The Wandering Kaijyu

Star Trek Beyond(2016): Movie Thoughts

2016-07-23T09:52:00.001-07:00

Growing up Trek as a kid wholly enamored with the possibilities of pluralism in space, I opted to attend school miles from home because of a greater mixture of kids my age. As colorful as my childhood background was, the world of Starfleet was something that had become important to my personal development while a few took on the traits of their less than at ease parents. A part of me longed for a future where a poor kid from a largely migrant farmer community would become a supporting player in this greater realm of play and cooperation. It's a belief that continues to drive my every decision from how I socialize to who I support intellectually and politically. A lot of this is still so important due to Gene Roddenberry's science fiction evergreen. And while many continue to wrap themselves into seemingly irrevocable knots over JJ Abrams' take on the world of the Enterprise and crew, a great deal of that optimism and belief in family shines through with Star Trek Beyond. With Justin Lin now at the helm of the Kelvin Timeline, we find ourselves at a course correct complete with reverence for every incarnation thus far with warmth as beacon.

Now, three years into its five year mission, the crew of the Enterprise has begun to settle into a groove of episodic regularity. Expressed with charm, the captain's log of James T. Kirk(Chris Pine) denotes a growing sense of "what now", as his role has found itself into a groove. Now reaching a birthday one year older than his late Starfleet hero father, weighing in on the future seems to hover over him. Beginning to think that maybe leaving command and moving on might make for a good new move. Even more troubling, Spock (Zachary Quinto) has received news that his elder alternate universe self, Ambassador Spock has passed away(a sweet nod to the late, great Leonard Nimoy), all while having broken up with Uhura (Zoe Saldana), he contemplates heading back toward helping his now fledgling kind on New Vulcan. There is a sense of crossroads for our heroes, as they have now become the classic characters, endlessly encountering troubled spots across the universe.

But upon arriving at the Federation's latest achievement, Yorktown base, a humongous multigravity space station and community, an emissary comes knocking. Leading to an encounter with a hostile force bent on capturing nearly all of the Enterprise crew, and taking them to a hidden class-m planet where Kirk, Spock, Bones(the ever wonderful Karl Urban), Chekov( R.I.P. Anton Yelchin), Scotty(Simon Pegg, who's scripting duties here help immensely), Uhura, Sulu, and the rest must band together to escape an increasingly hopeless situation. All with the assistance of the resourceful Jaylah(Sofia Boutella), the crew find themselves against the imposing Krall(Idris Elba), a creature seemingly bent on not only capturing the starship, but breaking everything they stand for. His belief that unity between beings is a weakness, and that conflict defines all beings is echoed throughout, often placing isolationism first. And with an ancient object found by our heroes, Krall's plan may at last find fruition after he is through with them.

Beyond is one part affirmation session, equal parts celebration of the mythology and ideals of Trek. Not merely concerned with nods to the past, and more about breaking these archetypes down, and examining why they're still beloved 50 years later. One clever conceit that helps bring up Beyond, are the script's needs to split characters up, forcing them to better open up about where they are now, and what they face together or alone. Through the crisis, McCoy and Spock are stranded together with the Vulcan injured. A decision that forces the often bristling duo some much needed exchange about what comes next. Meanwhile, Kirk find himself with Chekov (In a choice that feels so eerily prescient now), which pits youthful optimism with a growing weariness in the captain's brow. There are these quiet moments sprinkled throughout that help in ways that even Abrams' entries could not. With us now fully invested in who these characters are, the action at last finds itself well balanced enough to pop. We've finally moved past the recycled father issues and time travel baggage, and are at last more concerned with the here and now, which is refreshing for a film series that took a bad left turn previously.

And while the action department at times suffers from either a lack of winning timing or energy, it's hard to fault everything else. This is also where it bear mentioning that Star Trek Beyond, is also a very funny film. Lin has always had a knack for finding good humor in the absurd, which is perfect considering this version of the Trek timeline. If we aren't going to delve deep into the supposed hard science of Trek, we could at least focus on what makes these characters so universal. Beyond is also willing to use the now cookie cutter "stranded antagonist with an axe to grind against the Federation" toward discussing something more prescient, and less venal. By taking what was hinted at with Into Darkness, in this case a militarized state, and placing it against the explorer nature of Starfleet, we at last have a case for what makes Kirk and crew so worth rooting for. By not making the film Kirk-centric, we finally have a case for Roddenberry's ideals and also explore the cost of laying that foundation. The implication is that none of this is easy, and that shifting gears between the two is often fraught with peril, and the possibility of a population of those left behind by time. While it isn't entirely successful in breaking free from the need for a killer Macguffin to be featured in an action finale, Lin and co. do make up for it with a lot of charm.

So for all its laughs and sense of breeze, Beyond remains a safe means of celebrating what helped shape me as a young one. I do not expect the Kelvin world to be one that flirts with godlike beings, or time travel shenanigans in Depression era New York. And it's perhaps all said knowing full well that Into Darkness didn't happen according to this film. Which is all for the better honestly. This cast deserved a much better trip to the races than they got last time. What we have here, is an appropriate and refreshing take on old leftovers. A beloved mixtape from an old friend. Faith, reaffirmed. Here's to the challenges ahead.

We're back on track with Trek, and all is well.

Green Room(2015) Movie Thoughts

2016-04-23T08:50:00.001-07:00

Been filled with thoughts recently about the art of the magic trick, misdirection, and how crafty one can be when talking a premise to a film, versus how one executes it. How we the audience an be played toward looking at the hat when we should be looking elsewhere, never being fully sure where the rabbit truly was, nibbling comfortably before being revealed. Suddenly, expectations are thwarted by the appearance of a dove. Nary a hint was given. We expected a rabbit, but received something else. We never saw it coming. This is exactly how I've been feeling about the new Jeremy Saulnier film. With Green Room, we are not only in the realm of a director who cares about payoff, we are in the presence of a refreshing new turn in how to subvert.

Somewhere, in the Pacific Northwest, traveling punk rock outfit the Ain't Rights have been living the gig to gig dream. As expressed in an interview with a local college rock reporter, they have no social media presence due to a deep love with connection. A romance for being present. But this also comes at the expected price; barely surviving, siphoning gasoline from parked vehicles, playing family mexican restaurants for a few bucks, not knowing where the next burrito meal will come. And due to a communications flub, the Ain't Rights are cornered into taking a gig deep into the rural Oregon wilderness. A roadhouse largely known to be hard right wing skin territory. Largely unfettered by the possibility, and ready to do anything to keep moving, the band agrees. Having done shows with skinheads in attendance before, their belief in the music grants them the confidence to veer in for a short set. All seems to go well, then the band's lead guitarist, Pat (Anton Yelchin) opts to tempt the lion by way of a Dead Kennedys cover that states in no uncertain terms, their relationship with the crowd. But it's what occurs after that lands Pat, Sam(Alia Shawkat), Tiger(Callum Turner), and Reece(Joe Cole) trapped in the venue's green room, without means of communicating with the outside world, with a human corpse on the floor, and possibly armies of violent zealots aching to protect their isolated universe.

Now siege films have been the stuff of classic genre and grindhouse fare for decades. (Many of personal favorite, John Carpenter's films being iconic examples.) And many of us are pretty savvy on how these tend to work. "Survive the night". But what Jeremy Saulnier and his team concoct with Green Room, feels every bit as intelligent and painful as what they had achieved with Blue Ruin. By taking the most sober approach, the film becomes one Rube Goldberg experience in mounting suspense and payoff that is wholly rare. And the greatest magic trick pulled within the film, is in how secure we are made before everything goes to hell. The love of the vagabond band, and life on the road is given enough time and sensitivity for viewers to realize how close knit Ain't Rights are are a unit. We are granted a pretty good idea of how they operate, joke, and bounce off each other. So when Pat reveals himself to be akin to many punks I grew up around; quiet, but occasionally plucky, we may not agree, but feel some empathic connection, as with everyone else. So when the tide begins to reach uncomfortable depths, we are not only along for the ride, we are suffering with them. It is a brutal turn this film takes, and it does so without the usual sentimental language the genre often insists on. So we're left to our imaginations to fill in the horrible blanks that are scattered about. We find ourselves as viewers as desperate and terrorized. And we are with them all the way when the tide begins to turn in their favor. The siege film is returned to the hands of directorial intent, to place us there, to have us absorb the predicament, and for us to seek a way out, no matter how dire it all seems.

And dire it becomes.

Soon, Gabe(Macon Blair, in a terrific put-upon performance) has to call in the roadhouse's owner, Darcy (Patrick Stewart) for damage control. And it is within the mind of Darcy, that we begin to fully understand how bad it is for our heroes. A quiet, fatherlike, and truly smart leader figure to what looks to be an army of angry youth living in the woods, Darcy plans to make sure the whole fracas is brought to a close, and that the Ain't Rights are as guilty, as they are dead. Just another roadside murder. Bringing down potential "Red Laces" to the location, things have reached fever pitch, while inside, the band is trapped with Amber(Imogen Poots), a strange girl who was witness to the inciting incident, and bouncer, Big Justin(Eric Edelstein). Darcy, with his age and intelligence, only seems ready to lay down so many young men for his cause, that it ultimately becomes less a black and white narrative, but a grueling treatise on how the disenfranchised could eat their own if not tended to.

With matters reaching almost unbearable levels, both parties find themselves in a situation far more than clean and easy. Saulnier makes sure we realize just how the simplest choices could have dire consequences for all involved. There is an unshakeable feeling throughout that so much could have been avoided had pride not been allowed to dictate a few brief moments. And choices like these are what fuel so much of Green Room. It makes the whole of the piece so singular, it becomes a social event. It's one hell of a ride. Not to mention, one of the most effective windows into the punk world I grew up in translated onto film. Thankfully, I've never witnessed anything as horrific or traumatic as what happens here. But I can say that for being a disillusioned kid, Green Room strikes home in a huge way. And considering where our national fabric is at the moment, it couldn't have come at a better time.

I Didn't See A Batman/Superman Film This Weekend

2016-03-27T08:49:00.001-07:00

The writing is beyond the walls, and the consensus has largely digested a pretty clearly shared distaste for certain filmmakers this weekend. In many ways, I feel like I shouldn't even have to comment on any of this. It's not a place fot a review because to put it any more plainly, what many of us witnessed, wasn't something any film pundit, theorist, or armchair theorist could dissect outside of an autopsy. I didn't see a Batman/Superman film this weekend. I truly didn't. I didn't see the adverts plastered across every third corner of my L.A. living eye, and say to myself that what was contained within the two plus hours of footage, something that resembled a coherent story filled with discernible beats, engaging characters, thematic throughlines, and even an attempt at capturing the most important element in such common superhero tales, the essence of these mythological beings, and the ethos they each uniquely stand for.

It's not enough that I dislike Batman v. Superman: Dawn Of Justice, it's more that I find it's existence to be pretty much tragic.

I don't see merely failed storytelling. I see board meetings soon after the glow of Harry Potter, and the Dark Knight Trilogy fading into the distance, while Sony crumbles from awkward start to post-internet hack panic attack. I see film executives fumbling over how to best repair the damage done by hoping that throwing money at auteurs, and expecting workable franchises with no real personal investment in a shared universe, nor its slate of popular characters. That's right. This entire debacle can be traced back to when WB said nevermind to Justice League soon after the Iron Mans took flight, and Asgardian royalty graced Earth with his presence. I see a cat, scrambling desperately after diving into a tub of scorpions after thinking that might be a good idea. No, cat. There is no grace to be found. Licking your paw, feigning innocence will not help you today. This is what many of us would like to call either hubris, or a deliberate attempt to renege against the very task you chose . A work of corporate art, undone by juvenile, throbbing, gnashing, bile duct expending, knee-jerk, anti-human. borderline sociopathic emotion, far less interested in storytelling and world-building than it is in flexing its muscles in the name of creating an anti-altar for those it deems lesser than they.

That is right. In a nutshell, this film hates you.

However, this project cannot find any more clever means of expressing this hate than nods to Benghazi, a middle finger to democracy, and shooting a beloved boy photojournalist square in the face. If one were a conspiracy nut, it might not even be a stretch to assume that those involved were taking their reflexive stance on the very idea of this film, and plugging in what they feel is a "necessary" counterpoint to the more all-inclusive, community-centric, closer to centrist politics of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It felt that a certain demographic had indeed found itself largely ignored in multiplex cinema, and figured the opposition during a contentious time of political turmoil, required a voice. This film openly doesn't care about the endless nods to FDR and the spirit of the New Deal that inspired the classic Superman character. It's not that the film simply doesn't understand him, it sees him as problematic in their view. They cannot reconcile with his very existence, even in fiction, so this is what we get. In fact, similar comes in the shape of a grizzled, homicidal Batman, who's motivations feel less organic to the tormented billionaire playboy, and more to a painterly violence fetishist with the reasoning of an abused pre-teen. The film simply doesn't work, not because it fails to tell a story, but because those in charge never listened to the warning signs posted writ large by films such as 300 & Watchmen. Films that adore the punishment of the morally compromised, and the aggrandization of extremism over conversations. They saw pretty pictures about fascists, and thought that was good enough.

And what they have on their hands, is something both blander, unintentionally funnier, and uglier than I could ever have imagined. Like sending a loved one a bag of feces in protest, when all one had to do was walk away from what looked on paper to be a bad deal. With my day job as help for a powerful law firm in a Century City high rise, suddenly, the title makes total, telling, completely honest sense. If it's not merely desperate to sell based on a battle that barely lasts for seven minutes, it is desperate to call to attention the legal clusterfuck hovering over a studio scrambling for something resembling a clue.

Or perhaps it's merely an engravement on a tombstone? Either way, it's a raging sigh for a culture awash in its own poor choices.

Post Script: There is another telling moment in the denouement, where Bruce Wayne posits to Diana Prince (Gal Gadot, who's Wonder Woman, is gravely underused) that the so-called Metahumans, should eventually band together (in a nod to the possibly-now-not-upcoming Justice League feature?) . And when questioned about this by Diana, Wayne (not looking her way) replies with the supposedly arc-completing line, "Men are still good". This is after certain female characters are seen to be killed in a suicide bombing, targeting a place of power.

Take from that what you will..

The Witch (2015) Film Thoughts

2016-02-21T15:40:00.001-08:00

Unwilling to atone for a mysterious act was in defiance of a newfound colony, extreme puritanical father, William gathers his family, and delves deep into the uncharted lands of New Hampshire in the name of religious conviction. With his wife, Katherine, daughter, Thomasin, son, Caleb, and two smaller siblings, they find promise in a plain at the foot of a foreboding and dark forest. It isn't long before a fifth child is born to the family. During another day of farm chores and settlement, Thomasin is left in charge of watching over little Samuel, when he is suddenly snatched away in broad daylight. Painful tragedy, while seemingly enough gives way to fear, deception, and ultimately encroaching despair, as the lone family seem to be driven closer toward madness by a malevolent outside forest..deep in the wood.

