The Revisitors #5 - The Blair Witch Project (1999)

Add another to the list of films that haven't aged well. The Blair Witch Project has some interesting elements to it, but is probably a lot more boring and tedious than you remember.

And here's the video I mentioned in the episode about one of the most compelling theories on the film.

Game Night (2018)

Though all art and entertainment is subjective, few genres are as subjective as comedies. Most people enjoy laughing, but finding The Hangover funny does not necessarily mean you will find Meatballs funny or any Mel Brooks movie funny. And, despite the collective social groan at the new Epic Movie or Superhero Movie or Scary Movie, there are people that genuinely find that stuff amusing. Point here being, reviewing a comedy is sometimes trickier than examining a drama because comedy is one of the most subjective things out there.

In that vein, Game Night is an even stranger film to look at. In many ways, its cinematic experience parallels that of the characters within the movie: "what is going on?" was a frequent question on my mind while watching it, except not for narrative reasons it is going for.

Centered on a group of friends and their traditional "game night," they are brought into a confusing murder mystery game that coincides with an actual kidnapping. There's even a third angle that comes into play later that further confuses what is real versus what is staged. The story and comedy is built around this premise. It seems the goal of the filmmaker is to confound audience members as much as it does its own characters.

The problem, then, is that the characters never seem all that confounded themselves. Yet the film is itself a confusing mixture of - often - awesome elements. There are scene transitions that visually look like it is all happening on a game board, which looks neat and is surprisingly interesting for Hangover-esque comedy. There are also sequences edited almost like an Edgar Wright film, with fast cuts to depict the passing of time that, again, feel surprisingly unique for a basic comedy. Or, there's also an incredible synth-based score throughout the entire feature that is both amazing to listen to and amazingly out of place within the film. 

And, of course, there's the cast. With Rachel McAdams and Jason Bateman as its leads, there should be little reason for these characters to lack charm or charisma. Yet no one really stands out except for Jesse Plemons (the actor quickly taking up the role of "best actor you see in everything but have no idea what his name is"), and even he stands out largely by playing a completely one-dimensional creepy neighbor. Game Night also features the biggest waste of Danny Huston since X-Men Origins: Wolverine. 

The ultimate problem is that the script just isn't that funny. There are funny scenes, sure. To suggest I didn't laugh at all would be incorrect. To be sure, I came to realize that I have underestimated McAdams's comedic chops. But a lot of the comedy falls flat because there aren't really any compelling characters. The most interesting narrative element is in the fact that they never give anyone other than Bateman's character an arc. They appear to give others cliche development, but wind up dropping it just after they telegraph where it's going. It could be a sort of meta-joke, playing on audience expectations for a little laugh. Then again, it could just be sloppy writing.

Game Night highlights that a film isn't always just a sum of its parts. There are many interesting or intriguing aspects to the film, yet it never amounts to anything more. By no means is it the worst movie of the year or one of the worst comedies in a while, but even if you liked it, there's likely not much of a chance you'll ever revisit it.

Reductive Rating: It's fine, I guess.

Black Panther (2018)

It's easy to roll one's eyes whenever a new Marvel movie comes out and all the reviews come back positive, with everyone claiming it's the best Marvel movie yet and it changes the game. They say that about every one of these things that gets released! And sure, sometimes they are great and change things up for that character (a la Thor: Ragnarok), but none of them are really revolutionary.

And yet, Black Panther is the best Marvel movie yet and could potentially change the game, with its very existence itself being revolutionary.

It's hard to know if superhero fatigue is genuinely kicking in as these films continue to do well at the box office, but Marvel has largely been good at staying ahead of the curve in a way that Warner Brothers, Sony, and Fox have definitely not. When grounded origin stories were getting old, they gave us more genre flicks. When that started getting a bit dull, they started embracing the weirdness of properties like Dr. Strange and Thor: Ragnarok. And when the bland visual and musical styling of the franchises started getting stale, they gave us Black Panther. They are not always successful at doing this, of course, but it is generally why Marvel Studios continues to stay relevant and popular while other studios struggle to figure it out.

Much will be made about the representation aspect of its release. While not the first blockbuster starring black characters front and center, or even first superhero film centered on a black character (lest we forget Blade effectively kicked off the modern obsession with the genre in Hollywood), it is the first in the post-Marvel Studios world, where studios are constantly pouring hundreds of millions of dollars into these properties. Even more, this is a Hollywood blockbuster film featuring a predominantly black cast. Other than Andy Serkis and Martin Freeman, the only other white characters are nameless henchmen. As a white person, it does not feel like my place at all to comment on the power this alone has for people, but for all the overly-represented people saying representation in media doesn't matter, just a quick scroll through Twitter indicates it very much does.

Representation does not make a good film alone, however. And that doesn't mean anything about the entertainment value of a superhero flick. Fortunately, Marvel hired Ryan Coogler, a director whose first three feature films are Fruitvale Station, Creed, and now Black Panther. (If RottenTomato scores are something you value, his first three features garnered ratings of 94%, 95%, and 97%.) What we got was a complex story about identity and the struggle to find it in a rapidly changing world, all wrapped up nicely in the fun and exciting superhero package.

Put simply: this is exactly what the genre needs more of.

Marvel movies do a great job weaving in emotional moments using lovable characters in an entertaining world, but largely avoid dealing with anything too complex or challenging. Stripped to their basics, most superhero films, especially Marvel ones, are primarily just about characters learning to accept responsibility. The main theme of Iron Man is the same as from Spider-man is the same as from Man of Steel is the same as from Thor is the same as from Ant-Man, Dr. Strange, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Avengers, X-Men and really, most superhero flicks. Maybe The Incredible Hulk is a bit more "self-acceptance" and Captain America is more "power comes from character" than "with great power there must also come great responsibility," but that's still a major part of it.

With Black Panther, T'Challa doesn't need to learn the concept of responsibility. He has trained his entire life to become king of Wakanda. He is well aware of his responsibility and does not shirk away from it at any moment of the film. For him, it's a question of what exactly that responsibility calls for him to do. Many would have him maintain the status quo. Defend the old ways. Remain isolationist and continue what has always made Wakanda a strong, independent nation. For others, it would be to reach out. Create a new way of Wakanda, one that includes outreach to help neighboring nations and the oppressed people of the world. They have the means and knowledge, so they should. Others want expansionism through force, using their skill as warriors and superior weapons to shape the world according to their will.

The question of Wakanda's future stems from one of identity the central theme of the film. When you really boil it all down, the love interest and the villain kind of want the same thing. Both Nakia and Killmonger want to use Wakandan knowledge and resources to help people. And it is our hero, T'Challa, who stands opposed. It is the protagonist who doesn't think Wakandan resources should be used to help outsiders because Wakanda needs to remain secret for its own safety and prosperity. It is not a question of him failing to be responsible; rather it is a question of what his responsibility dictates he do. Many in Wakanda would see his defense of isolationism as the right and responsible course of action for the nation.

Themes of identity get tied up in here pretty heavily. Killmonger has no real place to call "home." Wakandan by blood, he has been forced to live in America, with its rich history of disenfranchising and oppressing people of color. He is unwelcome where he grew up, but also where his ancestors are from. "Black" is the primary identity, and it has a global bond. He relates to "his people" because of the common struggle. For T'Challa, that isn't how he sees himself. He is the leader of Wakanda. His national identity takes precedence, thus he does not help people of color around the world in order to protect the national interests. He is a leader of Wakandans, and no one else.

Coogler brilliantly crafts a story that can have deeper meaning and relevance for certain audience members while incorporating themes just universal enough to resonate with everyone. Though I can't personally relate to the questions of black identity, I can relate to the questions of globalism vs. isolationism. What is our responsibility in America as a wealthy, powerful nation to the rest of the world? Am I defined purely by arbitrary geographical and political boundaries? Even within the United States: am I a Massachusetts man first and an American second? There has never been a superhero film this specific and universal all at the same time.

Killmonger is, without question, the most compelling villain in a Marvel film yet. Granted, that doesn't necessarily mean anything, but that speaks to the movie's quality and why so many are raising it above the rest. Loki might be more entertaining and memorable; Killmonger is a bad guy who you listen to when he speaks. He makes you hate him for acting pure evil to then reflecting and thinking, "I mean...he kinda...does...have a point though..." While he's never likable, and the vengeance element of his goal separates his desire from Nakia's, you definitely understand where he's coming from. He isn't one of these monster-of-the-week villains who is just there to destroy the world or craves power. The ability to understand the antagonist's motivation is key to a compelling villain and, thus, a compelling story within the superhero genre.

Of course, it helps that Michael B. Jordan was conceived by the physical manifestation of Screen Presence and Charisma. Everyone knows where Wallace is now. The cast is amazing, but Jordan just brings it in a way no Marvel villain has yet.

