Though all art and entertainment is subjective, few genres are as subjective as comedies. Most people enjoy laughing, but finding The Hangover funny does not necessarily mean you will find Meatballs funny or any Mel Brooks movie funny. And, despite the collective social groan at the new Epic Movie or Superhero Movie or Scary Movie, there are people that genuinely find that stuff amusing. Point here being, reviewing a comedy is sometimes trickier than examining a drama because comedy is one of the most subjective things out there.
In that vein, Game Night is an even stranger film to look at. In many ways, its cinematic experience parallels that of the characters within the movie: "what is going on?" was a frequent question on my mind while watching it, except not for narrative reasons it is going for.
Centered on a group of friends and their traditional "game night," they are brought into a confusing murder mystery game that coincides with an actual kidnapping. There's even a third angle that comes into play later that further confuses what is real versus what is staged. The story and comedy is built around this premise. It seems the goal of the filmmaker is to confound audience members as much as it does its own characters.
The problem, then, is that the characters never seem all that confounded themselves. Yet the film is itself a confusing mixture of - often - awesome elements. There are scene transitions that visually look like it is all happening on a game board, which looks neat and is surprisingly interesting for Hangover-esque comedy. There are also sequences edited almost like an Edgar Wright film, with fast cuts to depict the passing of time that, again, feel surprisingly unique for a basic comedy. Or, there's also an incredible synth-based score throughout the entire feature that is both amazing to listen to and amazingly out of place within the film.
And, of course, there's the cast. With Rachel McAdams and Jason Bateman as its leads, there should be little reason for these characters to lack charm or charisma. Yet no one really stands out except for Jesse Plemons (the actor quickly taking up the role of "best actor you see in everything but have no idea what his name is"), and even he stands out largely by playing a completely one-dimensional creepy neighbor. Game Night also features the biggest waste of Danny Huston since X-Men Origins: Wolverine.
The ultimate problem is that the script just isn't that funny. There are funny scenes, sure. To suggest I didn't laugh at all would be incorrect. To be sure, I came to realize that I have underestimated McAdams's comedic chops. But a lot of the comedy falls flat because there aren't really any compelling characters. The most interesting narrative element is in the fact that they never give anyone other than Bateman's character an arc. They appear to give others cliche development, but wind up dropping it just after they telegraph where it's going. It could be a sort of meta-joke, playing on audience expectations for a little laugh. Then again, it could just be sloppy writing.
Game Night highlights that a film isn't always just a sum of its parts. There are many interesting or intriguing aspects to the film, yet it never amounts to anything more. By no means is it the worst movie of the year or one of the worst comedies in a while, but even if you liked it, there's likely not much of a chance you'll ever revisit it.
It is difficult going back to play an old game for the first time, especially if that game came out in the early to mid-aughts. Beyond Good and Evil was a 2003 action-adventure game that quickly drew a loyal fan base, with good reason. It is, however, extremely dated - even with an HD remaster released for XBox Arcade years later.
Still, there is plenty of reason to revisit it or check it out if you haven't. Most impressive is its execution of AI allies. Future games would be critically acclaimed for working in teammates to help the player - games like The Last of Us or BioShock: Infinite - but it speaks volumes of the developers of Beyond Good and Evil that they managed to effectively do the same thing a decade earlier. AI allies are useful in combat and, when applicable, required for puzzle-solving in levels.
Often working with a teammate goes a long way to making your partnership feel more real. When Pey'j gets kidnapped by the evil DomZ, his absence is notable. A new character pops up to assume the role of ally, but the powers and movesets are a bit different. They're similar enough in combat, but in puzzles, they provide different attributes according to their characters.
That segues nicely into the other strength of the game: it's world. The mid to late aughts really saw a push for more realistic-looking graphics and styles, but Beyond Good and Evil really went for a cartoon-like look. Anthropomorphic animals and humanoids exist in this world, along side alien invaders and robots. That visual style lends itself to more of the humorous tone throughout the game, too. In terms of its atmosphere and style, it's a fun, cohesive look aided all the more by a stylish, memorable score.
