Am I alive? Are we still here? Is this version of reality suitable for small children? These questions and more await you in this edition of The Weekend in Review.Read More
This one was a real doozy, folks. A genuine three day weekend. The Holy Grail. This time because of a holiday called Memorial Day. Which, as I understand it, is like Veterans Day, only for dead people. It's a great opportunity for those among us who blindly support the military-industrial complex to stick a bunch of flags in things and to use a variety of hashtags to show they care about those poor souls who gave their lives to secure our freedom, which now manifests itself in the form of an overwhelming sense of existential dread. Smell that, son? That's freedom!Read More
If you're at all familiar with the recent The Fast and the Furious movies then the reason why I found myself remembering this game should be obvious. You'd know that any and all conflicts in the F&F world, no matter the scale, must be solved through vehicular combat. The rule is that if a problem can be solved simply with a conversation then the problem must be solved stupefyingly with a car. This is the exact principle underpinning the premiere James Bond video game of the year 2000. And I imagine it's why people love the F&F movies but have completely forgotten 007 Racing.Read More
"...Lucky then that there's magic in this film. Almost as if Jackman is summoning the dead, atoning for years of mediocre efforts on the parts of writers and directors who just didn't get it, righting wrongs before his character shuffles of his semi-immortal coil. His Logan is old, worn out, dead on arrival. But Jackman imbues his X-Man with hints of the man, the hero, the tired old samurai futilely wheeling around his disgraced master. It's hard to see anyone else doing this job. It's hard to look back, after nearly twenty years now gone, and see Tom Cruise playing the part, or Bob Hoskins, or Mel Gibson (although it's fun to imagine)..."Read More
I've been doing some freelance work for Paste Magazine, a really expansive pop culture site that has stuff on politics and comics and even wrestling (bizarre, I know).
Here's a link to my bio page on the site, which aggregates all the solo articles I've written. So far I've written about Moon Knight and Warren Ellis, two of my favorite conversation topics. I also interviewed Daniel Warren Johnson, which was an absolute blast.
And here are some of the "listicles" I've participated in:
A new comic about an entirely fictional group of people named the Drumpfs.Read More
Years ago, when I set out to make The Cycle, I thought it would be fun to do a series of "interludes." Each one would come at the end of a Cycle issue and flesh out the world by exploring background characters or historical events.
The Ring is the first of these in-between stories. It tells a tale of the band known as "Genetic Death." We catch a glimpse of these guys in the opening pages of The Cycle: Pax Romana, but they were too cool to leave alone. So I put them through the ringer. And they emerged stronger for it.
I will be publishing pages twice a week up until the end of January, at which point I will put up the next book in The Cycle. Here are a few sample pages.
An exhaustive list of every single thing I watched, read, played, and listened to in the year 2016.Read More
White people did this, you’re told. Racism. Classicism. Voter suppression. The FBI. The DNC. The KGB. Russia. The media. During the twelve hour period following the announcement of Trump’s victory, you never once hear the same permutation of explanations. The complexity of it is astonishing. It’s like Matt Damon trying to solve the equation on the chalkboard.Read More
I've written a new short story. It came out quite nice. It's about a woman and her dying parents and her boyfriend, whom she hates, and a lover whom she doesn't love. It's also about depression and New York City and corporations and real estate. Click here to read it or just head over to the prose section by clicking one of those fancy buttons at the top of the page. (Special thanks to Ben Moore for reading an earlier version and helping to get it into fighting shape.)
Here's a small piece just to wet your whistle:
Roma’s mother—hands clasped together, eyes closed—began to pray. She rocked back and forth rapidly from the waist up. "Inshallah, I shall be rescued from this madness by a merciful and just God."
“Abbu, who do you think is going to rescue us?” Roma said.
“I don’t know,” he said.
This was a good day, all things considered. Roma’s parents fought incessantly, usually accusing one another of conspiring with hospital staff to...exactly what, Roma could never quite understand. And as fate would have it, Myra and Arthur Khan’s quiet moments were never in sync, so one or both of them was always screaming. But at least today they were not throwing anything more lethal than rolled-up copies of People.
Small victories, Roma thought. Small victories.
