Tagged: Movies
“Decide”, A Review of Mothers’ Instinct by Benoit Delhomme
If you’ve somehow hesitated on this one, rest assured that it is worth watching. It isn’t perfect. But compared to all the other trash that is being proffered as “movies” these days, it is a return to the classic definition. (You don’t even want to know what my co-workers were about to watch when I came to the rescue.)
The tone was perfectly subdued, precisely unpronounced. No one holds your hand and points out what to notice. You either get it (and are disturbed in the titillating manner you found appealing) or you probably are bored and never really wanted to watch it.
As far as the leading ladies, Hathaway performs her role better than Chastain. But she also has the easier task.
The best part of the film is how the immediate fallout from the boy’s death is so natural. By way of comparison, consider the tragic mid-air. People’s reactions have centered on personal responsibility (pilot error) vs. systemic failure (FAA/ATC). And that debate is crazy to me. It’s actually why I choose to fly. I have ultimate authority for the safety of the flight. Not many jobs offer that.
As a recap, the helicopter pilot said, “Traffic in sight.” And then we all learned that he did not have the traffic in sight.
In this movie, the tragic death is more purely accidental. The trick, or hinge, to it is that one mother happened to see it coming but couldn’t get there in time, and the other mother should have been watching. But, different than the pilot, the boy never said, “I know I might die if I am wrong, but I am not wrong.”
I say all this to bring to the forefront that the post-tragedy questions “how to respond” and “how to interpret with and deal with others’ responses” are totally distinct from the mid-air’s “how to prevent this from ever happening again” question.
Moreover, the truly fascinating aspect of the plot is how powerfully the story debunks utopian notions of how good life could become if only. Life is great, people. But death is a part of life.
Death is a part of life. You don’t want life to be worse because of death. So talk about it. Think about it. Prepare for it. As a topic, death should be no different than meals or clothes or relationships.
Ultimately, I want to say this. If you feel death approaching, say, at the hands of an unstable woman, flee! It’s best not to hesitate on that one.
Pumbaa’s Error
“Oh. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away.”
How does Disney create the idea that Simba’s animism (the stars are spirits of the dead) is the right astronomical view?
Timon and Pumbaa laugh his notion off, and yet every movie watcher walks out of the theater happy that Simba believed his dad and the subsequent delusional interpretation of one bright night’s dynamic weather.
It all starts with Pumbaa’s error.
Imagine with me if the writer had an ounce of astronomy training.
****
Pumbaa: Hey, Timon, ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?
Timon: Pumbaa, I don’t wonder; I know.
Pumbaa: Oh. What are they?
Timon: They’re fireflies. Fireflies that, uh… got stuck up on that big bluish-black thing.
Pumbaa: Oh, gee. I always thought, when their light was analyzed with prisms, they were determined to be ever-changing balls of the very same elements that make up our world, acting, in fact, under the same forces and for the same reasons which carry both the sound of my voice to you but not much farther and the heat of this desert sand to our feet but not up our legs—but were like really far away and surrounded by LOTS of empty space.
****
Can you even imagine the ludicrous family tradition of past kings looking down following such a silly guess by the warthog?
No, no you cannot.
It’s not merely a killjoy, either. Plenty of ways to make the movie still work. Mufasa can talk about how his tribe had overcome great difficulties and that it took ridding themselves of envy and sabotage—and learning from whoever had something obviously better to contribute. And then Simba can simply remember this confirmable truth after a rebellious and disastrous few years of life with the poor—I mean—the wild animals.
It’s Like Movie Stars Complaining About Discrimination
As I keep reading essays and books essentially on “the definition of science”, I can’t help asking, “Where does the conflict with religion come in?” I can readily admit that I feel the conflict, but after spending any time in contemplation on the supposed conflict, I resolve everything to, “It’s comparing apples and oranges”. The only conflict is between bad religion and bad science. The real deal of either each stands alone and never the twain shall meet.
This new thought (in the post’s title ⤴️) about the conflict occurred to me just now.
So let me get this straight. The authors of all the mainstream science textbooks that are endlessly promoted and in use (or their conclusions are—which is the same) by all major educational institutions, these authors uniformly decry religion as, in general, something that holds humans back. Or that it stunts the development of knowledge and civilization etc.
Yeah. Okay. I believe you. Just like I believe the claims of millionaire celebrities that they’re victims of discrimination.
Gimme a break.