True to many stories of wrenching hardship that befell many new American settlers throughout the latter 1600s, Robert Eggers's The Witch, not only fashions a stark, bone-rattling tale of ancient fear, the film also presents one of the most compelling existential horror visions this side of the original ALIEN. Endless isolation and dread invert the aforementioned film's legendary claustrophobia, and presents open space as every grain as terrifying, and packed with poetic wonders. While we never know the circumstances that led to the family's defiant exodus from their home community, we instantly gather just how much faith binds and defines them via father William, who soon imparts to his son that the land has been unforgiving, and that deception is necessary in light of the news of a lost child. "We will tame this forest, Caleb. It will not consume us." Early into matters, the masculine dominator philosophy of William's faith is laid bare, with the God fearing staving off the assault of nature, which is always creeping in.

While a more ordinary narrative might have given us no real hint of something supernatural in the woods, leading to a more psychological horror, Eggers chooses to confirm matters immediately, prompting questions as to the whys of the shape-shifting crone. The film is not asking, is there? It is asking, why is there? And soon after, the film starts turning tight these screws of folklore, fictions, and fear, to the point that even such a seemingly well-kept family unit finds themselves at odds with each other. And with sparse dialogue interspersed between often desolate and beautiful imagery, we are immersed in a world that owes as much to Malick, as it does to William Harris Weatherhead. Unforgiving cold and careful use of Mark Koven's brilliant score, complete with diabolical use of natural quiet sends home a grand fear that only life on earth can deliver.

But the truest testament to The Witch's success lies in Eggers's terrific use of casting and unerring attention to period detail. From the clothing to the tools, to the home, and even the tactile remnants of an England left behind. The entire work is impeccable in how it captures a bone dry life of austerity in the name of belief. That without this guiding force, no sane being could survive in these woods. That perhaps these same beliefs fashion a perverse opposite with enough isolation, and questions. Something that befalls the entire family when the chores seem to bear little fruit, and prayer no longer seems to be enough. Ralph Ineson, is quake inducing as William, a staunch father of the faith, struggling to maintain his choices, all while the world seems to conspire against him. Kate Dickie's Katherine, is overpowered, proud, yet increasingly brittle as her family seems primed to an increasingly evident doom. She longs for sense to all the madness surrounding them, and is a tremendous counterpoint to William. But the film's true secret weapons are with Anya Taylor-Joy's Thomasin and Harvey Scrimshaw's Caleb, who see and wish to assert agency into the fray, but find themselves at the behest of forces beyond simple comprehension. Thomasin's observational abilities find themselves at odds with the family's longing for something simple as an answer, while Caleb only wishes to do what is right for everyone. It's painful to witness their respective tragedies, and yet by the finale, one might just have been another symptom of a father's pride. All family members, turning belief in each other into modes of save and harm.

The film considers the new world, and the implications of the white encroachment into often inhospitable territory, coupled with religion's often ambivalent feelings about nature. The constant separation between powers of the cross versus the often contradictory laws of earth beyond civilization. While the story here is set in New Hampshire, not too far away in Massachusetts, people like Anne Hutchinson had been questioned for her strident beliefs, which ultimately led in large part toward the founding of Rhode Island. There is also the story of the minister, Roger Williams which fits well here. But what of many others? Those who found their faiths at odds with community, only to find themselves at the mercy of a less forgiving landscape. Not everyone found salvation in the wilderness. The Witch, also serves as a dramatic exploration of what happens when pride comes face to face with the natural world. A land without pluralism, a forum for distinct voices is often one doomed to repeat the same mistakes time and again. And often left to cycle the same fears and prejudices throughout history.

So yes, there is indeed a witch in that deep, dark hollow, and it takes many forms. But is it truly nature? Or rather our own vanity, spewing repressed dark viscera back into our own faces?

The Witch, is a remarkable horror achievement.

Tokyo Tribe (2014) Movie Thoughts

2016-02-15T21:32:00.001-08:00

You'll never believe what all the squabbling is about..

Could it be that I'm far beyond done with Takashi Miike? After a year plus of hearing frenetic buzz about Shion Sono's hypercharged adaptation of Santa Inoue's mad urban fantasy manga(1993, 1997-2005), I guess a part of me never suspected that it would wallow so much in familiar depths that it would forget the potential inherent in its more experimental qualities. Just pull focus back from all the holiday and gold laced lens flare, urban garishness, fly honeys, pimps, chinpira, bruisers, DJ grannies, chrome-dudded shogun on tanks, and dialogue in rhyme, and one has seen pretty much all of what happens here through any number of Miike's V-Cinema output in the 1990s. Sion Sono, may be one of the most furiously active filmmakers in the world, and as such one cannot blame him for not knocking this delirious piece out of the park, but the end result feels deprived of a life it is certainly aching for.

Set in a fantastical urban myth of Tokyo, the city has become fragmented after quakes and rioting have severed the land into several unique district gangs. (Each with their own distinct rapping and DJ style) Told through the eyes of rhyming narrator, Sho (Shota Sometani) , we learn about these gangs, and the nightmarish kingpin that pines for dominion over the entire city. Led by the perverse crime lord of Bukuro, Buppa(Riki Takeuchi, in full coked-out mode), he and his cadre of sex and violence crazed beasts plot to crush peace-loving Musashino Saru. Stemming from an unexplained grudge belonging to Buppa's Adonis-esque enforcement , Mera(Ryohei Suzuki), a trap is set that begins a turf war that threatens not only Musashino's gang of country kids, but of every other group in Tokyo. Amidst this bubbling conflict, is the missing daughter (Nana Seino) of a foreign high priest on the run, and the street kid charged with protecting her. Plot takes a grand backseat, as Sono, cast and crew pull out all possible stops in creating an immersive hip-hop opera that largely drowns in its concept instead of marinating in it.

While the beats and visuals of Tokyo Tribe aim to create something truly singular in the world of the japanese gangster pic, so much happening within it plays like a greatest hits of a half century of Nikkatsu productions. This really should function dazzlingly on paper, but what ends up bogging a lot of the film down, is that pesky inability to allow us an emotional connection to anything that's happening. While Sono offers the viewer an immense playpen of swirling cameras, and impressive single takes, our identification with central characters end up surface at best, and label at worst. With a film so reliant on music and spectacle, it becomes hard to focus on any single character, leaving something of a void while matters grow increasingly mad, and the blood begins to fly. This also speaks to the female quotient of the piece, which renders them either as window-dressing, or accessory action. And even then, the debasement seems perfunctory, like a post-it note on everyone's trailer door. While Sono has never shied away from matters of the unveiled id, Tribe seems less interested in the psychology of such extremes, and just wallows. At least with this film, the human circus is presented as whirlwind sideshow, and we're given no real sense of absorbtion. It's a theme park ride logic that threatens to alienate many sections. As good seems so overpowered by evil throughout, it's hard to care when the cost is so casually explored.

Matters are not helped that we are never granted any greater reason to care whether the gangs unite or not, or a means to feel the villains beyond them being villains. Sure, there are implications of toxic masculinity, but to cop a reasoning ala The Warriors, one should be willing to offer up a bit more punch.

Sure, we've been here before. The one film that comes to mind with all of this is Sogo Ishii's Bakuretsu Toshii(Burst City), which also dealt with a colorful apocalyptic cityscape populated by musically driven communities, fighting for their share of a broken world. But what allowed that film to endure was a patience to hit pause long enough for us to grasp the world that was being lost in the rabble. Here, we are allowed in only so far as to where everything is a farce, bodies are disposable, and J-shock cinema has rendered viewers into inert quantities. In the two decades since super-violent post-anime action has declared an expectation of blood, blades, and exposed breasts as the law of the land, one would think that one of the premiere voices of Japanese film would offer up something beyond a louder version of what we've been overstuffed with. It's like we've been on pause since at least 1999, and that's the film's most glaring shame.

There is exuberance and energy to be found among the bass and fire of Tokyo Tribe. Just don't ask it to deliver past the packaging.

I Come To Bury Star Wars, Not To Praise It..

2015-12-20T17:44:00.000-08:00

Dear Star Wars,

Yes. I am aware that I am speaking to you in a voice that denotes your existence not unlike that of a sentient being with its own soul and sense of free will. And it isn't without merit. There are a great many things I must thank you for as someone who has grown up with your presence ever near, even when paths led you astray, and allowed relations to fray with many the galaxy over. There are a great many things you taught me over the course of my life, and it is within the walls of this personal site that I am at last able to happily willing to place a date of expiration next to your name. Oh, please do not feel sorrow for such a choice. What I am saying? Your existence and spirit does more than well enough without me, especially now that you have an entire new generation of admirers and friends to keep you company deep into history.

And please do not think that this is completely borne out of some angst-ridden schism between you and I. Far from it. While we've certainly had our ups and downs over the years, your very role in the adventures of my days goes so much deeper than an attraction to all effects special, or the promise of escape from an existence surrounded by oceans of sand in every direction. You sheltered, and inspired me when those who would hope to be a beacon flickered. As a child of divorce, your earliest tales informed and comforted me with notions of both toil and redemption that few other grand stories ever could. You helped me understand that even the most forthright of heroes had their dark days, and that we are often placed firmly between angels and demons. You helped me understand myths beyond those bound by a cross, and illustrated the conflict that makes for the bulk of my life. And that good was a responsibility, and not merely a face to wear for benefit. That light and dark were but facets of the whole. It was through you that I became interested in stories, storytelling, human psychology, philosophy, metaphor, and gained a yearning for writing and teaching.

And as we at last witness the first official new installment of your saga, a part of me feels that it is more than time to step away, and to seek tales anew while markets readjust, rendering you into something wholly different from what you once were. Again, this is no slight onto you. Far from it. But part of me reside deeply within the fleshy matter of human connection. Elements that drew me most to your fire. As we watched technology and visual mastery evolve, as we have also seen storytelling evolve into new forms, for both better and worse. After seven features, several television films, animated series, novels, merchandise, and a holiday special, I cannot help but feel that this is all I ever truly needed from you. The notion of a friend for all time, while a genuinely sweet and noble ideal, is far from a realistic one. Ships must inevitably disembark, and tides must again tug and sway. Otherwise, there is always the possibility of a relationship finding fissure. Fissures that often rear themselves after too much exposure.

There are also matters of why you remain here, and why it's so important that you tale see itself reinterpreted, and it isn't always for the most earnest or personal reasons. In fact, this is perhaps where I am most willing to depart. Any good thing in life can ultimately turn against the very ideas and feelings that made it so important to my personal evolution. Much like a child growing up and candy lover, at last faced with a genetic predisposition to diabetes. There is a certain point where our greatest joys can give way to harmful repercussions.

Looking at your history as a global crowd-pleaser, I can definitely see why many out there feel that is is you who could save the landscape from great change. But I also believe that change is paramount for life to evolve. So to see your soul taken wholesale in the name of saving a previous business model, a part of me cannot help but sigh in mild dismay. And while it is indeed true that a lot of Episode VII:The Force Awakens, carries with it an aura of what made you so special, it too harbors the decay and facade of a loved one, long dead and shambling about under well-meaning, but misguided control by powers out to rescue us from the current day. Again, while a lot of the heart flesh remains, there is barely enough to allow it to move emotive or intellectual powers that once seemed so easy to access. We've been here before, and a mere few augmentations here do very little to hide the little brother wearing grandmother's glasses, dancing about in strange voices, trying in vain to make us smile the same way again. I do care and thank you, but it seems that studios and a dying multiplex infrastructure needs you a lot more than my heart does.

It's also deeply important to me that people see the face of you, not so much the mask. I still see so many enamored with the idea of you, rather than your ideas. The brand, and not so much the personality within. While I do understand the appeal, I cannot help but feel that there was always a great deal more to you during those early days. It's true. There is no going back. But if your legends cannot offer new and challenging responses to your soul, then all we're doing is looping. When all we probably needed to do, is look back. (Provided your father was willing to allow us to do this unreservedly - I know this is something of a sticking point.

Apologies for bringing this up.

We need numerous gardens to explore, not merely several pickings from the same batch. Homogeneity, even from you, sounds rather unhealthy.

So while I do intend to be near you for one more film, I would love to very much make my intentions more than clear. There are parts of me that are truly warmed inside by your new cast of characters. They are charming, energetic, and come from an earnest place. Make no mistake, these are worthy heirs to your legacy. And even though I really do wish to travel alongside them a little more, there is a feeling that there is little else you could possibly share with me that I am not already familiar with or understand. You are the most fanciful of bedtime stories. You grant people light when so much seems so dark. Sometimes, you're willing to illuminate that these things aren't so alien to one another. But it's hard to imagine art and expression working themselves through with a necessary amount of freedom confined to a single myth instead as opposed to the broadness of genre. The powers in charge would like to think this is an answer, but I cannot agree to it. You mean a lot to me, even when parts of me have denied it in the past. It's true. You were a spark that led to a flame. But the wood has neared its end, and I need new elements offering with them fresh and healthy amounts of oxygen. I'm only looking out for my health you see. I only wish to do good by what you imbued within me.

Even if it means leaving you behind soon.

Trust that I'll always keep you close, even if I'm not there.

Status Of The Force: Some Personal Thoughts

2015-12-13T19:54:00.003-08:00

I hadn't initially planned to spill anything about my thoughts on next week's events, but since many are airing out how important the Star Wars saga has been for them, it suddenly felt right to place them into a snug place like this. Like so many kids of the seventies and eighties, the original trilogy holds a powerful sway upon my relationship to all things genre. And as I grew older, discovering just how much it carried within it legacies of mythology enriched my appreciation for them more. Be it through the mountains of merchandise even young first generations experienced throughout the early 1980s, or those hopeful days before the release of Episode I in the latter 1990s, the flirtation with longer exposure to the world of space knights, hyperdrives, and galactic empires seemed more like a junkie's promise than an organic and necessary expansion of a beloved universe.

But to hold them in such high esteem while the medium of film has evolved into a sort of mass production machine, coldly aiming for those nostalgic nerves in hopes of igniting a new generation, parts of me grapple with the notion that we have moved so far beyond this spark, that it often feels redundant. And to that end, rife with the ability to strip thin bones that would sooner provide the blood cells necessary to spur further discussion between kids. Talks that even a small me was willing to have with fellow kids, and even adults about the nature of good and evil, themes of fate, and questions about revolution. Perhaps this isn't the most common person's view of Star Wars, but it was mine as far back as grade school. I wanted to know why our relationship with nature decided where we were as people. A notion fathoms beyond the average kid who often found themselves enamored with fantastical tech, and grand scale space warfare. The mystery of the force, and how it binds all things was what granted a pull for me in the wake of spiritual chasm that were the revelations at the end of Empire Strikes Back. Where even the wisest could find themselves in the wrong for lying. Coming out of a separation after parents divorce, and seeing in both film and in real life how adults couldn't hold to their word despite their assumed station was a pivotal door for me to walk through at an early age. And perhaps this granted the series more depth than I was able to comprehend at the time.

That's right. A part of me feels like there's little else more Star Wars can truly offer except for new variations of the same thing. And unless the model is willing to take some bold leaps away from the tired and gunshy positioning the departed George Lucas undertook as far back as Return Of The Jedi, it may be a venture unwilling to do more than cycle endlessly. What made the films so special to me, were the operatic touches, the relationships, and a clear understanding that heroism can quite easily morph into villiany. It's meat and potatoes grand myth. So perhaps the only real way to acknowledge the most important updates the saga, is to look sharply at the new cast, and to celebrate the shift in focus that potentially will reside. It's true that there is real, hard hitting possibility in the series' new heroes.

