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Ladies & gentlemen, they & them,

Early 2000’s superhero movies are back, baby!

Madame Web is a top-tier dumpster fire.

• It has some of the worst dialogue I have heard in a while. How are these writers, who brought us such gems as Dracula Untold, The Last Witch Hunter, Gods of Egypt, and the trillion-dollar hit Morbius, still working?

• “Every day that goes by, my appointment with death gets closer.” is an actual line from the movie. There is plenty more to go around.

• The editing and visual effects are atrocious.

• The acting from everyone is awful. The line delivery is shockingly low energy, and I did not believe a word any of the actors were saying.

• I have seen these actors do great work in the past, so this is 100% the director's fault here. It's crazy how a director can get piss-poor performances from good actors.

• The characters had no chemistry with each other. The scenes together felt so awkward and unnatural.

• There are so many character choices that don't make sense.

• The villain fucking sucks. There is no real character to him. He's just a boring evil guy who wants to kill three “teenagers” because he dreamed of them killing him in the future. He is not threatening at all.

• I noticed the actor who played the villain was dubbed over with ADR for most of his scenes. You can tell.

• None of the humour landed. Painfully unfunny.

• The 2003 pop culture references were a pathetic excuse for creating a time capsule setting.

• Adam Scott and Emma Roberts have nothing to do here. You wonder why they are even there.

• For a superhero movie, there are barely any exciting action scenes. Whenever there is some action, it's nothing special. I would not mind the lack of action if the story, characters, and acting were superb, but it has none of that.

• The fact that the final battle scene takes place underneath a Cola/Pepsi sign is another example of the terrible product placement from Sony.

• The final shot is the most embarrassing thing I have ever seen.

My jaw is on the floor of how a movie like this can be shit out by a big studio. Sony REALLY needs to cut it out with these unnecessary Spider-Man spin-off films.

Madame Web is the worst superhero movie ever made. Yes, I mean it. At least the other bad superhero movies had some redeeming qualities to it. But this movie has nothing. Everything about this movie is wrong. Fant4stic is better than this. It makes Morbius look competently made.

The current state of superhero movies is in trouble, and Madame Web is not helping.

I'm exhausted. This tension, the politics, the intrigue, even to the last second. So much is happening in this episode. So much concealed under such elegant garments.

In one way I look forward to the finale next week, however I'm not sure how they are going to fit what I was anticipating to be in this episode into the last, unless it is a 3hr episode, but I think it won't be such.

The other way I'm looking forward to the finale, is I no longer will need to invest all my emotion and attention in this concentration of spectacle and the craft of each Actor performing to perfection their role, and appreciating each word, glance, and interaction with their counterparts in such a magnificent, stunning location.

I'll be ready for this finale but until then I'll be soaking in what I've watched today. What a pleasure it is to witness what the Arts can deliver if given a proper opportunity.

Thank you to the Creators, Actors, Crew, and Those That have painstakingly brought this masterpiece to us.

The conundrum has set in... I desperately want to see the last episode now, but I don't want it to be the last show. 10/10

I hope I can watch this again someday, and enjoy it in a different way. But as far as seeing it in the theater goes, it was a mildly enjoyable journey that turned in to an annoying slog, which ultimately culminated in disappointment.

What the fuck Tarantino? No mystery, no comedy, no trademark dialogue, NO STORY! This movie relies on presupposed knowledge too much. I go into movies that I want to see without reading anything about them or watching any trailers. So if the movie takes until the final act to reveal what the mystery even is, and then subverts it within 10 minutes in a ridiculously, unnecessarily violent way, it doesn't make for an enjoyable movie. It was two hours of a red herring (if you know what it's about already), and then a half hour of "Is this movie seriously going to end without tying together any of these useless, boring storylines?"

First act: Tarantino's use of different film stocks, and his decision to start the movie by showing his version of a corny Oldwest show got me very excited for what was to come. During the first act however, he went back to this a bunch of times, and each time it was a little less enjoyable when it only started out as mildly humorous in the first place. the character development, and relationship between Pitt and DiCaprio was fun to watch. Other character development was pretty flat, and the Bruce Lee scene was just dumb. Pretty early in the movie I started to dislike Pitt's character. this obviously would detract me from enjoying him as the pseudo-hero later.

Second act: The Sharon Tate storyline was really starting to get to me. It's been years since I read about the Manson murders, so when I heard her name, I was thinking "that sounds familiar, I think there was something called the Sharon Tate murders. Maybe Brad Pitt is supposed to end up killing her or something." The more they were following Sharon Tate in her daily activities, the more I was thinking that she better be an important part of this movie or else I wasted about 45 minutes watching something that doesn't even matter.

The scene where Brad Pitt goes to the hippie hideout is easily the best in the movie. Even though at that point I didn't realize this was supposed to be a Manson thing, it was still a very intense scene. Had I known that this was a twist on the Manson family, it would have been a little more entertaining. So maybe Tarantino could have done SOMETHING to tell us this instead of just assuming that everyone is gonna watch every trailer and think that every hippie congregation is supposed to be the Manson family. This was the first time I was taken out the movie by the over-the-top violence inflicted on a character while everyone around me was laughing at it. And if you're supposed to think it's funny even if you don't know that they're supposed to be a murderous cult, then I don't know what the fuck is wrong with people.