Saw these lists making the rounds a few weeks ago and figured I would offer up my own Top 10 Films of the 21st Century. Of course, I could choose to disseminate my Top 1000 in chronological order, but I'm not into sadomasochism at the moment (though things, as always, can change).
I tried to force them into some kind of of order, but eventually came to the conclusion that ranking these fine films would be reductive and would serve no purpose, unless you're one of those people that require arbitrarily judged artworks to be stacked on top of one another. So here they are, in no discernible organization whatsoever:
American Psycho (2001)
"There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there."
Let me speak on this film by first mentioning another: I first saw David Fincher's Fight Club when I was 14 or 15 and I enjoyed it in a purely superficial way. I had no real clue as to what the movie (or the book, which I read later) was trying to say about the dangers of unchecked masculinity or the societally-deadening impact of rampant commercialism. At the time it rather appealed to my wholly uninformed teenage anarchism, and for years I continued to appreciate it simply on those terms. It wasn't until much later that I found out you weren't supposed to like Tyler Durden. But he was my favorite character! No, you were supposed to root for the Narrator, right?
Surely, what Durden says to the Narrator, once he's revealed himself to be a function of the Narrator's psyche, must also be for the viewer: "All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not." And if that is the case, and you're still supposed to want the Narrator to stop Project Mayhem, then is it not a failure on the part of the filmmakers for making Durden so likable? And I kind of like Durden's plan! (So did the guy who came up with Mr. Robot!)
So that's why American Pyscho, which tackles a great many of the same themes and also has a slick nutjob as its protagonist, is the better film, and one of my favorites of all time. You don't have the choice between liking Patrick Bateman and someone else. All you have is Bateman and his viewpoint. And director/screenwriter Mary Harron is quite skilled at providing you with very killable "enemies" for Bateman to dispose of. In this movie, unlike Fight Club, Jared Leto deserved what he got. And what he got was an axe to the face.
Points awarded to this film for serving as the proving ground for Bale's Bruce Wayne. Of all the men to play Batman on the big screen, Bale has been the most convincing as Rich Douchebag Batman, which coincidentally was also my favorite Batman action figure from the 90s, right after Volcano Exploration Batman. (And sue me, I like the growl.)
Royal Tenenbaums (2001)
"Well, everyone knows Custer died at Little Bighorn. What this book presupposes is... maybe he didn't."
I was in eighth grade when this film was released. And I have no idea why my parents thought to take me, along with my siblings, who are all younger than I, to see it. I don't think they were huge Wes Anderson fans--maybe they thought that Tenenbaums was some sort of wholesome family film, but the truth is, they did not make a Wes Anderson fan out of me that day. I hated this movie so much that I can still remember the car ride home, thinking to myself that my parents had done me a great disservice. They usually had steered me in the right direction...
I thought the film was boring, that everyone delivered their lines in a uniformly monotonous and wholly unenjoyable way, and that the film was overwhelingly depressing. You're not really in the market for that kind of thing as an eighth grader.
I revisited Tenenbaums years later and can now confirm that I love it deeply and truly. It warms my cold heart to watch Gene Hackman's Royal Tenenbaum attempt to cheat his way back into the family he so thoughtlessly ignored for his entire life, and then realize in the process that he actually quite enjoyed being a Tenenbaum after all. Major points awarded to career-high performances from basically everyone, especially Stiller, Owen Wilson (who co-wrote), his brother Luke Wilson, and Gwyneth Paltrow (who seems like a demon in real life).
Casino Royale (2006)
M: I would ask you if you could remain emotionally detached, but that's not your problem, is it, Bond?
James Bond: No.
(This is the best James Bond movie ever made. Feel free to @ me.)
Before Daniel Craig was my favorite 007, Timothy Dalton held that honor. And I believe both actors fulfill the promise of Fleming's character: A blunt human-shaped instrument whose desires/inclinations/career goals/love of Queen & Country just so happen to align with MI6's mission. But Craig reaches "Platonic Ideal" levels in his performance. Strip the gadgets and the gags and the cheese and all you are left with is the man. And Daniel Craig is The Man.
