REVIEW: Aquaman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Halloween (2018)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Venom

Now here's something I definitely didn't expect to see in theaters. When Sony Pictures, the "studio" behind such "movies" as Peter Rabbit and the Ghostbusters remake, announced a standalone film starring Spider-Man's longtime nemesis, Venom, I decided then and there that I'd abstain from paying money to see it as a form of protest. It was obvious to me that Sony was simply trying to extort more money from Marvel Studios, holding Spidey and friends ransom; if Kevin Feige wasn't gonna let Amy Pascal muck up his MCU clubhouse, then Sony would simply have to do everything they could to poison the Spider-Man brand in the meantime. They're hanging on by a thread as it is, might as well bet it all on black and hope for the best. The symbiote arc felt like a natural next step for the MCU's take on the wallcrawler (considering how Spider-Man Homecoming used Peter Parker's costume as a metaphor for him becoming his own hero, and Venom is literally a living Spider-Man suit looking to control its host, but I'm getting ahead of myself), and seeing Sony squander such a concept over petty company politics left a bad taste in my mouth. Venom was not a movie I needed to pay money to see, since any financial success it enjoyed would damage the MCU that I've come to love so well. But then Disney fired James Gunn, so screw it, go team Venom!

The plot, curiously enough, contains exactly no reference to Spider-Man whatsoever (despite Sony still clinging to the movie rights for the character and his entire supporting cast); a daunting prospect, seeing as how Venom is a supervillain spawned from one of Spider-Man's old costumes (actually an alien symbiote he picked up during the Secret Wars) bonding to a bitter journalist named Eddie Brock. This backstory is the entire reason Venom himself is a sort of dark reflection of Spider-Man; naturally, I was skeptical of Sony's ability to faithfully adapt the character to the big screen without once bringing the main hero into the mix. After all, we remember how well it turned out the last time a studio tried to spin-off a supervillain as an anti-hero in a standalone film that contained no trace of their comic book origins.

Surprisingly enough, the film more or less pulls off crafting a faithful depiction of Venom without once even alluding to the existence of Spider-Man (which is more than I can say for Topher Grace's take on the character in Spider-Man 3). The specific inspiration for this incarnation comes from Venom's Lethal Protector solo-series from the 90's, in which he took on the role of a wise-cracking anti-hero, rather than a tortured soul literally consumed by notions of vengeance. Make no mistake, this is not a serious film in any sense of the word. The Venom we get here is  much more "Strangers in the Night", as opposed to the "monster metaphor for addiction and abuse" we see in more modern stories. The result is a surprisingly silly buddy flick that ends up being the best superhero movie of 2006.

This is a movie that all but entirely ignores every bit of evolution the superhero genre has gone through in the past decade, to the point where I don't think I even need to talk about the plot (but will briefly anyway, because hey). Tom Hardy plays Eddie Brock, an investigative journalist who's down on his luck after attempting to expose the shady Life Foundation and its charismatic, Steve Jobs-ian CEO, Carlton Drake (Riz Ahmed). While snooping around Drake's sinister science lab, Eddie becomes bonded to an alien symbiote named Venom (also voiced by Hardy). Together, the two form an unlikely bromance as they attempt to stop Drake's sinister schemes and win back Eddie's ex-fiance (Michelle Williams). There's some action, some comedy, finish things up with the most obvious sequel tease of all time, and roll credits. Despite a near two hour runtime, it doesn't feel nearly that long, so while the story definitely isn't what I'd call good, I can at least say that it doesn't bother wasting anyone's time.

If there's one thing I definitely liked about this movie, it would be Tom Hardy. You can tell he's really having a blast with the role, elevating the clunky dialog and bland plot, and that makes all the difference in the world when everything else here is thoroughly mediocre to outright bad. Apparently 40 minutes of footage was slashed from the final cut, the majority of which supposedly contained additional scenes of Eddie and Venom getting to know one another (scenes which Tom Hardy cited as his favorite parts of the movie). While it may have hurt the pacing, giving Hardy more screentime to talk to himself would have only improved the film for me. Eddie and the symbiote have an oddly endearing dynamic, definitely moreso than any of the other characters in the film (although Venom's odd fondness for Williams' character was pretty cute as well).