Final act: I'm sitting in my seat, and all I can think is "this better be one hell of a third act to bring all these boring, useless storylines together." DiCaprio gets drunk and yells at some hippies. Pretty funny. Pitt takes his dog for a walk, and starts tripping on acid. Kinda funny. then for the first time in two hours, these hippie characters (that you're wondering why are even in the movie to begin with) FINALLY say something that shows they have a murderous leader. Then I start getting excited, finally connecting the dots, and thinking oh man this is gonna be a cool take on the Manson murders. And within five minutes I am not only disappointed by the climax, I am incredibly disappointed in my overall experience with the movie.
The hippie characters only deserved what they got in our real universe where they did the actions that they're know for. But in the movie universe, they were not responsible for these actions, and so their punishment was out of the blue and unwarranted. And if you don't know the real life story of these characters, I would expect that you would be disgusted by what happens, and how everybody is laughing around you in the theater. it was jarring in a way that other Tarantino violent scenes are not. he has made some of the most intensely violent scenes, but they are done for drama, for realism, or to get you disgusted with a character. This violence was done for humor, and I felt very out of place in the theater being the only one who was questioning why people are laughing at a dog ripping a guys genitals off, and then a girls face off while they're both screaming in horror. or apparently everybody's favorite was when the girl's face got smashed over and over into a coffee table until there was nothing left of it. everyone laughed the hardest at that part.

Either I missed something absolutely huge that changed my perception of this movie, or Tarantino has made a huge shift in his writing style, and the audience has made a huge shift in what is funny. Two movies ago Tarantino had a guy getting ripped apart by dogs, and it is one of the hardest scenes for anyone I know to get through, now it's funny because they committed murder in a different reality? I don't get it, I don't get the movie, and fuck you Tarantino for giving us two hours of nothing so you can give us 5 minutes of violence. I enjoyed the first time you did that in Death Proof, when it was actually entertaining. It's a real shame to add this movie to his near flawless career.

2 / 2 directing & technical aspect
0 / 1 story
.5 / 1 act I
1 / 1 act II
.5 / 1 act III
1 / 1 acting
1 / 1 writing
1 / 1 originality
0 / 1 lasting ability to make you think

-.5 / 1 misc (wtf?)

6.5 / 10

Midsommar is a complicated beast. Those going for something as linear as Hereditary will be immediately disappointed by Midsommars somewhat convoluted plot elements and meandering pace. I sat in the cinema as the credits rolled by, deep in thought about what I just watched, and if it was any good. Nothing really sat well with me, and the film didn't really connect upon immediate completion, but I gave it time to digest.
Ari Asters two movies are very much at odds with each other. Hereditary slaps you with it's excellent presentation, pace, sense of dread and quality of acting on display. Then, upon further inspection, it's woven plot elements and symbolism shine through on subsequent viewing.
Midsommar is very much the opposite. The film almost dawdles in it's presentation and doesn't fully attack you with it's acting chops or narrative (although Florence is simply stunning in her portrayal of Dani). Midsommar more presents it's parts in a very matter-of-fact fashion, and then leaves it up to you to connect the dots of both the plot and what's on display. While there is far too much to unpack in this small comment section, I'd just like to detail some of my favourite themes on display in Midsommar, and why it went from a 6/10 during my cinema viewing, to a solid 8 - 8.5/10 upon reflection.

--- LONG DISCUSSION OF SPOILERS BELOW THIS POINT ---

One of Midsommars central parallels is the individualism/selfishness of Western life and it's stark comparison to the commune we are introduced to. Examples of this are: During the intro, Dani is going through the trauma of a suicidal family member and her boyfriend, Christian, is encouraged by his friends to abandon her in her time of need telling her to see her therapist as it's not his problem. Christian echos these sentiments directly to Dani about her sister, telling her to leave her alone as she is just doing this for attention. Upon arriving at the commune in Sweden, Mark is unwilling to wait for Dani to be ready to take shrooms. Josh, knowing of Dani's recent trauma involving death, subjects her to the suicide of the elders for his own thesis and research. Christian uses the situation to further his own academic efforts, much to the annoyance of Josh. Everyone is acting in their own self interest regardless of the emotional toll this takes on their friendships. This is a stark contrast to how we see the commune deal with distress, emotion and personal issues. When Dani sees Christian cheating on her, the female members of the commune bawl, weep, scream and cry along with Dani, literally experiencing her burden with her to lessen the load. As described by Pelle, the commune "hold" you during your distress, helping you cope and living through those emotions with you. This is further cemented by the scene earlier in the movie, shortly after Dani's sister commits suicide. We see Dani hunched over Christian's lap overcome with emotion, screaming out the pain of the loss of her sister. Christian is anything but present however, his eyes vacant as if he weren't there with her at all. This is possibly my favourite theme of the movie, as it really paints how alone we are in modern society regardless of how many people we surround ourselves with. How many people are actually there for us in our time of need? Sure, they might be physically present, but are they actually there, sharing our pain? It's truly terrifying to think about.

My other favourite theme is who is and isn't a bad person. I've seen many people online say they think Christian is a horrible boyfriend for how he treats Dani. While I can understand their position, I struggle to see how Christian is the bad guy for his actions. Christian finds himself in a dying relationship which he is mentally checked out from but decides to stay to help her through the grief of losing her parents and sister. Christian even goes as far as to bring her on vacation with him to help her through her trauma, even though he wants to split up with her. Would the audience have prefered Christian leave Dani right after she lost her family? That would have been MUCH worse. Do these actions warrant what happens to Christian? I don't think so at all. Christian is so misunderstood in this movie, I can't wait to see it again to draw more conclusions on his character. Is Josh a bad person for wanting to fully envelope himself in a foreign culture? Although we know it is largely for academic gain, Josh does seem to love learning about the culture of these people, wanting to see how they operate and know every intricacy of their faith. Does this warrant his murder for trying to document their sacred texts? Should an outsider be murdered for enjoying and absorbing someone elses culture and customs, or should they be thanked for their interest and passion? (Sidenote, I see Josh's character as a direct reflection of the usual racial stereotypes we see in movies of this ilk. Usually we see the white academic researching the savage native/minority tribe, but Josh is the exactly flip of this, which is a nice touch). Were Connie and Simon wrong for coming into another culture and expressing disgust at their customs? Should they have been so outwardly disgusted and vocal about their disapproval while being welcomed in by the commune? Sure it didn't warrant their ultimate fate, but this small subplot asks an interesting question about outsiders attempting to shape and alter other cultures and customs as it doesn't sit with their ideals.