Of course, it's all downhill after Quantum of Solace, I'm afraid. Skyfall missed the point of the reboot entirely and, Spectre, God in heaven, is an insult to Bond fans and casual moviegoers alike. Not only does it miss the point, but it attempts to tie a narrative bow around the the whole Craig saga, which is a laughable and offensive endeavor. Furthermore, Sam Mendes has now spent two bloated, pretty-looking films in presenting the viewer with a refutation of the 00-program, only to prove that, no, James Bond is still a necessary figure in statecraft come credit-roll.
Side note: I do find the last few years' worth of chatter about the "problematic" nature of the character to be problematic in its own way. This collective notion that Bond's [chauvinism/sexual aggression/carelessness with women] is an issue for the future of the franchise presupposes that fictional characters need to comport themselves according to the views of the audience and that, I think, is the antithesis of any kind of art. It is okay for you to watch bad men do bad things on the big screen. Also, death to the "Code Name" fan theory.
Lost In Translation (2003)
"Let's never come here again because it would never be as much fun."
Most other movies with Americans stuck in foreign countries would have a very different third act. The protagonist would discover that human beings, wherever we are in the world, are fundamentally the same, only with very minor differences between us. The would realize that the place they've found themselves in is actually quite lovely, the people there interesting and varied, and the views this person had when they arrived ("This place sucks. I want to go home.") would seem like the views of another, less enlightened person entirely. Because they've grown, man.
Lost in Translation doesn't work like that. It's a movie with a true outsider's perspective and that perspective remains intact all the way through to the final moments of the film. You may not appreciate that. It may even strike you as mildly offensive. But, Jesus, it's refreshing.
Music is top-notch. Scarlett Johansson and Billy Murray (his second appearance on this list) mine some seriously unexpected chemistry. Direction and cinematography are superb. I can't ask for much more.
Midnight In Paris (2011)
Ernest Hemingway: Have you ever made love to a truly great woman?
Gil: Actually, my fiancé is pretty sexy.
Ernest Hemingway: And when you make love to her you feel true and beautiful passion. And you for at least that moment lose your fear of death.
Gil: No, that doesn't happen.
Forgive my comic book leanings, but this movie, to me, is essentially Woody Allen's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. To see and hear Hemingway, Dalí, and Fitzgerald --these paragons of high-art-- interacting with each other, along with Allen's proxy Gil Pender, in a way that a philistine such as myself can appreciate, well, that has to be a good thing, right? Most people are more concerned with Kim Kardashian's ass nowadays then they are with the works of a surrealist nutjob and one of the last "manly man" writers, so anything that can get a person excited about this kind of material deserves all the accolades we can heap upon it.
You don't like Woody Allen? Okay, fine. I get it. But the man's still got it! Show me another writer who can ape the styles of so many different artists in one sitting. Show me another director who hones in on a city and then squeezes it for all its worth the way Allen does. Show me another humorist who jumps as deftly from romance to comedy in a movie (from 2012) about Picasso and Man Ray and Gertrude Stein all just sitting around drinking wine.
Also, worth noting: This is Owen Wilson's second appearance on this list.
Driver: I don't have wheels on my car.
Irene: [laughing] Okay.
Driver: It's one thing you should know about me.
Is Ryan Gosling a leading man? Some seem to believe that he functions better in ensemble casts, where he can better utilize his comedic talents (which are considerable, see Nice Guys). Some believe that he plays against his inclinations and abilities when he takes on roles as "the Heavy" in films such as Drive or Place Beyond the Pines.
Is Ryan Gosling a leading man? Is there an afterlife? Is man good? I don't know! I don't have time for these discussions. I'd rather be watching Ryan Gosling movies (Blade Runner 2, I'm looking at you, baby).
And, I believe that Gosling is uniquely qualified for these roles. Here is a man who got his start as a Disney Cadet, or whatever the hell they're called. If you saw him approaching you in a dark alley, you might find him out of place, but you wouldn't assume there was a lethal creature lurking behind his eyes. But there is. We know this now. There is a quiet, simmering rage to the Driver. And Gosling imbues the character with a volatility most modern pretty-boy actors cannot muster. Watching the Driver attempt to have something of a normal relationship, while also dealing with the poking and prodding of his criminal adversaries, is an exercise in the classic "should've left well enough alone" mode. It doesn't end well. But these things never do.
