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.

Resident Evil VII (2017)

Survival horror has seen a bit of a comeback in recent years. It is a bit hard to look at Resident Evil 7: Biohazard without seeing influence of other popular games like Alien: Isolation or the incredibly horrifying experience that was P.T.

Visually, it appears to take a lot of cues from Hideo Kojima's brilliant P.T. With a slow-moving character in the first person perspective, players must cautiously explore the creepy, disquieting Baker family mansion. Obviously, where it deviates is in the gameplay. P.T. was meant to be a single, relatively quick interactive experience. Because they wanted to make the game as horrifying as possible, they needed it to be quick. Designers have to create a delicate balance with horror games. Make it too scary; players are liable to drop out and stop playing. You want the game to be frightening, but not so much that players don't want to keep going for fifteen hours. So, P.T. can be completed within an hour, which is perfect.

Resident Evil 7 is a relatively short game itself, capable of being finished in anywhere from eight to twelve hours. That's actually a pretty good duration for it, frankly. (I enjoyed the game quite a bit, but was glad to be done playing it by the time the credits rolled.) The pacing is solid, with stretches being incredibly tense and slow-going - particularly when a member of the Baker family is giving chase - but also periods of relative calm and quiet, allowing players to explore with only the occasional run-in with the Molded monsters.

In terms of the gameplay, it might be more appropriate to compare it to Alien: Isolation. To be completely fair, these games do different things for different goals, and any comparison isn't an exact 1-to-1 situation. Still, the similarities are noticeable. First person shooter in which a big, bad, indestructible enemy will give chase while you find your way through the map. Instead of a xenomorph stalking you through the levels, it's Jack or Marguerite. You can't kill them, although you can inflict enough damage to take Jack down for a few moments. Instead, you have to try and escape their notice while advancing through the level. You also collect items that you can combine to create useful resources.

None of this is pioneered by Alien: Isolation, of course. And this is where the two games really diverge. Alien: Isolation does a good job balancing a sense of powerlessness against the alien with the empowerment of objects you can create and deploy to distract it. It's always tense, but there's always a variation of actions you can take. Resident Evil 7 leans more to the tension in powerlessness. There isn't a whole lot you can do. You walk and even run slowly. Ammunition is limited, so every shot feels significant. (There is no worse feeling than completely whiffing on a head shot.) The materials you can craft primarily contribute to boosting a few stats or creating special ammo. Otherwise, it's largely just a shooter.

This isn't inherently a bad thing, obviously. Again, different games doing different things. The more player actions in Alien: Isolation allows the game to be a little more interactive and, thus, a little more fun. It's tense, scary, and entertaining while Resident Evil 7 is mostly just tense and scary - which means the game is successful at what it does. It's hard to fault anyone who subsequently finds the gameplay a bit boring, but these elements work to creating the atmosphere of terror and intensity. Late in the game, it sort of devolves into a bit of a generic first person shooter, but because it lacks the speed and smoothness of an action game in order to achieve its tension, it still feels overwhelming to be shooting at multiple enemies.

However, there is one aspect of Alien: Isolation has that makes it a better horror game overall: randomization. Sure, there are certain stretches in which Resident Evil 7 randomizes where one of the Bakers is, but overall, every level is the same. It's the same layout with the same enemies spawning at the same locations. This effectively means that each level is intimidating...once. Running through the basement of the main house for the first time is suspenseful and scary. You don't know when and where Molded will come out from. When they suddenly drop from the ceiling right as you enter the door, it is startling and will force you to react quickly. It's great! But if you manage to get killed and have to restart (or if you run out of ammo and have to restart - since there's no real way to actually take out Molded with your knife, even on "easy"), well, the second time through is substantially less tense. You can take it slow, but you still know where everything is. You can plan a lot more effectively, and the sense of fear is completely removed.

Boss fights are another area where this can be a problem. Firstly, the controls work for the normal levels, but their clunkiness doesn't really feel at home facing off against the bosses. Often, they feel designed for normal FPS mechanics, which the game doesn't have because the ordinary levels are designed for the slow, tense, survival-horror mechanics. The bosses are there because it's a video game and there needs to be bosses, but it can easily feel like you're fighting the controls more than the enemy (especially in most of the Jack fights). Horror games lose something when that fear turns into confusion as to what to do, which turns into frustration. Constantly repeating fights goes a long way to removing the terror from the game.

Alien: Isolation avoids both of these issues. It doesn't have traditional "boss fights" at all. Easy fix to that one. And while many stretches of Sevastapol have the same enemy lay-out (a section, for example, will always have X number of androids in one room, or the same humans show up in another room), but the xenomorph appears at random. You can get a sense of where it tends to show up more frequently, and you can help yourself by keeping tabs on the vents and ducts, but even when you know it can show up, you never really know when it will, or where it will. Repeating the same stretches still feels tense because of this randomization, which is relatively constant through the entire game, save the early part and a few small stretches later. In essence, if Resident Evil 7 is a tad scarier upon initial playthrough (and I think it is), Alien: Isolation retains that tense atmosphere upon repeated playthroughs.