Other small details:
While it's directly conveyed to the viewer that the red haired girl is attempting to cast a love incantation on Christian via pubes in his pie and runes under his bed, very little attention is given to the fact that Christians drink is a slight shade darker than everyone elses. From the tapestry we see at the start of the festival, we know exactly what the red haired girl has slipped into his drink :face_vomiting: Fantastic subtle horror/grossness.

Pelle talks about how his parents died in a fire and the commune helped him through the trauma of that loss. After the ending, it's pretty clear the fire wasn't an accident, and they evidently died for some kind of ritual.

Artwork above Dani's bed at the beginning shows a girl with crown kissing a bear. While direct foreshadowing to latter events, it also asks the question if this was all fate. Dani's sister's final message reads "I see black now" (potentially a reference to The Black One) before killing herself and her parents. Were Dani's parents 72 and this was the end of their cycle? Was Dani's sister already a distant member of the commune?

Runes are scattered all throughout the film to foreshadow certain character arcs or add more meaning. My favourite hidden rune is the doors to the temple, which when open, make the rune for "Opening" or "Portal". Amazing attention to detail.

Yeah, this movie is much MUCH better on reflection and I absolutely cannot wait to see it again. I really hope Ari's 3 hour 40 minute directors cut is released so there is more to dissect. While not as immediately impressive has Hereditary, Midsommar definitely has the layers and complexity to be a slowburn horror classic.

EDIT: I am now 4 days out from my first viewing and I've not stopped thinking about this movie. I've become a frequent visitor of the films subreddit and have even purchased/listened to the films dread-inducing yet somehow joyous soundtrack a number of times throughout the days. I've been reading up on runes and their meanings, reading up set analysis for hidden meanings and any other small details others can find. A movie hasn't vibed with me like this for a long long time so to reflect this, I think it's only right I bump my score from an 8/10 to a 9/10. When I can get my hands on the digital download/Blu-Ray, I'm sure this might even go higher.

Not as solid as I hoped. It's confusing for sure, but they could have done so so much more with this concept and world. But they didn't. It has left us with a story that is interesting, yet unrelatable. Things move way too fast and I would have preferred a longer runtime because it is that intriguing. And while the ending is great, the way that Nolan tries to merge the two viewpoints isn't done well. Leaving me feeling like my dad when he watches Transformers (2007) and asks who is who.

It needed to be simplified a little more because everything else is amazing. The effects, the overarching story, the acting. The music, however, is terrible and overblown to give a sense of action when there isn't enough happening. The only part where it worked well was in the final fight, but even then it needed to be quieter.

The cinematography is good as always, but I feel it is lacking compared to Nolan's previous work.

When it comes to action and the draw to this movie, the reversal shots. They deliver, but they are too and far between. It gives us great scenes of reversal action, then one drawn-out segment at the end that doesn't feel rewarding as like I said before, it isn't merged well.

This movie may grow on me more after a second viewing, but it left me in a state that I don't wish to see it again any time soon. It is not fun enough to see again, it is not engaging enough to associate and learn from. Something that Nolan has done well at in the past is his ability to leave questions with the audience after they finish his films. Here, it just provides answers and left me unsatisfied in that regard.

7/10

Rian Johnson is starting to turn into the white Jordan Peele. He's another one of those filmmakers that loves to work in this niche of subversive genre films that include a heavy dose of social commentary, and I'm all here for it. Specifically, with this franchise we’ve gone from satirizing old money with Knives Out to satirizing new money with this new film (chances are Knives Out 3 will center around a group of homeless suspects). Now, a lot of films in that same vein have been released recently (Triangle of Sadness, The Menu), but I think none of them do the satire as well as this film. To me it’s too easy at this point to simply aim your commentary at these people by making a statement about how stupid and incompetent they are. It seems like low hanging fruit to me, because everyone with a brain knows that these types are vapid and contribute nothing to society. Luckily, Rian Johnson understands this too and goes one step beyond that, filtering all of his commentary through this idea of the glass onion. These people aren’t just stupid and incompetent, but they’re using a veil of eccentricity and ‘complexity’ to hide that. This is a brilliant deconstruction that rings very true for today’s society, and of course you can’t quite escape the obvious parallel with Twitter’s manchild CEO firing himself this week. This subtext is woven into a lot of elements of the film (character, location, plot, even some props), which means that some things are a lot dumber and simpler than they appear to be. I think that will annoy some people, but I think it's quite clever. Like the first film, you get a great cast of colourful characters. Some of them are given depth, some of them are just playing funny caricatures. Daniel Craig owns the whole movie again, but Janelle Monáe comes pretty close to outperforming him. Even people like Dave Bautista do a great job, and it’s because Rian Johnson knows how to use these actors despite their limited range. There are plenty of twists you won’t see coming and the filmmaking is again terrific. It looks very cinematic with the blocking, lighting and compositions, and the score feels very 60s (lots of strings, some minor baroque orchestration), which reminded me of The White Lotus and a certain Beatles song. In the end, what puts it over the first film for me is the fact that the tone feels more consistent here. The more tense and dramatic moments of Knives Out didn’t really hit home for me when you have Daniel Craig doing a really campy accent, and this one just fully embraces that it’s a silly comedy. And it’s a great one at that, nearly all the jokes landed for me. Maybe could’ve done with a little less shouting from Kate Hudson, but ok, it makes sense for the character. Probably the most fun movie of the year next to Top Gun: Maverick, and definitely one of the most well constructed.