Also, this movie gets extra points for fantastic ultra-violence synced to a near perfect soundtrack and score. Director Nicolas Winding Refn, who now seems to be in a trolling-the-audience holding pattern, is a master of this form.
Django Unchained (2012)
Big Daddy: Uh, what's the name of that peckerwood boy from town that works with the glass? His momma work at the lumberyard...
Big Daddy's Mammy: Oh, you mean Jerry?
Big Daddy: That's the boy's name, Jerry!
Big Daddy: You know Jerry, don't ya, sugar?
Betina: Yes, Big Daddy.
Big Daddy: Well, that's it then! Just treat him like you would Jerry!
Allow me to elucidate in reverse:
My second favorite thing about Django Unchained is that Will Smith didn't take the lead role in this film because he thought it wasn't big enough for him. (Although he has since amended the reason for rejecting this titular role: He wanted to make a movie about "love," not "vengeance.") Chart this man's career from that moment. Use pen and paper if you have to. Here he is at the top as an A-List blockbuster-er and there he is at the bottom as the sort-of-lead in an ensemble picture about DC Comics' C-Listers. It's a powerful and humbling decline. (I quite liked him in Suicide Squad though.)
My first favorite thing about Django Unchained is that Jamie Foxx did the right thing and made a movie about vengeance and love and a dozen other things. (Favorite line delivery of 2012: "Better listen to your boss, whiteboy.")
Points awarded to this film for being one of two films where I think Leonardo DiCaprio doesn't suck (the other is Wolf of Wall Street). The key to a believable DiCaprio character is to have him play someone unlikeable and gross, because that's what he is in real life.
28 Days Later (2002)
Jim: So, know what I was thinking?
Selena: You were thinking that you'll never hear another piece of original music ever again. You'll never read another book that hasn't already been written... or see a film that hasn't already been shot.
Jim: Um, that's what you were thinking.
Horror is my least favorite genre. I don't find anything intrinsically wrong with it, but it seems to me that a lot of the films that come from that world are low on character and story and imagination. A lot of style, not a lot of substance. I also think jump scares are the cinematic equivalent of a hand job in a parked car. You will technically achieve something by the end of it, but it is achieved only through a cheap, cruel exercise in laziness.
And the hallmarks of the genre (most of the people in the movie needing to die being chief among them) encourages the creation of loosely sketched, one dimensional characters--I'm usually rooting for the bad guy to kill the stupid, sex-crazed teenagers. (Maybe the problem is with me. Who knows?)
Yes, you've got your Halloween and The Thing and Alien, but these are really more the exception rather than the norm. These films, like 28 Days Later, were crafted by auteurs who have found great success across many genres and subjects. I would add Danny Boyle to this Pantheon, a pantheon that includes the likes of Ridley Scott and John Carpenter. The man can direct anything. Even his bad movies are worth watching.
It is because of Boyle's skill as a director and his ability to craft interesting characters in shitty situations that 28 Days Later feels more like a character-based thriller with genre tendencies. It's got the ridiculous science fiction set-up and zombies (who can run--that was huge for me in 2003) for sure. But following Cillian Murphy's Jim, watching him come to grips with reality, seeing him try to make sense of a now senseless world, finding family and purpose and heroism despite the unyielding need for militant survivalism-- that's the power of the film. And it's scary because you absolutely do not want to see Jim and Selena and Hannah get hurt.
Ocean's 11 (2001)
Rusty: You scared?
Linus: You suicidal?
Rusty: Only in the morning.
Remakes suck. They suck real bad. They remade Robocop. It sucked. They remade Total Recall. It sucked. They even remade Point Break for some strange reason. It sucked real, real bad.
There are a few remakes that don't suck. These are some of them: The Fly, The Thing, Cape Fear, and The Magnificent Seven.
Ocean's 11 is also a remake that doesn't suck. It's actually quite wonderful.
It's hard to not like a movie with a cast like this. It's called Ocean's 11, sure, but it might as well be called "Charisma Overdrive." It's funny, it's got great dialogue, and it's loaded with awesome performances, from actors who are now all too expensive to appear in the same film. And Steven Soderbergh brings back those old school camera zooms the way Dan Slott brought back the thought bubble.