While the obvious subtext will be about identity and how we define ourselves especially in regards to race and nationality, there is criticism of masculine society too. For starters, it could easily be argued that Killmonger represents toxic masculinity. He and Nakia both want Wakanda to help people, but Nakia seeks to do so with peaceful means. She doesn't mind fighting if the need arises, and indeed involves herself in affairs across the border to help the oppressed, but she doesn't go out with vengeance in mind. Killmonger, conversely, wants revenge on a world that has seen rampant colonization of Africa and systematic oppression of black people across the globe. He doesn't just seek to uplift his people. He seeks revenge and subsequently channels his anger through violence in a way that Nakia does not. The look of Killmonger speaks to this notion as well. Jordan is as finely tuned a machine as you will find in a human, and yet he has scarred his own body. Without his modifications, he would very much resemble the ideal male form. Yet it isn't, because he's sense of vengeance and inability to appropriately channel anger made him scar it up.

While Wakanda is full of kick-ass women warriors, it is the men who actively want to enact violence. It is Okoye, the woman leading the royal vanguard, who initially wants to protect the old way of isolationism and order. It is her lover W'Kabi, the man in charge of the rhino corps, who seems interested in expanding Wakandan influence through war. While both embrace a new future by the end, it is still Okoye fighting for future peace.

Additionally, it's hard to ignore that during the final battle, it starts off essentially as a battle between men (who want to use violence to expand Wakandan political influence and power) and women (who are fighting to protect more traditional and peaceful means). It should also be noted that T'Challa is, without question, the most emotionally healthy hero in the MCU. He often tries to talk opponents down, plans on violence as a last resort if necessary, and even when having a momentary lapse in judgment because of an emotional response, will listen to those around him. T'Challa is the most emotionally mature and healthy male character in these superhero movies. It would be hard to ignore the reality that he is constantly surrounding himself with women as his closest advisers.

A nation of five tribes, each with their own leadership that advises the king, Wakandan society is at the heart of every good Black Panther story. It is no different here. And in Wakandan society, women are equally important. T'Challa has a group of female fighters around him at most times, including the head of the vanguard and Nakia, a spy who is also well-trained for combat. But more, the king's council is comprised of a number of women, including his mother. His sister, Shuri, is head of technological development (and in the comics, took up the Black Panther mantle for a few years). Recognizing that makes it really understandable why Wakandan women would want more defense of tradition. This would be a hard motivation to understand in western societies that have largely been built to elevate men over women.

In essence, it could even be said that the film isn't even about it's titular character. T'Challa does have an arc and experience growth, sure. Yet the primary character actually seems to be Wakanda itself. Though T'Challa is a likeable character outright (and Chadwick Boseman is a killer Black Panther), we ultimately care about his fate because we care about Wakanda. Killmonger might have a point sometimes, but we know he's bad for the nation. We want T'Challa to come back and save the day because we know he would be a better, more fair king. And when all is said and done, his experience with Killmonger even gets him to agree that Wakanda needs to do more for people, especially of color, around the world. Yeah, it's a Marvel movie in which the villain actually succeeds in influencing the actions of the hero.

One of the few criticisms I have for the film is actually that I wanted more Wakanda. By no means is it poorly done or even mediocre in its execution. However, I would have enjoyed maybe ten more minutes during Act I wherein T'Challa has to deal with internal political issues. Maybe one of the tribes requests certain resources for help fixing a flood, but the other tribe feels that it would remove resources they need to handle a problem of their own. Something wherein T'Challa would have to hear conflicting opinions about what should be done and having to make a decision of his own using that information and insight of advisers. Could have fleshed out Wakandan politics a little bit more while also highlighting the complications he will face and the struggle to be the good king he wishes to be.

But at the end of the day, "I wanted even more" isn't exactly a bad sign for the film. (I also wanted more Killmonger, and as great as he was, he could have stood a little more fleshing out. But really, I just wanted more Jordan on screen.)

The only other criticism was in its action. To be sure, it's still solid superhero action. However, the problem with its action are identical to every single superhero film's action to date: too much CGI. When you've got a fight between two costumed, masked humans conducting hand-to-hand combat, it would have been nice to have actual martial artist stuntmen performing choreographed fights. Instead, we get a lot of poorly lit CGI characters punching CGI characters, all with quick and shaky camerawork. This is a constant problem of the genre and really stands out because its ultimately an action film. I kind of want to actually see the action.

Other than that, Black Panther really seems to have an answer to every criticism I've personally had about Marvel films. Absolutely, I have enjoyed every Marvel movie except Iron Man 3 and Thor: The Dark Thor. I love the basic character-driven action that pushes the genre, and that's why I love the comics as well. But I've long felt like they could at least attempt something with substance. It makes sense, really, that Black Panther would do that, given the comic itself was born out of a cultural and political movement. The creation of Black Panther as a comic book was itself a political act. (And famously, his second solo storyline was "Black Panther vs. the Klan.") It only makes sense, especially given the current political and social climate, Black Panther would be the first Marvel film to really try to tackle meaningful, substantial, and challenging themes.

It does that in the neat casing of a superhero flick. Even if you want to tune out and not think, the film is still enjoyable as a "dumb superhero movie." It's got well-defined characters, solid action, cool gadgets and outfits, and a great sense of humor. More importantly, Coogler knows when to cut it out. It's not as funny as Thor: Ragnarok, but Taika Waititi built his film to be more of an actual comedy. There isn't "relief" in the film so much as there is occasional breaks in the comedy for seriousness. The humor in Black Panther is great, but never crosses the line. He knows when to stop cracking wise, so - one meme-based joke that won't age well aside - the comedy works really well.

On top of wanting a fun superhero flick with some thematic substance and weight, it also finally gives us interesting cinematography. A big criticism of Marvel films is its muting of colors. Everything is just a drab brown, gray, or otherwise dark color. These movies aren't exactly known for being all that colorful, despite being comic book movies. We started to get more of it in Dr. Strange, and then again in Thor: Ragnarok, but even those films make sure to subdue its colorization some. In Black Panther, colors really pop. The best scene transition takes us from Wakanda, with its rich, vibrant colors where the outfits are colorful, the sky is bright blue, the greens are pure, and even the browns are light and stand out - to London, where all color has been washed out and it's just foggy, dark, and grey.

Finally, the thing Thor: Ragnarok did in letting its composer Mark Mothersbaugh actually inject some classic Mark Mothersbaugh into the score is expanded on. Criticizing Marvel scores has been pretty popular online lately, as they are always these generic orchestral sounds that are indistinguishable from one another and are ham-fisted in how it hits an emotion. The greatness of Kendrick Lamar's album inspired by the motion picture cannot be understated, but composer Ludwig Goransson does a great job in his own right balancing classic orchestral scores with traditional African music. It shouldn't be a surprise that Goransson excelled at creating a great original score. After all, he was key as co-producer of three Childish Gambino albums and has been signed to Jay-Z's label as a composer. (He also scored Community, as well as Coogler's previous two films.)

It would have been easy for Marvel to just tell a generic, yet fun action story, cast mostly black actors, and called it a day. They would have gotten credit and a big payday at the box office for just that. Yet they appear to have allowed Ryan Coogler to make the film he wanted, just as they seem to have let Waititi make his Thor as well. What we ended up with was easily the most compelling, substantive, challenging, and thematic superhero film since The Dark Knight.

Marvel's last two films - Black Panther and Thor: Ragnarok - have been helmed by people of color. Before this, Warner Brothers finally made a well-liked film with Wonder Woman, directed by a woman. It's almost as if diversifying your creative team can lead to new ideas and original visions stemming from the differing life experiences, and that those creators can tell stories that speak to a wide audience that has generally felt under served in media.

And with Black Panther poised to just wreck the box office this weekend, it's almost as if diversifying and trying to appeal to wider audiences (instead of just whiter audiences) is actually...*gasp*...good for business!

REDUCTIVE RATING: Loooooved it!

The Cloverfield Paradox (2018)

Did you feel like Event Horizon was a little too scary and didn't spend enough time explaining another completely separate movie? Did you find Sunshine could have been better with less compelling characters and a more poorly defined inter-character dynamic, in addition to providing unnecessary exposition for a totally different movie in the process? Well, if you did, then The Cloverfield Paradox might just be your dream movie!

In many ways, it shouldn't come as any surprise that The Cloverfield Paradox went about the same way as the first installment in the "Cloverfield" franchise. Way back in 2007, a mysterious trailer appeared before Transformers that featured a decapitated Statue of Liberty head landing in the middle of a New York City street. And that was about it. What ensued was a viral marketing campaign the likes we've not seen before in Hollywood. Fans searched studio-created websites to suss out what the film could be. Was an the long-rumored Voltron film? (Where is that, by the way?) Was it another American attempt at Godzilla? Turned out, those rumors weren't terribly off-target. Mystery box lover J.J. Abrams had produced a kaiju film with a unique thought: what if we made a kaiju film in which you never see the monster or the attack? Basically, what would a kaiju movie look like if you stripped it of all the cool stuff that makes people like kaiju movies.