8/10

[5.0/10] Green Book is quaint. It is the cinematic equivalent of a Hallmark card on race relations, there to make you feel good, reflect the real world in only the vaguest, gentlest way, and then be quickly discarded and forgotten. It is thoroughly lacking in incisiveness or genuine insight, and its take on race and overcoming divisions is about as deep as a thimble. The film’s perspective is limited and provincial, when it’s not out-and-out troubling, and at times even insulting, in its oversimplifications.

The movie tells the story of Tony Vallelonga, a hearty spark plug of a man from The Bronx, who drives Don Shirley, a cultured piano player, through the South on the latter man’s music tour. Green Book is founded on the tension between Tony’s salt-of-the-earth, profane, and uncouth manner, informed by his working class Italian upbringing, and Dr. Shirley’s mannered, measured, and at times aloof bearing, informed by his position as a black man who has to operate in white circles. Along the way, the two clash and come into conflict, but inevitably find common ground and camaraderie through their shared experiences.

That in and of itself is not a bad premise for a film. There’s pathos to be wrung from the intersection of a man kept on the fringes of society because of his class and one ostensibly welcomed but always held at arm's length because of the color his skin. There’s a common understanding that can be established between one man who holds prejudices until he’s forced to confront real people and not just abstractions, and another who looks down on those less devoted to dignity until he learns to appreciate the heart that persists even where manners are lacking. And there’s catharsis to be had from the shared realizations of someone who is the master of his own circle but ignorant to the realities of the wider world, and one who’s seen the world at a distance but comes to know the greater warmth of community and family.

Green Book just doesn't actually achieve any of that. It tires. God help it, the film tries. And if you squint, you can see where the movie gestures toward these ideas, and in exceedingly rare moments, even grazes them. But those noble efforts are lost in its crayon-sketched characters and events, its rampant clichés and archetypes in lieu of depth or complexity, and its bent toward reassuring its audience of who’s really good and who’s really bad rather than confronting the gray areas or the systems that reinforces the types of bigotry the film seems to shake off so easily.

Some of that could be forgiven if the movie, for all its attempts at feelgoodery and humor, were more pleasant to watch. It’s characters are, at best, difficult to like. Even setting aside Tony Vallelonga’s racism -- the fodder for his “I’m a real boy!” transformation over the course of the film -- the character is mostly obnoxious. He’s a pale cross between Tony Soprano and Homer Simpson, with an Olive Garden version of the former’s bearing and perspective, and charmless version of the latter’s doltishness, loyalty, and appetite. He is, even at his best, a large foul-mouthed toddler, always having to be told not to give into his worst and easiest impulses. I’m a firm believer that characters need places to go, to grow, in films, but Vallelonga is annoying for too long in the film to find much merit in that approach here.

While Dr. Shirley is, at least, not so eminently grating as Tony is, the film still needs him to grow and change as well, and so makes him rude and condescending for much of the picture. It’s easier to swallow here, since while Don Shirley is occasionally a bit unreasonable, he’s mainly either having to navigate spaces where he’s made insecure or even at risk because of his skin color, or responding to one of Tony’s immature missteps. What’s more, Shirley has the benefit of being played by Mahershala Ali, who deserves better than this film and its script, but who adds layers to Don’s emotional reactions to the different challenges he faces, and breathes life into the relationship between him and Tony that’s poorly written, but nevertheless the backbone of the film.

The best things you can say for Green Book apart from that performance (wasted on a film that doesn't deserve it), is that it’s nice to look at and listen to. Cinematographer Sean Porter not only captures the scenic beauty as Vallelonga and Shirley traverse the American South, but uses a wide shot of Dr. Shirley surrounded by isolated by his possessions to convey his inner loneliness, and communicates Dr. Shirley’s awkward place between white and black society better visually than the film can ever manage with its ham-handed dialogue.

At the same time, so many films try to frame a main character as a virtuoso or a talent or a star, and the actual presentation falls flat. That’s a pitfall Green Book avoids entirely. When Don Shirley sits down to play the piano, his performance takes your breath away, and the audience is not only knocked back by the sumptuous melody and talent put on display, but understands how even hardscrabble Tony could be moved by it too. Between the music itself, the masterful playing from double and real life pianist Kris Bowers, and the nuanced acting of Ali, each time Dr. Shirley sits down in front of a Steinway, it’s a treat.

But those gifts are squandered on a story of friendship that’s as predictable as it is unearned. The film is rife with questionable moments. (For example, in one scene Tony cajoles and eventually persuades his African American counterpart on the merits of fried chicken.) Green Book is going for the old chestnut of the prejudiced but well-meaning man with a heart of gold. But it’s take on racism is so archaic, its prelude to Tony’s changes so full of slurs and backwards views and general prickishness intended to somehow be endearing, that when he finally does come around, it’s too little too late. Tony loves his family and eventually does right enough by his partner, but the film gives us too few reasons to root for him, and is often misguided in how it tries to demonstrate his decency or Don’s failings and peccadillos.

There is occasional warmth, and even joy, in Green Book. But in the final tally, it’s a film that seems built for 1989 instead of 2019. Its “can’t we all just get along” and “both sides need to grow” messages ring hollow in the current era where there’s a growing acknowledgment that our cultural ills are neither so simple nor succinct. Even apart from its dime store observations, hacky dialogue, and mealy racial pablum, it just doesn't present much in terms of its story or characters worth investing in. Not every Oscar-calibrated film has to make a truly powerful statement, but it should at least make for engaging cinema, and despite its strenuous and strained efforts, Green Book fails on both fronts.

A potentially great film being held hostage by its PG-13 rating and its messy, all over the places screenwriting.

By PG-13 I don't simply mean its visuals/goriness, but most importantly its dialogues, themes, and storytelling it tries to raise. Let me explain.

First, the dialogues.

The film opens with murder and Batman narrating the city's anxious mood. We get a glimpse of noir in this scene, but it soon falls flat due to a very uninteresting, plain, forgettable choice of words Batman used in his narration. Mind you, this is not a jab at Pattinson - Pattinson delivered it nicely. But there is no emotion in his line of words - there is no adjectives, there is no strong feelings about how he regards the city full of its criminals.