The story of Resident Evil 7 is somewhat forgettable. One doesn't exactly pick this game up for its narrative. Perhaps the worst thing it does is leave one plot thread dangling so openly for some DLC that it feels a bit sleazy. It doesn't help that that particular thread is kind of uninteresting, and that the character in question isn't exactly a presence throughout the game. Players might even struggle to remember that there was no conclusion to his storyline, which, for as blatantly as they did that for DLC, is indicative of poor execution. Watching video tapes is an interesting, yet confusing addition. Occasionally, you will find a VHS tape and can pop it into a VCR to play a new level of someone apparently holding a video camera. These can be tense moments given no one has any items, so you are completely defenseless. Still, in terms of the narrative, it makes no sense. If you are watching the tapes as Ethan, why do you then have to play the tapes as the player? More, why is it possible to fail and effectively get a "Game Over" screen during one of these side quests? They try to use the tapes as quasi-puzzle solutions, to inform players of where to go next, but it still feels unnecessary and often tedious.

One area the game excels generally is in its implementation of VR. Unlike most games, which incorporate only a few levels for the virtual reality experience, Capcom opted to make the entirety of Resident Evil 7 playable in VR. The game overall relies too often on Hollywood jump scares, which is actually pretty annoying, but it's still extremely discomforting to walk around the Baker house in the VR environment. Honestly, I had to stop with the VR after the first hour because it was borderline traumatizing. It really highlights the potential of the technology for particular experiences. The graphics for VR still aren't great enough to merit being the preferred way to play, but if it's possible to experience a little bit of it, definitely give it a shot!

I've never played any other game in the franchise, other than a little bit of Resident Evil 4, so I have nothing to offer in regards to its standing in the series. It is a solid survival horror game that has a number of noticeable flaws, but still succeeds in creating tense moments. It isn't amazing or anything, but it is easily a good choice if you're looking to pick up a spooky game for Halloween.

REDUCTIVE RATING: It's Fine.

Cuphead (2017)

, I decided to make the review of Cuphead a more time-consuming one to do. Instead of a too-wordy and incoherent written review, here's a ten minute video analysis.

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.

Dark Souls III (2016)

Each installment in the Dark Souls franchise improves upon the last in various ways. Dark Souls III often feels like the culmination of everything From Software had been building towards for years, from Demons Souls to Bloodbourne. The old adage that the game is "tough, but fair" isn't always the truest statement; Dark Souls III is as close to that as a game can get.

Apart from how visually polished it is compared to the previous games, it also does a bit to improve upon the level design. A bit element to the game - in terms of environments, narrative, and gameplay - is the theme of cycles. There are a lot of repeated aspects brought back to the third game, but done with enough differences that it doesn't feel identical. Most notably, players might suspect things look familiar before running into the title for Anor Londo. There's enough there to be clearly recycled, but also enough changed that it feels different.

Cycles are perhaps the central theme to Dark Souls III, in particular its story. Of course, the narrative of a Souls game isn't pushed front and center. Players are encouraged to figure it out themselves through very brief interactions with NPCs, or by reading item descriptions. Once you notice the cyclical nature of the world and its story, it's hard not to see meta-commentary about gaming itself in there. After all, the core experience of Dark Souls III is the same as the core experience of Dark Souls II, Dark Souls, and Demons Souls. It's the best of the bunch, but being a popular game franchise means the experiences aren't going to be drastically different. Fans of the series ultimately buy the next game to get more of that thing they really liked before. And with the public admission that Dark Souls III would be the last one, the whole plot arc of trying to break the cycle becomes even more meta.

While Dark Souls II was criticized for lackluster bosses and Dark Souls was a bit clunky at times, Dark Souls III manages to toss in some of the most challenging, yet gratifying bosses in the series. Each boss has "stages," with the fight often taking up a different dynamic. If, for example, the first stage could be handled the old fashioned way of putting up your shield and circling around to stab them in the back, the second stage would turn into a chaotic offensive onslaught that required mastery of dodge-rolling. Some could be handled through rolling, but the second stage could be incredibly difficult unless you master parrying.

Not every boss is great. Some are gimmicky to a fault - one such case features the only way to really beat it is to rush past the boss to pick up a weapon specifically designed to damage it. Others require taking out groups of enemies, which isn't always the most fun part of a Souls-game, although combat is noticeably more polished. In these, and most fights, speed and agility is key.

That is the true strength to the design of Dark Souls III. Every section seems intentionally designed to encourage players to learn a more aggressive style of action. You can get through the first two games pretty fine by over-relying on a shield. In Dark Souls III, the shield can sometimes be a complete waste of time. An underrated aspect to the series that makes each game so satisfying is figuring everything out. One of the most clever ways the game highlights your improvement is by introducing early bosses into the game later as common enemies. By that point, players are both powered up and skilled enough that these enemies that could cause frustration for days became regular old enemies that could be taken out within seconds.

Conveying my own personal experience with one boss in particular highlights exactly what I love about the final installment. The Dancer of the Boreal Valley gave me fits for weeks, and yet, was perhaps my favorite boss in any of these From Software games. Apart from just how haunting she is, her attacks were such that I had to completely re-adjust the way I play Dark Souls to stand a chance. Though still equipped with a shield, I didn't make much use of it. Rather, I had to adapt by being more mobile, relying on accurate reading of her moves so as to properly dodge them. It took weeks of trying before it really started clicking. Defeating her was unreasonably satisfying. It was immense relief mixed with a strange sense of self-assurance. I "got good," as it were. In fact, the frequency at which I died dropped significantly after that boss fight. The Dancer is a perfect example of a boss designed to be challenging, yet is completely fair. All of her attacks are adequately telegraphed (and, having spent weeks watching her moves, it's almost laughable in hindsight to see how easy they are to read - definitely doesn't feel that way as you are learning!) And most importantly, the fight had taught me how to play in a style that I would otherwise have never felt confident enough to try.