“Comedy in the Old Sense”, A Review of Joker: Folie à Deux, Directed by Todd Phillips
Everyone knows what a tragedy is. The word has kept its meaning through the years. The meaning of comedy, however, has not held constant. In a sense, this change is no different from how the concept of heat as substance was discarded in favor of heat as motion upon experimental data which confirmed there was a difference between temperature (strength) and heat (quantity).
Anyone know in what sense comedy was used in the past, say for such a work as Dante’s Divine Comedy? That’s right, “a happy ending.” That story has a happy ending. (Spoiler: It ends in Heaven.)
That is the sense that I mean when I chose to title this review, “Comedy in the Old Sense.” I do not mean that the film is funny.
As a family man, I do not get to the movie theater much these days, so I had to wait, like the rest of you, to watch the movie on a streaming service (co-worker’s account). So I was more than well-versed in the terrible reception of the highly anticipated film. While I would like to believe my critical eye is objective, I offer some backstory to the tardy review because I cannot deny that I came into the movie with a different mindset and much lower expectations than the World before me. Truth be told, by the time I watched it, I needed to prove everyone wrong. I needed to see the genius.
And so here it is.
The movie, unlike its predecessor, is pure comedy. As no one wanted to see that, because no one expected that, everyone missed it. Regardless of its initial reception, like the Divine Comedy, literally for the exact same reasons, I offer that this comedic work is an instant classic and will stand the test of time even more-so than Joker. Because we do like our happy endings.
Time for a proper [SPOILER ALERT]. (But I’d keep reading because the movie is better when not a mystery.)
Joker is the bad guy. And the bad guy dies.
That’s right. Good guys win; bad guys lose. That’s a happy ending, right? Well, the final scene in Joker is that a fanboy fellow asylum-mate unexpectedly (perhaps only to Arthur Fleck) kills Arthur.
Get it? From this old perspective, the first movie is a tragedy, because Joker, while arrested, clearly wins. But in the sequel, the continuation of the story, he dies. The bad guy loses—which is what happy endings require. So it’s a comedy.
If the film misses any mark, it is that the “good guy” remains nebulous. Is it Batman (meaning merely our awareness of the character since he is not in the film)? Is it rule of law in general? A jury trial in particular? Is it truth-telling in the face of fear? Is it truth in general? We aren’t really told, so it’s anyone’s guess.
That’s the broad strokes. But I want to hit some minutia for posterity’s sake.
Hollywood is messing up on casting right now (GLADIIATOR being the other major instance). Certain actors are too talented for small roles. In Joker: Folie à Deux, the problem is Gleeson. His character was fairly important to the story, but his past credits are too distinguished. The polish he brought resulted in him standing out like a sore thumb. It was all tease, no climax. Let’s not do that again.
In America’s on-going battle of the blondes, Hollywood thinks Margot Robbie could only be topped by Lady Gaga. (This isn’t criticism, just acknowledging who’s hot and who’s not—according to our betters.) This is interesting. Gaga did a perfectly fine job in the film. We probably can just admit she did a perfect job. But I’d say she risked more than she needed to on this role—even as she should be flattered beyond belief.
I recently watched Alien: Romulus as well. I am not sure why I didn’t review it—it is good. But I am very sure that the first time I saw the xenomorph appear I thought, “Man. That is so beautiful. Probably the best looking bad guy ever.” Update: after watching Joaquin Phoenix with the makeup on and hair green and charisma maxed out, I’d say it’s a tie. Joker is just beautiful. I’m telling you, keep an eye on how this movie is received down the years. We like beauty, as a species.
Let’s end on a philosophical note.
In the film Red Belt, the martial art’s instructor goes through a list of, “If you stand here, can I strike you? If you stand here, can I strike you?” Etc. This continues, of course, until he positions his student outside of striking distance and concludes, “So don’t stand here (anywhere close).”
Joker is killed by the nicest-to-him inmate (not Batman or the police or the law), precisely when/because his guard is down. I just can’t help but wonder, “WTF, over?”
Why do we hurt each other?
It Makes Me Want to Teach
[SPOILER] Good sermons make me want to preach, and good movies make me want to teach.
Gladiator II is good. As I said yesterday, it isn’t that good, but it is good. Here are some areas it missed the mark and which hold it back from ever becoming a “classic”. The areas are remarkable because they are so easy to identify. (High notes will be listed at the end.)
- You must know what your movie is about. Gladiator was not about Rome or Maximus’ wishes for Rome. Gladiator was about the penultimate gladiator—Maximus. (Insert infamous “husband to a…” quote.)