Here's a line from the opening scene. "Two years of night has turned me to a nocturnal animal. I must choose my targets carefully. It's a big city. I can't be everywhere. But they don't know where I am. When that light hits the sky, it's not just a call. It's a warning to them. Fear... is a tool. They think I am hiding in the shadows. Watching. Waiting to strike. I am the shadows." Okay? Cool. But sounds like something from a cartoon. What does that tell us about you, Batman?

Compare this to a similar scene uttered by Rorschach in Watchmen. "The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood. And when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. All those liberals and intellectuals, smooth talkers... Beneath me, this awful city, it screams like an abattoir full of retarded children, and the night reeks of fornication and bad consciences." You can say that Rorschach is extremely edgy (he is), but from that line alone we can tell his hatred towards the city, and even more so: his perspective, his philosophy that guides him to conduct his life and do what he does.

Rorschach's choice of words is sometimes verbose, but he is always expletive and at times graphic, making it clear to the audience what kind of person he is. Batman in this film does not. His words are always very safe, very carefully chosen, which strikes as an odd contrast to Pattinson's tortured portrayal of Batman as someone with a seemingly pent up anger. His choice of words is very PG-13 so that the kids can understand what Batman is trying to convey.

And this is not only in the opening scene. Throughout the film, the dialogues are written very plainly forgettable. It almost feels like the characters are having those conversations just to move the plot forward. Like that one encounter between Batman and Catwoman/Selina when she broke into the house to steal the passport or when Selina asked to finish off the "rat". They flow very oddly unnatural, as if those conversations are written to make them "trailer-able" (and the scenes indeed do appear on the trailer).

Almost in all crucial plot points the writers feel the need to have the characters to describe what has happened, or to explictly say what they are feeling - like almost every Gordon's scene in crime scene, or Selina's scene when she's speaking to Batman. It feels like the writers feel that the actors' expression just can't cut it and the audience has to be spoonfed with dialogues; almost like they're writing for kids.

Second, the storytelling.

Despite being a film about vengeance-fueled Batman (I actually like that cool "I'm vengeance" line) we don't get to see him actually being in full "vengeance" mode. Still in the opening we see Batman punching some thugs around. That looks a little bit painful but then the thugs seem to be fit enough to run away and Batman let them be. Then in the middle of the film we see Batman does something similar to mafias. Same, he just knocked them down but there's nothing really overboard with that. Then eventually in the car chase scene with the Penguin, Batman seem to be on "full rage mode", but over... what? He was just talking to Penguin a moment ago. The car chase scene itself is a bit pointless if not only to show off the Batmobile. And Batman did nothing to the Penguin after, just a normal questioning, not even harsher than Bale's Batman did to Heath's Joker in The Dark Knight - not in "'batshit insane' cop" mode as Penguin put it.

Batman's actions look very much apprehensive and controlled. Nothing too outrageous. Again, at odds with Pattinson's portrayal that seem to be full of anger; he's supposed to be really angry but somehow he still does not let his anger take the best of him. The only one time he went a bit overboard that shocked other characters is when he kept punching a villain near the end of the film. But even then it's not because his anger; it's because he injected some kind of drug (I guess some adrenaline shot). A very safe way to drop a parent-friendly message that "drug is bad, it can change you" in a PG-13 film.

And all that supposed anger... we don't get to see why he is angry and where his anger is directed at. Compare this to Arthur Fleck in Joker where it is clear as sky why Arthur would behave the way the does in the film. I mean we know his parents' death troubled him, but it's barely even discussed, not even in brief moments with Alfred (except in one that supposedly "shocking" moment). So... where's your vengeance, Mr. Vengeance? And what the hell are you vengeancing on?

Speaking of "shocking" moment... this is about the supposed Wayne family's involvement in the city's criminal affairs that has been teased early in the film. Its revelation was very anticlimactic: the supposed motive and the way it ended up the way it is, all very childish. If the film wanted the Wayne to be a "bad person", there's a lot of bads that a billionaire can do: tax evasion, blood diamond, funding illegal arms trade, fending off unions, hell, they can even do it the way the Waynes in Joker did it: hints of sexual abuses. But no, it has to be some bloody murder again, and all for a very trivial reason of "publicity". As if the film has to make it clear to the kids: "hey this guy's bad because he killed someone!" Which COULD work if the film puts makes taking someone's life has a very serious consequence. But it just pales to the serial killing The Riddler has done.

Even more anticlimactic considering how Bruce Wayne attempted to find a resolve in this matter only takes less than a 5 minute scene! It all involves only a bit of dialogues which boils down to how Thomas Wayne has a good reason to do so. Bruce somehow is convinced with that and has a change of heart instantly, making him looks very gullible.

And of course the ending is very weak and disappointing. First, Riddler's final show directly contradicts his initial goal to expose and destroy the corrupt elites. What he did instead is making the lives of the poor more difficult, very oxymoron for someone supposed to be as smart as him.

Second, the way Batman just ended up being "vengeance brings nothing and I should save people more than hurting people" does not get enough development to have him to say that in the end. Again - where's your vengeance? And how did you come to such character development if nothing is being developed on? And let's not get to how it's a very safe take against crime and corruption that closely resembles Disney's moralistic pandering in Marvel Cinematic Universe film.

Last, the visuals.

I'm not strictly speaking about gore, though that also factors in the discussion. The film sets this up as a film about hunting down a serial killer. But the film barely shows how cruel The Riddler can be to his victims. Again, back to the opening scene: we get it, Riddler killed the guy, but it does not look painful at all as it looks Riddler just knocked him twice. The sound design is very lacking that it does not seem what The Riddler done was conducted very painfully. Riddler then threw away his murder weapon, but we barely see blood. Yet when Gordon arrived to the crime scene, he described the victim as being struck multiple times with blood all over. What?