That sums up the Dark Souls III experience. I'm absolutely not the first person to notice this, but it does appear that the primary focus of the game's design was to discourage relying on shields. It's still possible to get through the game playing in that slower style, just circling and stabbing, tanking as you go. Yet it is both easier and more gratifying to play in the style they design for. It would be completely false to suggest I am "good at Dark Souls," but I am good enough at games to get through them. When I go back and watch the footage I recorded of defeating the Dancer of the Boreal Valley, it almost looks as if I were good at it! It's a more entertaining style to play, and it's more entertaining to watch.

I've taken the opportunity to go back and revisit the first game, and it's hard not to notice just how much better I am now. Sure, I did marathon three and a half Souls games (1 through 3, with about half of Demons Souls), so the entire experience should mean improvement. I do, however, think the bulk of it is owed to Dark Souls III for the way it altered my behavior as a player. I played with more agility and speed, with more aggression, and felt empowered enough to try new strategies I would not have had the confidence to try in the past.

Some might argue that it's really just more of the same, and sure, the core experience is: a challenging, but fair game that is gratifying because of said challenge, as well as leaving it up to the players to figure it out on their own. In some ways, it feels like a puzzle game. However, the specifics of it cannot be overstated. Dark Souls III is the crescendo From Software has built towards. Lead director and designer Hidetaka Miyazaki has been a little confusing about the future of the franchise - at one point stating that this would not be the end, only to suggest it was time to move away from it a few months later - but each game has seen improvement, and there's still room for the Souls games to grow. Whether it comes back as a Souls game directly, or just as this new "Souls-like" genre it's helped popularize, suffice it to say that it will be one to check out. Meanwhile, Dark Souls III is a great send-off for the series.

REDUCTIVE RATING:  An All-Time Great!

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.

The Presidential Pod #5: James Monroe

The last president truly from the age of the Revolution was also the first real "national defense" president. You certainly know of the Monroe Doctrine, but his presidency actually had a little bit more to it. Prosperity from expansionism, threats of war with Spain and renewed war with Britain, a splintering Republican Congress, a cabinet undermining him for positioning to take over the Presidency, and dealing with Andrew Jackson all contribute to his tenure. It's funny how little is known about a president whose doctrine is the most memorable.



             Meaningless Ranking of Best Presidents (Subject to Change from Episode to Episode):

1. George Washington

2. James Madison

3. James Monroe

4. Thomas Jefferson

5. John Adams

Meaningless Ranking of My Favorite Presidents (Subject to Change Also):

1. John Adams

2. James Madison

3. George Washington

4. Thomas Jefferson

5. James Monroe

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

When news broke that Marvel Studios would get access to its most beloved comic book hero, it felt like the sensational Spider-man would finally get a truly great rendition of the character on the big screen. Many fans were eager for something fun and exciting to wash the bad taste of The Amazing Spider-man 2 out of their mouths. For some, the stink of Spider-man 3 never really went away, even with the totally adequate Amazing Spider-man reboot. With Marvel Studios at the helm and no Sony to screw it up, surely, this would be at long last the Spider-man film everyone was awaiting!

It's easy to see why so many people enjoyed the film. By all means, it was a fun romp through the general sticking points of Spider-man action. It even utilizes some of the same cheesy cliches that are staples of the character. Tom Holland is arguably the most complete version of the Peter Parker/Spider-man symbiosis, which stands out given that Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield both did solid jobs as either Peter or Spider-man. Neither brought the two together quite like Holland. Of course, it helps that the actor is just 21 years old. Compared to Maguire (who was 26) and Garfield (who was 29), we finally have a high school Peter Parker that actually looks like he could, ya know, be in high school. (Byline on that thought: how strange is it that Garfield was actually older than Maguire when they took their roles?)

Yet this is also one of the problems with the film. High school Peter Parker is sort of old hat by now, as far as cinematic renditions go. It's a bit odd that they keep insisting that Peter start in high school every franchise when, in the comics, he hasn't been a teenager in decades! Being a high school kid certainly helped grow the popularity of Spider-man when he was first introduced into the world of comics. The medium was (and continues, really) to try to be appealing to all ages, especially young folks. Placing him in his teen years would resonate more genuinely for teenage fans buying comics. At the same time, teenage Peter Parker hasn't really been interesting in the comics for ages. On film, navigating high school has been so repetitive that it highlights how limiting that environment ultimately is. 

Certainly, it is appreciated that they recognized Spider-man is one of the characters in which no one one in the theater needs the origin story explained, picking up in the middle of his every day life is sort of problematic as far as film structure goes. The first ten minutes are almost unbearable. We get the hyper-simplified introduction of the villain, followed by a nauseating series of smartphone shot footage of Captain America: Civil War - because maybe there's a chance people didn't see that movie. It all just serves to recap the last big Marvel movie, which begs the question: is this just what we're going to do now? Are we going to need to start each film on Earth with a "previously on" sequence? It's strange that they trust the audience enough to already know that Peter Parker was bit by a radioactive spider, and that Uncle Ben was killed, but they can't trust us to have some idea that Captain America: Civil War happened just a year ago? 

