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: Fantastic Planet

As I've gotten older, I've developed a growing fascination with outsider animation. Don't get me wrong, I still greatly enjoy the annual fare from Disney and Pixar, but there's something special about the outlandish, surreal, and decidedly more adult-oriented animated films of the 70's and 80's; something that was definitely lost around the time of the Disney Renaissance. With Disney cornering the market on squeaky-clean family fun, there existed a clear niche for animation that explored themes and ideas that the House of Mouse wouldn't dare touch; a niche that was soundly filled by filmmakers like Ralph Bakshi and Don Bluth. It was imagination unrestricted by the limits of the MPAA, and it pains me to see such fantastic examples of creative expression dragged down by the most braindead form of praise art can possibly recieve; "woah, they must have been on drugs to think of this!" Whenever anyone says this, it essentially means that they have such a limited imagination that the only conceivable way a human could create anything even the slightest bit innovative or out of the ordinary is by way of a hefty dose of psychedelics. Which, to clarify, doesn't mean that drug-use didn't influence some of these films (especially considering the era they were born from). But the fact of the matter is that movies like today's film, Fantastic Planet, have far more to offer than just some trippy visuals. Behind all the surreal imagery and whacked-out animation lies subtext, and it's this vital facet of storytelling that elevates films like Fantastic Planet above simply being the cinematic equivalent of a lava lamp.

An adaptation of the 1957 French novel, Oms en série, the film takes place in the distant future, on the far-away alien world of Ygam. Long after wiping out their own civilizations on Earth, humans were brought to Ygam by the Draags, an advanced race of blue giants. On Ygam, humans (known as Oms, a play on the French word "homme") are regarded as little more than common vermin; while a good number of Draags have domesticated Oms they keep as pets, there are also roaming colonies of savage Oms who are routinely exterminated (not unlike rats or mice). The film follows one Om in particular, Terr (voiced by Barry Bostwick in the English dub); orphaned as a baby, he finds himself adopted by the daughter of a Draag diplomat, eventually escaping and joining a wild colony of Oms with the intent of ending the oppression of his species once and for all.

The most immediately striking aspect of the entire movie (and the detail which lead me to eventually watch it) is the art design, care of painter/writer Roland Topor. Given the setting and themes of the story, it's immensely important that Topor was able to create a world that looks truly and honestly alien in nature; none of the creatures on Ygam even remotely resemble anything on Earth, and the eerie landscapes help foster an atmosphere of unfamiliarity and foreboding. It all really adds to the situation the Oms find themselves in; you're able to get a powerful sense of how far humanity has fallen and how separated they are from the civilization we know today (even if their base instincts and motivations remain more or less the same, but more on that later). Admittedly, there are moments here and there where the design falters and aspects of the Draag civilization end up looking as though they're simply meant to appear strange for strange's sake; this isn't a film like Treasure Planet where every single aspect of the film's visuals are designed with the idea that it must serve some sort of in-universe purpose. Then again, one must think of the artist's intent when judging aspects like this; world-building isn't exactly meant to be the main takeaway of Fantastic Planet. The subtext is meant to be the primary focus here, and in that area it very much succeeds (but again, more on that later).

My only other gripe with the design of this film is the limited animation. Whereas films like Yellow Submarine give the impression of a watercolor painting brought to life, Fantastic Planet feels much more akin to the work of Terry Gilliam (who, coincidentally, would release his animated short, The Miracle of Flight, just a year later). While Topor's designs are hauntingly beautiful, the animation at play simply doesn't do them justice; everything moves in a very stilted, deliberate manner and character movements tend to lack any and all sense of weight. I also wasn't overly fond of the soundtrack (care of French jazz pianist, Alain Goraguer); while some praise the psychedelic atmosphere the score brings to mind, I found that it just didn't work for me. This is a thoughtful, surreal experience filled with haunting visuals and themes drenched in existential dread. It feels like exactly the sort of concept that would be best complimented by an equally eerie orchestral or prog-rock score, only to be undercut by a dated and altogether unfitting collection of funky beats and wah-wah guitars. This is a score that would have worked perfectly in just about any other film, but just feels wrong here. Then again, it could also be argued that the ill-fitting music and limited animation only serve to enhance the existing atmosphere of unfamiliarity and unease, so these are aesthetic details that (much like the all-important subtext) are free to be left up to the viewer's individual interpretation.

As I mentioned before, inspired visuals can only support so much. While it's very much true that film is a visual medium, it is the way that movies are able to combine all manner of sensory expression that sets film aside from other artistic outlets. When a film ignores any of the tools provided, focusing purely on visuals and ignoring its story (or vise-versa), it is doing itself a disservice. In the case of Fantastic Planet, you come for the tripped-out visuals, but stay for the thought-provoking subtext. The film raises a number of intriguing (and, depending on your perspective, uncomfortable) questions about the nature of life and sentience. What makes the life of one being inherently more valuable than another? By what standard do we judge if a living thing is sentient, or civilized, or even alive? There's obviously a clear "how would you like it?" aspect regarding man's relationship with the natural world, but in truth there's so much more here to unpack and explore. It's very easy to feel inherent sympathy for the Oms, the same way it's very easy to feel a deep resentment towards the Draags. We want to side with the downtrodden and oppressed humans over the beady-eyed, emotionless aliens, despite the fact that the Draags are us. They adhere to their own, odd social rituals and exert callous control over the natural world without a care, simply because they've deemed themselves the most advanced race and that gives them the right to do as they please. 