Similarly, when Riddler forced another victim to wear a bomb in his neck. The situation got pretty tense, but when the bomb eventually blow off, we just got some very small explosion like a small barrel just exploded, not a human being! I mean I'm not saying we need a gory explosion with head chopped off like in The Boys, but it does not look like what would happen if someone's head got blown off. Similarly when another character got almost blown off by a bomb - there's no burnt scar at all.

Why the hell are they setting up those possibly gory deaths and scars if they're not going to show how severe and painful these are? At least not the result - we don't need to see blood splattered everywhere - just how painful the process is. Sound design and acting of the actors (incl. twitching, for example) would've helped a lot even we don't see the gore, like what James Franco did in The 127 Hours or Hugh Jackman in Logan. In this film there's almost no tense at all resulting from those.

I'm not saying this film is terrible.

The acting, given the limited script they had, is excellent. Pattinson did his best, so did Paul Dano (always likes him as a villain), Zoe Kravitz, and the rest. Cinematography is fantastic; the lighting, angle, everything here is very great that makes a couple of very good trailers - perhaps one could even say that the whole film trades off coherency for making the scenes "trailer-able". The music is iconic, although with an almost decent music directing. And I guess this detective Batman is a fresh breath of air.

But all that does not make the movie good as in the end it's still all over the places and very PG-13.

Especially not with the 3 hours runtime where many scenes feel like a The Walking Dead filler episode.

If you're expecting a Batman film with similar gritty, tone to The Dark Knight trilogy or Joker, this film is not for you. But if you only want a live-action cartoon like pre-Nolan Batmans or The Long Halloween detective-style film, well, I guess you can be satisfied with this one.

Sorry folks but this one didn't go well for Marvel. I don't even know where to start. Acting was average, more like below average. Screenplay was as much ordinary as it could be. No surprise here. CGI was OK but it's somehow expected from Marvel. But I totally didn't like the idea of Wakanda. Hidden city in the center of Africa with tons of technology and advanced weapons and systems and so on. But how the hell did they build all of that? No explanation. It just happened. Yes, they have Vibranium, but they don't sell it. In fact they never did and for whole world they are just a bunch of shepherds and farmers. So where did they take all that money to build empire like this? I don't like movies without explanations and this is one of them. Almost nothing has been told about Vibranium whatsoever. Oh yeah, it's some super thing from the universe capable of anything. That's all the explanation you get. There are too many clichés we have already seen too many times. And we have to see them again. One example: I challenge someone for a fight because I want to kill him. And when I have the chance to kill him, what would I do? Kill him or throw him down from the cliff to the water where he can survive? But enough. If you hesitate if to watch this, I can recommend not to waste your time. Wait for the Avangers where you can also see the Black Panther. You won't miss anything if you miss out this movie.

We've kinda come full circle with these superhero films when you think about it.
After the camp of the 90s, directors like Nolan and Singer reset the tone of superhero movies in the 2000's to something that was more grounded and serious, which in turn laid a lot of the groundwork for the MCU.
Here we have Taika Waititi providing a throwback to the Joel Schumacher days.
If that's your thing you'll probably dig it, but it's definitely not my brand of camp.

I’m not exactly a Thor: Ragnarok fan (nor the other two Thor films). I don’t have a problem with its silly tone, because I’m not a manchild who needs to see his childhood validated, but a lot of its comedy didn’t click with me (even after a rewatch). Everything that didn’t work for me in that film is amped up to an eleven here.
There are some serious points in it where the acting choices, slapstick/childish/hokey comedy, overly bright colors, gay undertones, overdesigned costumes (no nipples yet, but give Taika another film and we'll see what happens) and godawful music choices started to give me genuine flashbacks to stuff like Batman Forever, not quite the thing you want to remind me of.
It's not a complete disaster; the performances by Natalie Portman, Tessa Thompson and especially Christian Bale are generally quite good. I'm also glad Marvel seems to have definitively found the saturation button back after Guardians 2, even if the framing/lighting with the visuals remains uninspired and maintains a general level of artifice that makes it look like shit. I believe they used the volume stages for most of the production, and like Obi Wan or The Book of Boba Fett, it’s very noticeable for most of the runtime.
The story's not all that interesting and makes no sense when you put any thought into it, but that's fine given that there is some progression with most of the main characters, even if Thor’s character arc throughout the MCU is all over the place at this point. As with most Marvel films lately, there is a lot of unnecessary exposition (e.g. the Korg narrated flashbacks are really clunky), but where it really drops the ball for me is with the balancing of tone and plot elements. I already thought that the darker stuff in Thor: Ragnarok didn't blend that well with the goofy scenes on the trash planet, but there's even more tonal whiplash here. Christian Bale is giving this excellent, terrifying performance, but he's not in the same movie as Chris Hemsworth, who's playing even more of a Thor parody than he was in Avengers: Endgame. One moment we're invested in this heavy, emotional story with Natalie Portman, and then we cut back to a goofy love triangle between Thor, his hammer and his axe. It's an unbalanced mess without a sense of stakes.
I also don't know what it is with Taika's comedy in these films, because I think What we do in the shadows, Jojo Rabbit and Hunt for the wilderpeople are all very comedic and smart, but for some reason he really likes his Thor movies excessive and dumb. Screaming goats aren't funny to me, they're a dated meme at best. Maybe it's because Taika can't go edgy and niche with the jokes here, but fuck I really hate his sensibilities for this character.

In short, another major misfire from Marvel if you ask me. I pretty much disliked everything except for a few of the performances. Please go back to making indies Taika, and for the love of god: let James Gunn pick the soundtrack for your next film. Even a film this dumb doesn’t need a Guns ‘N Roses needle drop, let alone four of them.