The "found footage" approach is ultimately what makes the first Cloverfield so disappointing despite featuring some interesting components. The strength of the film overall was it's marketing campaign. A similar thing occurred years later with 10 Cloverfield Lane, only with two key differences. First, the marketing wasn't exactly "mysterious" as much as it was secretive and delayed. A trailer did not come out until about a month and a half before the film's release. (There was a website and a game created for that "viral" feel, but it was pushed far less than Cloverfield.) Second and most importantly, it was backed by a genuinely good film.

The Cloverfield Paradox very much borrows from the first film, only with perhaps more troubling implications for the industry overall. Though rumors had been circulating for some time about a third installment, no one knew anything until a trailer was released in the first half of the Super Bowl. Even more, it turned out that the film would be dropping on Netflix later that night. Putting out a trailer and releasing the film on a streaming service during the most watched television program of the year is marketing brilliance. It sacrifices long-term build up and anticipation with a quick reminder of this franchise and giving a freshly informed audience immediate access.

A tactic like that is especially significant for a film like this. As many have noted, the film isn't exactly good. Anything following 10 Cloverfield Lane would have been a bit of a letdown, but The Cloverfield Paradox is a jumbled mess of a film that never quite seems sure of what it wants to be, what it wants to do, or even what tone it wants to strike. The acting is good, but that can't save it from a mediocre script filled with cheesy dialogue, extraordinarily contrived action sequences, and borderline comical death scenes. Worst of all, it fails primarily because it never establishes the characters or their relationships enough to merit concern once they hit the metaphorical storm.

It borrows a lot from Event Horizon, but never quite commits to be as thrilling or horrifying. In fact, everything revolving around Chris O'Dowd's arm is almost hilarious. Yet it also borrows a lot from Sunshine, Danny Boyle's underappreciated sci-fi film (that might actually be my favorite of his films). Boyle spends a good amount of time establishing his characters and depicting the social dynamic on the Icarus II. That effectively establishes a reason to care about the cast and feel scared when they are in peril, as well as sad when someone dies. Director Julius Onah never quite does any of that. Indeed, he conjures up some visuals that kill the desired emotion, and late in the film, moves on quickly from a character death. It is also nowhere near as focused as those other sci-fi thrillers.

That might be because of the most intriguing mystery of it all. Was The Cloverfield Paradox meant to be part of the "Cloverfield" brand from the start? It sure doesn't feel like it. Sporadically throughout the film, they cut back to Earth with Michael, the husband of our protagonist Ava Hamilton. At first, it seems as if this serves to connect us to Hamilton's reason for fighting so hard. She's already been gone a while, and when she ends up in a parallel universe, she desperately tries to get home to her husband. Except it doesn't take long to figure out that Michael's primary purpose has nothing to do with this film; rather, he is providing more connective tissue for the original Cloverfield.

The Super Bowl trailer made heavy use of Cloverfield footage, likely figuring that would help lure people in after the game. With the reminder of this - at a minimum - interesting sci-fi franchise and the promise of explanations, fans hoped to get some explanation as to the cause of events for the first film. Michael's entire story is centered around the monster's initial appearance. The Cloverfield Paradox attempts to explain that the monster probably came to Earth from a different dimension when a tear in space-time opened up (the result of the Shepard's experiments to create new energy). But none of that is, in any capacity, relevant to the main plot of this movie.

As a result, it feels crammed in there after the fact. Even more, the very title of the film feels jammed in there as well. One character is watching a news interview with crazy author Donal Logue, who drops a very conspicuous line of dialogue about how this experiment could open up a portal to monsters or demons. He then calls...something...the "Cloverfield paradox," but the film never makes much of an effort to explain what the paradox is. Or even, really, what's paradoxical about any element of the story.

What feels like forced inclusions of Cloverfield references only harm the focus of this film. Those sequences and moments aren't the main reason the film fails in whatever it is trying to do, but they certainly don't help it. At the same time, those sequences don't even succeed at providing adequate explanation for the "Cloverfield universe." They don't even make sense chronologically. In case you don't remember the events of the initial film, this universe appears to take place in our own. Everything is totally normal. It's just a normal world with normal friends going to normal parties in normal New York City, and then a giant monster happens to attack it. There is no information about what the monster is or where it came from. It just appears. (This is actually the most interesting thing that film does, for the record.)

Here, they try to explain that the world was in a desperate search for renewable energy, with global oil wars on the verge of outbreak. Global catastrophe is on the horizon, which prompts the nations of the world to construct a super particle collider in space (which itself doesn't make any sense in its own right). There are lines at the gas station reminiscent of the Carter administration, and power outages are just a normal part of life.

Apart from the fact that the monster "came from another dimension" doesn't make any sense in the context of The Cloverfield Paradox (seriously, they just go to another reality where everything is pretty much the same and there are no hints at monsters or aliens); it makes no sense in the chronology of Cloverfield lore either. This film tries to explain Cloverfield by reversing the sequence of events. That film ends with older footage from earlier in the year when the main couple was at Coney Island. The keen observer would notice a small object that appears to crash into the ocean far in the background. Previously, the rumor had been that that object must have been the monster itself, or that whatever it was woke it up. Yet The Cloverfield Paradox heavily implies that the escape pod holding Hamilton and Scmidt was that object.

With just about ten seconds of thinking about it, this can't be the case according to the previous films. In Cloverfield, the sequence of events was this: thing crashes into the sea behind them, everything is normal for a while, a monster attacks, the world breaks out into chaos. According to this film, however, it goes like this: nothing is normal, the world is on the brink of chaos over oil and power outages happen all the time, a monster attacks, the world breaks out into chaos, and then a thing crashes into the sea - literally right next to the beast. (And god help us if we even try to figure out where the events of 10 Cloverfield Lane fit into this. I am choosing to segregate it because it's such a great film and seems pretty clearly its own thing.)

If someone wants to argue that the "paradox" in question is that, much as two realities can't occupy the same space-time, the larger implication of these events in the same universe can't also be true at the same time, well, that's pretty shoddy storytelling that comes straight out of a '90s comic book. Perhaps the paradox is that "Cloverfield" is so interesting as an anthology series that explore similar themes through a sci-fi/thriller lens, and yet by virtue of being a franchise, the creators feel a need to connect the (nonexistent) canonical dots between them. "Cloverfield" is now at once an interesting and stupid thing at the same time.

On a slightly different level, the marketing and release of The Cloverfield Paradox also highlights a glaring weakness with streaming distribution - something many of us gamers might have already been wary of: quality control. The Cloverfield Project feels like a film the studio knew would bomb. It's hacked up and ambiguous about what its function is. Is it a stand-alone film, or a "Cloverfield" film? Is it trying to do its own thing, like 10 Cloverfield Lane, or is it trying to provide answers for Cloverfield? It's hard to imagine this thing was planned to be what it was. It is equally difficult to believe that this film would have done particularly well at the box office. It would presumably have had a relatively healthy opening weekend because of the brand, but when reviews start coming out and word of mouth spreads as to how bad it is, it likely would have been a financial bomb for Paramount Pictures.

So, distribute it through Netflix directly! For starters, people are more likely to give it a shot since it comes at no extra cost to them. They pay that $11 a month (or whatever Netflix costs now) either way. And if it's terrible, they can just turn it off. (I suspect this would also be true of Bright - which I still can't bring myself to watch after seeing how awful the first five minutes were.) Even more, they released it the same day they announced it, which is perfect! Rope people in before critics can see it, or anyone can tweet about how terrible it is. Because Netflix needs publicity rather than box office returns, it works out for them. Because Paramount undoubtedly figured the film would bomb at the box office, they could sell it to Netflix for a profit. It's a win-win for everyone (well, minus the consumer). It's genius.

To be sure, there is no shortage of hacked up films that studios know won't do as well as they need it to that still see the light of day in theaters. It wasn't that long ago that Justice League hit cinemas everywhere, and yes, I did bring myself to watch the dumpster fires that were Suicide Squad and Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. However, studios should feel the financial pressure of those missteps. If they want to greenlight a bad idea and then struggle to fix it through excessive meddling, they probably should lose money on it. The biggest reveal of The Cloverfield Paradox is that, especially with a franchise label attached, studios now have a mighty convenient exit strategy for films they know are bad.

REDUCTIVE RATING: It's bad.

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)

Few films manage to find a balance between extremely difficult subject manner and dark, twisted humor on the side. Director Martin McDonagh has, somehow, largely been able to have that lightning strike twice. In Bruges also found a way to be both darkly entertaining while being challenging to watch. Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in my Hand Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri is simultaneously a lot darker and funnier, which is a testament to McDonagh's skill as a director.

Starting months after a horrific rape and murder, the film follows Mildred, the victim's mother, as she is still devastated and dealing with the loss. Seeing several broken down billboards outside the town, she opts to rent them out to make a statement. Essentially, she asks the police chief why there have been no arrests, or really, why there has been no progress in the case at all. The billboards set off a conflict within the town, pitting the good ol' boys of Ebbing against a heartbroken mother and, subsequently, a number of other people who have too often themselves found reason to hate the police department.