There's an obvious environmentalist tilt to the whole thing, but it never feels so cut-and-dry, so narrow in scope. One could also easily view the conflict between the Oms and the Draags (in which one species, deemed inferior by those with more power and technology, is systematically exterminated) as an allegory for genocide and racism. The Draags don't think much of the Oms until the Oms become educated and organized; then the downtrodden and oppressed suddenly become a legitimate threat to their oppressors, and only then is peace and equality considered to be an option. Personally, I took the film as a metaphor for how humanity is often manipulated into destroying itself by any number of higher powers (be it competing governments, religions, or what have you); the Draags often make their domesticated Oms fight for each other's amusement, inspiring internal conflict and squabbling among the oppressed, preventing actual progress from being made towards freedom, enlightenment, and prosperity. Whatever your personal interpretation, they all feel equally valid. Not in a half-baked, lazy kind of way, as though the filmmakers didn't put enough thought into what they actually wanted to say with this film, but rather in a sense that denotes extreme care taken on the part of the filmmakers to ensure that the underlying messages could be conveyed to any number of perspectives. The fact that this film is open to so many interpretations could easily come off as needlessly vague in theory; in practice, however, it feels like anything but, and it's this kind of potential for exploration that represents what I consider to be Fantastic Planet's true worth as a film.

In terms of entertainment, I'm not 100% certain I'd recommend Fantastic Planet to just anyone. While I definitely took a lot away from it, I wouldn't exactly call this an "entertaining" movie; despite being just over an hour long, it's quite slow-paced and very dense from a conceptual standpoint. It's not the kind of thing I see myself ever throwing on to unwind after a long day at the office. That said, as a film, I consider this to be mandatory viewing, especially if you consider yourself a fan of animation. The art direction is worth the investment alone and the underlying themes and messages are sure to stick with you well after the credits finish rolling. This is the kind of movie I can't help but recommend everyone watch at least once (although I'm sure repeat viewings will do nothing but enhance one's overall experience). If you feel as though you're in the proper mindset for something in this wheelhouse, you'd be hard pressed to go wrong with giving Fantastic Planet a watch.

REVIEW: The VVitch

With September almost at a close, I've found myself on something of a horror kick as of late. I tend to prepare for Halloween the way most department stores prepare for Christmas (that is to say, months in advance), and what better way to get myself in the proper mood for the most wonderful time of the year than to take in a new horror film? I recall hearing good things about 2016's The VVitch, but it wasn't until Jay Bauman of RedLetterMedia described it as "a masterpiece" and named it his favorite movie of 2016 that it really showed up on my radar. It's been some time, but I finally found myself in that right proper mood for a slower, more mysterious horror film and boy does this one not disappoint.

As the subtitle implies, the story takes place in 17th century New England. A family is banished from their home on a Puritan plantation over a disputed interpretation of the New Testament and find themselves living in solitude on a small farm, just on the edge of a large and imposing forest. I really hesitate to say any more for spoilers sake, even though I've only covered the very first few minutes of the movie. This is truly one of those films where the less you know going in, the more you're going to take away from it. A strong sense of mystery and fear of the unknown are the bread and butter of the horror genre, and The VVitch is no different. Anything I mention beyond this point is going to delve into some mild spoilers, so if you haven't seen this movie and are wondering what I thought of it, I'll say this; The VVitch would make for an excellent triple-feature alongside The Exorcist and The Shining. It's got a surprisingly brisk pace for something so tense (even though things feel a little rushed near the end of the second act, but only for a moment or so) and there's seldom a dull moment. It's a modern day horror classic that will most definitely stick with you long after the credits roll and, assuming that endorsement is satisfactory, I'd like to go more in-depth as to just why I enjoyed this film so much.

If I wasn't clear enough yet, beware of Spoilers from this point onward.

The most immediately striking thing about this movie is the aesthetic choices at play. It's astounding to think that The VVitch is Robert Eggers' debut as a director, given his clear knack for the medium. The color grading, shot composition, and environments used work in tandem with the hair-raising soundtrack to result in a genuinely chilling experience. The tension somehow never completely fades for the entire 93-minutes; the use of long takes and wide shots left me on the edge of my seat, certain that something horrid lay just around the bend. And the majority of the time, nothing happened. But when something did happen?

Oh-ho.

Oh boy.

I've said in the past that the best horror films know how to manipulate audience expectations; like Pavlov with his dog, the horror filmmaker must train an audience to respond to certain stimuli, be they audio or visual cues (or some combination thereof). The VVitch understands this relationship between filmmaker and filmgoer, to the point where something as simple and innocuous as a shot of a rabbit can fill the viewer with a sense of legitimately disquieting unease. For anyone who's ever wondered how Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven is meant to be scary, watch The VVitch. The film is still fresh in my mind and all I can think about is how easy it would be for someone to scare me out of my wits by simply positioning a billy goat or bunny rabbit where I wouldn't otherwise expect to see one.

Like most good horror movies, there's more going on here beyond some sinister happenings in the woods. From beginning to end, the film shows how systemic distrust and repression can slowly destroy a once-solid family unit. The mother, Katherine (played by everybody's go-to crazy lady, Kate Dickie), lashes out at her children and husband once her baby disappears, flinging accusations and shifting the blame from one family member to another with frantic speed. In hindsight, it's hard to determine what causes the family more harm in the long-run; the actual coven of witches in the woods, or this seed of paranoia and fear that gradually grows and escalates until everyone is at each other's throats. The eldest daughter, Thomasin (Anya Taylor-Joy), gets the worst of it, suffering the accusations of her younger siblings and even coming under scrutiny by her God-fearing but well-meaning father, William (Ralph Ineson). For the better part of this movie, she's treated as an outsider, shouldering the majority of her family's burdens despite her complete and total innocence. As a result, we see her pushed to the edge, eventually forced to kill her own mother in self-defense before embracing the darkness that did her family in. 