It all works in service of the surprisingly light tone, which feels much more in line with a screwball buddy comedy than a horror/action/sci-fi adventure. Like I said before, this isn't the tortured, nuanced, modern Venom we all know, so much as it is the wacky, nutty, 90's Venom of the past; part of me really wishes this was a period piece set in the early 90's, chock full of references to The Fresh Prince and Beanie Babies. At least then the film would have some sort of identity, and you could maybe write off the generic plot and story beats as "a charming throwback to a simpler kind of superhero movie". As is, this just feels like the executives at Sony dusted off the crib notes Avi Arad has had stashed in his desk drawer for the past 20 years and used them to throw a movie together while they desperately try to get the SUMC (Sony Universe of Marvel Characters, for the uninitiated) off the ground.

Outside of Tom Hardy's performance (and the so-embarrassing-it's-amazing Eminem song during the credits), literally everything else in this movie falls flat. Ahmed and Williams are fine as the megalomaniacal villain and flat love interest, the special effects are nothing special, and the action is sparse and serviceable (except for the climax, in which a black goo monster and a gray goo monster fight in an industrial area at night against a pitch-black sky, reaching Bayformers levels of incomprehensible visual noise). It's one of the most by-the-numbers comic book movies I've ever seen, and while adhering to a formula isn't an inherently bad thing, you'd usually want at least one unique or extraordinary element to elevate the entire thing above the formula it adheres to. The only feather in Venom's cap is a pretty fun Tom Hardy performance, and it's not even close to being his best work. You can tell he's just goofing around, it's like a vacation for him in-between real movies. Tom Hardy is the one element at play here that keeps Venom from being a purely negative experience, but it's not like you can compare Eddie Brock to Max Rockatansky or Charlie Bronson. There's no emotion, no underlying themes or metaphors, it's just a series of mildly amusing sequences interspersed alongside markedly less amusing sequences.

It's no secret that Venom was originally going to be released with an R rating before being mercilessly trimmed down to a PG-13 (thus ensuring a wider audience would be able to see it in theaters). Judging from its respectable show at the October box office, I'd say this gambit paid off, but only from a purely financial standpoint. Like I've said so far, the only really positive thing about this movie is that it's kinda fun, and I can definitively say without a doubt in my mind that it would have been exponentially more fun if we got some gore, swearing, and nudity in there as well. With how CGI-intensive the fight scenes are, it's painfully obvious that the original end result was meant to be far bloodier than what we ended up with. During one sequence, in which Venom faces off against a bunch of riot cops, he picks one up over his head, one arm on the officer's torso, the other on his legs. He appears primed to tear the poor schlub clean in half, but instead just sort of gently tosses him off to the side, making me wonder why they gave that moment so much focus. And that's not even counting all the heads that are eaten off-screen and obvious four-letter words that were ADR'd out of existence. Despite a brisk pace, the film looks like it was edited with a chainsaw; it constantly feels as though it's holding back whenever it tries to be dark or comedic, which are the only two tones this movie has to offer. Venom made bank at the box office, so we're definitely getting a sequel (take a fat guess at what the sequel is going to be... congratulations, you guessed correctly). My only hope is that Venom 2 is a hard R, with Tom Hardy not only starring, but executive producing as well. He's more than earned some creative control of the franchise moving forward, considering he's literally the only thing keeping this from being a totally braindead, joyless experience.

Venom is not even close to being a good movie, but I can't say I had a bad time watching it. If you're a fan of the character (specifically his campy, dated, 90's roots), you're going to get the satisfaction of seeing Venom done justice on the big screen and exactly nothing else. The plot is clichéd nonsense, the action is toothless, and there's literally nothing special or notable about it aside from Tom Hardy. With the right audience, it could be a fun enough time, but that's all it is. I can't say I recommend it, but it's also far from the worst thing Sony has put out in recent years. If they could find some way to implement this version of Venom into the MCU, I'd be all for it. But as far as the actual movie goes, the best part part of the entire thing was the two minutes of Into the Spider-Verse footage we got to see after the credits had finished rolling.