3/10

Heavy with style but lacking in substance. That's the sum of Peaky Blinders.

Peaky leans hard on slow motion shots and a modern punk/indie rock soundtrack that you'll either love or hate. I actually like the choice of music but how many times do we need to see someone walk past a fire breathing factory with a cigarette in hand and punk rock blaring in the background before some actual character development happens?

Cillian Murphy is excellent but aside from one or two other characters the rest of them are very one dimensional. You see all the faces in the background pic on this page? Less than half of those faces have any real narrative in the show. Because of this you are left with just a couple of prominent figures that tend to be overused

The story-lines are never all that compelling either unfortunately, style wins out here as well.

I thought the first season was decent and I was curious to see if they would improve for the second. When it was announced that Tom Hardy would be joining the cast I was pretty excited. Sadly his role isn't featured that much so his impact was minimal.

I see people trying to compare Peaky Blinders with Boardwalk Empire and I just don't see it, Boardwalk had compelling story-lines and an ensemble cast it actually used. Here's hoping season 3 will be different.

Starts off really strong and fun.
The sets look incredible and its immersive. They had a really great message about body positivity and unrealistic expectations on women & I was all the way behind it.... Then rapidly spirals into a pure man hate / Women supremacy. Its obvious the writers have a huge chip on their shoulders.. It's messaging is so heavy handed it completely took me out of the movie & brings it from enjoyable to a drab 2 hour rant by an angry twitter blue user who think's women's rights is still in the 1800's.
They have this unreal take that you're set for life if you're a man and just get instant success. They think everything's better if you're a man (Guess what, it doesn't work that way. I'm told every day how I'm a bad person because I'm a man, and for only that.... Just like this movie does)...

Being preached at about why being a man is so bad for 2 hours does not make for a fun viewing experience.

It shows the glaring double standards of the current mainstream talking points.
This movie blindly preaches that "the world would be better if the shoe was on the other foot" and it comes across as tone deaf.
Its BAD all one gender "rules the world" but if its women, its A-OK!... which defeats the purpose of feminism.
Women getting equality, not supremacy.
call this a hot take but I think men and women should be equal..... but this movie thinks men don't even deserve a seat on Barbie world's court - that's insane.

Why is Patriarchy bad but Matriarchy good....????
Its either all bad or none of it is, and this man hating director needs to make up her mind.

Starts very well, the way they handle the death of Boseman is very tastefully done (so many well executed emotional beats) and I like the new conflict that they set up, which is a little more grey and intelligent than the usual blockbuster, like the first movie. The new villain is an interesting character, and I quite liked the creativity that went into the design of his powers and world, but for the love of god, never show me those goofy wing boots again. From the second act onwards, the movie starts to get bogged down by the Marvel machine, i.e. the movie slips out of Coogler’s hands. It’s unfortunately forced to function as a backdoor pilot for Disney + shows and used to drive the corporate machine forward, instead of focussing on the development of its own premise and character arcs. The way it rushes through the arcs of Okoye, Shuri and Namor leaves a lot to be desired. Meanwhile, cutting/writing out Riri, Martin Freeman and Julia Louis Dreyfus would improve the overall cohesion and pacing a lot. What doesn’t help either is that the action and visual effects get increasingly worse and worse as the movie goes on, to the point where we again have an ugly third act on our hands, which includes some of the most hideous looking costumes the MCU has ever put out. Moreover, the soundtrack is kinda bland this time around. It’s not like Kendrick et al. were putting out their best material for the first film, but the music here is just so vanilla and forgettable. Finally, I’m not enitrely sure what the script is trying to communicate on a deeper level, besides being a general statement in favour of diplomacy. If it’s meant to be just that, I don’t think this is anywhere as bold as the first movie. Not that it needs that in order to be good, but it’s another layer stripped away from what made the first movie special. What saves the film ultimately is a lot of its craft: the directing, worldbuilding, acting, score, cinematography, costume and set design (underwater world looked great, much better than Aquaman IMO) are all very well handled and stand out in the blockbuster field. It has those strong foundations in place that make it hard to produce a flat out bad Black Panther film, but man does this movie also show that Marvel is its own worst enemy at this point.

5.5/10
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[8.6/10] It’s a fool’s errand to wish for happy endings in the world of Better Call Saul. But I had a faint hope for Nacho. I pictured him getting out somehow. I envisioned him finally escaping from the life that he fell too deeply into and starting again. I imagined Jesse Pinkman arriving in Alaska and making a connection with Ignacio Varga under an assumed name, Mike’s two surrogate sons coming together and looking after one another the way he might have done himself. It’s a nice thought, one too nice for the consequences this universe tends to have in store for its major players.

Instead, Nacho is dead. And we are left to take comfort in the few saving graces of his unfortunate demise. He went out his way, choosing his own “good death” rather than being the plaything of other people’s wills like he’s been for so much of the series. He did so to guarantee the safety of his father, with whom he shared a pained final phone call, freighted with meaning. He claimed one final measure of control, of destiny, to make his death worth something, to him and the people he cared about.

These are small blessings and small comforts. I teared up at the fateful moment when Nacho takes his own life rather than subject himself to the plans of the drug lords around him. Because this is a tragedy. Because this went south just as Nacho’s father said it would. Because Nacho thought he could beat it, avoid the pitfalls, and instead was sucked down by the inevitable gravity of this life. Because despite his best efforts, Mike Ehrmantraut lost another son.

These are not showy, emotional men. So their tiniest expressions speak volumes. The scrunch of Mike’s mouth when he knows Nacho’s gone that reveals his pain and disgust with this whole thing. The slightly raised eyebrows of Gus Fring that show his quiet terror that, with one word, Nacho could blow this whole thing up. And the almost imperceptible nod shared by Nacho and Mike, an acknowledgment of deeds that say more than any words either man has. This is a grim, even sentimental experience for all, made that much more forceful by how Better Call Saul underplays it.