And as she makes her pact with the Devil himself and wanders naked into the woods, the true message of this film comes full circle. Repression is a ticking time bomb; once fear enters the equation, it's only a matter of time before outright hostility becomes the status quo. And after that, those made to feel oppressed and marginalized will become radicalized, striking back against those who once put them down, becoming oppressors in their own right. As Thomasin rises into the air and becomes part of the coven, we see the culmination of her siblings' taunting, her mother's accusations, and her father's distrust. All of these negative emotions, brought about through only the most pious and holy intentions, amounted to nothing more than yet another witch being born unto Satan's flock.

Like The Exorcist and The Shining before it, The VVitch is a movie where what you don't see is just as terrifying (if not moreso) than what you do see. And like The Exorcist in particular, this is one of the few horror films I've seen that actually makes The Devil into a legitimately horrifying concept. More often than not, the scariest antagonists are the ones you cannot bargain with; the Xenomorph, Jason Voorhees, and even the Terminator. Creatures who will not hesitate to gut you on-sight, regardless of what you might say or do in an attempt to sway them. But The VVitch finds a way to make Satan so much more terrifying than any of these, simply for the reason that you can reason with him. He's not some mindless beast out for blood, but something much more sinister and intelligent than that. You can just talk to him whenever you want. And that's exactly what he wants. The Devil lives in an unexplored part of each and every human soul, waiting for the right moment to make his influence known. The VVitch poses the idea that Satan exists in all of us, that every human has the potential within them for great evil. And that all it takes for that evil to come bubbling to the surface is the proper incentive.

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: Prometheus

It's a testament to the quality of both Alien and Aliens that we hold this franchise in such high-regard. These first two films rank among the best ever made, yet everything since has ranged from merely okay to pure garbage. Prometheus was a film that I (and I'm sure many other Alien fanatics) was greatly looking forward to. With Ridley Scott back in the director's chair and a viral marketing campaign that promised something more in-line with the original 1979 film, I was sure that this would be the film to restore this franchise to its former glory. As Noomi Rapace's Dr. Elizabeth Shaw says, "I was wrong. We were so wrong." Perhaps I'm being a tad harsh; the last and only time I watched Prometheus was back when it released in the summer of 2012. Like with Batman V Superman, I left the theater feeling as though the film was passable at worst (albeit a tad unsatisfying), only for that feeling of middling acceptance to quickly sour into outright contempt. The more I thought about it, the more elements of the plot and characters disintegrated before my eyes like so many buff, albino spacemen. However, as hard as it is to believe, that was just about half a decade ago. I decided to give Prometheus another chance, to see if it holds up better upon a second viewing. It does, though only slightly, and I'm still very much inclined to chalk this one up as yet another 'miss' for the Alien franchise.

Taking place well before Alien (and retconning those god-awful AVP movies out of series canon), the film follows the crew of the Prometheus, a research vessel commissioned by the eponymous Weyland Corporation. Archaeologists Elizabeth Shaw (Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green) have discovered star maps in several locations across the Earth, believing them to be directions to the origins of mankind's makers. Intent upon finding these so-called Engineers and uncovering the purpose of human life, the crew travels to a planet known as LV-223 (not to be confused with LV-426 from Alien and Aliens), only to find a massive pyramid filled to the brim with a strange, goopy alien pathogen. Instead of answering the questions posed by Alien (mainly regarding the origin of the iconic xenomorph), the film instead poses a host of new questions and chooses to answer exactly zero of them.

In some ways, this was a functionally flawed film from the get-go. Part of the appeal of Alien was the sense of mystery and uncertainty. We knew as much about the creature that terrorized the crew of the Nostromo as they did; the alien represents the unknown, and the unknown is always inherently terrifying. That is, until you attempt to explain it. Really, we don't need to know where the xenomorph came from. Any origin they could present would just feel unsatisfying compared to some thirty-plus years of speculation and conjecture. Luckily, however, the xenomorph gets to retain its mystique because it doesn't appear at all in this film. Instead, we're given an unsatisfying (and canonically dubious) explanation for the Space Jockeys (now called Engineers). Being that the xenomorph has existed in pop culture for so long, it's understandable why Ridley Scott chose to omit the creature from this entry in the series; people love the big chap, but we've had nearly four decades to look at the monster. Safe to say he's lost a bit of his initial shock and awe, so it's important to innovate and keep things fresh. Unfortunately, the film forgets that there's a difference between being mysterious and simply being ill-defined.

In Alien, we're able to understand how the creature functions, even if we know very little about what it actually is. We can gather that it reproduces by implanting an embryo inside a host and that it's got pressurized molecular acid for blood. It's incredibly resilient but, like most animals, is averse to fire. There's just enough there that the xenomorph is still strange and terrifying, but coherent enough in concept that it remains conceivable. We aren't distracted by this fantastical creature skulking around a ship knocking off space truckers because it feels like something that could very well exist in the cold depths of space. That's precisely what makes it terrifying. 

Meanwhile, in Prometheus, we know all the wrong things about the Engineers. We know that they created human life, we know that their DNA is somehow a direct match to ours (despite them being an ancient race of alabaster giants), we know that they want to destroy us for whatever reason, and we know that they possess a sinister black goo that you certainly don't want to get near any mucus membranes. We don't know, on the other hand, what the black goo even does; as is, it basically functions in whichever way is most convenient for the plot. Sometimes it causes life to disintegrate, sometimes it causes rapid evolution, and sometimes it just turns people into zombies. While we assume the creature in Alien is just acting on animal instinct, the Engineers are clearly intelligent. So why don't they operate under any sense of logic? Why do they want to destroy Earth so badly? We have some sense of what the stakes are, but we don't know what motivates any of it. I was so busy trying to make sense of all the plot holes and oversights that I completely forgot to be emotionally invested.