But what I'm truly hopeful for, is a glimmer of revolutionary honesty beyond the blasters and destruction of machines. That our heroes will indeed observe a new world with unprecedented potential. To see past the demographics, and offer up means to respond to mythology of the past. Star Wars, served as an important window to what became my love for anime, classic westerns, samurai cinema, as well as the works of Joseph Campbell and Carlos Castaneda. So a part of me is not sure we were ever meant to linger in one place. New myths can offer new bents to classic tales, and perhaps illuminate truths that often the most rudimentary stories often find themselves unequipped to explore. Which isn't to say that I don't believe this is possible. But there is a doubt that there is enough room, or hook in one universe to do so. I would very much like to be proven wrong, but as it stands, Star Wars has become more a place of comfort, rather than a means to challenge. It's a reliable old pal at this point.

But just because a friend invites you over, doesn't mean you should overstay your welcome.

Days Of Impact: When Action Comes Of Age

2015-08-29T09:05:00.003-07:00

I recently had a series of prolonged discussions that centered on pieces that many agree have altered the action film landscape, and have stumbled upon a rare thought. There have been a films as of late that have helped alter the way we digest certain genres, and in many ways it feels like a grand shift has stealthily made itself known more prominently than ever. While it was indeed the comic book adaptation that saw itself in deep need up upping the thematic ante in the wake of Christopher Nolan, the once thrill-centric action film has pretty much seen itself dragged along. It likely wasn't a completely cognizant choice, but in lieu of being able to be exhilarated in a darkened theater, it's very possible that our intellects have at last caught up with our lizard brains. Our lust for being wowed is at last running up against our need for emotional catharsis. Sure, there will always be your standard meat and potatoes piece of genre, but to have noticed that some of the strongest pieces of pure action to come of this recent generation come with dramatic and thoughtful weight that is unusual for the form. Sure can be a controversial one for those more versed in traditional action, but it's a most welcome element.

Take for instance both Garret Evans' stunning Raid films as a prime example. Where the first flies out the barrel a relentless gauntlet of extreme martial arts and unrivaled tension, soon becomes a single-setting opera where the heroes and villains find themselves in a skirmish that leaves by a mere blemish on a clearly corrupt society. It all simply starts in classic video game fashion as a team of tactical police officers find themselves overwhelmed by an army of footsoldiers working for an apartment complex's single crime kingpin. But come the finale, it is revealed that the initial siege was but a power play by a bent cop, and his wishes to rise among the underworld's ranks(using the young cops as unassuming culprits). Add this to the soapy subplot centering on good cop protagonist, Rama (Iko Uwais), and his estranged brother, Andi (Donny Alamsyah), who has become a high ranking leader in kingpin, Tama's criminal enterprise. This plot, while atypical for this type of martial arts epic, the film not only eschews the expected dramatic payoff, but it also conveys the attraction gang life has in a society where the moral and the powerful have seemingly gone utterly south. There's simply little in the landscape of Rama's world that feels remotely advantageous for the good. And by the blistering finale, it is pretty clear that any victory had here is but a minor black eye, and that greater machinations are at play. No matter what our protagonist has survived, and learned, it is in the shadow of a greater threat.

Enter Raid 2, and Rama's turn from noble cop to undercover crusader which opens the canvas to an even more troubled vision. While being pressured by a "trusted" leader of a secret anti-corruption task force, as well as the death of a loved one, Rama is not thrust deep into the upper echelons of the vast criminal network that seems to run his city from top to bottom. From getting himself into prison for assault, to playing friend to the son of the city's great gangland mastermind, his mettle is tested on all fronts from the physical to the spiritual. He is witness to not only the son's simmering passion to rise to his father's level, but of the temptation brought upon by a violent new player with a plot to set the town's two largest syndicates against one another. All while the young cop and family man finds himself missing out on the crucial early years of his child's life. The intertwining plotlines of the second film amp up the drama without ever feeling forced or hypersimplified like most martial arts films. It confidently allows us to take in the troubles of this underworld power struggle, while driving home themes of family and how easily loyalty can find itself confused with fear and pride. While in many ways slower, and more patient than Raid 1, every action scene carries with it a surprising amount of dramatic weight. Even side characters whom we don't expect to feel something for or against, make a mark once the ferocious silat fights and car chases take collective breaths away. It's jarringly aware of what a little complexity and surehanded direction can do for action, and it never lets us off the hook in regards to the costs of even our hero's actions.

Something that helps define the tattered heroes of George Miller's Mad Max Fury Road.

A film that pretty much summed up my blockbuster summer this year, wasn't so merely for it's incredible presentation & execution. But also due to its resolute goal to sell so much complexity by way of pure cinema. Something genre cinema has long forgotten. While most films of the season do their best to obfuscate and bloat their casts in the name of forced notions of ticket value, Fury Road, allows the visuals and performances to sell the greater, more challenging ideas. In tradition of the original Max features, Miller and company virtually pack the screen with imagery and design that allows the viewer to piece together the philosophical landscape of Furiosa, Immortan Joe, Nux, the Wives, and ultimately Rockatansky, as he finds himself sucked into a post-patricarchal vortex of conflict. A hellishly wild ride punctuated by moments that argue for why it is we often find ourselves unwilling to take on the world so bent on subjugation and exploitation. Like Rama, to look at the world straight in the iris, is at times fraught with pain, and psychic suffering beyond imagining.

Because it's much easier to keep running, avoiding the hard work that comes with community, Max has found himself untethered from others. He has gone nearly feral from years of self-isolation and failure to champion others he has run across in his travels. He has lost far too much, and can only see himself fail again should he help shoulder the cause of the hard driving turncoat, Furiosa. The Immortan's trusted War Rig driver, who has seen far too much pain to do nothing about it. As the film's very sparse dialogue conveys, it is redemption she seeks, while his quarry seek hope. Something Max has seemingly long left in oceans of dust. He is even reminded of his failures on this particular adventure when he injures someone in the process of trying to escape on his own. But what comes of the journey, is a carefully crafted tale of redemption on the part of both warriors, as their combined efforts with Joe's runaway wives creates an unlikely family. Especially when they are joined by the sickly, and overzealous Warboy, Nux, who becomes an unlikely compatriot.

The triumph of Fury Road, largely resides in an almost mathematical method of pure sensory input, what it means to rejoin an organic collective in the face of toxic individualism. Furiosa, while using her knowhow to take the women to a mythic "green place", finds a kinship in men who aren't beholden to humans as shields or breeding stock. And Nux, finds that his world had for too long been kept under a fragile dome of control most of his life, and sees another way of life. (Or at the very least, a cause worth giving himself wholeheartedly to.) As the group find themselves unable to journey to this mythic other place, it is in revolution that change is ultimately claimed. And this is while Joe's murderous armada of dogma-injected warriors and crazies scrape for what little remains of their world. In a very real sense, Joe's Citadel and people represent the nadir of selfish scavenging, death, and greed. The film as a whole centers on what new forms of masculinity can emerge while dominator beliefs cannibalize themselves into oblivion. Max is at odds with what he is, and finds himself a blood conduit for a new world that is raging to be born from the ashes of a long powerful, yet stagnant one.

It's not only my favorite film of the year because it is an incredible feat of action filmmaking. It is. But because it highlights what action can be when it cares about its people and its thoughts. Everything on camera matters, and it is presented with a passion that is simply rare for any genre today. In an era where we could show the masses just about anything, it warms the heart to know that passion still exists beyond the spectacle. That it has meaning to the maker. And like any art form, that meaning can move emotional and intellectual mountains. It's more than heart and muscle, it's a means to move the world itself into action. Perhaps in this time period, the status quo simply won't do, and these landmarks are but reminders of the importance of changing the flow by all and any means. It's movement with purpose, and that's especially exciting.

Lost Soul (2015) Movie Thoughts

2015-08-23T20:08:00.000-07:00

The more one spends around me, the more they discover my own personal fascination with filmmakers and best laid plains gone awry. From Cimino to Jodorowsky, there is just something very telling and deeply resonant about the always dicey promise of a large art project. And the pitfalls that can often derail even the most confidently assembled team embarking on something that on the surface feels surefire. Even when talking future cult favorites like Apocalypse Now, or Blade Runner, there leak tales of botched production concepts, personality clashes, and prolonged schedules that could render any studio nervous, desperate for damage control before the film even reaches screens. Often, the things that often trip up such projects can lead to what many might consider industry lore. But few personal apocalypses can possibly rival the endless tunnel of misfortune that seemed determined to dog the major studio debut of one Richard Stanley, and his proposed version of HG Wells' The Island Of Doctor Moreau. And with Lost Soul, David Gregory, in almost tall tale fashion, gives us one of the most crushing tales of art undone by cosmic forces imaginable.

Before sharing any further thoughts on Gregory's work here, let's just delve a tiny bit into my thoughts on the early work of the film's main subject. Like many film fans of the 1990s, I was introduced to the rogue stylings of director Stanley through my first viewing of the brilliant dystopian-horror hybrid HARDWARE(1990). To this day, his mini-budgeted indie dynamo remains one of the most consistently textured science fiction films in the post Blade Runner age. Pitting the denizens of a futuristic slum against a resurrected top secret cybernetic killing machine, the film is an inventive overdose of latter-Reagan era rage, fueled by an international cast, and some impressive puppetry. Made on virtually crumbs, and jam-packed with enough used future and oppressive atmosphere for an entire goth-industrial club scene, HARDWARE remains an important footnote in the annals of independent genre cinema. My familiarity with his work with bands such as Fields Of The Nephilim, and others, it was clear that this was a filmmaker with an affinity for the fringe, and esoteric notions layered in a nihilism that was frankly refreshing in an era where risk was often shunned, and edge often flattened out before camera even roll..

So when Dust Devil died kind of a quiet death, and talks of a Moreau update were in the air, hopes were high.

Flash forward to 1996, and my shock when Stanley's name didn't appear on any of the finished film's ad campaign. Soon after, I had heard of tensions leading to his ousting, as well as stories of weirdness on the set as Stanley and crew sought to film in an isolated beachside section of Cairns in Australia. But what Lost Soul presents to us, is a creative spark, that slowly builds into a tire fire of incredible proportion. One might almost want to cry fake. It simply seems too horrible to be true. And soon after that, it dissolves into something worse. One after another, the film makes strides to remind you of the human toll, and of how real all of this is, even when chronicling the erstwhile director's clearly deteriorating mental state. There is even a chapter detailing Stanley's alleged retreat into one of the beach's highest tree, refusing to come down. Yet despite all of this, the piece remains quite empathetic to the plight of Stanley, as he is forced to walk away from his ambitious project, and then the surreality of the journey truly begins.

Packed with testimonials from numerous major players including Fairuza Balk, Edward R. Pressman, Rob Morrow, and others reveal more about the doomed project than many might have ever wanted to know. Also very painful are the stories of what came of the final main cast, and how that arc of fate only served to worsen the film. Given what many have read or heard about stars Val Kilmer and Marlon Brando, little prepares one for what is revealed here. And even former New Line head, Robert Shaye, long distanced from "the house that Freddy built", doles out some impressive insight into the whole sordid affair. But largely, it's Balk who provides a great deal of the film's tether to what was truly lost in all the madness. A friend of Stanley's throughout the entire ordeal, and someone who's career never truly rebounded in lieu of this, Lost Soul is also a tear-stained love letter to all creators who arrived on the landscape without many of the same philosophical ambitions of your atypical commercial asset. It's a whirlwind of a film documentary, and one of the most eye-opening ones of its kind since Hearts Of Darkness.

Only in Hollyweird.

Creep (2014) Movie Thoughts

2015-08-14T22:31:00.002-07:00

Driving up a mountainous road, looking forward to a quick 1,000 dollars based on an ad, videographer, Aaron finds the lonely cabin, and quickly is surprised to meet the instantly quirky, Josef. Upon the first few minutes of meeting the uncommonly friendly host, it's established that the day's work will consist of following him as he wishes to create a parting video for his unborn son. You see, Josef discloses that after a long battle with cancer, this latest onslaught seems terminal, and to leave something for his wife and child to remember him by is the order of the day. Only, as the day grows on, Josef's behavior becomes increasingly strange, and the clearly unsettled Aaron finds himself (and the audience) captive to not only the most primal of fears, but possibly even his own conscience. Part Duplass Brothers comedy, part found footage freak-fest, Creep plays like a mostly well-executed prank complete with some of the most disquieting moments in horror I have experienced in a spell.

True to these statements, the piece feels like an examination of not only this pair of characters as motivations are questioned, but of the line between uncomfortable comedy and deep disturbance. As we assume the role of the constantly filming Aaron, we are witness to Josef's strange, often friendly sounding attempts to maintain a facade, and it becomes a game of when that final show will drop like a block of lead. Early on, we are introduced to a wolf motif that will find itself echoing throughout as if the film is completely willing to let us all in on the gag. As in just about all found-footage pieces, we become voyeur, and find ourselves at the mercy of the cameraperson's own demeanor. And in the case of Creep, it is of a lead that is clearly in this situation out of his control. Expectations are played with like a dangling mouse in a cat's claw, as Aaron begins making decisions that border on forcing the story, but it's also hard to completely blame him as the story unfolding exposes that perhaps he too harbors skeletons that render him an ideal counterpoint to Josef's increasingly erratic actions. At some points it becomes hard to tell who is being more deceptive.

One of Creep's biggest arrows in its quiver though, is the intimate casting and performances between Duplass and Brice, who apparently improvised the entire film. There is a constant thread of unreliable storytelling between the two men, that it becomes unbearable with how much the truth seems desperate to get out(even if perhaps we don't really want to know). Duplass' Josef, is something of a revelation here, as a man who clearly is suffering from something beyond the tumor he speaks of. He never wavers in his ability to get beneath the skin, and stay there. And Brice's straight man aura becomes an effective barometer for each scene he tries desperately to get out, paycheck be damned.

For a film of even this format, it is easily one of the most minimal outside of the original Paranormal Activity, where there is so very little to see, but the dread thickens to a handsome degree. And while the film clocks in at an incredibly lean 82 minutes, the balancing act between laughter and jitters almost hits an imbalance during the last third. Even so, the performances and sheer minimalism of the whole makes for one of the more effective uses of the verité format in some time. Brice does a fairly sharp job of making it all feel very much in the real world for a great majority. And as the often clueless Aaron, he makes for a mostly understandable worm on a hook. And as such, one can easily conjure mental images of festival audiences taking some real theater escape route scanning during screenings. When one isn't giggling at the absurd eerieness, one couldn't be blamed if they felt compelled to run out of the theater a few times. One would be hard pressed to not have experienced this at least once in their lives.

Ethan Hunt & The Power Of Self-Effacement

2015-08-09T12:45:00.002-07:00

Art, is always open to new opportunity.

Even when speaking of highly commercial vehicles, often designed as a print making license.