The primary issue here is that so much attention is spent on Spider-man, his ancillary characters are effectively pointless. Sure, we can easily tell that Ned is his best friend, but since we get so little time with them or seeing them be buds, it feels entirely rushed when he catches Peter in the act of being Spider-man within the first twenty minutes of the film. We obviously tell that Liz is Peter's love interest, but other than some awkward (and kind of uncomfortable) moments of him pining for her, they don't really have much screen time together prior to him confessing his feelings. It's true that in Spider-man and The Amazing Spider-man, we already can tell that Mary-Jane and Gwen are his love interests. The biggest difference is that those relationships are actually pretty big components to the overall plot. Liz is indicative of a film that feels very "paint-by-numbers." 

Aunt May fares even worse, given she has almost no role whatsoever in the film. She gets maybe a scene or two to worry over her nephew, and she gets a brief moment to highlight how in the dark she is about his big secret. On the whole, she is absent from any meaningful aspect of the story. This problem is by no means exclusive to Spider-man: Homecoming. Few writers and directors have quite understood how to utilize the main cast. For example, Zack Snyder clearly has disdain for Superman's world of Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen, and Perry White. 

We don't ever really get moments to see these relationships in action, in part because they choose to bring us into the action already in progress. It's also in part because the Peter Parker world takes a back seat to the Spider-man world. This is a key difference between other "first films" of the character, and a big reason why Spider-man and The Amazing Spider-man are better. Those are films about Peter Parker, and Spider-man gets in the way. Spider-man: Homecoming is about Spider-man, with Peter Parker getting in the way. That might make for a more entertaining action flick, but it makes for less compelling drama or character arcs. It is a bit of a miss to have his arc end with "digging deep" to prove he's worthy of the suit when we are also already meant to assume he has already learned the lesson of great responsibility accompanying great power. Granted, they never explicit reference Uncle Ben at all, but because his origin story is implied, we should be safe in assuming that is the case in this universe as well. 

Spider-man has lacked intriguing or substantial villains ever since Sam Raimi stopped directing the films, and as great as Michael Keaton is, Adrian Toomes is as much a boring villain as anyone in The Amazing Spider-man. He goes from what appears to be an honest working man to an illegal arms dealer, performing high tech, elaborate heists, in literally the blink of an eye. It's impossible to get a bead on him. In the prologue, he's just a working man trying to earn a living for his family, as are all of his employees. When he loses the gig cleaning up after the alien invasion from The Avengers, he goes full-blown terrorist: stealing illegal weapons and selling them to dangerous people on the streets. He supposedly cares about his family - he states a couple times that's who he's doing this for - but he never seems like a half-way decent person at all. And then at the end, he has a little moment randomly protecting Peter Parker's identity from another criminal. Why is that? Are we supposed to think it's because he wants revenge himself? Or is it because, after Spidey saved him, he's maybe showing that he isn't just another generic bad guy? Either way, he doesn't get enough development or attention throughout the film for it to really make sense. 

It is worth noting that there are interesting elements in there. One conversation sees his crew point out the insanity that Stark gets to take control of the clean up when he was part of why the city wound up in ruins in the first place. Toomes's rant at the end about how someone like Stark gets to just do whatever he wants is completely legitimate. It's just not presented adequately enough in Homecoming. It makes sense if you are a fan who has been watching from the start. Tony Stark has indeed been behind some crazy stuff and gotten off without any real consequences. Then again, we just watched an entire movie where Spider-man keeps screwing stuff up and he, too, doesn't suffer any consequences. By the end, his principle dismisses his detention stating that he's a good, smart kid while Stark offers him a brand new suit and a spot on the Avengers squad. He faces no legal repercussions for his assault on a person trying to get into their own car. Also, there's no blow back from the fact that he disrupted an FBI sting operation on the ferry. Watching Homecoming is, in a sense, a great way to understand why J. Jonah Jameson feels the way he does about good ol' webhead. 

The action is good, of course. Most Spider-man flicks do that side of things really well. The lack of any weight to it here, though, causes it to suffer. There aren't really any stakes, even personal ones. Sure, it's not totally stale to see a story about this kid trying to live up to the standards that idols like the Avengers set, but since that's all he's trying to do for so long, it just feels like insignificant, mindless fighting. Who cares, really? 

They try to put some sort of personal spin on the final battle. They basically spin off from the Harry Osborn thing. The Green Goblin is the villain of the first ever Spider-man film, and his son happens to be Peter's best friend. It's a great way to create drama in the action. Even if Spider-man wins, Peter loses because he's inadvertently destroyed his best friend's father. They sort of attempt this in The Amazing Spider-man by having Gwen Stacey's policeman papa involved in the action. Again, Spider-man wins, but Peter suffers. Here, they randomly force the connection that love interest Liz's dad happens to be Adrian Toomes. Voila! A classic Spider-man trope, present and accounted for! Only, it is revealed so abruptly and with virtually no set up - and just before the final action. It's one of the most contrived things in a super hero film to date. In The Amazing Spider-man, it kind of just makes sense why Captain Stacey would be involved in trying to bring down the villain. Additionally, he and Spidey have a few run-ins prior. The same thing is true of Spider-man. Norman Osborn has a relationship with Peter from the beginning by virtue of being his son's friend. 

