting, making this the most believable, down-to-earth thing to come out of the MCU. The only thing I can fault it for is an immersion-shattering scene in the latter half of the season involving Method Man. When your protagonist is a bulletproof black man in a hoodie, some social commentary is inevitable (if not openly expected). The show handles this touchy subject matter very well, with the exception of this one scene; it's the only thing that feels as though it was added in reshoots, coming right out of nowhere and interrupting the tense flow of the episode. This very well may be a personal gripe, but it completely took me out of the episode like a GI Joe PSA about avoiding downed power lines. It's the one smudge on the show's otherwise sterling sense of tone and immersion.

All things considered, I honestly really enjoyed my time with Luke Cage. While many seem to be dissatisfied with the ending, I felt as though it kept the tension and excitement going until the last second, leaving me genuinely engaged and eagerly awaiting Season 2. The argument could be made that a lot of the MCU is somewhat homogeneous in terms of theme and story; with that said, Luke Cage manages to be totally original and unique in its own right. Despite some hiccups here and there in terms of story and pacing, the show's strong tone and endearing characters more than make up for any issues I have with it. Whether you're a Marvel fanatic or someone who's starting to get burned out on the whole superhero thing, it's hard not to recommend Luke Cage.

REVIEW: South Park- Bigger, Longer, and Uncut

Usually on this blog, I'll take a look at a movie that I've never seen before; it keeps things fresh and exposes me to a vast number of movies I may not have checked out otherwise. However, sometimes it's refreshing (funnily enough) to kick back with an old classic that I've seen a million times before. A film that I could probably recite from start to finish with close to 100% accuracy. A film that manages to be biting, hilarious, and perpetually relevant (in addition to being a strong contender for my personal favorite musical of all time). Ladies and gentlemen, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut.

The plot of this film is about as meta as they come. After the boys attend a screening of the new Terrance and Phillip movie, South Park Elementary becomes a hotbed of profanity and Canadian toilet humor. Enraged that their sweet, impressionable children have been warped by this bawdy foreign smut, the mothers of South Park form an anti-Canadian activist organization looking to censor the film and ban anything deemed harmful to the innocent children of America. What starts as a simple protest erupts into an all-out war between the USA and their neighbor to the north; to make matters worse, the ruler of the underworld, Satan himself, is planning to ascend to the mortal plane and conquer Earth with the help of his lover, Saddam Hussein. It's as manic a plot as is to be expected from South Park, but to put it simply, as is stated multiple times in the movie, "it's about censorship".

Over the soon to be 20 years of South Park's existence, Trey Parker and Matt Stone have proven themselves to be master satirists, and BL&U is no exception. Despite the film very clearly taking place in 1999 (Bill Clinton is in the White House, Conan O'Brien is still hosting Late Night, and Windows 98 is a recent release), the overall message of the dangers of censorship and well-meaning intolerance ring true to this day. The film toes the line of being a bit too on-the-nose at times (the Academy Award-nominated "Blame Canada" ends with a gathering of parents proclaiming that "we must blame them and cause a fuss before someone thinks of blaming us"), but it is this refuge in audacity that makes the film such a brilliant joy to behold. In an era where parents are still ignorant enough to take their children to see Deadpool, only to complain to theater staff after witnessing the "Calendar Girl" sex montage, South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut is a film with a timeless tale to tell.

The film also targets the MPAA (and American society in general) for the odd double-standard of embracing depictions of violence while abhorring naughty language. The list of things deemed "offensive" is growing and changing with each day, and this movie seeks to put everything in perspective. This is a film made in 1999 in which Saddam Hussein is the primary antagonist; though it's mentioned in the beginning of the movie that he was killed by a pack of wild boars, the real-life Hussein was very much alive at the time of the film's release. In a brilliant move, South Park frames its detractors as the mothers in the film; people who, despite their good intentions, are altogether more concerned with potty language than the brutal dictator amassing his power. It's a film that forces anyone who's ever gotten up in arms about "offensive" media, humor, or language to take an objective look at what it is they're fighting for, consider all the other problems plaguing the world at that moment, and then decide if this is truly the hill they wish to die on.

Any discussion of this film would be utterly incomplete without mentioning the fantastic musical numbers. While Book of Mormon stunned the uninitiated, BL&U and Cannibal! acted as early proof that Parker and Stone could construct a musical that's as airtight and masterful as it is irreverent and profane. The songs in this film lampoon every classical musical trope under the sun, from the "it's morning in my little town" opening numbers of Beauty and the Beast and Oklahoma! ("Mountain Town"), to the "longing for something more" Disney ballads of Alan Menkin ("Up There"), to the elaborate, flashy production numbers of Busby Berkeley ("I'm Super"). The film is like a skewed crash-course in musical history. Juxtaposing the upbeat, campy trademarks of classical musical theater with the sardonic, raunchy, and often bloody subject matter makes for a movie that's effective as both satire and a legitimate musical in its own right.

Though it may sound out of place to say this about a cartoon with construction paper characters and fart jokes galore, I consider South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut to be a nearly perfect film. It's as smart as it is hilarious and manages to be one of the seldom few television-to-film adaptations that remains totally accessible to those who aren't familiar with the original show without suffering quality-wise in the slightest. The humor hits hard and often, the songs will remain in your head for days, and the commentary provided proves that a film doesn't have to be self-serious Oscar bait to have something intelligent and relevant to say. If you enjoy film as an art form, this is a movie you simply have to watch. Check it out, and Viva La Resistance.