I could spend a great deal of time picking apart the insane amount of plot holes in this movie (and I would, if a certain pair of hackfrauds hadn't perfectly summed everything up five years ago), so I'll instead pick apart the characters. Whereas Alien spent the entirety of its first act familiarizing us with a small crew of normal, everyday people, Prometheus instead opts for a comparatively larger cast of sci-fi cartoon characters. Logan-Mashall Green is completely unbelievable, playing the part of a doctor of archaeology with all the impulsiveness of a boorish frat-boy. He's completely unlikeable and I felt nothing but joy upon seeing him bite the dust. Rafe Spall's biologist character is a jittery coward for the entire film, up until the point he sees a phallic alien snake and decides to try and shake hands with it. Apparently there was a cut scene in which he encounters a decidedly non-hostile version of these creatures, establishing the idea that they pose no threat to him; why this scene was cut, I have no idea. We also get to watch Sean Harris comically smoke weed out of his space helmet while trapped in an ancient alien pyramid. This movie features the most appallingly incompetent excuses for scientists I think I've ever seen, and that's aside from the scene towards the end of the second act where Idris Elba explains the premise thus far to any audience members who might be having trouble keeping up.

That said, the film is not without its highlights. Noomi Rapace is totally believable in her role as Elizabeth Shaw (even if she's just a tad too spry immediately following a last-minute cesarean). The idea of a character struggling to hold onto their faith despite literally meeting their maker is leagues more fascinating than every other bit of sci-fi schlock the film throws our way. There's also Michael Fassbender as David the android, by far the best takeaway of the entire film. The theme of creations rebelling against their creators is about the only thing the film gets across well, and that's almost entirely thanks to Fassbender's incredible performance. He displays such a subtle turn from helpful and innocent to jealous and spiteful, completely commanding attention while on-screen. It's actually kind of stunning; few films display such an aptitude for wasting talent like this one does, yet I'd go as far as to say that David is right up there with Ripley as one of the best characters this franchise has ever produced. Fassbender earns every bit of praise he gets for this one, and he's one of the few things I'm certain will be good about Alien: Covenant.

Visually, this movie is stunning. The cinematography is gorgeous, the special effects are holding up nicely, and the reliance on practical sets and creatures is greatly appreciated. For as much as I gripe about the story and characters (care of Lost's Damon Lindeloff), I can't deny that this is a superbly good-looking film. Everything aesthetic, from the lighting to the score, is top-notch. I can even respect the film for daring to be as ambitious as it is; it goes to some truly far-out places, yet rarely scuffs the atmosphere that it builds. The first act is a strong preamble to a massive-yet-gorgeous letdown. With a better script, this really could have been a masterpiece to rival the first Alien. Instead, it will just have to join the long line of interesting films that were ruined during re-writes.

Prometheus is a film that I truly wish was as good as I wanted it to be. It sets lofty goals for itself and falls far from accomplishing them, as admirable as the attempt was. Unfortunately, there's just too many things wrong with the story being told on a fundamental level to save the film as a whole. Michael Fassbender is incredible and the visual direction is truly a sight to behold, but beyond that it's a disappointingly vague, shallow mess of a prequel. It may be somewhat unfair to compare it so vigorously to Alien, but I feel as though such comparisons are inevitable when both films are not only in the same franchise, but share the same director. There's so many cut corners and lazy plot holes here that were completely absent in Alien, so one has to wonder what changed in the interim. 

In the past, Ridley Scott has expressed frustration that Alien has become yet another blockbuster franchise, with schlocky sequels and a ride at Disney World. In many ways, Prometheus feels like an attempt by a director to reclaim an idea that has since gotten away from him; in the process of doing so, he ignores everything that made the original idea good, just for the sake of separating himself from the past that everyone knows and loves. I've seen the original draft of this film, back when Prometheus was known as Alien: Engineers. It certainly sounded like something better than what we got and it's unfortunate we'll never get to see it reach fruition. Hopefully he'll have more luck with Alien: Covenant.

REVIEW: The Prince of Egypt

Believe it or not, the 90's wasn't just a renaissance for strictly Disney animation. Back before they were playing second-fiddle to Pixar and licensing every children's book under the sun, Dreamworks Animation was one of the few studios whose films proved to be worthy competition for those coming out of the Disney Animation Studios at the time. The best strategy for co-existing with a media empire as massive as the House of Mouse, I've found, is to embrace the things that are simply too risky for Disney to touch; the best parts of non-Disney theme parks are always the thrill rides and PG-13 elements that you'd never find within the walls of the Magic Kingdom. The same could be said when it comes to making movies; The Prince of Egypt is an exemplary example of an animated musical that goes directly for straight-faced drama instead of action, adventure, and comedy. Dreamworks Animation got its start, comprised mostly of ex-Disney animators, making films like The Prince of Egypt; gorgeously animated with a distinctly non-Disney edge. Then Shrek came along, won an Oscar, and ruined everything. Still, no amount of mediocre computer-generated comedies starring pop stars who can't act can erase the fact that Dreamworks has made some truly amazing animated films, and The Prince of Egypt is most definitely one of their best.

The film is a re-telling of the story of Exodus; after the Pharaoh Seti (Patrick Stewart) calls for the death of all newborn Hebrew males, a desperate mother named Yocheved (Ofra Haza) hides her son in a basket and sends him floating down the Nile River. The baby is discovered by the Queen of Egypt (Helen Mirren), who adopts him as her own, naming him Moses. After years of living as Egyptian royalty, Moses (Val Kilmer) is shocked to discover his true heritage. He goes on to become the chosen messenger of God (Kilmer and various others), attempting to convince his brother, Rameses (Ralph Fiennes) to free the Hebrew slaves so that they may be delivered unto the promised land. 