Again, it falls flat because who really cares about Liz, her family, or even Peter's potential relationship with her? They are such a non-item throughout the film that it's almost easy to forget the stakes there during the fight. Worse, the consequences are completely short-lived. Whereas Peter has to continue to live in a world where he feels responsible for the death of Harry's and Gwen's fathers while maintaining a relationship with Harry and Gwen, Homecoming has Liz simply move away to Oregon. She's out of the picture completely now. That still stinks for Peter, I guess, but it is so much cleaner. At least he doesn't have to worry about sustained feelings of guilt! Phew!

At the end of the day, when you ask the quintessential question, "what is this movie about?" there isn't really a good answer. Both Spider-man and The Amazing Spider-man are about this kid grappling with these new powers and the responsibilities that come with them. They're about learning balance between the maturity these responsibilities require with the ability to lay back and take care of oneself. They're about navigating relationships while life throws crazy curve balls at you. There's a tiny bit of that maturity theme in Homecoming, but it's actually just about Spider-man becoming part of the MCU. Through stretches, it feels almost exclusively to exist to show how he is part of it (while also somehow keeping him out of New York City proper, so, I hope you don't think swinging through skyscrapers is a key ingredient to good wall crawler action). It's so full of references to the MCU that you can almost feel a footnote on the script. 

To be sure, it beats the previous film. The Amazing Spider-man 2 did some things well enough, but got bogged down too much with world building for its own good. Here, the world has already been built, so it was more world referencing. While it could also be argued that the infamous Spider-man 3 suffered the same thing as Amazing Spider-man 2, there could be a legitimate case that it is a better film than Homecoming as well. (That might be one of the most controversial things I've written on this site. Perhaps I'll elaborate on that later in greater detail.) It's not hard to understand why modern movie goers might love Homecoming, but it is - as a film - perhaps the weakest thing Marvel has put on screen so far. And yes, I'm including Thor: The Dark World. (Man, I really want nerds to hate me, huh?) 

REDUCTIVE RATING: It's...actually kinda...meeeeeeh.

Stranger Things: Season 2 (2017)

WARNING: SPOILERS!  (There are definitely some specifics spoiled here, so come back to this when you finish watching it, or if you just don't care about spoilers.)

Admittedly, a follow up to last year's break-out Netflix show Stranger Things was always going to be in a tough spot. So much of the fun was how little anyone knew of it. The discovery and subsequent ability to pass it onto the next unsuspecting victim helped build an organic hype machine. That is inherently lost here, particularly since they chose to stick with the same cast of characters in the same town. Of course, that social aspect has no real bearing on the overall quality of a show.

It's probable fans will love this as well. Yet the second season follows a lot of trappings that most sequels fall into - too much rehashing of the first, unsatisfying explanations of past events, a little too much attention spent on comic relief, a problem with scaling, and some ambitious writing leading to inconsistent pacing. At the same time, it's the same trip down Nostalgia Lane (complete with some brilliant and subtle homages), with the same great characters, and surprisingly dark sci-fi elements mixed with in for good measure. Bears noting that the score might even be better than the first season's (which says a lot about S U R V I V E's capabilities).

The aforementioned sequel trappings are very much present, and it could be considered a problem depending on your stance. If you're inclined to believe that the Duffer Brothers trying to mimic their favorite sequels means something positive, then this won't be a problem. Conversely, if you think copying the worst aspects of Hollywood isn't exactly...great, these issues might stand out.

The ultimate weakness with the second season is in the structure and writing. It isn't that the dialogue is worse, although there is a bit too much comic relief at times and it is occasionally ham-fisted and corny beyond what it should be. It's just the amount of disconnected filler. Season 2 suffers from the the "More Problem."

Almost always, sequels try to improve upon the popular original material by going bigger and doing more. For example, how do you top the terror of a single xenomorph in Alien? Well, obviously, just throw in an entire swarm of them in Aliens! Just add more aliens! That is certainly the case here (instead of one humanoid creature to terrorize the town, they go with a hoard of canine-like versions). Additionally, there is just more stuff in general. Where season one was eight episodes at forty-five minutes a pop, season two is nine episodes that are all nearly an hour long. More space to fill, especially in Netflix shows, has generally meant a fair amount of dead air.

It isn't necessarily fair to compare the two seasons, but it is worth taking a moment to note the structural changes that weaken it. There are several different branches of story in the inaugural series. You've got Hopper doing his thing. Joyce does hers. The boys do their thing with Eleven. Nancy and Jonathan have their story. It's a splintered narrative, as most shows are. What makes it work so well is how connected they inherently are. All of the separated plot threads revolve around finding Will. So, when it comes time to have all plot lines converge on a single point, it happens pretty organically. This is entirely because each story is separate, but related.

Season two, however, has a lot of fat. Some of the story lines are connected, to be sure, but they hardly line up as well. Everyone is going after a different objective. Dustin, Lucas, Steve, and Max are trying to contain their Dart problem. Hopper, Joyce, and Mike are trying to figure out what's going on with Will and his visions. Nancy and Jonathan are searching for a way to expose the secret government lab in town. Eleven eventually ends up on a journey of self-discovery. It's all disjointed plot threads. By itself, that is not so much of a problem. It becomes one when all plot points try to converge on the same moment in the larger narrative. The organic melding of threads from the first season is abandoned for some contrived reasons to put everyone together at the end.