In some ways, the bulk of the film is a bit like Jaws, where there's a bigger story at play but the focus is on town politics. Half of the film is zeroed in on the town folks' disdain for her efforts. Police Chief Willoughby is beloved in the town and considered an upright citizen, worthy of the mantle as head of police. He oversees an otherwise incompetent force, however, full of racist, homophobic, sexist, and often violent officers that are constantly enabled by virtue of being part of "the club." More, he seems unreasonably fine with these colleagues, even though he appears to recognize the trouble they bring. Sure, he is hesitant to defend Officer Dixon - a man with a reputation for torturing and harassing people of color - but he still defends him anyway.

This highlights the best aspect of the film: a believable complexity of its characters. Though Willoughby is the target of Mildred's billboards, one doesn't get the impression that he himself never cared about the case or trying to find the killer. However, as he mentions, some cases just don't leave enough evidence to really solve. Many murders don't get solved for that very reason. This happened to be one of them. Even more, though Mildred doesn't care to hear his excuses, she still has empathy for him. While Mildred is being held at the station, Willoughby coughs up blood while interrogating her. He goes from tough guy to frightened while she goes from annoyed and cold to concerned and compassionate in a moment. The story is personal, and not personal all at once.

Perhaps the biggest talking point to emerge from Three Billboards is the arc for Dixon, one of the most disgusting characters in ages. This is an officer who frequently abuses his power and represents only the worst of the department. He harasses Hispanic workers, calling them "fucking beaners." He apparently is known for beating a black man pretty badly. We even see him beat a local advertiser responsible for the billboards brutally, including tossing him out of the window. Eventually, he decides to try and straight his act and finds a way to potentially track a suspect in the rape/murder case center to the story. By no means is this a character worthy of redemption, and the take that the film tries to give him one, to make him suddenly likeable or acceptable is problematic is perfectly valid.

However, I would argue that - while it has all appearances of a redemption arc - it isn't really one. The film structures his character thread to look like he is getting one, and certainly his motivation shifts and becomes more acceptable in some ways; I'm not so sure his is really a true redemption story.  (And here is where it's impossible to talk about it without mentioning specifics, so spoiler warning going forward.)

See, after being fired from the police force (because Lester Freamon took over as chief of police and is very much focused on tightening the ship), Dixon receives a letter of support from Willoughby. In it, the former chief offers the advice of calming down in order to become a true detective. One night, Dixon is at the bar and hears someone bragging about what sounds awfully much like the crime committed on Mildred's daughter. He picks a fight specifically to try and get the guy's DNA, hoping that if he submits it, they will find a match and solve the crime. Thus, redemption!

Except that the DNA doesn't match any on file, for any crime across the country either. This guy is clearly made to seem like a horrible person, and we are meant to suspect he did something horrible, but there's the undeniable reality that none of us really know. Dixon is convinced that this person must have done something horrible to someone. He goes on to tell Mildred about that, and the film ends with the two of them driving off to Idaho to track this guy down so they can murder him in the name of vengeance.

This is where I think Dixon's arc isn't truly one of redemption. Mildred's mindset is completely understandable. She is clearly dealing with grief, regret, and loss, and we can totally sympathize with her. Additionally, she gets treated pretty awfully by the town. Many are not happy that her billboards call Chief Willoughby's integrity into question, and those even go on to blame her for his suicide. Despite all that, she engages in some pretty unacceptable ways. She commits assault on her dentist, a bunch of teenagers, and even commits a literal act of terrorism against the police department, lighting it up with molotov cocktails. Her pain is understandable, but she is lashing out in some problematic ways.

And yet, it is because of Dixon's efforts to do Willoughby proud that she speeds off to commit murder on someone that, for one, we don't actually know committed a heinous crime, or any crime. For another, she's so distressed at the lack of justice for her daughter that she is willing to murder someone else for potentially a different crime to fill that hole. In essence, Dixon's "redemption" arc ends up pushing Mildred down an even darker path than the one she was on. It is because of Dixon's "redemption" arc that Mildred speeds down the path of herself becoming irredeemable. I would argue that while Dixon does indeed seem to himself regret some of his actions, he's still the same problematically violent person he was before. What, really, is the difference between him tossing Red out the window in a fit of emotional rage, and loading a shotgun in the back of a station wagon to run off to murder someone who might have committed a crime.

In essence, it seems to me that Dixon's "redemption arc" ends in a place where both he and Mildred can't come back from. And yes, it's presented ambiguously as though they are reconsidering it. Still, it's hard to get around the fact that is Dixon's actions that push Mildred to this point. She did a number of horrible things herself (including nearly killing Dixon with the molotovs). Dixon doesn't help her find peace, or bring justice. And he still acts according to a more violent mindset, one in which he still clearly views himself above the law.

The alternative take - that he got a redemption arc while being unworthy of one - is certainly valid and understandable. But to me, it wasn't a real redemption arc. He does see change as a character, but the main problems (feeling above the law, a penchant for violence) are still there at the end. It's a big part of why I love the film: I can understand most of the characters, and they are either complex in their own motivation, or develop in complex ways. I didn't grow to like Dixon at all by the end. I actually felt like he stayed awful, but changed the way he was.

Other people might disagree. It's really easy to see that other interpretation of the film, and how that would ruin it for many. The ambiguity and complexity of each character and plot thread is a big part of why I really liked the film. Mix in excellent acting from Frances McDormand and Sam Rockwell, it's easy to see why it's in Oscar contention. It's, at times, really heavy and hard to watch, but it's surprisingly well done given the subject matter.

REDUCTIVE RATING: It's Good!

The Post (2017)

It would be easy to knock Steven Spielberg's career path, going from fun action-adventure films to historical dramas, but The Post actually accentuate's his roots in surprising ways. With Lincoln, he attempted to make the mundane passing of a bill exciting, seeing mixed results. In his latest film, Spielberg is actually successful in making the mere printing of a newspaper feel dramatic and exciting. This, in large part, due to editing and sound design, but those are tools he has been utilizing well for ages.

Top-tier acting talent is front and center of the period piece, with Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep as the headliners. However, it would be a mistake to ignore the contributions made by the other actors with much less screen time. Bob Odenkirk, Bradley Whitford, Tracy Letts, David Cross, Carrie Coon, and Michael Stuhlbarg all excel given their limited appearances. (It's a big time of year for Stuhlbarg, who was excellent in The Shape of Water, Call Me By Your Name, and The Post, all currently in theaters and getting Oscar buzz, and yet he has received no attention!) Bruce Greenwood stands out as a supporting actor for his portrayal of Robert McNamara. Still, despite the huge cast - including some recognizable David Simon players like Stark Sands and Deirdre Joy - it really is the Hanks/Streep show, and largely, their chops are on full display.

Centered around Daniel Ellsberg release of the Pentagon Papers - a study conducted by Secretary McNamara examining the missteps of the Vietnam War - it plays a bit like previous Oscar darling, Spotlight. We follow reporters as they track down possible leads and try to gather sources. The goal is to out-scoop the New York Times, their more successful and popular rival. Along the way, they are met with constant threats from the government and additional road blocks. What makes The Post a bit different is that it tackles other elements of the story as well. Streep plays Kay Graham, the majority owner of the Washington Post and the only woman in those board meetings. She struggles with the desire to protect the paper's (and, by extension, her father's) legacy, what is best for the employees who would benefit from a sale of the paper, and the journalistic responsibilities as a newspaper. Where Tom Hanks's Ben Bradlee is only focused on publishing the story, and this a more simplistic, Graham has a much, much larger issues to balance. 

With the swarm of men around her to tell her what to do, Graham is constantly being pulled every which way. Bradlee jumps down her throat for possibly passing on the story because of her relationship with McNamara, feeling as though she is trying to protect a friend. Arthur Parsons (Whitford) is constantly focused on the reputation of the paper amid a large public sale, recognizing that leaking government secrets and engaging in a legal battle would harm the company's value and cause investors to pull out. Fritz (Letts) is similarly advising her about the best course of business action, but is one of the few men around to recognize it is her paper and her decision. He's, perhaps, the only adviser who advises, and then respects her decision. 

As tiring as it might be to constantly see Streep at the Oscars, we see yet again that is with good reason. She is believably conflicted, and even her moment of empowerment feels grounded. While dictating her decision to a furious board, she still appears to hold anxiety about voicing her opinion in this male-dominated room. She still puts her foot down, yes, and that moment is earned through her compelling acting. That she appears to be forcing herself to speak up, despite her feelings of insecurity, makes that moment even more significant. 

Of course, it is hard to ignore the meta-narrative of the film. Unlike Spotlight, or even previous Spielberg historical dramas like Bridge of Spies, Lincoln, or War Horse, The Post resonates primarily because of its timely release. In an age with an authoritarian President constantly attacking the very concept of the free press, Spielberg deliberately chooses to explore another time not that long ago in which a similar thing occurred. The biggest "heroic moment" of the film is at the end when the staff at the Post receive a package of several other prominent newspapers around the country publishing the same Pentagon Papers in solidarity, after the government threatens to shut down any organization doing so. 