- Never, never, never, never believe you can fool an audience. We’re just too smart. No red-blooded American believes you should give up. Ever. Never give up. The idea that it is noble to peacefully and without resistance enter the after-life is un-American. Do not try to show how it contains value of some sort. “Rage, rage!”
- I saw a clip where Ridley Scott answered a question with, “I just know.” The question was about the leading man. This was way too arrogant. Hollywood and entertainment is far more complex than that. Sure, the leading man—unremarkable as he was and will prove to be—was definitely not a let down. But the whole movie wasn’t as good as it could have been and this is obviously because it rested on “I can’t make a bad movie” reasoning, instead of a good story and good storytelling. We’re not paying to see Ridley Scott. We’re paying to see a good story told well.
- While the movie wasn’t “woke”, it could’ve entered the always available ranks of “timeless” by avoiding some obviously “woke” ideology. Again, this did not have to be the case. Specifically the movie had way too many irrelevant BIPOC characters (and close-ups) that contributed nothing but shades of brown to the screen. To repeat: in great movies everything in the movie must have a purpose and that purpose is to tell the story. In Gladiator, the Black and German slaves were there to make us like Maximus even more. It wasn’t about DEI. It was about Maximus—the gladiator. This leads to the next point.
- We never cared about Lucius. This is because we were forbidden to by the first Gladiator. He had been introduced to us as little more than a spoiled rich kid. I think it would have been possible to care about him if we were shown how. I’m thinking that the story would have had to include some highly skilled and discerning followers or servants of young Lucius accompany him to wherever he goes to hide and resent him for their having to give up court life etc. Then over time they come to respect him and are willing to die for him etc. But there are a lot of difficulties with that concept too, so I’d have to give it more thought. The point is we absolutely cared about Maximus every single second of the film. Seriously, what wasn’t or isn’t there to like?
- The villain was too diffuse. Great movies have one villain and he or she or it is identifiable immediately. Surprises work for thrillers, but Gladiator II did not aim to be a thriller. “Temet Nosce” (know thyself).
- Just like life-making love-making, there can only be one climax in a movie. What is weird about this movie is that it has events which in and of themselves didn’t have to be “climaxes”, but were shot/told/scored as if they were the climax. So you feel spent only to now be disappointed that there was more action coming. Again, it’s a simple mistake that hurt the project.
- The final area I want to mention is something which probably has an industry term—I just don’t know it. It’s best exemplified by Expendables 3. There were all these individual scenes dedicated to each action hero on the squad. But the scenes had no “tie that binds.” Gladiator II similarly introduced many characters with scenes that were well-acted and almost interesting, but their presence diminished the movie, instead of augmenting it. Bluntly, by contrast, I cannot think of a character or scene in Gladiator that didn’t make me like Maximus more than I previously did. Characters offered contrast to Maximus, and scenes fulfilled the role that time does in increasing our desire to see new love, in this case Maximus, again. Gladiator II’s non-Lucius scenes merely confused me while creating an atmosphere wherein I did not want to give myself completely to what I thought the story was. And all this because, say it with me, the director didn’t know what the story was.
To conclude, and to balance, here are the obvious positives.
The opening scenes and battle are evidence of Scott’s greatness. Does anyone do epic better? No. He is without peer. They are masterful. He is the master.
No scene taken by itself is low quality—more evidence of greatness.
The acting is top tier.
And despite it being CGI, the CGI is almost transparent. Pointedly—it is probably the best CGI to date. Good job.
No Helmet, A Review of Gladiator II
The refrain, “This is good,” repeatedly sounded in my head for about the first third. And the movie is good. But it isn’t great and it misses for some questionable reasons.
Most importantly, there was no helmet.
Secondly, as in the first film, there is a use of “paper” that is totally a-historical. No one had disposable paper in 200AD.
Thirdly, CGI.
Fourthly, let’s just give Russell Crowe his due. Even his hand in wheat seems divine to this day.
Lastly, there was a moment—you’ll know it when it comes—that I felt disappointed that there was more movie to go.
Trump’s Not A Horse in A Building; He’s James Bond
My brother was the first to share with me the humorous analysis that watching Trump was like watching a horse inside a building—it’s off-putting, but everything is probably gonna be okay.
But the more I watch Trump, the more I am sure that the creature he is most similar to is James Bond.
If you haven’t watched one of the films recently, please do so before reacting argumentatively to this idea.