REVIEW: Batman Ninja

Outside of the realm of comic books and video games, it's fair to say that DC is in big trouble. With their awkward attempt at a shared universe film franchise knocking on death's door and their home-video animated releases hosting one of the worst things I've ever seen, it's safe to say that the executives at Warner Bros simply don't know what to do with the timeless heroes and villains of Detective Comics. We live in an age where the best Batman movie of the past half-decade stars a bunch of animated LEGO toys; they couldn't even get The Killing Joke right, weighing down the whole experience with uncomfortable romantic subplots, camp gay stereotypes, and embarrassingly sloppy animation. When it comes to DC properties, if it's not a comic book or video game, I've got little reason to be excited for it. But then, out of nowhere, we get a new direct-to-video release. A co-production between WB and a handful of notable writers, animators, and producers from Japan's anime industry. This is Batman Ninja, and it's goddamn crazy.

The film opens at Arkham Asylum, where we see the Bat-Family trying to put a stop to Gorilla Grodd's (Fred Tatasciore) latest scheme. It seems that the super-intelligent ape has built a time machine, which he promptly uses to fling the Dark Knight (Roger Craig Smith) back in time to Feudal Japan. It's here that Batman learns that he wasn't the only one sent back to the past; a number of his greatest enemies took the trip as well, and have since established themselves as daimyōs, each controlling a different section of the island. Most notable is the Joker (Tony Hale), who keeps Grodd's time machine locked away in his towering castle; if the Clown Prince of Crime is able to defeat the other daimyōs and unify Japan under his rule, the entire course of history will be changed. It's up to Batman, Catwoman (Grey Griffin), and the rest of the Bat-Clan to stop the villains, saving Japan (and their future) in the process.

Comparing Batman Ninja to other recent efforts from Warner Bros Home Entertainment (such as Batman & Harley Quinn and The Killing Joke), the difference is night and day (and not just because of the obvious cultural shift). While those efforts both featured the talent of industry veteran Bruce Timm (who, along with Paul Dini, spearheaded the DC Animated Universe of the late 90's/early 2000's), his talent felt very much squandered. Compare that to Batman Ninja, which comes to us from Takashi Okazaki (the creator of/character designer for Afro Samurai), Junpei Misuzuki (a producer on Jojo's Bizarre Adventure), and Kazuki Nakashima (a writer for Kill La Kill, Kamen Rider, and my personal holy grail of anime, Gurren Lagann). If none of those names or titles sound familiar to you, then you may want to reconsider giving Batman Ninja a watch. Simply put, if you haven't seen at least one of those series I just mentioned, you're not the target audience for this film.

I am a huge fan of how crazy things can get when it comes to anime; my favorite anime of all time, Gurren Lagann, is about robots that are powered by machismo who throw galaxies at each other. I want my anime to get crazy from time to time. That said, there are some moments in Batman Ninja (specifically during the final 30 minutes) that are even a bit too ridiculous for my tastes. The premise itself is an insane idea, the kind of thing I'd have come up with when I was seven, hopped up on Fun Dip and Tang, bashing my Batman and Power Rangers toys against each other on my bedroom floor. I absolutely hate to use the old "just turn your brain off" excuse for anything, but when it comes to Batman Ninja... well, what did you expect? Were you looking for high art? For something as politically-charged as The Dark Knight Returns, or as engrossing as Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader? This is a movie where Nightwing (Adam Croasdell) looks like a cross between Vegeta and Sasuke and the Joker pilots a moving castle with a pair of robotic arms. It's absolutely nothing more than an excuse to see Batman and his assorted cast of characters duking it out in a Feudal Japanese setting, and it's awesome.