The film hits many of the same beats as its original inspiration, The Ten Commandments (Jeffery Katzenberg originally pitched the idea to Disney, who rejected it); however, this take on the story trades raw spectacle for a much more intimate, human story. The film focuses less on biblical scale and more on the relationship between Moses and Rameses, two men raised as brothers, made reluctant enemies by the circumstances they find themselves in. While a fair amount of the film focuses on ideas like hope and faith (sometimes to a fault), the core conflict plays out like a melancholy tragedy. Rameses is portrayed as downright sympathetic, forced to pay for the sins of his father. He's torn between affection for his brother and his desire to live up to his duties as Pharaoh. We're treated to an excellent scene early on that establishes Rameses' entire character, as his father warns him how "one weak link can break the chain of a mighty dynasty". This becomes his driving motivation for the rest of the film. We not only understand what Rameses wants, but we understand why he holds such aspirations.

We're given a similarly intimate look at Moses' struggle; as one would expect, the story ends more-or-less happily. Moses is successful in liberating his people and they begin their journey to the promised land. However, Moses' victory hardly comes without a cost. Every plague that the almighty bestows upon Rameses' empire falls on Moses' conscience; the film goes to great lengths to illustrate just how overwhelmed Moses is with the burden of being God's chosen messenger. Like Rameses, he is forced into conflict out of circumstance. However, unlike Rameses, Moses hopes to atone for his past, rather than live up to it. Our protagonist and antagonist are reluctant reflections of each other, making for an extremely resonant emotional core to this larger-than-life tale.

This is of course helped along, not only by the stellar cast (Fiennes is electrifying), but by the incredible animation. Subtle use of CGI mixed with fluid traditional animation creates a gorgeous, timeless art style that holds up nearly twenty years since the film's release. Everything is animated as if it were a live-action film, employing dynamic angles and meticulous framing that is only enhanced by the animation. It's a thematic feast for the eyes that makes Dreamworks' eventual decline into dated pop-culture references and bland CGI all the more depressing (thankfully more How to Train Your Dragon films are in the works and Captain Underpants at least looks visually interesting, but I digress). The songs are also tonally-consistent, which is of monumental importance in an animated biblical epic. If but a single musical number was too juvenile or silly or (god forbid) dated, the entire film would have suffered. Thankfully, the songs end up making for some of the most striking, iconic scenes in the entire film (particularly The Plagues). Even the most "comical" song in the movie (sung by Steve Martin and Martin Short, playing a duo of scheming court magicians) comes off as contextually appropriate and even somewhat foreboding.

Really, if I must criticize the film for anything, it's that the ending isn't as melancholic as I would have liked. The entire conflict is scaled down to focus on Moses and Rameses; in the end, the main difference between them is that Moses still feels sorrow over coming into conflict with his brother while Rameses has been consumed by vengeance and rage. The cost of freedom for his people is constantly weighing on Moses' shoulders, yet the ending is lighter than one would expect given the tense, emotionally-charged climax. For as well-developed as both of these characters are, some more conflict and emotion on Moses' part would have gone a long way in the grand scheme of things. He's cursed to not only be the protagonist, but to also be the voice of God; any chance of him making a mistake or failing in his mission is more or less out the window after his encounter with the burning bush, making him the less-interesting of the two main characters. I would have liked to have seen a little more gloom and struggle in that regard, but this hardly sinks the film or makes the conflict any less hard-hitting.

The Prince of Egypt is, in many ways, an underrated gem. This time of year, it seems like something of a tradition to take in a viewing of The Ten Commandments; while it's undoubtedly a classic, I feel as though there are many ways in which this telling of the story of Moses manages to top the original. It's an adaptation which deserves to escape the shadow of its predecessor and shine on its own numerous merits. This film is the complete package; a powerful story conveyed through powerful performances and powerful visuals, all set to a powerful score. If you want to see a strong example of the maturation of animation from an era where classics were made and released annually, look no further.

REVIEW: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Given that it's been several years since the Harry Potter film series came to a close (and nearly a decade since the final book was released, not counting the recent stage play), it's sometimes easy to forget just what a huge phenomenon the series was back in the day. I grew up on the stories and films, so this franchise more or less dominated a huge portion of my life; it was an ongoing event comparable to the original Star Wars saga. While I still consider myself a fan, no question, I must admit that it's been years since I've re-read any of the books or revisited any of the movies. We all assumed there would be more Harry Potter some day, whether or not it was entirely necessary. Though I doubt anyone could have guessed we'd end up with a prequel spin-off containing none of the original characters we'd spent an entire decade reading about. As is the popular trend nowadays, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them hopes to establish a cinematic universe in which the films are connected through a shared canon, while not necessarily directly related to one another. It was recently announced that this would be the first of a whopping five films (an announcement I feel holds as much water as James Cameron's insistence that there will be four more consecutively-filmed Avatar sequels released between 2018 and 2023), so the question still remains; is this movie strong enough to establish a series of its own without Harry Potter and pals picking up the slack?

Taking place in the year 1926 (nearly 70 years before Harry Potter would be admitted to Hogwarts), the plot follows magizoologist Newt Scamander (Eddie Redmayne) as he journeys to New York City on personal business. After a mix-up with a non-wizard named Jacob Kowalski (Dan Fogler), numerous magical creatures escape Newt's enchanted suitcase and begin wreaking havoc on the city. This does little to ease the tension brewing within the wizarding community; a string of anti-muggle attacks by the infamous Gellert Grindelwald (Johnny Depp) have threatened to expose the magical world at large and inspired the rise of groups like the Second Salemers, a fanatical cult of non-magic users hoping to expose and destroy those who practice witchcraft. At the same time, a sinister presence has begun causing destruction and chaos in New York. Naturally, Newt's creatures take the blame and the task falls to him, Jacob, and Tina Goldstein (an agent for the Magical Congress of the United States of America played by Katherine Waterson) to round up his beasts before any harm can come to them (or indeed, the world at large).