The weaknesses, though, make it a challenge to play today and - frankly - probably then as well. Combat is clunky, and its apparent indecision to allow player-controlled cameras or fixed camera angles makes it nauseating to get through some stretches of dungeons. At times, the hardest part of the game is struggling with the camera. The stealth elements of gameplay are appreciated, but it would have been better if they committed to one camera or player-controlled cameras. It seems a little unsure if it primarily wants to be a stealth or an action game. While the style and tone are cohesive and in tune with one another, the gameplay is often confused. Even the hovercraft races are clunky.
That applies to the inclusion of the in-game camera. To earn money, players are asked to snap photographs of the local wildlife. Story missions include elements of photojournalism as well. For the story stuff, it works out pretty well. To increase your cash-flow, it is entirely distracting and chops up the flow of battle. Does it want to be an action game, or Pokemon Snap?
None of it makes the game wholly unplayable, and indeed the notion of a sequel on modern consoles is promising because it implies they will iron out the controls and camera problems. However, it does make it feel very dated and sloppy. It takes a little while before the awkward controls and camera starts to show itself as problematic, but when it does, it never goes away.
Beyond Good and Evil was ambitious for the time, poorly executed in some important ways, but also clever and fun. It's odd that it will ultimately be about a decade and a half between the first and its upcoming sequel. This is one of those games that, like Spider-man 2: The Video Game, can be hard to truly gauge because of the year it came out versus how poorly it plays today. There's a lot to like about the game and, subsequently, a potential franchise, but it's probably not worth it to go through the whole thing at this point.
Reductive Rating: It's fine, but dated.
Available on: PS2, PS3, XBox, XBox 360, GameCube, PC
As we discuss options for the future of our podcast endeavors, we took the time to talk about Black Panther, and boy do we talk about it for a long time. It's about two hours, so...yeah...Sorry. But also, it's hard to not talk about this movie for so long. Granted, we also meander through various other topics from time to time.
Xenosaga was always going to be a hard sell. A long, cut-scene heavy turn-based RPG with a ton of thematic narrative that is often confusing and a bit too "intellectual" for its own good, the series did see generally positive reviews yet failed to truly capture an audience the way other franchises had. The biggest problem facing the third installment of the trilogy was that it was never planned to be a trilogy. The original concept had called for a six-part story, so after the middling success of Episode II, they dramatically re-worked Episode III.
It feels exactly that way, as well. At times, the story unfolds in a natural pace. Half of the game takes place in the past, having players revisit events we had already been exposed to in the previous game. That stretch seems absurdly long given all the major points of the final three games had to be condensed into one. Why waste time showing us this thing that appears to have so little to do with anything?
Admittedly, Xenosaga's story is itself inherently a mixed bag. It is dense and heavy on many different philosophical themes that can easily be appealing to players looking for more thought-provoking stories. Conversely, it is so cryptic for so long that it can be difficult to follow. When a ten minute cutscene starts playing after a battle, it is easy for players to simply zone out or, in today's time, double screen. Episode III wisely includes a database in the menus - a source of information players can refer to when they don't exactly remember who was who or what organization was what. The writers often do a poor job explaining things in a way that makes any sense to viewers, though the characters in-game seem to have all the knowledge in the universe.
In fact, the push for religious and philosophical themes often comes at the cost of the characters. Despite some neat design and a few of them being overall "cool," they hardly exist as anything other than pawns in the larger focus of the story. Jr. got a fair amount of attention in the second game, as did MOMO, but plenty of characters don't get adequate exploration or explanation - especially chaos.
By virtue of compressing more story into a single game, Episode III also manages to feel a lot less technically special. Cutscenes are still prominent, but the bulk of the narrative and dialogue now gets displayed through motionless text-boxes. It almost plays more like a comic book than a video game, with speech appearing next to an image of the character. Clearly, this was done to maximize the amount of space they could use for additional levels, cutscenes, and other elements of the game, hoping to elongate it.
That isn't the only shortcut it appears to have taken. The ultimate strength of the previous games were their somewhat unique gameplay systems. Episode I had a fun combat system built off its predecessor Xenogears that made it stand out from other RPGs like Final Fantasy or Breath of Fire. Episode II introduced the boost and break system, as well as add elements of chaining series of attacks together for added damage. Here, the game takes a much more traditional approach to battles. It plays almost exactly like any other RPG with the exception of the "break" bar. Every combatant on the screen has a health bar and a break bar. When a player's break bar is filled, they essentially get knocked out for a couple of rounds. Turns are skipped and, more importantly, any damage taken is amplified. Managing health and break stats during the battle adds a small amount of complexity to fighting, but it's still ultimately very simple and streamlined. Similarly, leveling up takes a pretty linear approach as well.