Right off the bat, the most striking thing about this film is its art direction and animation. Okazaki's interpretations of these classic DC heroes and villains feel both familiar and wholly original, lending themselves wonderfully to the style of animation on display. It may take a moment or two to get used to everything looking like the opening to the first part of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, but once you adjust, you can fully start to appreciate just how gorgeous this movie really is. It's a far-cry from the stilted, lifeless, and often off-model animation seen in the more recent DC home-video releases; everything here is colorful, expressive, and just bursting with detail without appearing at all overwhelming or busy. It's a distinctly home-grown Japanese spin on a Western property that feels right at home against the Feudal backdrop in which our story takes place. And that's not even mentioning the action. Oh ho ho, the action.

It's not at all an exaggeration to say that Batman Ninja has some of the most exciting, engaging, and just flat-out badass action I've seen from any DC movie, let alone their efforts from the past decade or so. The use of CGI allows for animators to operate with a greater deal of versatility than they would be able to with more traditional techniques, and that's something that Batman Ninja takes full advantage of. It's so refreshing to see a Joker who can actually go toe-to-toe with the Dark Knight (rather than just an edgy mastermind who is soundly beaten down without incident), and their numerous clashes ended up being some of the highlights of the entire film for me. The climactic duel between the two (featured in most of the trailers) is everything I wanted this film to be since I'd heard of its existence. 

I also adored the characterization of Harley Quinn (Tara Strong) this time around, feeling much more in-line with the mischievous hench-wench of the old 90's animated series than she has as of late. Her confrontations with Catwoman were equally as thrilling; if I have one action-related complaint, is that there wasn't enough of it. Yes, what this movie puts forth as "plot" is basically just an excuse to move things from fight scene to fight scene, but so many of them involve some combination of Batman, Catwoman, the Joker, and Harley Quinn. The other iconic members of Batman's rogues gallery hardly get the amount of screen time we'd hope for (considering how great their designs are), and when it comes time for each to throw down with a member of the Bat-Family, the vast majority of the non-Bat/Cat-related action is handled off-screen.

Now it's important to note that, at the time of writing, I have only seen the English dub; as I would later find out, it turns out that the English and Japanese versions of Batman Ninja are radically different in terms of plot and dialog. Apparently, the Japanese team went about animating the film before any of the dialog was written or recorded (not an uncommon practice in the anime industry). This is, however, the exact opposite of how things are done stateside, leaving the English localization team with nothing to work with besides a series of rough storyboards and a translated script that totaled a whopping six pages long. This forced writers Leo Chu and Eric Garcia to more or less wing it, and while the end result isn't exactly pure poetry, it wasn't quite enough to distract me from all of the jaw-dropping art design and pulse-pounding action. If anything, I'm excited to have an excuse to revisit it in Japanese (besides, of course, hearing "Joker" pronounced as "JEEYOOOOOKAAAAAAH" over and over again).

Is Batman Ninja a good movie? Therein lies the question; it's not especially thought-provoking, or even all that coherent. If I'm being honest, I checked out of the plot well before things got truly convoluted, but then we're not exactly here for the plot, are we? We're here to see Batman have a samurai fight with the Joker in ancient Japan, and that's exactly what we get. This is not an intelligent or clever movie by any stretch of the imagination. It is, however, immensely entertaining. Batman Ninja is like Gurren Lagann meets Naruto meets Zoids meets Power Rangers meets Jiro Kuwata's Bat-Manga; it's an exercise in light-hearted nonsense, and the result is the kind of fun experience that Justice League only wishes it could provide. If you like anime and want to see what would happen if a really kickass piece of fanart came to life for 85 minutes, I can't recommend this enough. Grab some friends and a case of your favorite Japanese beer, check your mind at the door, and enjoy the ride.