It must be said, I'm eternally grateful that J.K. Rowling decided to step outside the box with this film; it would have been positively tragic had we gotten a Harry Potter prequel focusing on Young Dumbledore or the adventures of Harry's parents when they were at Hogwarts or, god forbid, a Star Wars prequel-style series about how Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort. Instead, we get something totally new and original; a movie starring the author of a textbook that is occasionally mentioned offhandedly by the main characters as a bit of set dressing. Something that, realistically speaking, has next to nothing to do with the story told in the previous Harry Potter films. It would have been tremendously easy to make a movie about Harry's kids or something equally banal and pointless; the Harry Potter name prints money, so a spin-off would be successful no matter what. It's that the filmmakers and Ms. Rowling decided to go the extra mile and make something daring and different that I respect. That effort pays off, since we get to see a whole new side of the wizarding world which we've never seen before. 

The original series hinted at international magical communities outside of England (most prominently in Goblet of Fire), but we never really got to see how things were done overseas. Unlike every other piece of Harry Potter media, the entirety of this film takes place in the United States; as is to be expected, things are done differently on this side of the pond. Instead of a Ministry of Magic, Americans have the Magical Congress. Instead of Hogwarts, there's Ilvermorny. Instead of "muggles", non-magical folk are referred to as "no-maj". While it might seem like a simple change of backdrop and terminology at first glance, the film does a fine job of making the United States feel like totally new territory in the Harry Potter universe. The events of the original story are presented as wholly irrelevant to the plot; there's a few callbacks and name-drops here and there, but the film, for the most part, plays all of its references close to the chest. There's no immersion-shattering cameo from a young Dumbledore; barring Grindelwald (who was practically as much a footnote in the original series as Newt Scamander was), any and all references to the previous films are cursory at best. This is a film that knows when it is appropriate to evoke feelings of nostalgia without distracting the audience, something that all modern revivals (from Jurassic World to Star Wars) should take note of.

That said, the film is most definitely not without its flaws. The first act is a ploddingly slow, poorly-paced jumble of scenes; while it's naturally fun to get re-immersed in the wizarding world and enjoy the drastic change of scenery and setting, the plot doesn't really begin until around thirty minutes in. Once the movie actually takes off, it's as engaging and fun as one might hope for, but the path to that point borders at being a chore at times. There were also points where the movie as a whole felt somewhat overstuffed. Sorcerer's Stone had a fairly basic plot, since it had to establish the entire world in which the story takes place. This allowed the sequels to grow more complex, since the bulk of the world building was already set up and out of the way. Fantastic Beasts operates under the assumption that viewers are already familiar with all the previous entries in the series to that point, but also has to establish its own distinct world, separate from the rest of the existing Harry Potter universe. The film clocks in at just over two hours and not a minute of it is wasted; the reason the first act comes off as so sloppy is purely due to all of the setup it needs to get out of the way before the real plot can begin. 

While I don't really have any objective issues with the story, it does feel a bit dense for the first movie in a new series. Given that he's an outsider (like Harry was, initially), it very much feels like Kowalski should have been the main protagonist (despite him not being able to contribute anything to the action-packed climax); Newt doesn't have much of an arc to speak of and, while endearing, honestly comes off as pretty flat in terms of his characterization. I also wasn't a fan of the main antagonist, Percival Graves (Colin Farrell). In a series featuring such iconic villains as Dolores Umbridge and Lord Voldemort himself, there's immense potential to be found with the Director of Magical Security for the United States. Unfortunately, this character completely fell flat for me; his goals aren't clearly defined until the very end of the film and I was able to spot the twist coming a mile away. It honestly would have been more shocking (as well as a nice parallel to Sorcerer's Stone) to have the brash, spooky jerk turn out to be one of the good guys all along, despite the protagonist's (and audience's) expectations that he was really working for the main villain the whole time. Imagine if, at the end of Sorcerer's Stone, we find out that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were totally right and that Snape was the one trying to steal the stone for Voldemort. That is essentially what the "twist" in Fantastic Beasts amounts to; in a film with so much imagination and ingenuity, it's the one glaring aspect that feels utterly mundane and expected.

Despite my reservations, I must say that Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them turned out to be a solid entry into an iconic series. I wasn't entirely sure that this movie needed to exist, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't get some powerful chills the moment the Warner Bros logo floated in through the fog to the tune of that iconic jingle. In a world of cinematic universes and soft-reboots that seem to minimize on ingenuity in an effort to maximize profit, Fantastic Beasts manages to revive a beloved franchise while at the same time doing something totally original and independent of the established iconography. It has its flaws, but I believe it rises above them and justifies its existence by simply being a very enjoyable movie on its own. I'm still not entirely sold on the idea of four more sequels following Newt Scamander and company, but this film has certainly proven that it is possible to tell a good story in J.K. Rowling's wizarding world without once saying the name "Harry Potter".

REVIEW: Batman V Superman- Dawn of Justice

2016 is looking to be the year of the superhero squabble; on the Marvel front, we've got Daredevil fighting The Punisher and Captain America fighting Iron Man. Of course, we also have DC's Caped Crusader facing off against the Man of Steel in Zack Snyder's Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice. 2013's Man of Steel was a flawed film; heavy on style and destruction, yet lacking that feel-good, inspiring kind of substance that makes Superman into the iconic character known throughout the world as a symbol of truth, justice, and the American way. For all its problems, it was not an irredeemable film by any means. We all knew it was to serve as a launching point for DC's own Cinematic Universe as they desperately tried to play catch-up with Marvel; with some luck, Man of Steel would be remembered as the black sheep of the franchise. An off-color, rocky start for an on-screen universe that would bring the iconic heroes of Detective Comics to the big screen in ways we've never seen before. Unfortunately, having seen Batman V Superman, I find myself having the same "better luck next time" kind of reaction I did when I finished watching Man of Steel three years ago.