Mech battles are a little smoother than in the previous two games, but still sees some of the problems. Really, the big issue present in the first game never gets even remotely addressed throughout the trilogy. If the most egregious design issue is that the rules that apply to players do not apply to the AI enemies, especially bosses, then Episode III takes those to almost new heights. Bosses, in particular the last set of them, are so full of unfair cheap shots that it can really test one's resolve to even keep trying.
On some level, it's frustrating to get through all of three games, over sixty hours of game, and then get a string of "final bosses" that feel so incredibly unfair that you just decide it's not worth it to bother trying. Or, alternatively, grind. Side quests are so tedious throughout the series that it often feels like homework.
In many ways, the entirety of Xenosaga is noticeably dated, yet the trilogy did have moments of promise. There are combat elements that could have been more widely used and adapted throughout the genre that the turn-based RPG could have continued on. The concept of mech fights with their own separate mechanics could have resulted in something better. Yet it still suffers from poor level design (Episode III seriously has some of the most tedious levels in any game reviewed on this blog), a battle system and leveling system constantly watered down, and an over-reliance on cutscenes - all some of the worst aspects that the game industry had to offer in the early aughts.
There are interesting aspects to the trilogy. And to be sure, there are plenty of older RPGs worth revisiting that, yes, do still feel a little dated, but don't feel negatively so. However, the Xenosaga trilogy is not one of them.
A new weekly podcast, Revisitors seeks to re-examine once popular films or otherwise still quoted films that seem to have largely faded from our memories. (And hopefully this will someday include other people talking as well. That's the dream with this one.) We begin with one of the strangest films to just explode onto the pop culture landscape for some reason, Napoleon Dynamite.
It's easy to roll one's eyes whenever a new Marvel movie comes out and all the reviews come back positive, with everyone claiming it's the best Marvel movie yet and it changes the game. They say that about every one of these things that gets released! And sure, sometimes they are great and change things up for that character (a la Thor: Ragnarok), but none of them are really revolutionary.
And yet, Black Panther is the best Marvel movie yet and could potentially change the game, with its very existence itself being revolutionary.
It's hard to know if superhero fatigue is genuinely kicking in as these films continue to do well at the box office, but Marvel has largely been good at staying ahead of the curve in a way that Warner Brothers, Sony, and Fox have definitely not. When grounded origin stories were getting old, they gave us more genre flicks. When that started getting a bit dull, they started embracing the weirdness of properties like Dr. Strange and Thor: Ragnarok. And when the bland visual and musical styling of the franchises started getting stale, they gave us Black Panther. They are not always successful at doing this, of course, but it is generally why Marvel Studios continues to stay relevant and popular while other studios struggle to figure it out.
Much will be made about the representation aspect of its release. While not the first blockbuster starring black characters front and center, or even first superhero film centered on a black character (lest we forget Blade effectively kicked off the modern obsession with the genre in Hollywood), it is the first in the post-Marvel Studios world, where studios are constantly pouring hundreds of millions of dollars into these properties. Even more, this is a Hollywood blockbuster film featuring a predominantly black cast. Other than Andy Serkis and Martin Freeman, the only other white characters are nameless henchmen. As a white person, it does not feel like my place at all to comment on the power this alone has for people, but for all the overly-represented people saying representation in media doesn't matter, just a quick scroll through Twitter indicates it very much does.
Representation does not make a good film alone, however. And that doesn't mean anything about the entertainment value of a superhero flick. Fortunately, Marvel hired Ryan Coogler, a director whose first three feature films are Fruitvale Station, Creed, and now Black Panther. (If RottenTomato scores are something you value, his first three features garnered ratings of 94%, 95%, and 97%.) What we got was a complex story about identity and the struggle to find it in a rapidly changing world, all wrapped up nicely in the fun and exciting superhero package.
Put simply: this is exactly what the genre needs more of.