While the film is ultimately about a few timely concepts - the advancement of women into traditionally male industries, the responsibility of the press, and the corruption of American government throughout the years - the biggest note it wants to push is the idea that an attack on one freedom is an attack on all. Bradlee himself tries to sell Graham on the notion that this is about more than just out-selling the Times. He constantly pushes the narrative that this is a fight for the First Amendment, and for the basic idea of the free press and constitutional rights at large. 

As it stands, it's hard to imagine anyone leaning to the right at this moment in time will appreciate any aspect of the film. They will very likely chide it as just "liberal propaganda," reinforced when we get the progressive speeches as the Academy Awards. Still, the real life story was one that shook America to its core, and the film itself is pretty solid, even if a little slow at times. It does, on occasion, get a little preachy, but given the current political climate, it probably isn't a bad idea to hit people over the head with history. 

REDUCTIVE RATING: It's Fine. 

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017)

There are a few key differences between the original Jumanji and its updated quasi-reboot/sequel. First and foremost is the basic concept. Instead of elements of the game being brought into the real world, the kids of the real world get sucked into the game. It's fundamentally opposite to the original, which goes a long way to making it feel surprisingly fresh. Second: the game is a video game rather than a board game, giving it a more modern appeal (although, despite what one kid says, plenty of people still play board games).

It might be tempting to pass off the update to a video game as just modernizing the story now that video games are a multi-billion dollar industry. (Lord knows, Sony was hardly shy about promoting their games - yes, I know I still need to play The Last Guardian, Sony! Sheesh!) At the same time, sending the kids into a video game allowed the screenwriters (including Community's Chris McKenna) the opportunity to make some clever gags. The "three lives" element was sometimes used well to advance the plot, or to make for a decent gag, and at times, to provide for compelling character moments. The strengths and weaknesses, while sometimes random and other times under-utilized, still provide some solid comedic bits as well. Naturally, there are some missed opportunities (rendering jokes or glitches would have been neat), but largely, it feels like a story by someone at least casually familiar with the medium. 

The film is ultimately about stereotypes, in a sense. Each of the four new kids fulfills some cliched high school movie role. Spencer is the nerd. Bethany is the hot, shallow, popular girl. Martha is the shy, awkward girl. Fridge is the dumb jock. Even Alex, the first kid to get sucked into the video game in 1996, is a stereotypical metal head. It's not a super original idea, but it allows for the film to have a shockingly cohesive structure. 

See, the strength of this movie is in seeing these actors play against type. You've got the attractive Lara Croft-type Karen Gillan playing Martha in game. Then, you've got Jack Black as Bethany, Kevin Hart as Fridge, and Duane Johnson as Spencer. Everyone except Kevin Hart essentially plays the opposite of who they really are. Your enjoyment of the film will definitely depend on how funny you think it is to see the Rock constantly amazed at how strong and powerful he is. Jack Black does a pretty good job playing the popular teenage girl as well, provided you can live with the stereotype of millennial teenagers. For my money, Karen Gillan was a joy to watch, showing off some comedic chops. Her "flirting" scene was among the highlights.

Kevin Hart, however, largely just does the same Kevin Hart role he always does. This might not bother many, of course. Hart is good at what he does. However, it does run counter to the purpose of the film. The bulk of his time is making comments about his size compared to the Rock's, something we saw plenty of in Central Intelligence. It's also a bit disappointing because we get a pretty good arc for each character except for Fridge. Martha learns to love herself as she is and to not just pre-emptively reject other people to avoid the possibility of being rejected because of her appearance. Bethany learns the value of empathy and consideration of other people. Spencer learns to be brave. On a technical level, there is reason for Fridge to learn the value of studying and caring about school subjects. We see him put his avatar's attribute of knowledge to good use. Unlike the other characters, though, we never see him have a real "a-ha!" moment that implies he will carry that back with him into the real world.

It should be noted that - perhaps to assuage the anger of '90s kids - the film does not retcon the original. Though it serves functionally as a relaunch, it is implied through a somewhat clever reference halfway through that the events of the original Jumanji did take place in this world. That said, it virtually doesn't matter. If continuity is a thing for you, you can rest easily knowing that they didn't just wipe out a beloved childhood movie. That said, there's a fair amount of difference. Liking one won't necessarily mean liking the other. 

Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle is an enjoyable film with some solid comedic acting and a few great bits. At times, poignant and clever. At others, shallow and disappointing. Your entertainment from it will likely depend on how much you like the cast. By no means amazing, or one you should rush out to see, it's not as terrible as the trailers make it seem - even if they do spoil what would have been some of the best gags. 

REDUCTIVE RATING:  It's fine. 

Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)

WARNING: SPOILERS PRESENT THROUGHOUT

Star Wars: The Last Jedi is a bit messy, entertaining, oddly paced, and gets pretty meta. It also manages to pull off being very derivative while also functioning as a deconstruction of the original trilogy. It isn't hard to see why the film has been polarizing among fans, particularly the bigger, more die hard ones. Sometimes, it feels like writer/director Rian Johnson is even trolling them. Much of how one views it might boil down to how seriously they take classic Star Wars lore.

Characters are noticeably improved upon from The Force Awakens. Poe Dameron gets a substantial arc this time, as they somehow manage to balance his Luke/Han hybrid persona. (Arguably, he comes off more as a Han Solo type here, but there's still a little Luke in him.) Rey gets more meat here as well, largely because of her connection to Kylo Ren. These two characters work so well together, making each other more interesting. Leia and Luke, obviously, get more to do, too. Luke sort of reverts back to his self-absorbed nature we saw at the beginning of A New Hope, mixed with a little bit of cranky curmudgeon Yoda for good measure. A few new characters are introduced, but don't ultimately leave much of an impact.

It suffers some typical late-Star Wars structure issues, namely the need to split up into too many separate story threads at once. At one point, there are four completely separate plot threads occurring, and none of them reconnect particularly well. Pacing is also an issue. The Rebel fleet moving just out of range of the Star Destroyers lasts for a shockingly long duration of the two and a half hour film. The entire final sequence - while certainly awesome in many ways - also drags on a bit too long for its own good. And everything with Finn and Rose, and their overly convoluted plan, feels a bit disruptive.

Like its predecessor, this installment borrows a ton of beats and visual references from the original trilogy. They move pieces around a little bit - the "join me to rule the galaxy" happens before the final act, the Hoth battle happens at the end, we begin the film with the Rebels evacuating their base rather than by the end of the first act - but it largely takes a lot from past films. It's hard not to see where it's referencing the originals, and can sometimes induce a good eye-rolling.

However, where it comes off differently than The Force Awakens - and undoubtedly what many fans will get held up on - is in its function. JJ Abrams specifically structured his film as something of a Star Wars Greatest Hits because he was trying to capture the original's feel; to distance the new trilogy from the divisive prequel trilogy. Johnson, however, often uses these things to break down and deconstruct the preconceived expectations of fans.

Take, for instance, the big reveal regarding Rey's parents. One look at an internet comment section will show just how controversial the answer to this is. During the conversation between Rey and Kylo Ren at the climactic Good/Evil Force battle, like with Empire Strikes Back, we get a lineage revelation. We find out that Rey's parents were actually nobodies - some junkies who sold her off for a quick fix. To the biggest Star Wars fans, this feels like a total affront to the nature of the universe. For a long time, bloodlines have mattered a great deal. The prequels didn't help matters much by suggesting the Force is related to one's literal blood cells, thus making it evidently genetic. For the past two years, all we heard was how Rey had to be connected to some powerful Force user, like a Skywalker or a Kenobi, because that was the only way to explain why she was so quickly able to utilize its abilities. Here, we are told her parents are no one of any significance. "You have no place in this story," Kylo tells her.

This is presumably where many hardcore fans will get off. For so long, randomness has been absent in the Star Wars universe. As Obi-Wan said in A New Hope, "there's no such thing as luck." Destiny and prophesies, Chosen Ones, and balance was always preached. But that wasn't the case at the beginning.

When you go back and watch A New Hope, you can't help but realize how it is constructed to be a stand-alone film. Try to forget everything we know that happens after.  Luke is plucked from obscurity to go on and do great things. Sure, we learn that his father was a Jedi, but we know nothing else. At this point, we don't know he was Vader's son (and I'm still unconvinced Lucas did at this point either). We also know nothing of midichlorians in the blood. While training on board the Falcon, Obi-Wan says that the Force is what binds all living things together in the universe, implying that anyone can access it. Luke gets to obtain Force abilities in that film because he is the central protagonist undergoing the hero's journey. He isn't actually fated to do anything. In fact, Obi-Wan never makes him leave Tatooine. He's prepared to leave without Luke, until the Empire kills his family and takes away the only reason he had to stay.

The Last Jedi serves to remove all of that "destiny" stuff. Rey's lineage doesn't matter. She wants her parents to be special because we all want to feel special, to feel destined for greatness. Somehow, her parents being "somebodies" would put context on her place in the world. Sure, it creates more forced connections among characters, but the entire point of this trilogy is to get away from Skywalkers. It's to open up the doors for new Star Wars.  Kylo Ren isn't just talking to Rey when he says, "The Empire, your parents, the Resistance, the Sith, the Jedi...let the past die. Kill it, if you have to. That's the only way to become what you are meant to be."