The general highlights of the two characters’ similarities are the neat suit, and the humor—often some kind of sexual innuendo, as was on display yesterday. There is also, at this point, on full display for the entire nation and world, a remarkable ability to land on their feet.
And if you haven’t watched the McDonald’s clips, you owe it to yourself to track some down. A beautiful lady pulls up to the window, and Trump says aloud, “You’re a beautiful woman.” A tough looking large man pulls up to the window, and Trump says aloud, “Wow, I wouldn’t want to mess with you.”
“And you are?”
“Trump. Donald Trump.”
Is It Possible that They Are Mad Because They Couldn’t Control Him?
Many American Generals are saying some outrageous things about Trump as this election cycle dashes to the finish. Is it possible these high-ranking men are mad because they couldn’t control Trump?
There are reports that General Mattis allegedly slept in his gym clothes in case he got a call to come in overnight.
“What do you want to discuss now, my favorite color?”
Is fate so unkind as to hinge nuclear attack on the time it takes to change clothes?
I doubt it.
More believable is these generals, regardless the character they exhibited along their climb to political power, became persuaded that they were anointed and Trump was not.
I’m sorry, but I do not live in a country where the defense secretary’s pajamas are a matter of national security anymore than Colonel Jessup’s underwear.
Husbands: Throw Away the Romance Novels, A Review of The Island (2004) by Michael Bay
Husbands, I’m looking squarely at you! Throw away those romance novels and pick up the remote control. On Paramount+ right now you will find the most sensational, the most sultry, the most seductive film ever created to help save your marriage. Grab your wife, plop down on the love seat, and get ready for sparks to fly.
Husbands: you know the situation. Right now there is “culture” and there is “husband”. It is war. And us husbands lose every time.
How do we right the ship?
The answer is easy: wives must be shown a model.
Wives, as is well-documented and only too well-known, have little to no imagination. So they need to have a ready-made “felt experience” from which to draw memories. Enter, Mr. Bay’s 2004 classic The Island.
After the film lays out the story (post-apocalyptic indoor world, boring as shyte to men, exciting to women, with the only hope of change being a timely, random lottery every so often promising relocation to the last uncontaminated spec of land on the earth—an island) we meet the needed ingredient to help us win back our families. That ingredient being, the “culture” in the movie—the company cloning the rich people—puts out a “contamination” alert for Ewan McGregor’s character. But McGregor has already got the hand of Scarlet Johansen, and so here’s the kicker: Mrs. Johansen trusts and follows Mr. McGregor despite what the screens and other women advise!
Even more fantastic than this scene, the couple live! As they live on together, often even touching, they both learn just how much the “culture” lied.
Sometimes McGregor leads the running, other times he gets bogged down by some heavy lifting and Johansen continues the chase at the front.
Their object is the same—escape the prison of “culture”—so it really doesn’t matter who appears to lead according to the variables of time and space. What matters is that she chose her man, consequently she and he are now one and, again, at the risk of repeating myself, the wife (future) ignores the “culture” in favor of her husband.
Now, as every Bay fanboy knows, there are rules to the universe and rule 17 requires Michael Bay films to include a perfectly outrageous highway chase scene where the husband must unload railcar wheels onto the highway from atop a random semi which they only leapt onto by sheer chance. But if your beloved has somehow dozed off during the film as this begins, gently nudge her when you recognize the set-piece. Why? Because there is an incredible moment when the wife states husband’s name in a very neutral—yet leaning naggy—voice. After the exact amount of time to be perfectly suspenseful and fully engage the initiative elapses, she says, “Nice work!”
A compliment!! Just amazing.
Like St. John says of Jesus,
And there are also many other things which if they were written one after the other, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.
So we should end this simple film review here. But time is short! Grab your wife. Grab the remote. And take back your marriage!
My Culture, A Review of Zombieland Double Tap, by Ruben Fleischer
Certain parts of life are incapable of being explained within the remaining time, and yet too important to be ignored—those parts are culture. I realized this a short while into my marriage to a woman not of my culture when I kept finding her seemingly unable to understand what I was doing, and for what reasons. Frustrated, I simply said, “Things are this way because it’s my culture.”
“‘My culture’,” she’ll repeat. “What is ‘my culture’?” remains her loving, if unbelieving, response in broken Engileezaynia.
Next time the situation presents itself, I will answer my wife’s surely earnest parry with, “Can you watch a movie? What am I thinking? Of course you can. So watch Zombieland Double Tap. When you understand it, then you will have your answer. Because that is my culture.”
What a great film. What a landmark.
Captain’s Log 