REVIEW: Avengers Infinity War

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REVIEW: Welcome to the Dollhouse

The disconnect between reality and entertainment can be a fascinating pitfall to watch a film circumvent. Coming-of-age stories all but rely on being relatable to their audience, yet there has to be some element of exaggeration in order for the plot and characters to come off as engaging and entertaining. You definitely can make a film that's essentially a 1:1 portrait of everyday life, but it's then that you start to stray into mumblecore territory; while there's nothing particularly wrong with that genre as a whole, it's far from what most would consider conventionally entertaining. At the same time, placing too much stake in caricature and entertainment value can result in something too absurd for audiences to connect with; a fun time, but nothing more. Adolescence is a time mired in profanity and sex and a seemingly unbridled capacity for cruelty, yet these elements of the human experience are frequently watered-down into something more palatable for general audiences (not to mention the MPAA). We get no such worries with Todd Solondz' 1996 directorial debut, Welcome to the Dollhouse, a film that just toes the line of absurdity to the point of matching up perfectly with our collective recollections of middle school.

This is a film that, despite a solid pace and well-organized structure, doesn't have much of a plot. We're simply given a glimpse into the tumultuous life of eleven-year-old Dawn Weiner (Heather Matarazzo); with a name like that, we can imagine the hell she is forced to endure day in and day out at school. It certainly doesn't help that she's gawky, immature, and all-around unpopular. We would hope that poor Dawn is offered some respite in her own home, but no dice; she's the oft put-upon middle child, sandwiched between an overachieving big brother (Matthew Faber) and a tooth-achingly adorable little sister (Daria Kalinina). Like so many her age, Dawn is trapped in that dead-zone between childhood and adolescence; she wants to be popular, but she also doesn't care for the social politics that dictate daily life at school and would much rather just play in her clubhouse. She finds herself at an age where being yourself is the easiest way to become a target and retaliation against injustice is discouraged at every turn. I can remember being told in school that, if we were ever being bullied, the LAST thing we should do is fight back (I'd later learn this was especially true if said bully was someone with authority over you, like say, a second-grade teacher). Fortunately for me, my parents instilled in me what a load of bull that was ("you'll get in trouble at school, but we promise you won't get in trouble with us"); unfortunately for Dawn, she lacks any such support system at home. No matter where she goes or what she does, this is a kid stuck in her formative years who simply can't get no satisfaction.

I feel it's inevitable (when talking about this film about a bullied and neglected young girl) to not draw some comparisons to Carrie. I've only just watched Welcome to the Dollhouse recently and have already recommended it to friends as "like Carrie, if Carrie didn't have her powers". It gets the job done, but the film is really so much more than that. The thing about Carrie in comparison to Dollhouse is that Carrie White is a character who finds herself very much in a "horror movie" situation. This is where that exaggeration I mentioned before comes in, in the form of situational hyperbole; her mother is a religious fanatic who locks her in a prayer closet, she's outright assaulted by all the popular girls at her school, and this all comes to a head with a telekinetic cocktail of death and destruction. As relatable as the themes are, it's still a fantastical situation; not everyone has been pelted with tampons in the locker room showers or doused in pig's blood at their prom. Everyone, however, has been called a name at some point in their life. Everyone has suffered the pain of being someone's second choice. Everyone has buckled under the pressure and said something they'd later regret. Despite being a more grounded portrait of the adolescent experience than Carrie, Welcome to the Dollhouse is, in some ways, a horror movie in its own right.

It's this kind of raw, complex humanity that makes this film truly shine. Dawn often comes off like a chosen martyr, suffering the slings and arrows of her ruthless classmates and her loathsome mother. Yet at the same time, she's far from innocent. Hers is a character with deep flaws who, like so many kids, will lash out when she doesn't fully understand how to process her emotions. In one particularly brutal scene, we see her viciously admonish her best (and only) friend, assuming that he can't hear her over the phone. Of course, he hears the whole thing and is understandably destroyed by this betrayal; we know Dawn doesn't really comprehend the power of her own words, otherwise she wouldn't throw terms like "faggot" around with such reckless abandon. But that doesn't exactly do much to lessen the sting.