This is ultimately the central theme of the new trilogy. It's really a series about fans. You've got Kylo Ren who wants to kill the past, and then you've got Luke Skywalker reaffirming that the past can never truly be killed. "Strike me down in anger," he tells his nephew, "and I'll always be with you. Like your father." On the meta-narrative level, this appears to obviously refer to fanboys. You've got some who have been railing against George Lucas for years because of the prequels, and you've got some who have been reaming Disney as well. No one hates Star Wars quite like Star Wars fans. No matter how much fans might try to disown the prequels, or how much they might hate the current trilogy, Star Wars is still clearly a part of their lives. The prequels didn't actually ruin anyone's childhood. The message here is that we can move forward without giving up the past. It is part of us, but it does not need to control us. This idea is also reinforced through Luke and Yoda's belief that the time has come for the Jedi Order to end (wait...was...was Count Dooku the good guy in the prequels?). It both gives us one last awesome Luke Skywalker moment (preserving elements of the past) while depicting the destruction of the Skywalker family lightsaber (letting go of others). (Subtlety has never really been Star Wars's forte.)

It is also worth taking a step back to re-examine The Force Awakens in this light. In essence, Kylo Ren and Rey - the two main characters - are themselves Star Wars fans. Consider the fact that when we are introduced to Rey, she is literally playing with a homemade Luke Skywalker action figure. She wears a Rebel helmet. It is clear that she has heard all of the stories about Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. She is, herself, a fangirl. The same is true of Kylo Ren. From his basic costume design, we can see a Vader influence. The black helmet, despite no scarring, and the vocal distortion all serve as examples of his fandom. At one point, we even see him talking to Vader's charred helmet. Where Rey is obsessed with the adventures of Luke, Kylo Ren is absorbed in the stories of Darth Vader. Rey hopes to fulfill a Luke-like role, while Kylo Ren spends the whole film trying to be the next Vader.

This theme also re-contextualizes all of the arguments about Rey being a Mary Sue character. Apart from those comments showing a slight misunderstanding of what actually makes one a Mary Sue exactly, it ignores the fact that this new generation of Star Wars characters - like us - grew up on Star Wars stories. Rey knows a lot because she - like us - is obsessed. One can only imagine how many times a Star Wars fan has "well, actually"-ed George Lucas. I mean, how many fans have wound up learning more about why Han Solo claimed the Falcon made the Kessel run in twelve par secs than what a par sec actually is in the first place? Any amount of time spent in nerd circles will reveal a number of hardcore fans presenting elaborate, highly specific questions posed to creators who often don't know the answers themselves. This does work in the context of this modern trilogy because this is the central theme. The current Star Wars trilogy is subtextually about fandom.

Many will still argue that Rey's parentage is structurally weak because they built it up in The Force Awakens as this huge mystery. It was all anyone could talk about for the past two years. To set up this big mystery, only to say that it doesn't matter, feels cheap. It feels like cheating. Certainly, people are entitled to that opinion, and it is not an unreasonable take. However, how much of these mysteries were actually established within the confines of The Force Awakens as a film? We wonder who Rey's parents are because she has never known them, and because there are a couple of occasions in which a character asks who the girl is before cutting away without an answer. These obviously make it seem like that matters.

But The Force Awakens kind of spells out how silly we are for making a big deal about it. Maz suggests Rey knows the truth about her parents, and that they aren't coming back (read: it doesn't matter now.) She even puts it pretty concisely, "The belonging you seek is not behind you, but in front."

It could not be more clear. Though there is value to remembering the past, we are not beholden to it. This trilogy gets back to what kicked off the franchise: it isn't about destiny and prophesy, it isn't about privileged bloodlines. It is a hero's journey for a new generation who grew up on tales of the past, just like Luke did. The Last Jedi serves to deconstruct the fandom. Rey's parentage is only a mystery that matters because we made it matter. Her parents don't matter to this story. The only thing her being a child of Luke would do is add some additional connection between her and Kylo Ren, but they're intrinsically connected by the Force anyway that it doesn't matter. Her being a child of Obi-Wan (as was occasionally theorized) matters even less. It "explains" her abilities with the Force, but only for those obsessed with canon and the expanded universe.

The same thing is true of Snoke. Many fans have complained that he also turned out to be nobody. And yet, The Force Awakens makes his backstory seem even less significant. What his origin story is literally does not matter to the story they are telling. He fulfills the role of a modern Emperor Palpatine. No one wondered about Palpatine's backstory when he first shows up in The Empire Strikes Back. We know everything we need to know for that story: he is in charge of the bad guys, he is powerful with the Force, and he managed to convert Anakin Skywalker. That's it. We genuinely did not need an entire seven hours in prequel films to explain more details. We know that backstory is unnecessary because we survived for over a decade without it. It fills out the expanded universe and the larger lore, sure, but it is virtually unimportant to the main story or the primary themes of the original trilogy.

Moreso than Rey's lineage, the mystery of who Snoke "really was" turned into a two-year debate exclusively because of the fans. Some will argue that given the "rule of two" as established in the original and prequel trilogies, Snoke couldn't have existed. How could there have been this third super powerful Force user on the Dark Side if there were already Palpatine and Maul, followed by Palpatine and Dooku, and then Palpatine and Vader? Thing is, it is pretty well established that the Force is accessible to many people. The current trilogy has already set up that just about anyone can become in tune with it (see: Rey, or the boy at the end of The Last Jedi), regardless of bloodline. (This itself is both canonically reasonable and creatively liberating for writers, by the way.) We also know the Knights of Ren are a group of Dark Side Force users, so there can, in fact, be multiple Dark Side users in existence (which was also true in the expanded universe, not that that matters). Is it really so unbelievable that Snoke was just a Force-sensitive nobody during the previous trilogies, who became more powerful over time and then took advantage of the power vacuum left by the Emperor's demise?

In fact, Snoke being a nobody is absolutely thematically relevant. This trilogy is all about giving new characters a chance to enter the fray, to send a message that anyone can be empowered to rise above their station. Snoke being a nobody who rose to prominence in the decades after Return of the Jedi thematically connects to Rey's rise as well. Sure, if you hate that Rey is a nobody who is powerful with the Force, you're going to hate the same thing being true of Snoke, but you can't ignore that this is consistent within the context of the films they are making.

Rian Johnson deliberately subverted expectations. Aware of what the conversations were, he chose a path in which no one was right in order to push the universe forward. Star Wars cannot continue as a film series if every film, every character, and every plot point has to somehow connect to the original trilogy. He and Abrams wanted to make something new while honoring the old, and you can't do that if nothing is ever going to be more important than the original. The future is built upon the past, but is not beholden to it. (In some ways, they seem to argue that obsession over order makes some fans similar to the First Order.)

This theme is also embodied through Luke's story. Like Kylo Ren, he opts to disown the past. Though also like his nephew, he still struggles with it. He spends much of the movie refusing to be the person he was in his previous arc. He, too, doesn't just address Rey when he says, "What did you think was going to happen?" He then describes a hypothetical situation in which Rey, being a fan, expected him to pick up his "laser sword," march on out there, and take on the whole First Order himself. It felt a bit like many fans wanted to see something similar, which might have been kind of neat fan service, but would not have been very compelling cinema. It is only at the end that he recognizes that renewing past legends will do more good than he can do now as an aging Jedi Knight.

You've got characters desperate to kill the past and characters aching to preserve it. Yet the film argues, like the Force itself, balance is important. The more Kylo Ren tries to escape the past by destroying it, the deeper he falls into the Dark Side. Conversely, Rey can't reach her full potential as a Jedi if she continues to obsess about her own past. Where Rey sees more upside is that she appears poised to find that balance. (Given the nature of Star Wars, it seems likely that Rey will complete her Jedi quest by letting go of her lineage hang-ups, while she also preserved the sacred Jedi texts that were destroyed. Seems likely this is where her arc goes.)

There are other things the film addresses, certainly to the chagrin of many fans. We do sort of get an explanation as to why Rey is so in tune with the Force, though many probably hate it. One of the biggest concepts talked about ad nauseum in the previous six films was "balance to the Force." No one has ever really known what that meant. Snoke specifically tells Rey that he warned Kylo Ren that the stronger he became, the more likely an equal power from the Light Side would rise up to meet him (balance). He thought it would be Luke, but it turned out it was her.

Criticism of this approach to balance is understandable, but it cannot be said that they don't attempt to explain it. Fans unsatisfied by the answer is not the same thing as the filmmakers not trying to answer. This concept further enhances the connection between Kylo and Rey (in a more interesting way than if it had turned out they were cousins). It also explains why Kylo Ren often appears more in control of the Force. For as much as people complain about Rey being too powerful, she is often depicted as becoming more unstable and unpredictable the more she taps into that power. She can do things other Jedi might not be able to, but she doesn't ultimately know how or why, and it comes at a greater risk.