Marvel movies do a great job weaving in emotional moments using lovable characters in an entertaining world, but largely avoid dealing with anything too complex or challenging. Stripped to their basics, most superhero films, especially Marvel ones, are primarily just about characters learning to accept responsibility. The main theme of Iron Man is the same as from Spider-man is the same as from Man of Steel is the same as from Thor is the same as from Ant-Man, Dr. Strange, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Avengers, X-Men and really, most superhero flicks. Maybe The Incredible Hulk is a bit more "self-acceptance" and Captain America is more "power comes from character" than "with great power there must also come great responsibility," but that's still a major part of it.
With Black Panther, T'Challa doesn't need to learn the concept of responsibility. He has trained his entire life to become king of Wakanda. He is well aware of his responsibility and does not shirk away from it at any moment of the film. For him, it's a question of what exactly that responsibility calls for him to do. Many would have him maintain the status quo. Defend the old ways. Remain isolationist and continue what has always made Wakanda a strong, independent nation. For others, it would be to reach out. Create a new way of Wakanda, one that includes outreach to help neighboring nations and the oppressed people of the world. They have the means and knowledge, so they should. Others want expansionism through force, using their skill as warriors and superior weapons to shape the world according to their will.
The question of Wakanda's future stems from one of identity the central theme of the film. When you really boil it all down, the love interest and the villain kind of want the same thing. Both Nakia and Killmonger want to use Wakandan knowledge and resources to help people. And it is our hero, T'Challa, who stands opposed. It is the protagonist who doesn't think Wakandan resources should be used to help outsiders because Wakanda needs to remain secret for its own safety and prosperity. It is not a question of him failing to be responsible; rather it is a question of what his responsibility dictates he do. Many in Wakanda would see his defense of isolationism as the right and responsible course of action for the nation.
Themes of identity get tied up in here pretty heavily. Killmonger has no real place to call "home." Wakandan by blood, he has been forced to live in America, with its rich history of disenfranchising and oppressing people of color. He is unwelcome where he grew up, but also where his ancestors are from. "Black" is the primary identity, and it has a global bond. He relates to "his people" because of the common struggle. For T'Challa, that isn't how he sees himself. He is the leader of Wakanda. His national identity takes precedence, thus he does not help people of color around the world in order to protect the national interests. He is a leader of Wakandans, and no one else.
Coogler brilliantly crafts a story that can have deeper meaning and relevance for certain audience members while incorporating themes just universal enough to resonate with everyone. Though I can't personally relate to the questions of black identity, I can relate to the questions of globalism vs. isolationism. What is our responsibility in America as a wealthy, powerful nation to the rest of the world? Am I defined purely by arbitrary geographical and political boundaries? Even within the United States: am I a Massachusetts man first and an American second? There has never been a superhero film this specific and universal all at the same time.
Killmonger is, without question, the most compelling villain in a Marvel film yet. Granted, that doesn't necessarily mean anything, but that speaks to the movie's quality and why so many are raising it above the rest. Loki might be more entertaining and memorable; Killmonger is a bad guy who you listen to when he speaks. He makes you hate him for acting pure evil to then reflecting and thinking, "I mean...he kinda...does...have a point though..." While he's never likable, and the vengeance element of his goal separates his desire from Nakia's, you definitely understand where he's coming from. He isn't one of these monster-of-the-week villains who is just there to destroy the world or craves power. The ability to understand the antagonist's motivation is key to a compelling villain and, thus, a compelling story within the superhero genre.
Of course, it helps that Michael B. Jordan was conceived by the physical manifestation of Screen Presence and Charisma. Everyone knows where Wallace is now. The cast is amazing, but Jordan just brings it in a way no Marvel villain has yet.
While the obvious subtext will be about identity and how we define ourselves especially in regards to race and nationality, there is criticism of masculine society too. For starters, it could easily be argued that Killmonger represents toxic masculinity. He and Nakia both want Wakanda to help people, but Nakia seeks to do so with peaceful means. She doesn't mind fighting if the need arises, and indeed involves herself in affairs across the border to help the oppressed, but she doesn't go out with vengeance in mind. Killmonger, conversely, wants revenge on a world that has seen rampant colonization of Africa and systematic oppression of black people across the globe. He doesn't just seek to uplift his people. He seeks revenge and subsequently channels his anger through violence in a way that Nakia does not. The look of Killmonger speaks to this notion as well. Jordan is as finely tuned a machine as you will find in a human, and yet he has scarred his own body. Without his modifications, he would very much resemble the ideal male form. Yet it isn't, because he's sense of vengeance and inability to appropriately channel anger made him scar it up.