Even more, there are secondary story lines that hardly get any attention beyond set-up. They are abandoned, ignored, or - in some instances - lack any actual conclusion. Take, for instance, the character story arc of Mike and his animosity towards Max. This gets set up pretty early. There isn't much explanation for it. And by the end, Mike never has a moment of recognizing Max's worth, or acknowledging that he has been a prick to her. Another great example is the Lucas/Dustin competition for Max's attention, which gets set up early, is almost never explored in any depth, and then has one of the strangest "conclusions" (in that it makes no sense why Dustin would even think of Max romantically by the end, but apparently he still does). Worse: the Max/Billy relationship has an air of mystery around it, gets almost no exploration, doesn't answer some of the questions they ask, and all builds to just a small character moment for Max, who doesn't really add that much to the overall story in her own right (which is a shame since she's a solid character). It winds up feeling like a distraction. The entire Jonathan/Nancy plot seems to exist exclusively to pacify fans dissatisfied with both the fact they didn't wind up together, and that Barb had seemingly been forgotten.

Eleven suffers the worst in the new season. She is literally forced to the sidelines for the first two-thirds of the season. Her story is not inherently uninteresting, but it also has nothing to do with the central plot. She serves the season primarily as the deus ex machina. With no bearing on the story, she is brought in literally at the end just to save the day because she's the one with the powers. Her detour in episode seven is completely unnecessary, disruptive to the pacing, and causes a strange tonal shift. An entire episode away from the intense action episode six ended on, it winds up feeling like something out of an '80s UK comic book. While the whole season is likely to be viewed fondly, it might not be so unexpected if that episode winds up being a bit polarizing.

None of this is to suggest there aren't interesting or well-executed elements. Easily the smartest thing they did was re-shape Steve into an actual person, with redeemable qualities. His relationship with Dustin comes out of nowhere, but works surprisingly well. On top of that, everything they did with Paul Reiser's character was clever and subversive. A doctor at the secret evil government facility, it is easy to keep expecting the moment revealing his true intentions. Turns out, he doesn't really have any. He has moments that lack awareness, but he does seem to genuinely want to help these people. It puts a spin on the "evil government agency" trope that is actually pretty refreshing. The dynamic between Hopper and Joyce also serves as a strength. (There should be no question that the Duffer Brothers clearly think of those two characters as their bread and butter for pushing the larger story.) Splitting the kids up even breeds interesting elements to the narrative.

On a technical level, it holds up to the first season - minus a few things. The obsession with psych-out "jump scares" is incredible! Few shows have so heavily relied on the fake out. In fact, one scene uses the fake out to build up to...another fake out scare. There is a lack of genuine terror in season two that season one managed to pull off with the single demogorgon. Loud, startling noises are the bane of modern horror. Stranger Things uses the fake out quite excessively.

[As an aside: can writers please retire the old schtick of a character saying something like, "This isn't (insert fiction)! This is real life!" Every time a character says that, at least have the decency to have them turn to the camera, nod, and wink at the audience. Seriously, it wasn't that clever the first time someone did that "meta" joke. They use that line and a variation of it twice in the same episode.]

All in all, it'd be hard to argue season two was anywhere near the level of season one, but that should not be mistaken to mean it wasn't enjoyable. At times, it almost seemed reminiscent of Attack the Block, with a pretty obvious The Exorcist vibe by the end. There's a lot of stuff that really works.

It is probably worth noting that I was born in '87, which means I grew up in the '90s. I don't have the same nostalgia for all things '80s like a lot of other people seem to. The showrunners handle it well (although at times, a little clunkier than in season one), but occurring in that time period doesn't fill me with any deeper emotions. I understand that this aesthetic will touch others in a more personal fashion than it can for me. It's easy to see why some would gravitate towards the show's aesthetic and allow that to do a little more lifting than the writing. For me, personally, the comfort of nostalgia doesn't quite cover for the structural issues.

It's one of those things that, for me, the more I think about it, the more mediocre I think the second season is. However, the worst of Stranger Things is still better than a lot of things - especially from Netflix. I suspect I'll be in the minority on this. I liked it, but I do think when I revisit the show, I'll probably just stick with season one. I liked the ideas put forth by fans as to what the end of that season meant a lot more than what the Duffer Brothers actually did with it.

REDUCTIVE RATING: It's...fine.  (But I presume everyone else will think better of it.)

Superhot (2016)

In an age where major studios are obsessed with cramming too much stuff into a game, there is still truth in the philosophy of do one thing really well instead. Superhot is a good example of a simple game with a unique mechanic, and focusing on that. A first person shooter/puzzle game, the "schtick" is that time only moves when you do. This single mechanic allows for an interesting array of level designs with various degrees of difficulties.

It's not entirely accurate to say that time only moves when you do. Standing still just slows it down a lot, but doesn't halt everything. The natural inclination when picking up a shooter is to run and gun, but that can be a death sentence here. Depending on where enemies spawn and what kind of weapons they have, you could be dead before you even know it. The more you go through a level, the more confident you might feel going quickly, but odds are that you'll want to take it slow. Learn the level while you stop to plan out your next move. It's an FPS with a meticulous, deliberate sensibility.

Everyone takes just one hit to be killed, which adds tension to movement. One hit and you're gone. On the flip side, a single well-placed shot will take out enemies as well, which can make a big difference while planning your next move. Of course, getting those shots just right is shockingly tricky. Most players experienced in the shooter genre are familiar with leading their targets. It takes a fair amount of getting used to when those targets are moving in a very stop and go fashion. You have time to take aim, but it can be difficult to judge how far you have to lead a moving enemy when they aren't moving a normal speed, or how you won't know if you hit them until you start moving again, which then often exposes you to enemy fire. 