Which is what makes this creature so curious when talking about Tom Cruise, and his artistic management arc throughout the twenty year history of his Mission Impossible film series. We have seen film franchises wear different garb from work to work before, but rarely has it been as varied and telling like Ethan Hunt's globe-trotting adventures with the ever besieged IMF. And with Rogue Nation, the flight pattern turns yet again, into what at last feels like something out of a wholly new cloth from where they started. Sitting in the darkened theater this time, felt so much like a final maturation stage. A means of balancing out all that had come before, in ways that perhaps weren't evident as the series began back with Brian De Palma, back in 1996.

Mission Impossible (1996)

What struck me most about Ethan Hunt's first go-round as point-man, and ultimately leader, is how painterly, and yet eager it was to ease the public into an increasingly complex spy cartoon in lieu of the just-then ending Cold War. Fan-kicking plot twist aside, this first piece is clearly concerned with establishing Cruise as the essential attraction, while De Palma's pastiche does its part to create a comprehensible world despite the often iffy plot mechanics. What results, often feels more akin to a three-stage video game from the Nintendo 64 era. Three major set pieces, barely held together by a plot to make sure this is Ethan Hunt's story. A self-conscious move, perhaps, but a star-laden, often lovely to behold piece of pop silly. It's a shallow ride, but the Prague job and the Langley mission remain worth price of admission.

Mission Impossible 2 (2000)

Made in the eye of the Hollywood/Hong Kong Gush era, John Woo's bizarre entry to the new series finds us in some truly bizarre, and hopelessly idiosyncratic territory. Taking a page from Hitchcock's Notorious, Ethan Hunt's mostly solo outing as a single point in a most awkward love triangle remains the series' most egregious misstep. Instead of offering up more ensemble fun, gadgets, and intrigue, all we get is one confused muddle regarding a killer virus, and a showcase for Cruise to exist in a post-Matrix landscape. He climbs desert cliffs, he wears black, he's got the light of God on his side. It's a bizarre manga wannabe, complete with waltzing cars, goofy dialogue(Wait, Robert Towne was involved?), and some seriously silly multi-camera slow-motion martial arts moves. It's Cruise at his most self-conscious, and as juvenile as the series could possibly be. It's a reminder of an era this Kaijyu has no interest in revisiting, save for the final 25 minutes that are both breathtaking in technique, but laughable in context.

Mission Impossible 3 (2006)

After the perplexing success of MI:2, and the subsequent backlash that resulted, moves were under way to make the third entry something far more urgent and emotional. Enter newbie filmmaker, J.J. Abrams, who brings with him his larger than life television persona to the big screen, and comes out swinging. Ramping up the ridiculousness (Ethan falls in love, attempts to live a double life), somehow, this first round via the Bad Robot team, takes the bombastic Michael Bay approach, and grants the series an emotional pull that propels this into some seriously hectic places. Never not moving, and uncompromisingly dark for a PG-13 film, Abrams and Cruise fashion something that is far more personal than the previous films, and posits a formula that would come to solidify the series from this point going forward. No matter how one feels about Abrams, or his since then well-established form of pop cinema, MI:3 is rough and tumble fun only made more potent by having Philip Seymour Hoffman as your frightening antagonist. Pre-Dark Knight, it made a great case against post 911 policy with a little added burn to spare. And unlike the previous, there is a sense that a more colorful spirit is entering the mix, one that is less about our star, and more about the world he inhabits.

Always a plus.

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol (2011)

Four films in, and Cruise and Co. finally strike gold. Three films later, and with the addition of animation genius, Brad Bird, the Bad Robot crew live up to their promise with one wild ride. From a Russian prison break, to infiltrating the Kremlin, to scaling the Burj Khalifa building, to the insane finale in Mumbai, this is classic MI adventure territory here made with almost mathematical care for geography, character, and action. As Ethan finally settles into what becomes an all-new IMF team (featuring welcome additions, Simon Pegg, Paula Patton, & Jeremy Renner), their existence could not be in greater danger as catastrophic events have rendered the IMF completely disavowed, forcing Hunt and cohorts to scale the world, clear their names, and save the world from nuclear devastation. Still true to the series' more over the top worldview, the Bad Robot approach serves the whole with class and energy. On top of this, Cruise at last feels confident enough to relinquish the reins to an instantly appealing group of characters ready to share the spotlight. It finally feels like the television series on a grand scale, complete with clever fake-outs, wild stuntwork, and crowd-pleasing humor.

Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation (2015)

Intense to think that this has been going on for nearly two decades, and sees no signs of slowing. Cruise, now with his third collaboration with writer/director Chris McQuarrie (Jack Reacher, Edge Of Tomorrow) finds himself and the franchise wisening like a solid oak. Rogue Nation, while taking a charming look back at the entire series before it, also feels like a proud, experienced veteran, ready to accept age as consequence. In this one, Ethan and what remains of the entire IMF (meaning him and fellow agents) after being quashed by the US government, are forced to contend with their most cunning adversary, a supposedly nonexistent army of once powerful spies bent on destroying the infrastructure from the inside; the IMF's mirror opposite. Not ready to turn in the gear for good, Cruise and company run across a mysteriously solid agent in Rebecca Ferguson, are being dogged by a more than over it CIA head, Alec Baldwin, and troubled by a frighteningly cold Sean Harris. It's a refreshing, ultimately satisfying hybrid of action spectacle, and old fashioned spy yarn of a previous era.

It's so happily old school, that the whole feels just as thrillers once did, granting the audience enough room to breathe before the biggest surprises, which weren't geared toward screaming in our ears. There are also some great hidden easter eggs celebrating the previous films strewn throughout. It's amazing to see such a series turn such a corner, and welcome something more akin to a giddy airport novel, complete with quiet exchanges, dark alleys, and some brutal close-quarters combat. It's as mature as a series like this could be without losing the initial concept's more fun loving spirit. With this film, Cruise and company seem to be acknowledging the ups and downs that have led us here, and it's done with a kind of panache and adventurousness that only comes with growing up. Much like his film equivalent, Cruise is ready for facing insurmountable obstacles, but he sure as hell could not do it alone.

So great to see that revelation expressed with such elegance in what could so easily have ignored it.

Growing Up James Horner (1953 - 2015)

2015-06-24T21:01:00.001-07:00

It has been forty-eight hours since I heard the news across my brother's Facebook feed, and I'm still reeling with thoughts of the James Horner's influence upon my life. Ever since I grew to appreciate, and eventually love film scores, his work leapt out at me with a fierceness that could only happen to a quiet obsessive at the sponge-like adolescent stage. Film music to me has long been an irreplaceable part of the film watching experience. It is an essential part of the engine that allows for us to feel beyond the more literal fabric of a story. A carefully considered heartbeat. And Horner, no matter the veterans that his field was still very much dominated by, was able to carve an indelible place for himself in the pantheon of late twentieth century cinema, most notably genre works. As an important voice in the 1980s deluge of pure fantasy cinema, his sound became an unmistakable mark which assured viewers that what they were witnessing together in that darkened room was something closer to an operatic, and at times internal experience writ large. He never failed to make the corners of a film that much larger. So large that they often extended far beyond the confines of an auditorium.

They were among the first soundtracks I absolutely had to own, and wear down from overplaying.

And even if his motifs were re-used and remixed over the years, it felt less like the work of someone short on ideas, but rather new nuances to a larger story an artist was attempting to tell. Even though I may not have followed his work nearly as much as the 1990s wore on, his early works continue to inform and influence me when I write or think of stories with a certain largeness to them. Alongside masters like Goldsmith, and Williams, they help define the last bastion of classical cinema music. And now with Horner gone, it's as if a truly prolific component of the moviegoing experience has shuttered its doors for good. It's certainly one hell of a legacy, and something many filmmakers would do well to keep close.

And now, some standout favorites from those heady days of being starstruck by swelling strings, leitmotifs, and heroic themes..

Battle Beyond The Stars

Just plunking down some thoughts in memoriam of one of the last of a dying breed. Composer James Horner became a fixture in my own growing vernacular of storytelling when I was but six years old when I saw Battle Beyond The Stars for the first time. It's a rollicking, campy space western made in the mold of Star Wars, but with more emphasis on the western. Seven space faring warriors are gathered together by a young pilot as his planet is being bullied by a galactic conqueror. It's a fun little film, made all the more grand and fun by way of the young Horner's more than ample chops. (Fun Fact: Young James Cameron worked on this film in the props and art department, eager to move up in the world. - AND HUNGRY.)

Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan

Flash forward to 1982, when he was tasked with taking the already in danger Star Trek franchise into bold new territory. With a whole new look, attitude, and a flare for the hyperdramatic, Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan has grown to be the most imitated and beloved Trek film. Leaping from Jerry Goldsmith's already iconic score, Horner's implies submarine battles in deep space, and a deep romantic feel that harkens to a more old world sea tale. This score moved me to tears as a kid. Still does from time to time. One of the greats, period.

ALIENS

Few scores later, Horner was reunited with now powerful indie genre maverick, James Cameron as he was ready to take the reins to the follow-up to the now horror classic, ALIEN. With ALIENS, the emphasis was less on horror, and more on action and gut-tightening suspense. Written and recorded in under a week, ALIENS is now famous for multiple reasons, not the least of which is its powerful, utterly exhausting score which became the most often used and imitated trailer music of all time. This sucker remains an all timer for me, and perhaps is most responsible for my heart problems. It's an unrelenting beast that still overwhelms today. As nerve-ripping as the film itself.

An American Tail

That same summer, Horner was assigned to animate former Disney darling, Don Bluth's second animated film, An American Tail. Say what one will about the final film, the score can wrench the waterworks from even the most cynical viewer.

Willow

1988, Horner was now poised to take on the big dogs when George Lucas and Ron Howard took on the hopeful fantasy Willow. With extended amounts of prep time, and the largest orchestra he had had experienced to date, Willow's score remains a woefully underappreciated gem. Grand, grand stuff. Possibly his richest score.

Glory

1989, Horner reaches for dramatic iconography with Edward Zwick's Glory. And the end theme still echoes on as a score lover's favorite. An incredible ode to heroes long thought forgotten. Stirs deeply even now.

The Rocketeer

And now, we jump forward to what is perhaps my all-time favorite Horner work, his grand, nostalgic, innocent and thrill-packed score for Joe Johnston's The Rocketeer(1991). I cannot express just how much this score means to me, and how much it makes me long for when orchestras ruled the cinema, and when music was an indispensable part of the filmic whole. The culmination of his work in the 1980s congeals into a heroic melange that is sorely missing in today's superhero congested climate. It's a reminder of not only simpler times, but of the innate humanity within our heroes and those who they struggle for. It's a romantic dance between the humble and grand, which makes Johnston's future as the man who brought dignity to Captain America, all the more potent. Sincere and soaring, much like the film itself. Just flat out Hollywoodland magic.

Patriot Games

Lastly tonight, we have the opening to one of his more understated, but no less stirring works, Patriot Games. The second film to be based upon the Jack Ryan novels by Tom Clancy, this was a revenge tale regarding a renegade IRA terrorist out to pay back former CIA analyst for accidentally killing his brother while on a trip to London. The Gaelic themes and moody electronics are a startling change of pace, but is perfect for this tale of late 20th century cloak and dagger. Doesn't hurt to have CLANNAD's Mary Boyle here for vocal support.

And there we have it. Just a peek into growing up with this man's sounds. And even though he later grew to legend status as the man responsible for the music to Titanic, Braveheart, and A Beautiful Mind, I was much more enamored with his earlier, more fiery works. It's such a sad loss for not only film music lovers, but of classical lovers as well. While it had been a long time since I last truly found myself enraptured by a full blown orchestral score, the yearning for that kind of analog accompaniment never ceases to be strong within me. And with James Horner, it was never hard to feel a film, even when the final product didn't seem to run parallel. Even so, any work that shared his musical spirit was a welcome reminder that somewhere in that piece, we were in great hands. May his works continue to encourage future storytellers to think large, and dream grand. My brothers and I are still reminiscing where we were, and what these scores meant to us. And as long as these songs endure, may the discussion of the legends they embrace continue to as well.

The Lo Pan Dilemma: Why I Will Never See Another Big Trouble In Little China

2015-06-07T12:38:00.000-07:00

"My problem is this place. It is my tomb. I'm buried here. A young man, a king, a warrior, is entombed within this.. old man's crippled body. And all I need is a woman, Mr. Burton. A special kind of woman with dragon green eyes to make me whole again. Young again. So that I may rule the universe from beyond this grave."

While it has been nearly a week since word came out that Dwayne Johnson was excited to star in a remake of one of my all-time favorites, the reactions, while to be expected, needed a little extra time to ferment. And while this feels like yet another case of Hollywood simply gambling on reliable IP to stay afloat, this attempt to make eyebrows perk up left me with an even more troubled mind. Especially in lieu of 2011's lukewarm pre-boot of John Carpenter's other less than financially stellar studio offering, The Thing(1982). Both being massive personal favorites despite their initial performances, I'm far more understanding of the former's existence. Over the last several years, remakes have grown to become a de-facto response to diminishing box office returns, often ironically to the tune of even greater losses. And many of the largest, most important cult film properties of the 1980s, have already seen themselves reconstituted and sold as hollow, zombified versions of themselves, so perhaps it was only a matter of time before the spotty hands of Hollywood would reach for the hidden gem bag yet again. But perhaps this time, they have reached the nadir of confusion. Desperation and disconnect so grand, that the end product could only reveal greater problems within an antiquated business model.

There are a myriad of reasons beyond mere love for the Carpenter film on a surface level that inform this bushel of feelings. Many of them stemming from just how unusual Big Trouble In Little China was on the film landscape at the time. In an era where just about any manner of pop culture mashup can be realized to the cheers of many, it simply was unthinkable in 1986. An era just awash in Vietnam revisionism, macho fantasy, and a longing for a 1950s simplicity of life. Hybrid culture had yet to gestate, and for the average moviegoer, the very idea that one film would be willing to embrace everything from kung-fu cinema, hard action, manga, video game silly, screwball comedy, and ensemble acting was simply too hard to accept. And then, there was a strange willingness on the part of the film to treat chinese characters as just characters, with the lesser known co-star being the film's stealth hero.

That's right. Big Trouble In Little China is special in that it subverts everything about the era in which it was made. It exists as both a marker of 1980s still brewing american xenophobia, and a growing movement toward seeing a more inclusive and understanding national identity. It utilizes the ideal of the individualistic proto-action icon in the All-American blowhard, Jack Burton. We are whisked alongside him in a vision of our own cultural glaucoma as it runs head on with the baggage of those tasked with making an american ideal possible. Burton's hapless buddy, Wang Chi(Dennis Dun) represents the then next generation's consciousness, tackling both tradition and burgeoning community sensibilities as his bride-to-be is kidnapped by street toughs, only to have her handed off to a centuries old evil sorcerer bent on becoming immortal through the use of her own unique physical qualities. He has no intention to marry Miao Yin for love, but rather for her green eyes. Not unlike Jack's need for his stolen truck to get by, the villainous Lo Pan is hellbent on this dehumanizing task to help enable his need to keep matters the same as so long ago.

In a very clever way, Lo Pan, while he has found himself to be a very saavy and occasionally witty businessman, running San Francisco Chinatown's underworld with a tightened claw, he seems more than happy to maintain the universe as it had long before the advent of the american ideal.