Extra points for the Claire De Lune scene which is as moving a sequence as we can hope for in this twisted world.
Fury Road (2015)
"By my deeds I honour him, V8."
There are certain directors who lose their abilities as they age, just as certain doctors, plumbers, or used car salesmen lose their skills as they move into their twilight years. Tarantino has said he'll only make another two movies in an effort to avoid this segment of an artist's career, where it's all downhill. I understand that. You don't want to go out on a low note.
But certain artists don't lose shit. Moebius was as good an artist at 70 as he was at 40-- the man was drawing right up until his death. Spielberg and Scorcese are still killing it-- Bridge of Spies and Wolf of Wall Street are late-period masterpieces. Jay Z is 45 for Christ's sake, that's like 100 in rapper years, and the dude still doesn't write down his lyrics before he spits his rhymes.
And then there's George Miller at 70 years young showing everyone half his age what it takes to create a masterpiece with his opus Mad Max: Fury Road. This movie has more energy, more beauty, and more fucking sand than any other movie that came out in 2015. Not only that, Miller finally put the "Mad" in "Mad Max," with a grunting, twitching Tom Hardy in the lead role.
And so, it is at the altar of the Miller, that we live, and die, and live again, riding chrome death machines, historic on the Fury Road.
"It was a fast year, a good year. You learned about one another in the way that only people who sleep together can. You spoke in the quiet of night, in the moments before unconsciousness; you spoke about your dreams of becoming something more than what you already were, she of her desire to become a "capitalist pig" (her words, not yours). She wanted money and recognition and comfort, and she was content in knowing that soon she would have it. She spoke of her mother and father, who both lay dying somewhere in the same hospital in a faraway state. You got the impression that she thought she might be able to save them if the timing and money were right.
You told her the tales of your youth, the comedic adventures of an anarchic punk with too much time on his hands. These were the stories you had used in the past to disarm female conquests, but here the telling was different: it was you bearing the inner-workings of the neurological machine sometimes called a "soul." You had made the incision, you had torn it open, and you had spilled your guts.
But things are not all meant to last."
-- an excerpt from my new short story, English Muffins Are For Closers, which can be read in its entirety here or by clicking the "Prose" button above
I didn't seen as many films in 2015 as I should have, which is why my New Year's Resolution is to see more films in 2016. But I was fortunate enough to see most of the films that I wanted to see during 2015. Here are ten of my favorites, in (sort-of) reverse order:
The old king is dead, long live the new King. Rest in peace, Apollo Creed.
I love all of the Rocky movies. My favorite Rocky movie is Rocky 2. This movie is basically Rocky 7. It’s not as good as Rocky 2, but it’s better than Rocky 3, 4, and 5. It’s definitely as good as Rocky Balboa (6), but probably slightly “worse” than Rocky 1. Michael B. Jordan is really good. And Sylvester Stallone gives an all-time performance.
A funny, kindhearted survival story about a well funded American space program that cooperates with China? Please sir, may I have another? This is Ridley Scott in full-blown mercenary director mode and it works like a charm. What I've said all along is this: Scott isn't a particularly adept storyteller without a good, clear narrative to work with (and yes, I know I’m not the first to say it). But here, working off Drew Godard's adaptation of Andy Weir's novel (still unread by your's truly), he's got what he needs to get the job done. Was this the palette cleanser for those who choked on and spat out the insanity that was Prometheus? I hope so. Let's go back to when Scott was one of the best in the biz.
Apple Cultists scare me, but their prophet Steve Jobs--blessed be his name, amen--scares me more. As much as I would have loved to see Christian Bale's take on this rich asshole genius, we've already drunk from that cup a few times. Fassbender is electric here, and somehow manages to imbue Steve Jobs the Movie Character with a spark of humanity, despite his utter failings as a member of the human race. Steve Jobs wasn't an inventor, he was an artist who painted with MP3 players and tablet computers, and he was paid handsomely for it, both with stock options and the blind adoration of millions of people who are now addicted to slave-made consumer products. This movie shows us why that's a bad thing, despite its unearned "happy" ending.