While Wakanda is full of kick-ass women warriors, it is the men who actively want to enact violence. It is Okoye, the woman leading the royal vanguard, who initially wants to protect the old way of isolationism and order. It is her lover W'Kabi, the man in charge of the rhino corps, who seems interested in expanding Wakandan influence through war. While both embrace a new future by the end, it is still Okoye fighting for future peace.
Additionally, it's hard to ignore that during the final battle, it starts off essentially as a battle between men (who want to use violence to expand Wakandan political influence and power) and women (who are fighting to protect more traditional and peaceful means). It should also be noted that T'Challa is, without question, the most emotionally healthy hero in the MCU. He often tries to talk opponents down, plans on violence as a last resort if necessary, and even when having a momentary lapse in judgment because of an emotional response, will listen to those around him. T'Challa is the most emotionally mature and healthy male character in these superhero movies. It would be hard to ignore the reality that he is constantly surrounding himself with women as his closest advisers.
A nation of five tribes, each with their own leadership that advises the king, Wakandan society is at the heart of every good Black Panther story. It is no different here. And in Wakandan society, women are equally important. T'Challa has a group of female fighters around him at most times, including the head of the vanguard and Nakia, a spy who is also well-trained for combat. But more, the king's council is comprised of a number of women, including his mother. His sister, Shuri, is head of technological development (and in the comics, took up the Black Panther mantle for a few years). Recognizing that makes it really understandable why Wakandan women would want more defense of tradition. This would be a hard motivation to understand in western societies that have largely been built to elevate men over women.
In essence, it could even be said that the film isn't even about it's titular character. T'Challa does have an arc and experience growth, sure. Yet the primary character actually seems to be Wakanda itself. Though T'Challa is a likeable character outright (and Chadwick Boseman is a killer Black Panther), we ultimately care about his fate because we care about Wakanda. Killmonger might have a point sometimes, but we know he's bad for the nation. We want T'Challa to come back and save the day because we know he would be a better, more fair king. And when all is said and done, his experience with Killmonger even gets him to agree that Wakanda needs to do more for people, especially of color, around the world. Yeah, it's a Marvel movie in which the villain actually succeeds in influencing the actions of the hero.
One of the few criticisms I have for the film is actually that I wanted more Wakanda. By no means is it poorly done or even mediocre in its execution. However, I would have enjoyed maybe ten more minutes during Act I wherein T'Challa has to deal with internal political issues. Maybe one of the tribes requests certain resources for help fixing a flood, but the other tribe feels that it would remove resources they need to handle a problem of their own. Something wherein T'Challa would have to hear conflicting opinions about what should be done and having to make a decision of his own using that information and insight of advisers. Could have fleshed out Wakandan politics a little bit more while also highlighting the complications he will face and the struggle to be the good king he wishes to be.
But at the end of the day, "I wanted even more" isn't exactly a bad sign for the film. (I also wanted more Killmonger, and as great as he was, he could have stood a little more fleshing out. But really, I just wanted more Jordan on screen.)
The only other criticism was in its action. To be sure, it's still solid superhero action. However, the problem with its action are identical to every single superhero film's action to date: too much CGI. When you've got a fight between two costumed, masked humans conducting hand-to-hand combat, it would have been nice to have actual martial artist stuntmen performing choreographed fights. Instead, we get a lot of poorly lit CGI characters punching CGI characters, all with quick and shaky camerawork. This is a constant problem of the genre and really stands out because its ultimately an action film. I kind of want to actually see the action.
Other than that, Black Panther really seems to have an answer to every criticism I've personally had about Marvel films. Absolutely, I have enjoyed every Marvel movie except Iron Man 3 and Thor: The Dark Thor. I love the basic character-driven action that pushes the genre, and that's why I love the comics as well. But I've long felt like they could at least attempt something with substance. It makes sense, really, that Black Panther would do that, given the comic itself was born out of a cultural and political movement. The creation of Black Panther as a comic book was itself a political act. (And famously, his second solo storyline was "Black Panther vs. the Klan.") It only makes sense, especially given the current political and social climate, Black Panther would be the first Marvel film to really try to tackle meaningful, substantial, and challenging themes.