Burton, for all his friendliness toward people of all stripes, seems like a John Wayne gone Hanna-Barbera cartoon. A flag-waving tough guy with a head full of rocks. And as he voyages through the mounting weirdness that is this tale, his understanding of the world is endlessly rocked, leading to personal revelations about not only his own masculine prowess, but his own part in a larger community. And while he doesn't fully learn his lesson by the finale, there is indeed a hint that he knows himself far better now that he had at the beginning of the adventure. It's an endearing trick that Carpenter and Kurt Russell pulled off with the character, as all of Hollywood was basking in the instant gratification machinations of the Stallones, and now Schwarzeneggers of the world. It takes a great deal of self-effacement, and lack of seriousness to pull such a thing off, which only makes the character that much more charming.

On the side of good, there is also a cast of side characters who seem more than up to the task in changing perceptions in a film landscape that was still far too comfortable in treating certain characters without the respect they deserved. Just take Victor Wong's Egg Shen as a prime example. A local tour bus driver/local businessman/secret sorcery expert and wizard, with a smart mouth the likes few had seen in a major motion picture at that point. He's not only a man of numerous talents and abilities, he's also well-connected, and a natural wit who knows his ancient and San Francisco lore. And what of Uncle Chu, Eddie, The Chang Sing? Just treating characters as people goes such a long way, and BTLC never stoops low to sell us stale archetypes or ideas. In a film that so easily could have gone this way, every move seems calculated to avoid such turns, and remains perpetually ahead of the cultural curve. It knows we can be better, and drives for it every time, even as we are besieged by monsters, magic, kung-fu battles, and ghosts.

Big Trouble In Little China, is a perpetual cornerstone of popular culture that defies even the simplest of description, and as thus is without easy import. It's not a simple chassis with which to play with in some form of hyper-simplistic retooling. So if they truly wish to take us headlong into another go-round with Jack, Wang, and pals, the impetus is on today's filmmakers to delve deep into the murk of now, see exactly where we are as filmgoers, as well as social beings. It's not in Big Trouble's nature to retread what has been traveled before. It embraces the unexpected. And for befuddled studios to finally see this as a last ditch chip to cash in, seems not unlike a wily old sorcerer longing for the glory days. Partaking in the packaging, without a single inkling of the soul that lies beneath.

But much like his own undoing, it's all in the reflexes.

Why I Cried On The Fury Road..

2015-05-28T21:29:00.002-07:00

So it has been nearly two weeks since George Miller stunned the world with his long-in-development return to the accidental mythology he kicked off decades ago, and I'm still emotionally dizzy from it. Not only has it instantly become one of the best contemporary examples of what I go to grand scale films for, it has also spawned the kind of enthusiasm for an R-rated film that has become anomalous in this day and age. And based upon a recent Facebook post where I openly admitted to weeping openly to it upon the second viewing, it felt proper to explain why this megabudget blockbuster allowed such an impassioned case of sheer waterworks to happen. Hint: it wasn't because of simple geek out.

While one can certainly express satisfaction by merely being affected by an impressive piece of art, there was something truly remarkable about my second viewing of Fury Road. True to what many colleagues and friends have expressed, viewing the film once simply isn't enough. The initial physical and borderline psychic shock that followed that first go-round was something that pretty much never happens to me in films. It is something more in line with what can happen at a live concert where something truly extraordinary occurred, or perhaps even a jarring life event. And while I knew for certain that I had indeed enjoyed the film's journey, it was the second watch that allowed me to soak in the surprisingly rich emotional and thematic landscape with greater impact.

What especially took me this time around, was not only how confident the entire film is with its "Show-don't-tell" methodology, but in how restrained it is with characterization. To best get emotional mileage from any story, is to best know what to tell and what to allow the audience to fill in on their own. And in the case of virtually every character in the film, this is done with a sensitivity that simply doesn't happen, especially with action cinema. Everything is meant to be told on a move, and yet Fury Road never shortchanges the viewer into best understanding where Furiosa, Max, Nux, the wives, and even the villains are through the course of their shared journeys. Knowing full well that the entire film is practically one large action scene, fragments of who these people are from the beginning to the fiery finale, are delivered with a precision and care that implies spending a great amount of time with them long before cameras rolled. Quite true to the adage that all characters in a story are but elements of one person's psyche, there is a deeper feeling at work that never feels less than personal. They are all but the cataclysmic, desolate, hopeful, and cooperative parts of a larger heart.

Something that is often all too rare in grand scale action films; heart. Despite Miller's admission that the film's sincere hopes for a more gender pluralist society weren't initially the core reason for doing the film, it certainly found it's way deep into the process. So when we take in Furiosa's last ditch effort to make up for past sins, there isn't a moment that feels grafted on, or telegraphed. Her concerns are completely understandable, and the implications of her past horrific. She has taken everything upon her shoulders to see that the society she has long helped solidify no longer clings to submission and desperation. And while her journey with Max in tow takes on truly unexpected turns, it comes like a personal revelation. We, with her, come to realize that so many suppositions about a "mythical place" are more about fostering a rebirth than escape. This is the first Mad Max film to take on the possibility of a better world on our doorstep, and it does so with a sense of personal epiphany.

And perhaps that's it. The waterworks came, because everyone's journey is based on hope. Even as Max seems bent on taking advantage of his ride on the War Rig, and making his own way, there's still this need for him to witness some semblance of the cop and father he once was. As the odds become ever more desperate, the notion that Furiosa could be able to even fight this hard for something that might be little more than a fairy tale, not to mention the heart displayed by the wives and even Nux, a boy who could for a time only be a playback machine to a madman's dogma, becomes something even he can't deny. So by the time they encounter the Vulvalini, and choose to take back the future, everyone's journey is sealed. I felt the early distrust, to the selfishness, and later the respect and camaraderie without it ever feeling forced or false. Each character gets under the skin with just the right amount of coverage. By the finale, I was able to feel the struggle becoming that of a shared dream. Something larger than that of a mad dash between motor vehicles, crazies, and heroes. It felt like the journey of a life's purpose realized. As if all the dangers and tragedies that occurred on that path were much in line with how life can often be. The revelation of your life, and what it means to finally have a family and a goal to seek no matter the difficulty ahead.

The Fury Road becomes something of a culture's turning point, a woman's path to becoming an emissary for change, and an artist's viscerally poetic realization of a dream.

Of course, Max Rockatansky had to be there. A personal torch was there to be passed. And likely for the better.

Just Experienced Kung Fury..

2015-05-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

After over a year of waiting, David Sandberg's Kickstarter success story has burnt out what remains of my tattered retinas. The swedish paean to all things kitschy 1980s exploitation has finally made its YouTube debut, and now I am a smoking wreck of what the eff? While the viral marketing campaign was in no way far off in how it sold this love letter to all things VHS era, the final product is definitely something that will either win you over, or lead to eyeroll migraines the likes few have ever witnessed. And while I mostly find myself in the former category, this expanded rendition of the David Hasselhoff music video that was released a little over a month ago, often feels padded where even ten minutes would have been dandy.

That said, no amount of description here will possibly do this wild short justice. From an arcade console gone amok, to a flaming baby carriage, to a martial arts challenge for the ages, this is perhaps the ultimate nod & wink to a time I still remember with bitter fondness.

Man, we were friggin' warped as kids. How can we possibly face an uncertain future?

Only Kung Fury knows for sure..

Mad Max: How I Stopped Worrying & Learned To Live In A Waking Apocalypse

2015-05-17T08:11:00.001-07:00

Upon beginning this little blog, it was largely under the premise that I felt a deep need to explore the nature of myth, and what it meant to reflect not only the time in which it was told, but how it can often morph over time. And few major cinematic myths have experienced quite the history as Max Rockatansky has. Once an ace office of the Main Police Force, later a wasteland-weary loner seemingly saddled with trouble wherever he goes, remains one of the more original icons of the popcorn landscape. And with the long-awaited Fury Road just about to hit screens with what seems like a harsh gale force the likes film fandom has rarely seen, it seemed right to peek back George Miller's signature hero, and what he has meant to me over the years.

Long before I even truly knew about Mel Gibson, or of George Miller, my childhood visual mythology was already running rampant with heroes of all dimensions. From Luke Skywalker to Atticus Finch, films allowed me to fine tune an image to what storybooks and good people in the real world were already informing my worldview. One could envision the path, the fear, and ultimately the choices these characters had to make before standing up to their will to run in the name of some form of good. And while these definitions were what many would call rudimentary, they carried a potent array of reminders of how important it is to learn from every experience. Sure, there were times when storytellers would pull a ruse of laziness, and expect kids to accept a hero as moral without question, and even then, young me couldn't help but suspect something was amiss on the part of the teller. Even so, complexity wasn't huge on my periphery.

So when a relative inadvertently exposed me to the original Mad Max via a trip to the local Drive-In, the very idea that a hero could be so complicated, and at times downright broken, frightened me. It also threw me for a big loop. Since Max's journey largely takes place on the sidelines as his pals on the MFP(Most notably his buddy, Goose) took precedence until the Toe Cutter and his gang shifted their evil gaze his way. Having only seen a few horror movies at the time, the encroaching doom that lurched ever closer to Max and his little family felt a little too close for comfort. Every step the marauding gang of biker hooligans took toward the inevitable was one step closer to my little mind breaking along with poor Max's. But to see our hero go so far as to handcuff a lesser villain's ankle to an overturned vehicle leaking gasoline, and left behind to die a fiery death was something that I certainly wasn't prepared for. Even when the world of the preceding ninety minutes seemed dire and decaying, it was nothing compared to the distressing feelings that wrapped up the film. Simply put, nothing was to be the same again. The road ahead could not be more uncertain for Max, not for us. Perhaps it was all too soon. A road that went foggy without warning, with only rage and sorrow as navigator.

And funny enough, a year later when we caught the follow-up at the same twin drive-in, the stomach churning finale of the original Max was mere prelude to the even more evocative apocalypse that surrounds us here. Mad Max 2 (AKA - The Road Warrior), is a classic case of reinvention that takes the promise of desolation into revelatory mythmaking peaks. Gone were the green grasslands, clean roads, and promises of populated landscapes ahead. The world had become a savage ocean of desolation on all corners that shook little kaijyu to his very bones. In this rendition of the world, there truly is noone to look to for protection. No government. No hard driving ace police. Nothing. With only machines, wits, and goodness, a little luck finding juice, one may just have a chance. It was a deep dark place where only the resourceful could survive, and I couldn't imagine kids like me having a prayer.

It also opened me up to the realization that heroes weren't bound necessarily by continuity. That depending upon who is telling the tale, our lead can take on many guises, as can the world that surrounds them. While the film does visualize that this is the same Max, it could very easily be a souped-up reincarnation since the world has indeed fallen quite a ways from where it was just one film ago. Even so, one cannot help but understand why this character evolved into a self-serving survivalist in the wake of past events. He even goes so far as to consider ditching his first real bastion of human contact with the people of the film's main setting - a refinery under siege by a gang of scavenging psychos led by the charismatic slab of beef known as The Humongus.

The leap between film worlds was made less jarring by the natural progression of Max, not to mention sheer visceral thrill of Mad Max 2's still astonishing action and sense of vision. And even as Max becomes little more than a mythical hero in the eyes of a child, it is this spark of storytelling license shorthand that allows the character to have this more plasticine nature allowing for his world to become a boundless sandbox for George Miller's fertile imagination. It's a blank check for him to upgrade/alter the post-apocalypse to whatever his heart's desire. Something that Miller and his now well-honed band of daredevils could utilize to their advantage after The Road Warrior's big splash on the global stage. Max had become as important to me a mythical figure as anyone under the auspices of Spielberg or Lucas. The bleak future had become but a canvas to place upon it a hero eternally at odds with his will to escape his greatest fear, empathy.

So when the roads finally gave way to dunes in Beyond Thunderdome, who could blame Miller and company for aiming for soft-pedaled illustrated storybook territory? At the time, Star Wars had been put to rest (or so I thought), and I was hurting pretty heavily for another cinematic legend to drive it all home, so naturally Mad Max was on my mind full cycle as Tina Turner music videos and ads promised a Max adventure on a scale unseen. Even though I was fully aware of the tragedy that befell the production before filming with the loss of producer Byron Kennedy, what I was able to see from the marketing storm that followed near release in 1985, was something striking and potentially very special.

Having Max, this time much older and used as a pawn in the power struggle between the powerful of a trade-based boomtown deep in the wasteland, was an exciting new dimension to the mythos. And while the first thirty minutes of Thunderdome indeed burned a mark into my DNA that summer, it was hard to reconcile with certain choices that were made to close the circle. From the Fellini-esque touches that graced the glorious pit known as Bartertown, to its people, to Thunderdome itself, the film flirts with a greatness that far surpasses anything that had come before. And yet, Max's adventures beyond(yeah, just go with it) end up grinding the film to a halt instead of rocketing past. And while the notion that the feral child from the previous film would be a harbinger of sorts to an entire colony of child survivors of a plane crash, is a good one, as a story it never feels fleshes out to any satisfying degree beyond the visually respledent. It's pretty much an equivalent to Jedi's Ewoks. It feels like compromise. A compromise that in many ways belittles Max, and renders him more spectator than participant.

While still a gorgeous third film, it lacks the sense of dramatic propulsion that had brought the legend of the loner cop to such a status.

And then the legend lie dormant. And George Miller had for decades distanced himself artistically with often terrific, yet baffling choices for projects. To think that the man who brought Max Rockatansky to so many hearts and minds, also brought us Lorenzo's Oil, and Babe, remains head-spinning for its' sheer willingness for experimentation and fortitude. And his forays into the realms of CG animated fare took his career into many more impressive areas. It was as if success had then allowed him to treat work as a neverending film school, where he could further explore his ongoing theses about the ordinary thrust into the extraordinary into the super-extraordinary. (Just look at the leaps between Babe and Babe: Pig In The City)

For years, I had heard wind of a return to the wasteland. And it was around 2007 when I heard about a script for Mad Max: Fury Road being in the works. And in no traditional sense either. Had heard that a majority of the film was to flirt with the comic world by being almost wholly composed via hand drawings before a word of dialogue was written down. So for years, I had long been hoping for more information, for some news that Miller and company were to make this dream project a reality. And then come roughly 2010, it came down the pipe that it would finally come to pass. But not before production problems, delays, shooting location moves, and various other drama made it almost supernatural in how fate seemed destined to keep Max from seeking redemption again.

2015. I am now forty years old. The wait has ended.

True to his ways of re-examining his mythological figures through a new lens each time, and with great sensitivity to the world around him, Miller's return to the world that brought him the world's attention is nothing short of extraordinary.

Mad Max: Fury Road, is proof positive that passion can still survive after decades of bliss seeking. That film as art can still mean something, and that action films can indeed chart a changing world. Older me can find himself both enthralled by the intensity and often insane composition of the action. He can even be deeply impressed by the film's clear love for the cast, and it's incredible gallery of memorable characters who are only given so much dialogue. Tom Hardy's Max, is a great new interpretation of the loner hero, and should do well in subsequent films should they go that route. And Charlize Theron's turn as Imperator Furiosa does Max one better in creating a hero that can at last carry that torch alongside him no matter where she goes from here on out. And what truly captured me, was that Fury Road is a return that carries the weight of weathered experience, and a willingness to transcend anything that had come before. And that even includes sexual/gender politics, not to mention world-building, and philosophical stances.