Straight Outta Compton
As a Jewish teenager growing up on Long Island, I, of course, pretended to enjoy my fair share of hip-hop. Now that I'm older and hang out with slightly fewer Hebrews, I'm okay admitting that I don't love rap. But I do understand that NWA's power came from more than just their songs, even though I think "I Ain't Tha 1" is a work of lyrical genius. It was the persona that each NWA member crafted for himself that gave people something to tap into, and those personas are on display with ferocity in this film, especially those belonging to Ice Cube, Easy-E, and Dr. Dre. The performances in Straight Outta Compton took me by complete surprise, and I look forward to seeing what these talented actors show up in next.
This was easily the most disturbing film I saw this year. When you consider the pacing of this film—the “action” doesn’t really start until you reach the final half hour—and that the majority of the narrative involves a group of men walking through the desert chit chatting, Bone Tomahawk becomes even more impressive. The violence visited upon the characters in this movie is at times surreal, but somehow always nauseatingly realistic; it functions like an exclamation point on a very well written back and forth between disparate personalities at a dinner party. The film’s antagonists, a group of mutated Native Americans called “Troglodytes,” appear from off-screen like ghosts, and unceremoniously attack their prey with unmatched brutality. I screamed like a little baby boy and had to turn my head from the screen more than once.
The End of the Tour
Three of the movies on my list are, at their cores, long conversations between characters (with two of them being punctuated with primo ultra-violence). This is one of those films. As an adult, I’ve avoided and feared Infinite Jest, as one might, but I’ve had a nagging interest in David Foster Wallace: the Man. I’ve read some of his essays and thought them quite good, but I just don’t think I’ll ever have it in me to spend 1,100 pages delving into the convergence of tennis and addiction. Plus, I find footnotes disdainful. But Wallace seems like an interesting man, and The End of the Tour, creative liberties aside, highlights the reason why. A deeply conflicted, action-movie-loving genius, Wallace hungered to be both famous and obscure simultaneously. That’s a pathology I can’t wrap my head around, but it’s great to see Jason Segel try it on for size. I’m not familiar with director James Ponsoldt’s work, but I’ll be keeping my eye on him.
The Hateful 8
Clue for people who don’t care about Clue. John Carpenter’s The Thing in the Old West. Call it whatever you want to call it. This is Tarantino stripped down to his most basic, yet most powerful elements. It’s a goddamn masterpiece.
I think some critics and moviegoers alike have a hard time with Tarantino as a human being. I know at least one person who is now boycotting his films because of his “anti-cop” attitude. Some people take umbrage with the casual use of the word “nigger” in his films. It’s strange, but indicative of an increasingly simplistic appreciation of film nowadays: filmgoers are coming into these movies politically pre-conditioned, ready to tear the thing to shreds if it doesn’t meet their internet-PhD criteria or their blue-collar American exceptionalism.
Look, I’m not saying that the people who talk during movies or tap away on their cellphones in the midst of a crucial sequence are right-wingers, but I am saying that I wouldn’t be surprised if the correlation between Fox News fans and people who don't appreciate film was pronounced.
Mission Impossible: 5
This movie is the manifestation of destiny.
Christopher McQuarrie is the kind of action director we need, but not the one we deserve right now. There's an art to the shootout, the car chase, and the fistfight that certain filmmakers simply don't know how to capture and express. But McQuarrie knows how to shoot that type of movie magic, and he's working with Hollywood's greatest special effect in this one: Mr. Tom Cruise, disciple of Xenu and SP shattering extraordinaire. Historically, MI films have taken on a new director with each subsequent entry, but I’m okay with the guy who gave us Mission Impossible 5 mainlining the secret truth of the universe directly into our collective brainstem for a second time.
Star Wars: The Force Awakens
The problems of the Prequel Trilogy are myriad. This is known. But one of the biggest issues with Episodes 1-3 is that they're Star Wars films with a lot of the pulp strained out. They aren't "Star Wars-y" enough; they don't contain that essential element, a cinematic fluid that is defined by the mixture of expansive world-building and hokey doodle-in-the-margins-of-your-childhood-notebook wizardry. J.J. Abrams (whom I was very disappointed in after that In2 Darkness debacle) brought the juice back. Yes, yes, it’s a remix of A New Hope and Empire Strikes Back, but after having my innards ripped out by the rotten apple that was late-period George Lucas, I was in no position to turn away fresh fruit.