The entire point of this trilogy is to move away from the Elites of the Star Wars universe. Consider that the prequels were about a literal messianic figure of a virgin birth, who falls in love with a princess, and drama unfolds. Then recall that the original trilogy is about the son of that messianic figure off to rescue a princess, who happens to be his sister. And then consider that the major drama set up in this new trilogy is about the nephew of the Messiah's son falling victim to the Dark Side because his uncle became self-absorbed with his own reputation as a savior figure.

By virtue of Rey and Snoke being nobodies capable with the Force (in addition to other main characters like Finn or Rose being nobodies on their own mini-hero's journeys), the new trilogy almost appears to indicate that something new is happening with the Force itself. As if the Force were seeing some kind of...awakening...That Rey has become so powerful to act as a counterbalance to Kylo Ren, and that we see that kid at the end use the Force, suggests that something bigger is happening than just the classic Jedi/Sith battle that's lasted ages. (It's as if Benecio Del Toro wasn't just referring to the Empire/Rebellion war as a "machine" that generates tons of income for elite profiteers... "They blow you up today, you blow them up tomorrow." That can't be the formula for an indefinite future of Star Wars films. The DJ stuff is a more obvious meta-commentary about Hollywood franchises.)

And about the Force: without question, one of the biggest talking points will be Leia's moment. People seem to be in agreement that it was poorly executed (it was), but torn on the concept of it. Blown out into the vacuum of space, we see her use the Force to protect herself from the cold, then uses it to pull herself back to the ship. As many say, she had a Mary Poppins moment. Visually, it looks pretty silly. Conceptually, the idea of her using the Force to pull herself to safety is fine.

The common complaint is that it feels like they're just making up the Force as they go along. Easily one of the strangest criticisms, this ignores the rich history of making it up as they go. In the six previous films, they have - at random - decided the Force lets people read other people's minds, lets them control other people's minds, lifts objects, gives people physical balance, shoots lightning out of their hands, chokes people, creates force fields around them,  lets people jump really high, dash off with super speed, and literally become ghosts! They've always made it up on the fly. Frankly, we should embrace the limitless possibilities of the Force rather than restrict it. The more it gets concisely defined, the less interesting it is.

Johnson also subverts classic Hollywood storytelling as well. Many describe Finn and Rose's story thread as being completely unnecessary, primarily because they fail in the end. (This is, interestingly, not a complaint of Empire Strikes Back, wherein Luke fails in his plan when he goes to Cloud City.) Like in Empire Strikes Back, though, it isn't so concerned with the plot itself as much as the character and thematic moments. While pacing in Canto Bight is clunky, and it does come of as disruptive to the main story of the fleet battle, we need this to get more character growth for Finn. Rose might ultimately be a unnecessary to the larger plot, but she is absolutely necessary to giving Finn growth as a character. It is Rose who opens up his eyes to the larger impact of the First Order's spread, to show him that the evils of the universe are not restricted to just their domain. That inequality and oppression exists outside the confines of the new Empire. It is Rose who shows Finn a greater reason to fight beyond, "My friends are here." He was all set to abandon the Resistance in order to protect Rey. It is because of Rose that he learns that the cause is worthy to commit himself to.

Poe's story arc is interesting, but misses one key line of dialogue that would prevent the main complaint people have with it. Many have been quick to note that his entire story becomes unnecessary if Admiral Holdo just tells him the plan. Hard to argue that poor communication led to that mutiny. It was indeed an easily avoidable situation. Personally, it didn't bother me because I've had bosses who could have avoided a lot of drama if they just told me what was going on. Given that they do establish that there is a chain of command, and that she appears early to be into that, it can be understood that she felt no need to explain herself, that indeed constantly being questioned sets a bad precedent. Look at how the real life military works. You better believe no Admiral in the Navy is going to tolerate that kind of behavior from a subordinate. Additionally, I enjoyed the idea that not every rebel Admiral was perfect. Not everyone is great at everything, and the idea of an Admiral who did not feel compelled to explain her plans to everyone just sort of makes sense.

That said, this is also a problem easily avoidable. Recall that the only ones who seem to know how the Empire is tracking them through lightspeed are Finn and Rose (and later Poe when they tell him their plan). Admiral Holdo has virtually no information about that. For all she knows, there could be a spy on board transmitting their location. Given the plan was to create a distraction, one can easily see why she would not shout out these secret plans in front of everyone. This is not conveyed at all on screen, however. A simple one liner from someone about how there may be a spy on board would actually completely absolve this thread of such criticism.

There are plenty of smaller things. The humor feels a bit contrived at times, which many have used to criticize it comparatively to the original trilogy. On this point, I feel part of the issue is that modern Star Wars films see a lot of modern Hollywood filmmaking tropes and techniques. Some have claimed there was too much slapstick (I'm not sure I saw anything particularly "slapsticky" here, really), but it is worth keeping in mind that they are still attempting to make Star Wars accessible to children. We adult fans cannot and should not lose sight of that. We loved Star Wars as children. That's sort of how we all became grown up nerds. If today's generation of youth like a little more slapstick (which is completely fine!), then it makes sense for them to include perhaps a bit more of that element than we adults might prefer.

I have to admit, The Last Jedi drew a very noncommittal response upon first viewing. I felt fine about it. Didn't love it; didn't hate it. It was fine. I had more complaints than praises. However, once it clicked upon review what the film was doing, how meta it was actually being, and what themes it was tackling, everything just worked a lot more. It completely re-contextualized everything both in this film and The Force Awakens. Two films in which, especially with the specifics of this one, we have a clearer image of what they're attempting.

If you can heed the advice of Jedi Masters, who essentially preach the need to just chill and relax, The Last Jedi might very well be the smartest, most complex, and most thematically ambitious Star Wars to date. Let go of your anger. Find that balance of the past and future. And just enjoy it, man. This is by no means as bad as the prequels, but honestly? If you enjoyed the prequels, great! The originals will always be part of our lives. We can watch them again at any time we want. That can and should be enough.

Anything else is just a nice benefit.

Justice League (2017)

Justice League is... ok? I guess? I keep trying to figure out a better way to start, but there isn't really much more to say about it. It's not the hot mess that Suicide Squad was. It isn't the fundamentally broken and jumbled disaster that was Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. It isn't the misguided, but respectable effort that Man of Steel was. By no means is Justice League the worst effort in the DC extended universe. It is a very middling affair. Oddly enough, that is quite an accomplishment.

The production troubles for the film are well-documented. Zack Snyder, who was most successful at dividing audiences with Man of Steel and Batman v. Superman, appeared to launch a franchise to rival Marvel or Fox. Then, he stepped away after his daughter, sadly, committed suicide. Though much of the film was done shooting, Warner Bros. brought in Joss Whedon to finish the project. Whedon, likely under the guidance of studio notes, sought to bring a lighter and more fun sensibility to the Snyder-verse- itself likely the result of May's Wonder Woman, which was positively received. What we're left with is a film that doesn't feel exactly like a Whedon film, nor does it feel like a Snyder film either. Whedon wound up reshooting a bunch of scenes (famously requiring the CGI removal of Henry Cavill's mustache, which he had to grow for Mission Impossible 6, in post-production). It ultimately isn't difficult to tell which scenes were shot by Snyder and which were done by Whedon.

Continuity issues arise, inevitably. Sometimes, you've got someone with a different wig. Others, a character suddenly dons an additional article of clothing that seems impossible to have missed, but they did. There is also a strange look from scenes clearly adjusted in post. For example, when Superman returns and is confused so he attacks the Justice League, the trailers indicate that scene takes place at night. In the final cut, it's altered to take place in the day. This is clearly a Whedon change, given that Snyder has never framed an action sequence in clear daylight. Even when he does set things during the day, he puts the light through a filter to wash it out. Not dark and dreary enough, ya know?

The biggest issue is the tone, which is - at times - all over the place. In one scene, they focus on the Justice League planning to rescue hostages. Cut to Steppenwolf violently murdering a woman. Cut back to the Justice League with the Flash making a bad, inappropriately timed joke. What are we supposed to be feeling here? Are we supposed to be concerned about the safety of the hostages and the superheroes, given we just witnessed a pretty violent murder? Are we supposed to be just "enjoying the ride" and laughing because of the bad joke? In terms of narrative and characterization, the film is relatively consistent, but its conflicting, incoherent tone is something that sets it apart from the previous Snyder films - which are all awful, but Snyder at least keeps a consistent tone (on the most part).

Justice League might be more fun than Batman v. Superman and Man of Steel, but it is still inherently broken by virtue of functioning as a sequel. The film doesn't *really* work if you remember anything about Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. They largely try to avoid issues with their current plot by ignoring that the last film even happened at all. For example, a central point of Justice League is that Superman was a beloved figure and without him around, the world is devolving into chaos and violence. There is no one to stop it, and no one to inspire the people to be their best selves. Ok, fine. As a starting point on paper, that's a fine set up. Except to start there, you have to completely ignore Batman v. Superman, in which the central source of conflict was around the fact that Superman was a very polarizing figure who was feared and hated by a huge chunk of the population. (It's the entire reason Batman wanted to kill him, and the source of Superman's own internal conflict about his role and standing in the world.) Well, ok, so just pretend like this is a new movie and it's fine. Except you can't really do that because Justice League itself references events in Batman v. Superman multiple times.