Years of percolation has allowed the film to become both a relentless, and exhausting feast for the senses that displays an unheard of amount of affection for the world and its people. It feels like the world of Max, has in itself both an artist's rage and love that feels ready to burst. Not everyone mellows with age, and we have seen quite a bit of shifting in our lifetimes. Miller seems to use this series as a barometer for how he sees the world, and with Fury Road, he sees a world ready to slough off old skins. That perhaps the post-apocalypse isn't this nightmarish place that must be avoided or to be protected from. It is here, and that perhaps by knowing your community, and taking it back for future generations, answers will indeed come through togetherness. The film admits that such a process is hard, but with each other, perhaps it isn't quite so painful. It's possible that the reason why Thunderdome wasn't quite able to deliver Max to the ages, was because this had to happen first. Max simply wasn't ready. Miller, wasn't ready.

And now it's here.

I finally feel ready to put aside my love for the hero, and become my own.

Maybe one day, we all can.

Image by Kaz Omori

Ex Machina (2015) Movie Thoughts

2015-05-09T20:21:00.002-07:00

It's always a tightrope act when a lauded scribe gets his first crack at directing a feature. And yet, novelist and occasional Danny Boyle collaborator, Alex Garland startles with unexpected ease. Brilliant young search engine coder, Caleb finds himself a winner of his company's lottery, and wins a trip to meet his oufit's reclusive CEO deep in the mountains. Completely unaware of what to expect in this clinical environment surrounded by miles of natural beauty, he is invited to participate in what could be the scientific discovery of a generation. Perhaps, of all generations.

Upon meeting the unexpectedly masculine and coolly unnerving Nathan(Oscar Isaac), Caleb is then let in on the purpose for his mysterious visit. He will be spending a week, tasked with meeting Nathan's latest technological breakthrough in hopes of performing a rigorous rendition of the Turing Test. A means by which a human can be completely fooled by a computer. When faced with this proposal, matters take on a more sinister bent when it is revealed that the subject for this test is in the form of Ava, a near-perfect replica of a humanoid machine. Featuring a body composed of largely synthetics and mesh, Ava's very human face and curiosity about Caleb makes for a powerful impression. But it isn't long before the young man, his new machine charge, and the troubling supergenius forge an air of curiosity and suspicion as Garland's tale comes up short on simple answers, but offers up a challenging bevy of questions about our current precipice of technology and philosophy.

When cinema tends to reach for answers to the ever-prescient question of the inevitable consequences of artificial intelligence, the reply almost always seems to hash out the same technophobic slant. (Just look to last week's Avengers: Age Of Ultron for yet another example) Time and again, we have been witness to morality tales about humanity's reach versus its grasp. And rarely do films that tackle the more open ends of this discussion with such openness and candor. Garland takes the quiet approach by making Nathan's stone and white colored home into a series of cells and corridors blocked by specially selected code keys, and surveillance cameras on every corner. The mountains and vegetation make for a world that makes our boy wonders on this voyage of the mind seem that much smaller.

And by that, I mean that placing the wiry, gaunt Caleb alongside the beer chugging, weight lifting Nathan, we are privy to where nerds have come over the generations. Both men have seen themselves products of a technological renaissance of sorts, and yet Nathan seems geared toward seeking a world that is more based upon controlling nature, while Caleb finds himself more and more at odds with his role in the testing. Ava seems to know more than she's letting on, and is growing more and more fond of him with each meeting. Even more disconcerting, is the only other person in Nathan's home/research facility, the practically mute Kyoko, who seems to only serve as a house servant. A game of who is playing who kicks into gear, and the screws begin to tighten to almost unbearable levels as it comes clear that what we are witnessing is a play on empathy, and what happens when we lose it in the name of juvenile desires.

And by this, I speak of the film's equating of our relationship to technology versus our most base desires. The film toys with not only Caleb's, but our collective habits in the wake of the internet, as well as many other breakthroughs in the past. There's almost always a hint of the hypersexual in ways that the average human considers advancements. So when we realize that Caleb's job, and Nathan's company is a world renowned search engine known as Blue Book, not to mention a discussion of what happens when all seach data is collated for ulterior purposes, it's not a stretch to consider Ava as a walking embodiment of the human id. In a film that could on the surface be seen as objectifying of the female form, there's a dimension at play here that harkens to a masculine world that seems to stutter behind with every new discovery with our lizard brains struggling to keep matters from evolving too rapidly. When we meet Nathan for the first time, it's clear that his demeanor defies every movie scientist archetype, and is closer to an "alpha-bro" with some serious masculinity issues. Sure, he's socially inept and bordering on megalomaniacal, but there's also a hint of perpetual pre-adolescence that pervades Isaacs' performance, and it is very much by design. Caleb, while more sedate, resembles a quiet, inquisitive teen who's a little more balanced, but racked with doubts as to Ava's motivations, and in turn Nathan's. He sees the man behind the machine, but is also in quiet awe of Ava. It's a tricky counterbalance to play, and Domnhall Gleeson slinks into it with unusual weight.

But the real find here is Alicia Vikander, who's Ava, exhudes the enthusiasm of a well-mannered and curious being who has only known a cage her whole brief life. Longing to know more about the boy sent to test her, and definitely exhibiting signs of a clear desire to embrace more colors of life, her role is all in the body language. All constantly creating a gravity with each title card designated meeting, she is magnetic, especially when her performance delivers hints at the complexity underneath her curious demeanor. Which makes for some surprising developments as the tension rises.

With a sure-handed demeanor, Garland and crew find themselves ready to tackle themes of The Singularity, and our role in it with often astonishing grace. Also important players in this piece are DP Rob Hardy, and music composers, Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow, who create a calmly sensual aura throughout. About the only real complaint that one can lob around here, was that some of the more provocative ideas were piled upon others. The end result of course, making the whole film feel more like a weighty discussion than a solid story. Which would only hurt it if it were aiming for something that traditional. With the self-imposed budgetary restrictions on hand, Ex Machina finds itself most comfortable tackling our collective worst habits as not merely dominator male legacies, but as creatures of convenience. What the film ultimately shares is a post-human notion that perhaps the machine futures of films past had yet to allow the processing of our inevitable new roles in the evolutionary chain. And that perhaps it's of our own undoing that we find ourselves so unwilling to keep up the race as creatures of understanding. Much in the way that gender and sexual mores of the past are at last leaving the pastures of the past, so shall our technologically enabled brothers and sisters.

Stop The Universe, I Want To Get Off (Age Of Ultron, Age Of Nope)

2015-05-03T18:16:00.000-07:00

Months back, after thinking about how well Marvel Studios gambled to great success in 2014, it felt to me as if a great gamble had finally paid off. After decades of marginal adaptations, false starts, and years of self-conscious film production, it certainly felt as if the superhero film had finally come into its own. Every MCU film post Joss Whedon's The Avengers seemed to herald something of a salad period in which the comic book film could finally exist in all its pulpy, soap operatic glory. Gone were the notions of spandex-questioning team members, and overt grit-ification of once larger than life serial landscapes. Marvel had finally cracked the code to making films that could not only satisfy the most die-hard devotee, but also rake in droves of new action and adventure lovers the world over. It's a mix generations in the making, and as such Avengers: Age Of Ultron, feels like the final culmination of that dream.

Which brings me to the reason for this quasi-review. As a lover of all things cinematic, as well as someone with a love for breadth of storytelling, observing the major studios and their wishes to each hone together their resources toward creating successful shared universes with which to better compete with Disney's caped juggernauts, has led me to come to a singular conclusion that may sever me from a generation that seems to be experiencing something of a cinematic renaissance - A wish to step off the shared universe concept, and to seek newer means of enjoying myths without feeling like a once powerful business' last refuge. As much as these filmmakers have been doing some impressive work, and what was once considered a shelter for young admirers of fantasy, is now considered monstrous commodity, there is something truly telling within Age Of Ultron that shares a solid, sobering message; that saturation and lack of variety are the death of vitality in all forms of communication. It's ultimately a blandening mechanism for not only business, but for art as well.

While the second chapter in what is Marvel's flagship series, Tony Stark's discovery of this deeply complex programming, leads him toward a path which places his fears at odds with his comrades. The Ultron Program, which on the surface promises a more secure world, not only from those who would threaten the Earth and its occupants, but from this increasing population of empowered beings who threaten to cause as much damage and suffering. Naturally, this doesn't fare well at all, leading to what is easily one of the most jaw-tearing grand action spectacles ever filmed. The cast travels from one end of the globe to the other as allegiances are shattered and formed, and comic book soap opera reaches the pinnacle of its form in under two-hours plus. And as impressive as it sounds, Age Of Ultron suffers largely from not only an event heavy storyline, an endless parade of characters, and a pace that stumbles rather than flows, the film grinds when the form should coast.It practically beats us into pure indifference.

Also a casualty of the form reaching this milestone; a threat to focus and memorability. Ever since Return Of The Jedi, filmmakers have been steadily piling on the multi-battle storytelling form to diminishing returns. Where once three separate battles could make the head spin, but miraculously maintain focus between character beats and dramatic pace, Ultron leaves so much underfocused, and little to actually absorb. Character moments shine, and rekindle interest, where action events are often pulling the brain apart, vying endlessly for attention. For all the technology we have to finally visualize the most astonishing visions of apocalypse, and derring do by beings that can easily resemble gods, it isn't terribly compelling, nor nearly as fun as it could be if it were mounting with something more mathematical in mind. Gone are the days of simple set pieces like the truck chase in Raiders Of The Lost Ark, where we had simple stakes, clear choreography, and editing and music that truly sell the stakes.

Which leads me to another casualty of this new paradigm..Music.

This has been addressed before elsewhere, but it couldn't be more damning a notion. That with mass production comes a lowering of standards in one section or another, and in the case of these Marvel films, there has yet to be a single truly memorable score. Considering the action pedigree that these films often pay homage to, the lack of a driving, effectively emotional orchestral score is a stunning vacuum to consider. Whether it be the work of recent composers like Henry Jackman, Brian Tyler, and even Alan Silvestri, there has yet to be the kind of consideration made for the sonic spirit of the film. Without it, and with music that often feels like temp tracks for a generic action reel, all one has is the spectacle to drive matters. Which would be fine if the stakes actually felt palpable.

So in short, once we have multiple characters with their own separate film series combining together every few years, we are pretty assured that the drama will not threaten the future. And in doing so, what our film experience is, is nothing less than episodic television. That is the end game of the shared universe model. We are ostensibly paying to watch hundred million dollar episodes, where very often the dramatic stakes (along with the music) must represent the general overhead in that they cannot reach past a certain ceiling. Which only serves to undercut the drama of what we are actually watching. This, is poisonous to the filmgoing experience to some, myself included. It simply isn't encouraging enough to enjoy another adventure of a favorite action hero, there needs to be something these characters could lose beyond a simple two hour running time. Like emotions and money, investments remain a vital part of the moviewatching experience for me, so without the feeling that there is something to lose from the drama unspooling before us, it feels very much like being treated like a creature of habit. Like a junkie. Like an ATM.

And far be it from me to determine what others should place value in, habit should not be one of them. Having been a longtime fan of anime television series, I know what it is to be taken for a ride from a serialized work that seems to offer no real dramatic stakes let alone a finite path. After a while, it feels like nothing more than a means to stay employed. It becomes a paycheck. And when routine sets in for any form of art, cracks begin to show in realms of passion. It's just inevitable. We see it in all forms of creativity whether it be punk rock, typography, and even diets; once we make the revolutionary the norm, blandness sets in, and so does the rot. It simply isn't all things to all people. Where only the addicted stick around. Again, this is perhaps a bit presumptuous, but Age Of Ultron smacks to me of the beginning of said atrophy. As Joss Whedon walks away from these megapictures, as do I. As fun as it has been, it serves the soul a great deal to seek more than mere distractions. The world is far too vast a place to spend it cycling toward infinity.

It happened to the slasher film. It happened to the simple sequel.

It will happen to the shared universe.

The Babadook (2013) Movie Thoughts

2015-04-18T08:47:00.001-07:00

Somewhere in South Australia, single mother, Amelia Vannick(Essie Davis) has seen better years.

Working at a nursing home for the elderly , struggling to raise her hyperactive six year old son, Samuel(Noah Wiseman) has begun to reach a breaking point. The loss of the boy's father on the way to his delivery in an accident has continued to haunt them both. Now manifesting itself in little Sam's borderline aggressive clinginess and desperation to protect his mother from unseen beasts. From uncomfortable hugs to improvised weapons wreaking havoc about every other corner of their lives, Amelia's life begins to resemble a classic powder keg situation as sleep deprivation begins to take hold. And it's about to get worse, when a mysterious pop-up book seems to magically appear on Sam's bookshelf. A sinister red book starring none other than a terrifying dark specter clad in black, known only as The Babadook. A book that promises to never go away, until the unthinkable has consumed them both.

Enter Jennifer Kent's small scale, but primally chilling allegory that proves beyond all doubt, that good horror is a game of understanding the terrors of daily life. From the opening frames on, there is no doubt that what we're experiencing is something that is so familiar, frankly because it is so close to so many of us. From Amelia's daily troubles of raising a son who seems on the brink every other moment, to working surrounded by reminders of what life she has forsaken to raise him, is rife with baggage so heavy that it's no wonder horror comes knocking. It's bad enough that the boy cannot celebrate his birthday on the day, but must share parties with the daughter of Amelia's seemingly more mobile sister, Claire. And that Sam's erratic behavior has garnered some disciplinary problems at school. Matters are reaching almost oppressive levels, and this is before any hint of the supernatural even arises. We are dropped square into the worst possible single parenthood scenario's deep waters before the dreaded shark arrives. And when he does, it feels like a powerful , inescapable abyss that scares in ways that few have in decades.

Dropped so sadistically into a spiritual deep end, while cruel in some ways, is precisely where the film lives and dies. There is a muted color palette that surrounds Amelia's life, like the last remnants of brightness to her world is on the verge of a fuse burnout. Right off the bat, we are in a place that is both cold, and disquieting. One of the many potent weapons in the film's arsenal, is something far too many pieces of horror tend to forget, environmental and lighting design. We are host to a sight and sound universe that is sensitive to Amelia's plight. It only bolsters the tension as her life begins to resemble a Von Trier film, complete with endless supernatural amounts of emotional torment. (which made the revelation that Kent spent some time studying/working with the danish auteur, make grand sense) And when we find ourselves largely trapped within the chilly halls of their home, the lighting and art direction take on a quiet, painterly menace that tightens its grip throughout. It only makes the unforgiving blackness of our titular villain that much more powerful. The film understands the history of horror, and milks it largely to great effect.

But the crowning jewels of the film are truly Davis and Wiseman, who conjure up some truly astonishing performances as a tattered family on the verge of tragedy. Davis' Amelia, is such a delicate, demanding piece of work that could co easily have gone comic in other hands, but she comes off as completely relatable as she is granted every logical stage to an almost inevitable form when her resent and grief boils over. We can grieve for her, as well as beg for her to stop, and not for a moment lose that gravity. And on that note, she could not be more blessed in having Wiseman, who's Sam, is both one of the most unnerving and one of the most frighteningly effective child performances I have ever experienced. When he is a terror, he is a terror. And when he is achingly vulnerable, it's deeply uncomfortable. The film is so diabolical in some manners, that it's a miracle of casting that any kid would be able to deliver such incredible work.