It does that in the neat casing of a superhero flick. Even if you want to tune out and not think, the film is still enjoyable as a "dumb superhero movie." It's got well-defined characters, solid action, cool gadgets and outfits, and a great sense of humor. More importantly, Coogler knows when to cut it out. It's not as funny as Thor: Ragnarok, but Taika Waititi built his film to be more of an actual comedy. There isn't "relief" in the film so much as there is occasional breaks in the comedy for seriousness. The humor in Black Panther is great, but never crosses the line. He knows when to stop cracking wise, so - one meme-based joke that won't age well aside - the comedy works really well.
On top of wanting a fun superhero flick with some thematic substance and weight, it also finally gives us interesting cinematography. A big criticism of Marvel films is its muting of colors. Everything is just a drab brown, gray, or otherwise dark color. These movies aren't exactly known for being all that colorful, despite being comic book movies. We started to get more of it in Dr. Strange, and then again in Thor: Ragnarok, but even those films make sure to subdue its colorization some. In Black Panther, colors really pop. The best scene transition takes us from Wakanda, with its rich, vibrant colors where the outfits are colorful, the sky is bright blue, the greens are pure, and even the browns are light and stand out - to London, where all color has been washed out and it's just foggy, dark, and grey.
Finally, the thing Thor: Ragnarok did in letting its composer Mark Mothersbaugh actually inject some classic Mark Mothersbaugh into the score is expanded on. Criticizing Marvel scores has been pretty popular online lately, as they are always these generic orchestral sounds that are indistinguishable from one another and are ham-fisted in how it hits an emotion. The greatness of Kendrick Lamar's album inspired by the motion picture cannot be understated, but composer Ludwig Goransson does a great job in his own right balancing classic orchestral scores with traditional African music. It shouldn't be a surprise that Goransson excelled at creating a great original score. After all, he was key as co-producer of three Childish Gambino albums and has been signed to Jay-Z's label as a composer. (He also scored Community, as well as Coogler's previous two films.)
It would have been easy for Marvel to just tell a generic, yet fun action story, cast mostly black actors, and called it a day. They would have gotten credit and a big payday at the box office for just that. Yet they appear to have allowed Ryan Coogler to make the film he wanted, just as they seem to have let Waititi make his Thor as well. What we ended up with was easily the most compelling, substantive, challenging, and thematic superhero film since The Dark Knight.
Marvel's last two films - Black Panther and Thor: Ragnarok - have been helmed by people of color. Before this, Warner Brothers finally made a well-liked film with Wonder Woman, directed by a woman. It's almost as if diversifying your creative team can lead to new ideas and original visions stemming from the differing life experiences, and that those creators can tell stories that speak to a wide audience that has generally felt under served in media.
And with Black Panther poised to just wreck the box office this weekend, it's almost as if diversifying and trying to appeal to wider audiences (instead of just whiter audiences) is actually...*gasp*...good for business!
Did you feel like Event Horizon was a little too scary and didn't spend enough time explaining another completely separate movie? Did you find Sunshine could have been better with less compelling characters and a more poorly defined inter-character dynamic, in addition to providing unnecessary exposition for a totally different movie in the process? Well, if you did, then The Cloverfield Paradox might just be your dream movie!
In many ways, it shouldn't come as any surprise that The Cloverfield Paradox went about the same way as the first installment in the "Cloverfield" franchise. Way back in 2007, a mysterious trailer appeared before Transformers that featured a decapitated Statue of Liberty head landing in the middle of a New York City street. And that was about it. What ensued was a viral marketing campaign the likes we've not seen before in Hollywood. Fans searched studio-created websites to suss out what the film could be. Was an the long-rumored Voltron film? (Where is that, by the way?) Was it another American attempt at Godzilla? Turned out, those rumors weren't terribly off-target. Mystery box lover J.J. Abrams had produced a kaiju film with a unique thought: what if we made a kaiju film in which you never see the monster or the attack? Basically, what would a kaiju movie look like if you stripped it of all the cool stuff that makes people like kaiju movies.