Suffice it to say that Superhot can get challenging at times. Many levels feel substantially more like a puzzle game than a shooter. Frustration can mount as you struggle to dodge bullets, find enemy spawn points, and figure out the best routes to take to succeed. While bullets are easy to track, thanks to long, red tracer tails, how close they need to come to actually hit you is sometimes infuriating. Being in the first person perspective, it can be hard to tell when a bullet is going to hit the body you can't see. Rounds don't actually have to hit you head on to kill you, which sometimes feels a little unfair. Still, it doesn't take long to figure out proper adjustments to avoid enemy fire. Some enemies are more troublesome than others (like ones with shotguns that spray multiple rounds at once), but the difficulty is pretty solid to provide for a sense of great satisfaction upon solving the levels.

Perhaps the most surprising element of Superhot is it's narrative. People will be drawn to the time altering mechanic, and they might be grabbed by its art style. However, the story is worthy of attention, too. Fans of meta-commentary about a medium - like how Undertale makes comments about games or Community makes comments about television - will likely be interested in Superhot, itself a game about playing a game. Every few levels, you are kicked out of "the game" to have a text chat with a friend about it. As you get deeper into it, mysterious things start happening outside your control. Someone or something is watching you, both in the game and out of it. A series of chanting "The mind is software," and "Bodies are disposable," culminates in the "in-game" you killing the "out of game" you. At this time, they introduce a new body-switching mechanic that is shades The Swapper. It doesn't get enough time in the game for players to use, really, but it still adds to the gameplay.

There is a VR version out there that actually is pretty awesome. Superhot lends itself to the VR experience pretty well. They continue with the meta in game/out of game story element (you have to pop a disk into the computer and then put on a VR head set in game to start the game), and its stylized white environments with red enemies makes for a less disorienting VR experience than a game like, say, Resident Evil VII which goes for realistic graphics. Virtual reality isn't quite graphically there yet, so the more realistic the look, the more off it feels. While the first few levels of Superhot VR are surprisingly fun, there is definitely a wall you slam into. Since time slows down when you stand still, it's actually much harder to control that mechanic with your head than with a traditional controller with two analog sticks. Even more, the game requires the use of Sony's motion controllers, which are frustratingly unreliable in their accuracy. When it only takes one hit to get game over, and when they set it up so that each level has multiple parts that you have to repeat when you start over, the lack of accuracy is devastating to the experience. It is worth checking out Superhot VR, and it does maybe highlight the potential of the technology, but it still has a long way to go before gaming because equally fun with it.

When you finally beat the game, the mysterious people behind it all in the story tell you that it is now your responsibility to spread the word and get more people to play Superhot, so their ranks can grow. I'd love to say I'm not part of their meta-advertising campaign, but the game is fun and interesting enough that it's hard not to recommend it. Perhaps the biggest problem with it is that it is so short, which just goes to show how good it is. "Innovative" gets thrown around a lot as a term to describe games, but it might not be so accurate to describe it as such. It is, however, quite unique and worth playing regardless.

REDUCTIVE RATING: Super hot! Play it!

Systems: PS4, XBox One, Windows, Linux

Monsters (2010)

(Preface: This is a slightly edited repost from my old blog. It was written in either 2011 or 2012. I have added a few thoughts from here in 2017, indicated in italic parentheses.)

The first feature film from director Gareth Edwards, 2010's Monsters is something of a 28 Days Later movie for the monster genre. It's a pretty simple story, following photographer Andrew Kaulder as he is given the task of bringing his boss's daughter Sam home to the United States. It's basically a road trip movie with a love story at the core. And, of course, there are giant alien creatures that destroy cities and trucks.

Monsters is practically the definition of guerrilla film making. With a budget of $500,000, the film is shot entirely on location throughout five different central American countries. Often, they would have to move quickly to shoot scenes without disrupting the every day life of those places. They also would make up scenes on the spot if they found something that looked visually interesting. The best example of this was the scene with the candle light vigil. Edwards and crew just stumbled upon the Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico. Seeing this, Edwards gathered the actors and crew to come up with a scene that could utilize the event around them. They then found a place to put it into the film. The end result is a tonal shift that really enhances the sense of devastation from the creatures. This is generally how they shot most things.

Edwards does an excellent job keeping the focus on just these two characters while giving a sense of scale with images of destroyed buildings and boats in the background. With a lot of monster movies, you don't really get a sense of the ground level. We tend to see the larger impact of the beast. It's threat is global. Here, we just get a taste of the larger scale, but we ultimately connect to the human cost of giant monster attacks. And when we finally see the beasts in action, the graphics are solid with a good sense of fear from the characters. Instead of pulling back to show us the entire attack, we get shots of the attack from Sam and Kaulder's perspective, making it feel more personal.

The chemistry between Kaulder and Sam is a little rough at first, but builds over time. Some dialogue seems forced or poorly prepared (as they probably made it up just before the shoot), but overall, they do seem to genuinely connect. This is probably in large part due to the fact that actors Scoot McNairy and Whitney Able are actually married in real life. Able plays Sam, a young woman adrift in the midst of an unsure engagement. McNairy plays Kaulder as the annoyed babysitter who wants nothing more than to stay in Central America to take an award winning photograph of a real live monster. Kaulder is impatient, often bordering on outright mean. It's a little unclear why Sam can't just take herself home when she seems to have more money and has an actual grasp on the language (she speaks it fluently while Kaulder can only give an awkward "hasta luego" at times). In this way, the basic premise of the plot is a bit contrive, with the owner of the publishing company Kaulder works for issuing an ultimatum to bring his daughter home in the aftermath of a creature attack.