It's a most interesting marriage, taking the spirit of scary tales from the past, transposing them to something as universal as single parenthood. So easily, the film could have taken a more exploitative tack. And yet the character sensitivity here never lets us the viewers off the hook. We are every bit as complicit by playing the voyeur to what is ostensibly something that happens more commonly than we care to let in. It's also telling that the film's stylings harken to the days when such parenthood was just becoming commonplace. As a child of a single parent, I too can see how the dynamic between mother and son could reach such troublesome lows. And considering that the children of that age are now the age of Amelia, the shoe has finally exchanged feet, and it is a sobering reminder. It's no understatement. This is classic, "old school", down to the marrow horror told with a 1970s performance and editing sensibility, wrapped in something altogether too understandable. Even as The Babadook chooses to go a more traditional genre route, it is done with class and empathy. Because, as the nightmare-inducing pop-up book suggests, the horror is already here, and it's not likely to ever go away.

Thematic Wanderings: Interstellar (2014)

2015-04-12T20:34:00.000-07:00

Few major studio filmmakers require viewers to unpack with a vengeance quite like Christopher Nolan.

As far back as Following(1998), it has been imperative that those who are witnesses to the stories he shares, make a more concerted effort than usual to ruminate and discuss what they have just witnessed. And while scrutiny often poses the occasional question of logic, it's always good to remember the goal, and not so much how the shooter made it. Especially considering the narrative gymnastics that a Nolan film often requires of his audience. Even when he and brother Jonathan do their damndest to paint in broad strokes, they are often in the service of inviting others to play more complex thematic games than many are accustomed to. It isn't always successful, but it never ceases to be ambitious. And this is why I suppose I keep going back to his works. They often work like puzzles, or very dense books just shotgunned into our brains over the course of several hours, only to leave us dizzy with the hows, when our eyes should be more poised toward the why.

So when audiences found themselves a little colder than usual (for Nolan films) with his latest, it became a little more crucial for me to mine it once home video became an option. In my review, I came after the film for failing to better deliver a successful dramatic punch than it seemed to so badly want. With a film that features Matthew McCounaghey at his most earnest as a most vulnerable hero, the performance feels at times hindered by the at-times daunting balancing act between working within hard science and the surprisingly warm proposal at the heart of the film. The balance doesn't always work in its favor, especially in the last hour. And yet, there is something happening here that for me, made the finale dovetail in ways that it really shouldn't have in other hands.

In the first reel, while we are given a hard-pedaled peek into the film's worries by way of envisioning a humanity that has become so panicked by the global blight, that they frown upon our history of space travel, as well as nurturing such interests. While it is a forced sentiment, it is a potent shorthand for a world that has turned its back on risky solutions in the name of maintaining all that remains on the ground. And this is a trend that is echoed throughout the film. This is also displayed largely later in the film when Cooper's grown son refuses to leave the farm despite the impending death of another child due to ever more desperate air quality. A reminder that we are often incapable of letting go of the present, no matter how bad it may look from a macro perspective.

The film even opens with Cooper and his kids, chasing a lost Indian drone that eventually downs itself.

Upon examining the abandoned machine, this exchange occurs:

Murph

                                                  What are you going to do with it?

                                                                        Cooper
                                 I'm going to give it something socially responsible to do.

                                                                         Murph

                                       Can't we just let it go? It's not harming anyone.

   Cooper

                        This thing needs to learn how to adapt, Murph. Like the rest of us.

Right from the start, the philosophical divide between Cooper and Murph becomes the prime vessel for the film's main conflict. It's always important to keep in mind that the best premises are often stand-ins for more human dilemma, and in the case of Interstellar, it is largely focused on our will to understand others in a life trajectory that has largely been that of utility. It's complicated even further when in the face of shared undertaking, everyone has their own reasons to invest in changing the course of fate. When young Murph sees the fork in the road between her and her father, naturally she sees his leaving as something of a betrayal. With the linkage of her "ghost" further ingraining these feelings, which eventually must be reconciled with as light years separate them.

Taking humanity's last chance for salvation into the hands of a select group of scientists on a secret deep space mission to find a possible new home, already offers up a glimpse into the film's bigger concerns. Revelations are established early that the now-thought defunct NASA had at one point been asked to drop bombs onto thousands of poor and starving as blight overtook much of the planet. This was an answer until the government took to heart Dr. Brand, Sr.'s alternate plan based upon the discovery of a newly placed wormhole just outside of Saturn. A clandestine journey of several scientists through the hole, only to discover several potential planets for possible human inhabitation. This follow-up to the Lazarus Mission, with its implications of a newly risen humanity, turns out to largely be a terrifying bait and switch. Simply because its authors saw the human race as largely incapable of grasping the reality that despite the proposal of two plans, B was the only viable option. (Plan B, involving fertilized human embryos encased in a "population bomb"- as what remains of the human race dies out on Earth.) Upon reaching these planets, it becomes horrifically clear that chances of our kind to find a truly hospitable home for the rest of us, seems near to impossible. Giving truth to the hidden revelation that quite often in realms of discovery, the truth of any major undertaking is often engraved with caveats to human sentiment, rather than overtures to actual faith between beings.

So what ensues between the prospective planets, is a discussion regarding our inability to trust others with harsh truths, and what the heart has longed for since the first true human connection. These diverging aims are further illustrated by way of two vital scenes around the film's midpoint, when Brand Jr. (Anne Hathaway) admits to preferring to travel to the furthest planet because of her feelings for the Lazarus scientist, Edmunds, who she admits to being in love with. In no uncertain (and perhaps far too blunt) terms, she defends her irrational feelings of loss and worry over one person overrides a more convenient stop at the Mann planet, which is much closer on the Endurance trajectory. The other scene follows her choice being overruled, and upon meeting the long admired pioneer, Mann, who confirms the terrible truth about the mission. The mission being based largely upon a lie in order to instill a sense of hope for the people of Earth, and in turn, to convince Cooper to leave the earthly nest in hopes of saving his family. The exploitation of human sentiment being the ultimate gambit for success.

So to take in the film's view of discovery under pressure, can be a distressing one to say the least. But it does feel far more honest than films of this scale tend to display. Such lies, and action under assumption has pretty much been a fundamental part of our culture for as long as a more masculine dominator society has been a primary axiom to live by. It is also not an accident, that the film sees the women of the film (most notably Murph & Brand Jr.) as misunderstood fibers in a larger societal fabric. Perhaps something that has been neglected to the point that it has come to a near complete apocalypse as a result. Rendering much of Interstellar to be a challenge to humanity, A pivot point where not only cooperation is required to avert disaster, but to consider the possibility that human empathy is indeed something science and rigor has yet to crack. The gap of faithlessness that often permeates any culture bereft of any clear answers. It's far easier for us to disqualify that which we do not understand, rather than see another viable equation worth exploring.

And while to some, this and the film's ultimate revelation may seem trite. But there is certainly something to ruminate upon as so many discoveries of the last several decades have begun to pierce the unseen with explorations of the quantum, and an unerring quest to understand what many once saw as mere abstractions not to long ago. And while Cooper's voyage indeed brings him face to face with his own assumptions about love and discovery, there is again an overture to faith in those closest to us and beyond to continue the voyage. To be transparent in the face of adversity. And to allow for community based upon more balanced, pluralistic principles. Which has possibly been what we were always meant to be heading toward, but neglecting for generations too many.

And while many can continue to debate over whether or not Nolan and company were successful in their shared mission, the notions explored in this film remain worthy of discussion. It remains an ambitious, grand, and humanly flawed dive into what our current and future concerns have been. It paints a painful, yet hopeful picture of what it is we are, and what we could be, no matter the legacy we have long worn on our shoulders - and that's worth talking about.

Starry Eyes (2014) Movie Thoughts

2015-04-04T13:55:00.000-07:00

Now that is one angry screed..

Sarah has been dreaming and working hard in hopes of making it in the business of dreams. Like so many others living in the hills around the Hollywood sign, it is a guiding light that is both a purveyor of immense joy, and often sustained pain. Day job here, sudden audition there, it becomes a lifestyle to so many here, and yet for Sarah, things have been ringing difficult. Casting calls are beginning to interfere with her day job squealing and grinning for strangers at Tater Tots. Roommate and friends dream of films and roles that never seem to materialize. And then there's always the issue of the next month's rent. It's your classic story of this area. But today, a call has come from the once well-respected and enigmatic genre studio, Astraeus Pictures - and Sarah's luck may be brightening up..

But not without price.

Having heard strong word about Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer's indie horror satire, a part of me immediately second-hand resonated with the premise. Living in LA, this is something of a common ism among the beautiful young one comes across in artistic circles. Walk along Santa Monica Boulevard, and catch glimpses of glowing faces poised for stardom while surviving on budget meals, and couch surfing. Starry Eyes, while in no way a new tale, spins an often harrowing, and mostly heartbreaking portrait of a town that seems both youthfully idyllic, yet endlessly threatening. And it is quite lovely in how it balances borderline film school techniques with a crushing knowing hidden just beneath all the familiar Los Angeles trappings. It's a common situation which often engenders gossip of corruption, perversion, and often downright Faustian among peers which inevitably become myth to so many looking for decay hiding beneath the shimmer. Sarah's story is both familiar, and yet jarring in how it is executed as a clash between post-Ti West no budget horror, and classic late 1970s era creepfests.

But the true secret weapon of this familiar narrative is Alex Essoe, who grants us a vision of a person long in the quiet suffering who finally sees a sparkle on the horizon, no matter how sinister. Right from the first scenes, it is clear that Sarah has been barely grappling with an almost mechanistic lifestyle of rejection and disappointment. From verbally overtipping her hand during auditions, to ripping out her hair in frustration in the washroom, her world has been taking a toll. So when this possible big break in the form of a starring role for a studio long thought dormant, she finds herself willing to do just about anything to get the part. She inhabits and ultimately transforms from such disparate states of being throughout the film that it transcends much if the piece's written and directorial stiffness. Almost as if she leapt straight from the intent. This is a tough, uncomfortable role, and she delves into it with a yearning akin to Sarah herself, which also includes a physical transformation that both repels and strangely moves.

Also noteworthy are the supporting roles which feature faces familiar and new who are well worth mention. Standing out amongst this impressive troupe are Maria Olsen as the unsettling casting director, and Pat Healy, as Sarah's hopelessly trapped day gig boss. A role that could so easily have been a butt of jokes, becomes a nuanced reminder that Hollywood dreams can be a trap beyond wishes to be a film idol. Also noteworthy in selling this theme are Noah Segan and Fabianne Therese who play a would be film producer living out of his van, and she - his would-be star as they seem to live aimlessly without a film to actually shoot. They become the very thing that the film industry tends to decry and often demonize. The choice to make each option attractive and repellant is a potent one. The dreamers are beset on every corner, often forced to compromise in terrible, spiritually crippling ways in an environment that hints at the dusty, blood-spattered legacy of the death of the 1960s counterculture. A movement of cults and beliefs that has found itself entrenched so deep into the dream factory fabric, that it functions not unlike a drug to those unsuspecting. A monolithic machine, chugging along, fueled by broken hearts and longing for illusory solace.

That's right. In the desperation soaked world of Starry Eyes, all are shackled, and there is no relief to be had. It's an at-times amateurish feeling work that gets a lot of mileage out of retaliating at a system seemingly hellbent on making every human a mark, and simple human kindness into a leper-making plague. While the final product longs for a little more grace in its movements, this is a well executed scare tale that brings to light something far too many hate to consider regarding my home town, and what it still represents to so many. The final result is something both profoundly sad, and hard to shake.

It's an idiosyncratic little nightmare with more than a dose of truth ingrained deeply into its tattered, tear-stained 8 X 10.

Housebound (2014) Movie Thoughts

2015-03-30T21:07:00.003-07:00

After a horribly botched ATM robbery attempt, troubled young lady, Kylie Bucknell(Morgana O'Reilly) is ordered by law to move back into her childhood home in the sticks, and stay there to serve home detention. Bothered enough by the largely desolate landscape, and hardly the type to adhere to rules, her mum(Rima Te Wiata) and stepdad(Ross Harper) remain just a few notches this side of odd. Tensions in this rickety old home are bad enough, but when the lights go out, it becomes rather clear that not only have things grown infinitely spookier there since childhood, there also seems to be something watching over the house. And it is a presence that has continued to haunt the Bucknell house for longer than anyone is willing to admit, or believe. Inverting horror tropes, and embracing the well-mannered funny has long been a staple in Kiwi film. And in Gerard Johnstone's often wildly fun debut, it's the kind of wily mix that we haven't seen in well over two decades.

Shaken by a harrowing encounter in the basement, and spurred on by some strange words shared publicly by her well-meaning mum, Kylie shifts gears into detective mode. Enlisting the unlikely help in her stocky Maori security enforcement officer, revelations of the history of the house, and it's darkest secrets begin mounting in what winds up far more sinister, and bizarre than mere apparitions. Making matters all the more complicated is that Kylie's life of crime and overall poor attitude toward grownups make her something of an unreliable detective. As visiting social workers, teachers, police, and other authority figures continue to visit, her stories are barely taken seriously- even when the horror seems to bite some in the face.

This is where Johnstone's prowess as a character builder gels so well, casting the leads as a dysfunctional group at odds with the outside world as the unbelievable seems so uncomfortably close. Kylie's mom and her immensely shy husband are portrayed as well-meaning, but largely ineffectual parents just holding on to a tenuous grasp of their only child. While Kylie begins to slowly slough off her feral exterior, unveiling a girl who just fell under a spell of bad luck (not to mention harboring memories long buried). Rounding this all off, is the most welcome Glen-Paul Waru as a security guy just itching to be a ghost whisperer. Every time he's on screen, it's a feat of disarming fun. It has been years since dread has been rendered so vocal and participatory between viewer and screen. It becomes hard not to wince and laugh.

And while the final act begins to feel constrained by a need to tidy things up, leading to something of a clumsy finale, Johnstone keeps the tension mounting even when it begins to stretch credulity. For a film that could easily have become another exercise in post-modern echo chambering, it becomes densely involved in ways that harken more to a time when development and character took center stage in the horror film. It's surprisingly warm and willing to grant the viewer ample understanding of everyone's situation, not to mention it's sensitivity to action geography. Housebound, actually cares about what is happening, and how it happens. In what remains something of a complete surprise, Johnstone's first film out of the gate bears distinction of having the kind of clarity and energy of a celebrated veteran.

And when your first film feels like a lesser effort of a celebrated master, you're doing something right.

It Follows (2014) Movie Thoughts

2015-03-15T08:40:00.001-07:00

On what seems to be an ordinary suburban street, on what seems to be an ordinary dusk, a beautiful young girl bursts out of her otherwise peaceful looking home in a panic. Unnerving her father, and concerning the neighbors, the girl, half-dressed and still in heels makes a desperate break for anywhere but home. All the more disconcerting, there seems to be no one visibly chasing her. Despite our inability to see her pursuer, it is clear that something is horribly wrong, and that there seems to be no discernible form of escape. Culminating in what is easily one of the more unnerving openings in years, we are now in the throes of a bold new nightmare world in middle class Detroit as David Robert Mitchell takes us on an ultimate campfire tale in It Follows.