The opening sequence is arguably the strongest part of the entire movie. In a few mere minutes, it manages to introduce us to the character of Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) and completely establish his origins and motivations. It knows we've seen Batman's origin a million times before and wastes no time getting it out of the way before diving right in to the overindulgent climax from Man of Steel, this time shown from Bruce Wayne's perspective. Blaming Superman (Henry Cavill) for the casualties and destruction he witnessed firsthand, Bruce Wayne steadily becomes more and more obsessed with finding a way to counter the potentially destructive force that Metropolis' Man of Tomorrow represents. Meanwhile, Clark Kent hopes to use the power of the press to shed some light on the Batman of Gotham, who has become increasingly brutal on criminals in recent years. Greasing the wheels of the conflict is billionaire CEO and mad scientist, Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg), hoping to pit the two caped heroes against one another to further his own vaguely-defined goals.

One of my biggest problems with Man of Steel was that it seemed to miss the point of Superman. Sure, Jor-El's speeches were inspiring and the "first flight" sequence was the highlight of the film, but overall it was a much more dour take on the character than was necessary. Superman is meant to represent all that is good in the human spirit; a humble-yet-confident everyman who uses his immense power to do the right thing simply because it's the right thing to do. The problem with Zack Snyder's take on the character is that he's less of a protagonist and more of a plot device; less of a relatable Kansas farmboy and more of a beleaguered alien messiah. One of my hopes for Batman V Superman was for the movie to give me a reason to feel good about Superman again. Something that makes my spirit swell the way the classic John Williams score or an excerpt from All-Star Superman might. There's a scene very early on in the film in which Lois Lane (Amy Adams) is captured by a terrorist cell in the middle east. When things start to go south, a militant cocks his gun and aims it at the head of Lois' traveling companion; as a Superman fan, I began grinning, since surely I knew what was about to happen. The music would swell and Superman would swoop out of the sky, rescuing this man from certain doom. Imagine my surprise when the trigger was pulled and this character (whom the director later confirmed to be Superman's pal, Jimmy Olsen) takes a bullet point-blank to the face, dying instantly.

It's fine to have a darker, more serious take on a comic book figure; I'm honestly glad that DC is exploring a tone different from that of Marvel's lighthearted blockbusters. However, Superman is a property that should most definitely never be described as "bleak", "joyless", or "heavy-handed". The character is meant to be a beacon of hope, so as to contrast with the dour, pessimistic Batman. The film portrays Superman's do-gooding almost as a burden, something he feels obligated to do for all of us puny humans so that we'll continue to tolerate his presence on our world. When he rescues a small girl from a fire or saves a space capsule from an explosion on the launch pad, there's no joy or warmth to be found in his good work. Unless he's saving his mother or Lois Lane, Henry Cavill looks like he'd honestly rather be doing anything else with his time, and that is an objectively wrong way to portray Superman. It's a cold, artificial performance totally unbecoming of the character. This movie commits the mortal sin of portraying Superman in a way that focuses almost entirely on the fact that his biology is alien, rather than how his heart is wholly human. The fact that I actually thought "oh boy, he's gonna do a Superman thing" when he saved someone who wasn't Lois Lane during the climax should tell you all you need to know about this interpretation.

Thankfully, the overly dreary tone here works to the full advantage of Batman, who honestly feels like the real main character of the film. While it's not without its flaws, I feel safe in saying that this is the best live-action interpretation of Batman and Alfred (Jeremy Irons) I've ever seen. There's appropriate amounts of detective work, brooding, banter, and acrobatic fisticuffs that are a legitimate joy to watch in action. As excellent as I found Affleck's portrayal to be, however, this does break one of the golden rules when it comes to Batman; he does kill people. That's not to say that Batman has never dabbled in a bit of murder from time to time; from his first appearance over 75 years ago, to the 1989 Tim Burton adaptation, to the classic The Dark Knight Returns (a graphic novel that clearly and directly inspired large parts of this film), the Dark Knight has taken his fair share of lives. However, going by the most widely-accepted version of the character, the Batman does not go out of his way to kill anyone. There are a few deaths in this film that are indirect and therefore excusable (for example, a henchman who falls victim to his own hand grenade), but the sheer amount of wanton carnage in the over-the-top (and altogether pointless) Batmobile sequence crosses the line for me. There's a number of ways that Batman can incapacitate his foes without resorting to flat-out murdering them with machine guns and missiles. Usually when Batman kills someone, it's treated with a certain degree of gravity; aside from one specific (and legitimately strong) moment, the film never lingers on how many people Batman directly murders in cold blood. However, writing that into this movie would probably require some degree of clever thought, a department in which the film is somewhat lacking.