If I were forced to pick a favorite new character, I must admit that Adam Driver steals the show as new baddy and Darth Vader fanboy Kylo Ren.
Mad Max: Fury Road
At first I was more than a little disappointed to see the immense cloud of chatter surrounding Fury Road devolve into a single live-or-die-by-it political utility for either the Feminist Cause or the Men’s Rights Activists, but I have now arrived in Valhalla, shiny and chrome. Multiple viewings of this masterwork will produce that effect, so if you’re still unsure, go ahead, have another helping.
As a person who unabashedly awaits for the return of the Mel Gibson, it’s hard not to acknowledge that his trio of Mad Max performances lack a certain…madness. Tom Hardy has no such problem. He spends the first half of this film grunting like a rabid dog, scratching at himself, and gnawing at the unconscious form of Nicholas Hoult.
And for all of those people who claimed there wasn’t enough meat on Mad Max’s bone, I have only one thing to say to you: MEDIOCRE!
Two Movies I Absolutely Refused To Watch on Sheer Principle: Jurassic World and Terminator Vaginasys
In 2013 I had my childhood murdered right in front of me when I was DP’ed by Star Trek: In2 Blah-Ness and Man of Steel during one very long summer of unfiltered cinematic barbarism. These were two movies created by people who fundamentally misunderstood the tenets of the mythologies they had inherited, and these mythologies happened to be the two I cherished the most.
After that, there are a few other tales that defined my childhood and gave me the sensibilities I bring to every film I watch now. Jurassic Park and Terminator (and to a certain extent Terminator 2) are two of my favorite movies of all time. So factoring in the trauma of watching The S Stands for Suck and Scarf Fest: Into Ass-Ness, and the PTSD that followed, I determined to never voluntarily submit myself to Cretacious World and Termagenysis: This Time It's Terminal, unless there was a way to actively hurt the filmmakers involved. As of this writing, I have yet to figure out a way to enact my fiery vengeance.
But I shall wait...
Most critics have agreed that The Assassin, Hsiao-Hsien Hou's take on an 8th century Tang Dynasty feudal dispute/kissing cousins romance, is both beautiful and enigmatic. And the critics and I are in wholehearted agreement on the former; The Assassin is a painting of feudal China come to life--scored with vibrant color and pastoral charm.
But the only enigma surrounding this film's existence, is how the filmmaker stayed awake long enough to make it. Scratch that. There's another big mystery. One that hits you about thirty minutes in, then sixty, then ninety...
And if you manage to get to the end of this hour and forty five minute slog through a history lesson, it's a mystery that will have you gritting your teeth just trying to figure out what the hell you just watched.
Who are any of these characters and what are they doing? Scenes begin and end with almost no context or connective tissue to other sections of the film and the plot is resolved when our protagonist, the assassin Yinniang, walks off into the sunset with two characters I simply could not recognize. In the middle of one baffling sequence, the camera cuts to a woman dressed like a Chinese superhero in the middle of a remote woodland area, stays with her for five or ten seconds and then moves on, without any sort of indication as to who she is or why she's important. When we catch up with this woman again, it's during a fight with Yinniang, a fight that occurs--you guessed it--without cause and without consequence. As a matter of fact, the fight stops mid-knife slice and the two characters walk off in opposite directions.
The boredom and confusion wouldn't be so bad if Hou devoted any time or effort to make the action sequences interesting or thrilling. Instead, they just come and go without rhyme or reason, most of the time not lasting more than a minute.
"Painting come to life" sounds nicer than it is now that I think about it. The Assassin is more like your grandfather's special set of limited edition stamps, depicting scenes from China thirteen hundred years ago, viewed from the inside of a very slow moving theme park graviton. Step off as soon as you can, the thing is never gonna spin faster.
We need more rich liberals who give a shit, ones that will vote with their wallets and their hearts.Read More