The "found footage" approach is ultimately what makes the first Cloverfield so disappointing despite featuring some interesting components. The strength of the film overall was it's marketing campaign. A similar thing occurred years later with 10 Cloverfield Lane, only with two key differences. First, the marketing wasn't exactly "mysterious" as much as it was secretive and delayed. A trailer did not come out until about a month and a half before the film's release. (There was a website and a game created for that "viral" feel, but it was pushed far less than Cloverfield.) Second and most importantly, it was backed by a genuinely good film.
The Cloverfield Paradox very much borrows from the first film, only with perhaps more troubling implications for the industry overall. Though rumors had been circulating for some time about a third installment, no one knew anything until a trailer was released in the first half of the Super Bowl. Even more, it turned out that the film would be dropping on Netflix later that night. Putting out a trailer and releasing the film on a streaming service during the most watched television program of the year is marketing brilliance. It sacrifices long-term build up and anticipation with a quick reminder of this franchise and giving a freshly informed audience immediate access.
A tactic like that is especially significant for a film like this. As many have noted, the film isn't exactly good. Anything following 10 Cloverfield Lane would have been a bit of a letdown, but The Cloverfield Paradox is a jumbled mess of a film that never quite seems sure of what it wants to be, what it wants to do, or even what tone it wants to strike. The acting is good, but that can't save it from a mediocre script filled with cheesy dialogue, extraordinarily contrived action sequences, and borderline comical death scenes. Worst of all, it fails primarily because it never establishes the characters or their relationships enough to merit concern once they hit the metaphorical storm.
It borrows a lot from Event Horizon, but never quite commits to be as thrilling or horrifying. In fact, everything revolving around Chris O'Dowd's arm is almost hilarious. Yet it also borrows a lot from Sunshine, Danny Boyle's underappreciated sci-fi film (that might actually be my favorite of his films). Boyle spends a good amount of time establishing his characters and depicting the social dynamic on the Icarus II. That effectively establishes a reason to care about the cast and feel scared when they are in peril, as well as sad when someone dies. Director Julius Onah never quite does any of that. Indeed, he conjures up some visuals that kill the desired emotion, and late in the film, moves on quickly from a character death. It is also nowhere near as focused as those other sci-fi thrillers.
That might be because of the most intriguing mystery of it all. Was The Cloverfield Paradox meant to be part of the "Cloverfield" brand from the start? It sure doesn't feel like it. Sporadically throughout the film, they cut back to Earth with Michael, the husband of our protagonist Ava Hamilton. At first, it seems as if this serves to connect us to Hamilton's reason for fighting so hard. She's already been gone a while, and when she ends up in a parallel universe, she desperately tries to get home to her husband. Except it doesn't take long to figure out that Michael's primary purpose has nothing to do with this film; rather, he is providing more connective tissue for the original Cloverfield.
The Super Bowl trailer made heavy use of Cloverfield footage, likely figuring that would help lure people in after the game. With the reminder of this - at a minimum - interesting sci-fi franchise and the promise of explanations, fans hoped to get some explanation as to the cause of events for the first film. Michael's entire story is centered around the monster's initial appearance. The Cloverfield Paradox attempts to explain that the monster probably came to Earth from a different dimension when a tear in space-time opened up (the result of the Shepard's experiments to create new energy). But none of that is, in any capacity, relevant to the main plot of this movie.
As a result, it feels crammed in there after the fact. Even more, the very title of the film feels jammed in there as well. One character is watching a news interview with crazy author Donal Logue, who drops a very conspicuous line of dialogue about how this experiment could open up a portal to monsters or demons. He then calls...something...the "Cloverfield paradox," but the film never makes much of an effort to explain what the paradox is. Or even, really, what's paradoxical about any element of the story.
What feels like forced inclusions of Cloverfield references only harm the focus of this film. Those sequences and moments aren't the main reason the film fails in whatever it is trying to do, but they certainly don't help it. At the same time, those sequences don't even succeed at providing adequate explanation for the "Cloverfield universe." They don't even make sense chronologically. In case you don't remember the events of the initial film, this universe appears to take place in our own. Everything is totally normal. It's just a normal world with normal friends going to normal parties in normal New York City, and then a giant monster happens to attack it. There is no information about what the monster is or where it came from. It just appears. (This is actually the most interesting thing that film does, for the record.)