Which is the core problem right now with the DCEU. It's clear that they have no idea what they want to do with these properties or this universe. They hired a guy who obviously doesn't care much about Superman to kick things off, and have been trying to figure it out after that. The success of Marvel - the studio who has meticulously built a cinematic universe over the course of a decade, spanning seventeen films - has them desperately playing catch-up, thus not giving us enough background or insight into characters like the Flash, Cyborg, or Aquaman. There's also a tendency to want to stand out from Marvel, hence the darker, more brooding characterizations, allowing Zack Snyder to build his universe in earnest. Just before the release of the film, Warner Bros. came out to say that they weren't really building a singular "universe" and that each film should be viewed as its own thing.

Nowhere is this attitude more confusing than Justice League. If they truly aren't trying to build a "universe," then why launch Justice League off the back of Batman v. Superman? Why make it so that key plot points of this film (i.e. Superman is dead and the motherboxes are on Earth) are introduced in the previous film? Even more, if you cancelled the initial sequel to the film (which they did - originally this was going to be in two parts, but they reduced it to one), why add a post-credits sequence that set up a sequel?

Ok, well, we've seen stuff like this before. After all, Sony teased a Sinister Six movie at the end of Amazing Spider-man 2. We never wound up getting that Spider-verse that they had planned on. Plot points from that franchise were ultimately left dangling because it was so critically panned and under-performed at the box office that Sony cancelled all future plans for the series, ultimately giving the creative reins back to Marvel. What feels different about Justice League, however, is how openly troubled the production of the film was, and how confusing the future of the universe is. Granted, many casual viewers might not be aware of anything going on outside the film itself, but if you do follow movie news, then you would likely be going in knowing that Warner Bros. doesn't currently have plans to make a follow-up film, nor do they appear committed to universe-building. So when you get to the end and they tease a Legion of Doom sequel, it's...confounding. Am I supposed to be hyped for that? I mean, you just said you weren't making a sequel. Am I supposed to be thrilled you introduced Deathstroke? You just said you aren't building a shared universe!

Warner Bros. is still having trouble figuring out what they want to do. This is mirrored in the film by the Superman problem. Since the universe has been centered around creative forces that are obviously not big fans of the characters, there is a bit of a problem with Superman. They don't seem interested in getting his character right. On top of that, they don't seem able to figure out how to utilize him. Once Superman shows up to the final battle, he single-handedly retcons the need for a Justice League at all. He takes out Steppenwolf without taking a single hit himself. He even pauses to save a bunch of civilians trapped in the area.

Much has been made about how they finally got his character "right," and I guess that's true? Sort of, at least. He's definitely more like the source material than the previous films, but he's also only in the film for a few minutes and primarily serves as a plot device to save the day. This contributes to the popular idea that Superman is a bad character because he's overpowered. Steppenwolf is a bad, under-explored villain (who also looks like CGI garbage), but he's of another world and related to Darkseid. Why can't he get in even a few hits? You can still have Superman get punched or throw into a wall and have him win, ya know. It doesn't even call the Justice League into question if you spend more time getting their characters right.

See, in the comics and the animated series, the existence of Superman never rendered the Justice League pointless. Sure, Superman has more powers than everyone else and is stronger than everyone else, but he isn't usually presented as invincible. Other characters are also generally regarded more powerful. Wonder Woman, for example, is often presented as nearly as powerful. In the film, however, she gets in one headbutt that doesn't really phase him. This isn't a problem with the character of Superman; it's a problem with the writers. They don't like Superman, they don't care about Superman, and so they don't know how to write Superman.

The characterization of each member can be a little jarring as well. This has to be, without question, one of the dumbest portrayals of Aquaman ever. (Side note: can we please retire the, "You talk to fish" joke? I don't know how other fans feel, but it's getting really annoying to see so many writers act embarrassed about the material they're working with. Aquaman has been a great character for decades, and he's still being treated like a joke by creators.) The Flash is likely going to be polarizing. I enjoyed Ezra Miller's performance on the most part, but some of his jokes are forced and inappropriately timed. (He also looks like a person who has never run before. He runs weird, is what I'm saying.) The speed force looks pretty cool, though. We've now seen three speedsters represented in films, so it can be tough to present the same power we've seen before in a new way. Justice League provides that. And Cyborg is...not the fun character you might remember him being. He's solid, but is clearly the biggest victim of the director change and the studio mandate to be no longer than two hours. There's a lot of story missing for him, but given his significance to the plot, there has to be more on the cutting room floor. Ben Affleck, meanwhile, looks bored and eager to get out.

Wonder Woman unquestionably fares the best. She has stepped into the role of Superman, being the inspiration for many and the glue of the team. Her compassion and skill make her the beacon of light and hope that would normally be Superman's role had they bothered to get him right. It's what makes her the best character in the DCEU. (Of course, she and the Amazons don't escape the male gaze, in which her skirt is arbitrarily shorter, and they hold longer on slow-mo shots of her in motion to expose more of her legs and butt. Male objectification aside, Gal Gadot actually continues doing a good job in the role.) Surely, if the universe is going to move forward with some form of continuity foundation, Wonder Woman has to be the centerpiece.

As a film, there are a lot of problems. It's not as obtrusively bad as Batman v. Superman, but it's also not as try-hard as Man of Steel. You will likely forget almost everything about it once you've left theaters. It's bad, but it might have enough elements people might enjoy to be tolerable.

REDUCTIVE RATING: Bad.

Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

Thor: Ragnarok completely re-writes the script on Thor. As tempting as it is to criticize the film for further blurring the lines of serious characters versus comedic ones in the Marvel cinematic universe - indeed, everyone is a comedian in this world now - the end result here is one of the funniest installments in the seventeen-and-going-strong franchise. Much of this, of course, is owed to director Taika Waititi, whose preference for exploring outsider characters and utilizing the comedy of the mundane so effectively in his smaller films like Boy, Eagle vs. Shark, What We Do In The Shadows, and The Hunt for the Wilderpeople.

It also doesn't hurt that they have Chris Hemsworth. Revealing a skilled comedic actor under his armor of muscles during Ghostbusters, Waititi opted to let that out again. There are many who would argue that Thor shouldn't be constantly cracking wise, and that it winds up being distracting whenever he does. This was, for clarity, something I myself had criticized Joss Whedon of doing back on The Avengers. And to be sure, there is a fair criticism to be made about it here as well. If you're interested in Thor because he isn't Spider-man or Deadpool or Robert Downey Jr., then he will come off as a nearly unrecognizable character in Ragnarok.

Here's the key difference, though: The Avengers was an action/adventure film through and through with comedic characters and moments written in because that's how those films tend to work. Ragnarok is played as a straight up comedy. If "funny Thor" doesn't work for you, it's likely going to be a miserable ride. However, Thor is pretty consistently funny throughout the film. It might not be "your Thor," but the character is consistently written and portrayed throughout the film. There are darker elements to the story, to be sure, but on the whole, the film is meant to be funny, fun, and entertaining. This goal is achieved on a constant basis throughout.

Not enough can be said about the humor, either. Admittedly, I went in thinking Thor should be serious and starting off annoyed at how "jokey" he was. At the same time, I had a smirk the entire duration. I was laughing within minutes. It's such an odd experience to be angry and laughing at the same time! Eventually, I settled in and saw the film for what it was, and it is super enjoyable. Waititi is clearly influenced a lot by Flash Gordon, which will tell you about the kind of tone he's going for.

Ragnarok is, structurally, identical to every Marvel movie of the past, yet it puts a unique spin on many components. Most interestingly is the conclusion. The stakes are just as high as they've always been: the fate of the world (Asgard) and the other realms (the universe). Yawn, I know. That said, what makes it stand out is in the way they defeat the villain. Success and failure exist in the same space at the finale. To defeat his sister, Thor must actually allow the world to be destroyed. With the fate of the world on the line, our hero must sacrifice it. He spent much of the time, like always, trying everything to save it, only to be forced to let it go. It seems like a minor detail, but that alone creates a bit of separation from all of the other Marvel movies. There have been few superhero films in the past decade that have had the kind of complex conclusions as Ragnarok.

After seventeen installments into this money-printing machine, it's telling that the Marvel flicks most worth watching seem to be ones that they allow the filmmakers to inject some of their personality into. Part of why Guardians of the Galaxy stood out was the personality of James Gunn working its way in. It's a shame we'll never get to see what Edgar Wright would have done with Ant-Man, but Taika Waititi's fingerprints are all over Ragnarok.

The comedy is pretty great, the action is awesome, and the score is - finally - something to praise! Cate Blanchett might not get enough screen time for as menacing as she is (it would be fair to say she is one of the better Marvel villains to date, just as it would be fair to admit that doesn't mean much, and she still isn't super memorable). Essentially, they turned Thor into one of the most entertaining films in the Marvel library. It might not really be in the spirit of the character in a modern sense, but it's great at what it does.