Practically borne out of the kind of anxiety-riddled mind that kids truly exhibit, It Follows is the story of smart and pretty teen, Jay who has haplessly dated the wrong guy. Having just lost her virginity to the mysterious Hugh(Jake Weary), she is then tuned in to the freakish news that she has now acquired something through the act. Hugh's admission that he has been running from this horrific specter that will now continue to torment her lest she pass it on to someone else via the same means. This unstoppable force can take the shape of just about anyone, but especially those she cares for, and it will not stop, until she is dead, leading to the chain reaction deaths of all previously afflicted. A diabolical die is cast as Jay, and her friends, and younger sister in tow struggle to find a way to undo the curse. But as encounters grow more and more desperate, Jay is now stricken with the choice as to heed the advice given, or seek further answers. In a gambit that eviscerates decades of horror cliche, it's either sex or death in a race against a nihilistic threat.

Mitchell's instinct for creating almost universal youth worlds takes on a dreamier dimension than his last piece, The Myth Of The American Sleepover. Where we now occupy a place that is even more deliberately ambiguous as old rotary dial television sets with rabbit ears share space with compact e-reader devices. Kid behavior and speech is refreshingly real, and adults are all but ignored. It Follows functions like a tale told between teens at a slumber party, with reams of texture abound, but salvation in the form of authority figures too remote to save anyone. It is also worth noting that the film takes place largely on location throughout all corners of Detroit, which makes for a unique marriage of the lovely, and apocalyptic as the harsh realities of the adult world begin to close in on Jay and friends. From a lake house, to the dilapidated neighborhoods south of the legendary 8 Mile, we are host to a youth that's on the brink. After all, what can the adults do but merely suggest away the harshness that lies beyond the borders?

But the real juice of the film comes from the cast who almost uniformly deliver. Especially a star-making performance by Maika Monroe, who's Jay captures the turns of awareness with occasionally heartbreaking ease. Also worthy of note are Leli Sepe, as her younger sis, Kelly, and Keir Gilchrist as Paul, a childhood friend with a lifelong crush. And as the terror escalates, what's especially refreshing is how up front everyone is regarding Jay's plight. They begin to regroup, plan, run, fight, and ultimately consider Jay's need to "give it away". The closeness of the core cast, and their dynamics while general in speech, have a cadence and gravity that grant It Follows an aura that is hard to shake long after the screen goes black. It's a tale that could happen just about anywhere, and at any time.

The wonder of the whole piece resides in just how deceptively simple it all feels. While the film could easily have taken a cheap route to scares, Mitchell and company go out of their way to scale matters down to the molecule, as shots linger, wide pans are untrustworthy, and no amount of daylight is safe. Accompanying the film's calculated aura, is a startling and quietly troubling score by the electronic outfit, Disasterpeace. While some may hear a little Carpenter influence here, there's something else happening that feels in tune with the nervousness that resides in all of us in a newly sunlit social universe. It dares us to dive headlong into the film's dreamlike rhythms as it dances on frayed young nerves. Some viewers may find themselves challenged by what is ostensibly a minimal approach, but for this reviewer, it grants room to allow even more unsettling thoughts as characters whom we easily grow to care about, find themselves desperate to try nearly anything to keep the monster at bay. Like an itch impossible to scratch, the threat is always there, always out to get you. Not interesting in running, because it has inevitability on its side.

More than an allegory for sexually transmitted diseases, and more involved than a treatise on morality, this is a piece that will likely reward the willing in thoughtful and unexpected ways. Like a shadow of expectation, or a biological yearning no one asked for, the affliction serves as a conduit between our animal selves, and the shame we impose upon ourselves for being as such. One cannot truly run away from their inherited humanity. And fewer things are scarier than the perpetual inability to reconcile with our own primal natures. Simply put, It Follows not only serves as a great little piece of existential terror, it is also an engrossing reminder of that most terrifying of times; youth.

Automata (2014) Movie Thoughts

2015-02-22T09:27:00.003-08:00

Much like the westerns of a bygone era, tales of future dystopia pitting humanity against itself as machines grow into sentient beings has created something of a blanket sandbox with which numerous filmmakers could explore both species as kin on a precipice of progress. Whether this is tackled by way of an action thriller, satire, or even quiet meditation, it often relies heavily on the complexity of human behavior on display. It's pretty easy to lose sight of this in all the sheen of rain-slicked streets, dirty hardware, and visions of a world turned garbage dump. It's plasticine that is open to new forms of examination. And what we largely have in Gabe Ibáñez's handsome but perpetually disoriented AUTOMATA, is a desert vision in a parched yearning for texture.

An ecological disaster of global proportion has spurred a desperate humanity into creating the Pilgrim 7000, servant robots initially tasked with the creation of a wall designed to protect what remains from an encroaching desert. Years later, their status from saviors has turned inward as dreams of a return to normalcy have given way to despair, hatred and a general distrust of the Pilgrims has steadily grown, with only two instilled protocols to protect them from harming living beings, and forbidding them to alter themselves. Insurance claims investigator, Jacq Vaucan(Antonio Banderas), is burnt out from his life dealing with the struggles of the beat when a Pilgrim is discovered executed by a local cop. Featuring not only smuggled contraband, but modified parts. Eager for a transfer out of the city, and a baby on the way, Vaucan seeks answers beyond the confines of the city's protective barriers, into grand slums that are often target practice for company guards ordered to shoot looters on sight. Bureaucrats on all sides beset against one another as the world reaches a tipping point.

Soon, as Vaucan's search leads him closer to who has been attempting to augment these machines, revelations about the possibility that humanity's grip on evolution has begun to slip. Whether his encounters include run ins with his boss, Robert Forster, bad cop, Dylan McDermott, and robot scientist, Melanie Griffith, Ibanez attempts to instill a personal warmth beyond his impending fatherhood that feels like a series of prefaces. An unusual solemnity is attempted as the film's muted palette and subdued soundtrack makes a plea for a sober atmosphere that is often eschewed for cacophonous action . But when it comes time to milk the drama for anything potent or enlightening, it recoils without anything clear to say. It's just a shame when a resourceful and lush looking attempt at such material finds itself so bereft of a central aim. Even as the script by (Ibáñez, Igor Legaretta Gomez & Javier Sanchez Donate) scrambles for callbacks and echoes of lyrics planted throughout, but all we get are stanzas in bereft of a core.

It's especially disappointing when we share an era of film so often reliant upon CG to articulate the mechanized characters, and here comes a work where the majority of robot scenes are done with effective on set puppetry. These robots may be slow moving, they may lack heavy articulation, but these are a breath of fresh air after years of often laughably fluid early generation mecha. And as characters with dialogue that is limited, not to mention with an often rusty, lumber to their step, it's a definite highlight. But again, despite the film's attempts to help us better empathize with them, the script leaves the film wanting, needing something desperately to counter all the inert human characters. An issue that ultimately leaves the entire affair pretty but ultimately empty.

A great portion of the film takes place deep in the scorching deserts where there seems to be no horizon, with our hero adrift with a group of sentient machines. This could very well be the best possible metaphor for Automata as a whole. We are in the company of some truly unique engineering and craft, but in service of a destination that seems to incessantly escape us. Like a proposal without a reply. It's a piece that for all its ambitious trappings, and potentially mature presentation, often feels borne out of a middling 1990s vehicle; staid, and saddled with a puzzled look on its face upon reaching the podium. The desert can be a great place to ponder, but without a proper guide, it can drive one to madness. Sadly, that probably would have made for a much better deal.

Jupiter Ascending (2014) Movie Thoughts

2015-02-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

Time can be your greatest antagonist. Just ask the villains of the Wachowskis massive space soap. Or better yet, bring it up to the filmmakers themselves who seem to have found themselves in a dungeon of their own creativity. It's hard to sum up just what happened here outside of overdosing on your own production Kool-Aid. But despite the incredible production on display in one of the most adventurous takes on filmed fantasy ever attempted, Jupiter Ascending faceplants due to an almost criminal lack of humanity. Upon first reports of delays (the film was initially set to be released July of last year), and occasional mumblings about reshoots and edits, concerns were undoubtedly arising. But to see what has happened, one can see plenty of blame to go around. Falling onto parties both the filmmakers and studio, who felt need to rein everything in, only to create a space epic that feels like space itself; vast, empty, and beautiful to look at. And despite it's thematic targets, the film ends up doubling back on its convictions, making for one of the more unfocused and awkward class struggle narratives to be unveiled in quite some time.

Born into a large russian family, and stuck cleaning toilets for often rich clients, Jupiter Jones bemoans her life and wishes to find her one true love. Meanwhile, a part-human, part canine spliced hunter known as Caine Wise is on Earth with orders to find and retrieve Jones. Unbeknownst to her, royalty flows through her veins as she is the reconstruct of a long lost matriarch of a powerful galactic corporation that is now split between three heirs. Siblings who are quietly squabbling over who gets dibs on earthbound humans as property/resource. Wise and Jones are now on the run from space bounty hunters, beasts, and all manner of alien being as the truth of her past self comes clear. Now with all that has been described, it could be easy to portray this as some contemporary fairy tale, complete with ability to reach out to younger audiences. And yet somehow, Lana & Andy Wachowski find themselves unable to find the connective tissue between premise, and their own predilections. It ends up being little more than a jumbled case of overindulgence. Especially funny as the film wants so badly to be seen as a treatise on objectivism, hegemonic entitlement, and mindless consumption.

And the trade-off here, is perhaps one of if not the most opulent examples of visualized space fantasy one is likely to ever see in a generation. Featuring some incredible starship imagery, over the top costume designs, not to mention alien species that harken to the best of Star Wars. True to the Wachowski brand, it also features some groundbreaking action, most notably with Caine Wise's "sky surfing" gravity boot work. There is an early action scene here on par with anything the pair has done since 1999, with a little Speed Racer in here for good measure. It even goes so far as to wander into Brazil territory at one point (complete with a Terry Gilliam cameo), where it indulges yet again. It's as up front about its wishes as a major production can possibly be. The problems here being that we also have a story and pressing themes that require a little love, which sadly go underserved.

The entire piece feels overcooked in the production, with the soul buried somewhere beneath all the flavor. It's only made stranger by an edit that screams compromise. Scenes build upon scenes that never happened. We're forced along as if producers saw the overindulgence, and aimed to squelch it anywhere they could. So we never get a full idea of who these characters are, and what they serve in the larger whole. It's a frustrating thing to be enveloped in such a rich, potential-laden fantasy world, unable to feel any way about it except for admiration at its ambition. Films like Dune, Legend, and Tron come to mind. Large scale productions that seem largely about indulging the impulses, but lack the ability to let us in and care about any of it.

Now taking the "destiny" angle, the element that for better or worse in the past, into more "feminine" territory could have made for an interesting new bent to an already familiar theme. While the trope worked to almost classic effect in The Matrix, Jupiter never aspires to be anything more than a Cinderella fairy tale without a heroine worth rooting for.When one really thinks it all through, this at its base feels like the seed of a lot of bad ideas which came as result. To assume that the old saw would connect to an audience weaned on old world ideas about dreaming about how the other half lives, feels not only half-thought, it also feels a little cheap. One might have to look back at older films where young girls were the untrodden territory. Where treading into almost stereotypical waters in hopes of connecting made for some uncomfortable lessons in reality. Have we learned nothing from the days of Supergirl, and the hamfisted need for the central character to need a man? Or better yet, a need to have the character fly over some ponies? There is something painfully wrong about assuming that the Cinderella seed could work well in an overwrought tale of characters eager to maintain profit in hopes of grasping eternal life. To make matters worse, this is a film where the so-called "destined one", never makes any real change from hapless housekeeper to a self-reliant leader. It never happens. And no, wielding a metal pipe over a villain is not a viable euphemism for power.

That's right; the biggest tragedy of the film is that we never get a full idea of who Jupiter Jones is. Outside of her flailing about, and quipping about going home, Kunis never even registers as a character. Without this simple throughline, we are merely host to all the weirdness surrounding her, unable to connect. It's bad enough that the Wachowskis often troublesome tendency for racial caricature wreaks havoc here albeit unintentionally(one would hope), but her situation never gathers enough grit to make the audience connect to her before all the madness begins. Her choices often ring false, and never seem to be of her own. In fact, she is rescued far more often than she ever takes any matters into her own hands. We never see the shift from victim to hero which is what tales like these are all about. And if this was meant to be a subversion of these tropes, it certainly does a lot to. In fact, by the finale it becomes more of a "both rich and poor are equally miserable" parable, which does nothing to challenge the status quo save for implying that it will be the immigrants of the world who will inherit. While there may be some nodding to such a notion, it feels far too slow, too late to even say it. A message far too dated to jibe with.

Of the people who do come out of this debacle unscathed, it is the always reliable Tatum as Caine, who makes for an interesting hero in a film where he needed to be counterbalanced. His almost feral sense of self and nobility makes him an inviting doorway to other parts of the film's worldbuilding. Also surviving by a thread, is the inimitable Sean Bean, who's Stinger has plenty of weariness to add gravitas. Again, a serious loss to the final film's compressed state. His circumstances are never followed up to any satisfying degree, leaving his performance to be a welcome but handicapped one. Both of their subplots make for a far more interesting story than the one they are saddled with, and that's an issue that never finds a way to ease off.

Hiding throughout the muddle we have here are musings about family, and the need to perpetuate expansion in the need for shared survival at the expense of life itself. The Abrasax siblings who are the film's puppet masters find themselves ranging from prime YA stock, to outright camp. Tuppence Middleton and Douglas Booth turn in what feel like a perfect facsimile for characters one would see in a Twilight or Hunger Games, while Eddie Redmayne's incredible performance as the psychotic Balem echoes Sting's Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. From droning whispers to a frightening yelp, this is characterization that could only make a mark in midnight movie screenings. It was as if he was in on the mess the filmmakers where creating, and was unwilling to play it any other way. All three make for the bulk of the film's actual agency being liars, schemers, and murderers, and yet they too are underserved as little more than mouthpieces for ideological dogma. When Middleton's Kalique asks for advice on the nature of trust, she is reminded to feel that humans only act in the service of rationalized self-interest. The philosophies of these characters are meant to be mirrored in the more selfish acts of Jones' family, asking to participate in a fertility clinic scheme. Ascending reaches for some understanding between haves and have-nots, but never feels less than forced.

What to make of all this? Again, the blame for this fracas can be laid at the feet of so many involved. And yet here it is, fully bankrolled and released for all to see. A classic example of what can happen when artists have too much, and find themselves drowning in the excess they pretend to decry. When Speed Racer happened, this was suspect, but at least we had the Racer family standing up as a relatable every family. When the heroes here find themselves bereft of any such vicarious metrics, all we get is a character being dragged from set piece to set piece, and us feeling more and more confused to the point of apathy. It's a real shame. This is gorgeous stuff. The last thing we should be feeling about such a buffet..is emptiness.