Here, they try to explain that the world was in a desperate search for renewable energy, with global oil wars on the verge of outbreak. Global catastrophe is on the horizon, which prompts the nations of the world to construct a super particle collider in space (which itself doesn't make any sense in its own right). There are lines at the gas station reminiscent of the Carter administration, and power outages are just a normal part of life.
Apart from the fact that the monster "came from another dimension" doesn't make any sense in the context of The Cloverfield Paradox (seriously, they just go to another reality where everything is pretty much the same and there are no hints at monsters or aliens); it makes no sense in the chronology of Cloverfield lore either. This film tries to explain Cloverfield by reversing the sequence of events. That film ends with older footage from earlier in the year when the main couple was at Coney Island. The keen observer would notice a small object that appears to crash into the ocean far in the background. Previously, the rumor had been that that object must have been the monster itself, or that whatever it was woke it up. Yet The Cloverfield Paradox heavily implies that the escape pod holding Hamilton and Scmidt was that object.
With just about ten seconds of thinking about it, this can't be the case according to the previous films. In Cloverfield, the sequence of events was this: thing crashes into the sea behind them, everything is normal for a while, a monster attacks, the world breaks out into chaos. According to this film, however, it goes like this: nothing is normal, the world is on the brink of chaos over oil and power outages happen all the time, a monster attacks, the world breaks out into chaos, and then a thing crashes into the sea - literally right next to the beast. (And god help us if we even try to figure out where the events of 10 Cloverfield Lane fit into this. I am choosing to segregate it because it's such a great film and seems pretty clearly its own thing.)
If someone wants to argue that the "paradox" in question is that, much as two realities can't occupy the same space-time, the larger implication of these events in the same universe can't also be true at the same time, well, that's pretty shoddy storytelling that comes straight out of a '90s comic book. Perhaps the paradox is that "Cloverfield" is so interesting as an anthology series that explore similar themes through a sci-fi/thriller lens, and yet by virtue of being a franchise, the creators feel a need to connect the (nonexistent) canonical dots between them. "Cloverfield" is now at once an interesting and stupid thing at the same time.
On a slightly different level, the marketing and release of The Cloverfield Paradox also highlights a glaring weakness with streaming distribution - something many of us gamers might have already been wary of: quality control. The Cloverfield Project feels like a film the studio knew would bomb. It's hacked up and ambiguous about what its function is. Is it a stand-alone film, or a "Cloverfield" film? Is it trying to do its own thing, like 10 Cloverfield Lane, or is it trying to provide answers for Cloverfield? It's hard to imagine this thing was planned to be what it was. It is equally difficult to believe that this film would have done particularly well at the box office. It would presumably have had a relatively healthy opening weekend because of the brand, but when reviews start coming out and word of mouth spreads as to how bad it is, it likely would have been a financial bomb for Paramount Pictures.
So, distribute it through Netflix directly! For starters, people are more likely to give it a shot since it comes at no extra cost to them. They pay that $11 a month (or whatever Netflix costs now) either way. And if it's terrible, they can just turn it off. (I suspect this would also be true of Bright - which I still can't bring myself to watch after seeing how awful the first five minutes were.) Even more, they released it the same day they announced it, which is perfect! Rope people in before critics can see it, or anyone can tweet about how terrible it is. Because Netflix needs publicity rather than box office returns, it works out for them. Because Paramount undoubtedly figured the film would bomb at the box office, they could sell it to Netflix for a profit. It's a win-win for everyone (well, minus the consumer). It's genius.
To be sure, there is no shortage of hacked up films that studios know won't do as well as they need it to that still see the light of day in theaters. It wasn't that long ago that Justice League hit cinemas everywhere, and yes, I did bring myself to watch the dumpster fires that were Suicide Squad and Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. However, studios should feel the financial pressure of those missteps. If they want to greenlight a bad idea and then struggle to fix it through excessive meddling, they probably should lose money on it. The biggest reveal of The Cloverfield Paradox is that, especially with a franchise label attached, studios now have a mighty convenient exit strategy for films they know are bad.