Filling the role of our main antagonist, we have Alexander "Lex" Luthor Jr, played curiously enough by Jesse Eisenberg. A surprising casting decision that is sure to be divisive amongst moviegoers and fans. I personally found myself torn; I quite enjoyed this interpretation of Lex Luthor as something of an eccentric trust fund baby in the beginning. Whenever he was on screen, Eisenberg seemed to radiate the feeling that he felt he was smarter than everyone else in the room, a trait that is 100% Lex Luthor. However, it's important for a villain such as this to be able to back that claim up with actual intelligence and trickery, and this is where the character falls flat. This is a Lex Luthor with little motivation and absolutely no end-game for his fiendish plan. When one thinks of Lex Luthor, the greatest criminal mind of our time, one thinks of Machiavellian schemes that end with Superman being completely unable to take any meaningful action. Even if the day is saved, Lex still wins. Here, Lex's plan involves manipulating Superman and Batman into fighting one another. We can understand that he'd be fine with seeing Superman either proven to be an imperfect menace or dying at the hands of the Bat, but his plan raises a great many other questions about his motivations. Why exactly does he hate Superman? Is it mere jealousy, or something more? What is his beef with Batman in the first place? How'd he manage to deduce both Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne's secret identities, and why doesn't he use this information in any long-lasting, meaningful way? Why did he bother creating Doomsday at all? His motivation is more akin to that of the Joker or Riddler than Lex Luthor; all he does is cause chaos in an attempt to prove his mental superiority. Out of the three-way conflict of Superman, Luthor, and Batman, only the latter is given an appropriate amount of development and motivation; this might not have been a problem, had more of the two and a half hour runtime been spent developing our primary characters rather than advertising future Justice League movies.

It's no secret by now that there are a number of cameos, all from future Justice Leaguers; the Flash (Ezra Miller), Aquaman (Jason Momoa), and Cyborg (Ray Fisher) all make brief appearances to remind audiences that they exist and the DC Cinematic Universe is definitely something just as big and successful as what Marvel is doing. While the cameos were largely inoffensive (though I do think the camera lingered on Momoa for far too long, and this is coming from someone who's looking forward to James Wan's Aquaman moreso than everything else DC has in the pipeline), their place in the plot sticks out like a sore thumb. It's a scene that would have worked much better as a brief post-credits teaser than an intrusive coming attraction in the middle of the climax.

There's also the matter of Bruce Wayne's frequent dream sequences. While the majority of them act to the film's advantage, offering a bit of that visual flair that Snyder has such a knack for while also delving a bit into the mind of the Bat, one in particular is nothing more than a clear and obvious teaser for the coming Justice League film. Normally I wouldn't care too much, as it was a fairly exciting and well-shot sequence. However, the implications it raises are just too baffling to ignore (fair warning, I am going to get into mild spoiler territory for this paragraph alone). The dream ends with a warning from what appears to be a time-traveling Flash, telling Bruce Wayne that, in order to prevent the horrible future he's witnessed, he needs to track down all the members of the Justice League and assemble them before it's too late. However, this warning comes inside of the dream, before Bruce wakes up. I know that the Speed Force is essentially magic and thus does whatever the hell the writer needs it to do, but is the implication here that the Flash traveled into Bruce Wayne's dream (before Bruce Wayne ever met Barry Allen) in order to show him a vision of the future? Why not have the Flash appear out of the time stream in real life, considering time travel is one of his powers? Why not have Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot), a character based around myth and magic, be the one to receive prophecies of doom and set out to unite the Justice League? I'm nitpicking here, sure, but this just seemed like the most roundabout and confusing attempt at foreshadowing I think I've ever seen.

By and large, the cast does a fair job. For as alien as Henry Cavill's performance is, the fact that he actually does feel like Superman the few times he does appropriately Supermanny things makes me think that the issues brought up by his performance are due more to poor direction and a weak script rather than flat-out bad acting. Ben Affleck and Jeremy Irons are by far the highlights here; their scenes flow wonderfully thanks to their mutual passion and natural chemistry. This is the Alfred and Master Wayne we all know and love, done just right. Gal Gadot is serviceable as Princess Diana of Themyscira, though she hardly has enough screentime for me to truly pass judgement (I suppose that will have to wait until next year's Wonder Woman movie). Unfortunately, Amy Adams, while a truly enjoyable actress elsewhere, is just a terrible Lois Lane and arguably the worst thing about this. Her character serves to do absolutely nothing than play Anne Darrow to Superman's King Kong, being in the right place at the right time to help further the plot. She sucks up far too much screentime with a dull-as-dishwater subplot involving someone selling munitions to terrorists (I'll give you exactly one guess as to who it is) and gets across exactly none of the charisma or spunk that the character is known for.

With everything I've had to say about this film, the cruelest irony is that I didn't even hate it. It's the most solid five out of ten I think I've ever seen. The action is sparse and overindulgent, yet it's still cool to see Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman teaming up to fight evil on the big screen. There's a lot of decent moments, but the pace is a disjointed hatchet job that flows like poorly-mixed concrete. The music (care of Hans Zimmer and Junkie XL) is really quite excellent, but we don't end up really caring about any of the characters that these pulse-pounding themes are meant to represent.

Honestly, I feel as though all of this film's problems can be attributed directly to Zack Snyder and executive meddling. The studio is all too eager to catch up with Marvel, even if that means bogging their product down with enough cameos and teasers to sate an entire phase of Marvel films. Meanwhile, Snyder clearly doesn't know or care enough about the source material to deliver a satisfying adaptation. While it's not fair to judge a film strictly on the grounds of being different from its source material, any adaptation does hold a certain degree of responsibility to accurately represent that which it is adapted from; it's fine to divert from the origins of a property (Christopher Nolan proved with his Dark Knight trilogy that such an approach can work out okay), but Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice just feels sloppy. It's time for Warner Brothers to ditch Snyder and bring in an actual auteur; a Guillermo Del Toro or a George Miller. Someone who can do these iconic characters justice while still delivering a well-made and satisfying film underneath it all. 

As it stands, DC's had strike one with Man of Steel and now a foul tip with Batman V Superman; they've made contact with the ball this time, but they still haven't made it to any bases. They need to hit a home run real soon, or they're out. There's elements of this series so far that are promising; elements which give me hope for projects like Ben Affleck's standalone Batman movie and James Wan's Aquaman. Hopefully, this franchise will find its way into the proper creative hands soon, so the potential that remains doesn't go to waste.