What makes the beasts seem even more frightening is the real footage put in. Often, we see CGI boats or buildings destroyed in the background of shots, but Edwards also makes it a point to shoot scenes anywhere there was real rubble. In the first scene after the opening credits, we see Kaulder walking up a hill of rubble and broken buildings as he searches for Sam. All of it is real. Similarly, when they get to the destroyed town in America, a storm had just hit and the town really was devastated. There's also a cool shot of a road that just seems to end. The road had been wiped out by a flood prior.

The CGI looks pretty good too. Granted, there ultimately isn't much of it which winds up being the best thing for the film. It's reliant on post production CGI to show the power of the creatures, but it's still used sparingly. This is ultimately a movie about the people, not the monsters. Most of the CGI used winds up being used to put signs into the backgrounds! Tension is created through implications - kind of like how Steven Spielberg had to get creative due to the technical difficulties of the mechanical shark in Jaws.

A lot of people have complained that it's kind of a boring movie and nothing really happens. It's more personal in scale and a bit more somber in tone than typical monster movies, to be sure. And for a movie called Monsters, you only really see them a handful of times. You don't really see them attack anything except a couple of trucks. Still, once they get to America, things get particularly interesting. As a lifelong fan of the genre, it is among my favorite sequences ever in the category of "monster flick."

The final sequence makes the whole movie, really. In an abandoned part of America, Sam and Kaulder find a gas station which they use to call for help. The military is dispatched to rescue them and they're left to simply wait. While they wait, Sam calls her annoyed and overly concerned fiance while Kaulder calls his child. All of the things they've discussed on their travels come to a head here that culminates in a monster investigating the gas station.

The scene starts off as something of a nod to The War of the Worlds. Sam is alone inside the building when she hears the door open. Thinking it's Kaulder returning from the payphone outside, she looks happy for a moment before realizing that instead, it's the long, creepy tentacles of an alien creature. The tentacles investigate the store for a few minutes while Sam struggles to keep it together. Meanwhile, Kaulder is powerless to do anything but watch from outside. It's a pretty tense moment!

A second monster shows up and the two creatures proceed to connect via several tentacles and - presumably - mate. While this happens, Kaulder is still motionless outside watching. Slowly, Sam comes outside to watch what is transpiring as well. As the two creatures intertwine with each other more and more, Sam moves closer and closer to Kaulder.  By the time the creatures are done and move on, Sam and Kaulder are finally in the same shot together. In the background, we hear the incoming humvees and helicopters of the rescuing military party. Finally, Sam admits that she doesn't want to go home. She essentially admits that whatever is waiting for her back in the safety of her normal life is scarier to her than these creatures. The two finally kiss before the military shows up and pushes them into separate humvees.

It's a sequence that goes all over the spectrum. It starts off tense and frightening and ends up with a display of honesty and beauty. These monsters aren't really monsters. They're just creatures, doing what they do. The way that Sam and Kaulder kind of parallel the movements of the monsters is perfect, and suddenly everything makes sense.

The film is essentially just the story of these two characters set in this environment (and there are a number of plotholes, but they're not huge or distracting). It's possible to read into the film a number of different ways. From the outset, you get a sense that it's trying to say something about immigration. The "Infected Zone" is from the middle of Mexico to the border of the United States. The US's response is to build a giant wall at the border to keep the aliens out (this aspect takes a whole new focus given the political climate of 2017). Meanwhile, good, hardworking, family oriented people are being kept out of safety as a result. It could also be argued that the film is a way to show how perilous the actual passage to the United States can be. The messages here seems clear.

Still, the wall ultimately fails and when Kaulder and Sam get into the United States, they see good ol' American towns destroyed by the aliens. If we were to continue the immigration metaphor, it would then suggest that the aliens will get in anyway. And not just that, but destroy America as well! These are both easy messages to take away if reading too much into it. At the end of the day though, it seems pretty unclear if Edwards was trying to say anything at all on the topic.

Monsters isn't for everyone. It isn't action packed and can feel a bit slow-paced at times. Its guerrilla style film making makes it seem ultra-realistic at times while seeming forced at others. It abandons a lot of typical monster movie tropes. Similar to how Danny Boyle wanted to explore life after the breakout in 28 Days Later, Edwards wanted to explore life after the initial monster attacks. It's a place where everyone carries a gas mask and destruction is just part of life. Seeing destroyed tanks or dead creatures is completely normal. This change of pace makes it one of my favorite movies of the past few years.

As a side note: this film ultimately got Gareth Edwards the job for the Legendary reboot of Godzilla. Though I happen to still have some doubts, the way that Edwards showed the dark, human costs of monster attacks in Monsters gives me a lot of hope for his take on Godzilla. When he started work on Monsters, he said he just wanted to make a monster movie. And now he gets to make the mother of all monster movies. (Follow up a few years later: it seems like the concerns were merited, but that the strengths Edwards showed on Monsters proved beneficial to Godzilla as well. He definitely did more than most Godzilla films to show the dark, human cost, and his eye for scale stood out as well.)