We see these flaws paralleled with the character of Brandon, played by Brendan Sexton III. When he first appears, he's a clear and present antagonistic force in Dawn's life; a troubled and downright despicable young man whom we want nothing to do with. It was around this point in the plot that I found myself constantly hoping that Dawn would strike back against her oppressors; that she'd tell off her mother or fight back against the bullies at school, raise a little hell in the name of well-deserved retribution. But as the film goes on, we learn more about Brandon and come to realize that his situation, in many ways, mirrors Dawn's; he's just more comfortable with retaliating than she is. It's a thought-provoking revelation, in which we realize that this character we're made to initially dislike is merely acting out in the ways we wish our protagonist would. That "be careful what you wish for" mentality is an undercurrent throughout the entire film, and not once does it feel hackneyed or clichéd. Dawn wishes to be just like everyone else, not realizing (until it's too late, of course) that "everyone else" is a cruel, uncaring monster. 

The other predominant theme here is, above all else, dissatisfaction (take a wild guess what Rolling Stones song Dawn's brother is practicing with his band the first time we see her at home). The movie revels in bucking your standard coming-of-age tropes and trends, reminding us that, in real life, there isn't always a crystal-clear resolution. The nerds and geeks who get bullied day in and day out seldom ever rise up and gain acceptance from their peers, the maladjusted misanthrope rarely has a heart of gold, and the loveable loser typically doesn't get the girl. Lessons are rarely learned until much later on in life (if they're ever learned at all) and children, while innocent in their own kind of way, possess remarkable talent when it comes to abusing, ostracizing, and brutalizing their peers. Not to paint this film as bleaker than it is (the humor here is pitch-black, but it's by no means an unpleasant film to watch), but there are several moments where we think we know what's about to happen; "this is the moment where she gives a big speech in front of the whole school and wins them all over", or "this is the part where everyone learns their lesson and becomes her friend", or "this is when her mother realizes the error of her ways and apologizes for not taking her feelings into consideration". Time and time again, we're proven wrong. This is not a story totally devoid of hope or happiness or optimism (the ending is, like most of the film itself, almost sweet in a bleak, sardonic kind of way), but there are no easy answers or fairy tale endings to be found here.

While Solondz manages to relay this theme with admirable consistency and attention to detail, it also proves to be the film's greatest downfall. In keeping with the undercurrent of dissatisfaction, there are a number of elements here that fall flat, most notably of which is the ending. Again, while I enjoyed Solondz's thematic integrity in ending the film the way that he did, crafting an intentionally unsatisfying ending doesn't make said ending any less unsatisfying for the viewer. There are a number of plot points that are left unresolved, not to mention seemingly-major characters who simply disappear from the film altogether after certain points. It's understandable, considering that everything (from the story to the characters) is crafted to buck genre conventions and deny the audience closure, but making the film a less-enjoyable experience on the grounds that it's thematically-appropriate seldom ever works out in the film's favor. It's an idea that works in concept; looking back, I can appreciate making the entire film itself into a sort of meta-statement, writing characters out of the plot the second they cease to contribute to Dawn's story (not unlike how people tend to drift apart in real life). But at the same time, there's a part of me that was genuinely emotionally invested, so it feels as though the film gets in its own way in that regard. It's a double-edged sword to be sure.

Despite my hangups, I still found Welcome to the Dollhouse to be a fantastically-made film, holding back just enough to keep things from feeling unrealistically cruel. The end result is a biting, deeply-resonant piece of work that made me laugh and squirm in equal measure. It's the kind of film that inspires the kind of questions that keep you up late at night; was I the Dawn Weiner of my middle school, but I was just too oblivious to realize it? Or worse, was I one of the other kids, consciously making someone else's life a living hell just because that was how the law of the jungle worked back in the day? In a sea of films that aim to make us feel a wistful kind of nostalgia towards our formative years, Welcome to the Dollhouse serves as a blunt rebuttal, arguing that maybe we should all be glad the godforsaken ordeal that was middle school is long since over and done with.