God help me, Michael Mando deserves an Emmy for this episode alone. He, like so much of this incredibly talented cast, has deserved recognition for a long time now. But this is a masterclass. The sheer physicality he puts on display when Nacho buries himself in the sludge of an old tanker truck, the unspoken well of pain and regret pouring out of him when he hears his father’s voice one last time, the sheer vitriol on display when he curses the Salamancas and declares himself the author of all their pain. The shades of desperation, resignation, and self-immolation Mando communicates are virtuosic to the last. If this is truly his final performance on the show, he goes out with his masterpiece.

But it’s not all Nacho in this episode. We get more advancement in Kim and Jimmy’s plan to undermine Howard. This is one of their smaller efforts, but there’s a sufficient amount of tension in Huell(!) and a keymaker using their combined skills to duplicate Howard’s car keys before his valet can catch wise. One of this show’s great skills is taking fairly mundane parts of these scams and ratcheting up the tension. The interplay between a teenage valet rushing back to a parking garage, cut with the grooves of the key and the stairwells of the building, set to a classical soundtrack, makes a comparatively straightforward part of this plan seem like a big deal.

But after such chicanery, Huell asks Saul a simple but telling question -- why do you do this? The dialogue implies that Huell needs the funds, that this is one of few options for him. Jimmy, on the other hand, is a lawyer. His wife is a lawyer. They could get by without this. Jimmy claims that Huell doesn’t understand, that this is for the greater good, that even if the tactics are underhanded, the desired result is good, which makes taking these risks worthwhile.

And yet, Kim and Jimmy seem to revel in the chase. There’s something personal in this for both of them. The thrill of it seems to light both of their fires. All of it suggests their motives for continuing with something that, to Huell’s implicit point, they don’t have to pursue, may not be as altruistic as Saul pretends. More to the point, they have more to lose in all this than either one of them seems ready to acknowledge.

There’s a lifeline though. One of the prosecutors, Suzanne Ericsen, who once called Jimmy a scumbag, offers to let him turn state’s evidence. She pieces together not only the real deal with Lalo, but how Jimmy didn’t want to be the cartel’s lawyer. After Kim turns over some incriminating evidence she’d be better off suppressing in the name of fairness, Suzanne shares this offer with her, with the idea that he might listen to her in a way he wouldn’t listen to Suzanne.

Suzanne frames it as an opportunity to do what’s right after being steeped in something dirty. Kim frames it as a choice between being a “friend of the cartel” or a rat. But neither of them seems to fully countenance it in the way the viewers, who can process it in the context of the show as a whole, can. It’s a chance for Jimmy to do what Nacho didn’t -- to get out of this, to step away before it’s too late.

It’s too late for Nacho. He tries valiantly to avoid the worst of the blowback. His descent into the muck to avoid his killers is as symbolic as it is terrifying. His kindness (and cash) for a friendly mechanic who offers him help when he needs it and asks for nothing in return shows the decency within a troubled and ultimately doomed young man. His grief, not just at never being able to see his father again, but at confirming Manuel Varga’s worst fears and predictions about his son, is palpable.

There is something admirable in Nacho in his final days, when he accepts the inevitability of his end. He cannot change that. He’s made too many bad choices to reach this point. But he can use his life, the value it still has, to protect the person he cares about most.

The sharpest thing Nacho does is leverage the value of whether he’ll tell the Salamancas the truth, or whether he’ll play along. He realizes the rare power he holds over Gus, rather than the other way around. He doesn’t use it for comfort or to try to buy his own way out. He just wants to protect his dad and uses the last thing he has of value to do it.

It wouldn’t work, though, without his similarly paternal bond with Mike. For all his “Not my call” talk with Nacho, Mike is a man of honor. The only way a promise from a snake like Gus means anything to Ignacio is that it comes backed by Mike.

There’s a rapport between the two of them, an understanding, a familial intimacy that adds the wholesomeness and tragedy of it all. Mike insists on being the one to rough Nacho up to look the part of someone working against Gus’ operation rather than for it. Beforehand, they share that drink together, an acknowledgment or respect and care. And Mike puts himself out there to be an “insurance policy” for the plan, there to ensure, in his heart of hearts, that it goes down the way they planned it, that Nacho doesn’t have to suffer. He looks through the scope in the way he did back in season 2’s “Klick”, and sees someone who understands the lengths a father and son will go to in order to protect one another as well as he does.

Except, when the time comes, Nacho goes off script. He palmed a piece of glass, presumably from the cup Gus broke an episode ago, and uses it when the time’s right. Rather than simply announcing, as Fring insisted, that he was in league with Alvarez and paid off by rivals in Peru to sabotage the Salamancas, he goes a step further.

He laughs at the prospect of “the chicken man” being involved as a joke. He swears his hatred of the whole Salamanca family, offering up the motive for him to do this without any need for being aligned with Gus. He takes credit for Hector’s sugar pills, pointing to Gus’ intervention as the only reason Hector is still alive. In brief, he makes the story better and more plausible than even Gus had in mind. It’s clever, proving his worth even in his final moments, giving Fring everything he could possibly want to throw the heat off of him, in the hopes that it will convince the crime lord to keep his word and spare his father. After so long, so many missteps, Nacho seized control and went out on his own terms, if only a little.

The palmed glass becomes vital to slipping through the zip ties that bind him. He seizes Don Bolsa’s gun and holds it to the man’s head, so everyone can point their guns at him. And then, with the weapon in hand, he can kill himself, rather than subject him to the Salamancas’ torture or other humiliating or excrutiating ways to leave his world. His death is still a sad, terrible, regrettable thing, but it comes with a moment of self-actualization, where for a moment at least, Nacho is not the pawn of these men. He is their equal. And then he is gone.

Another life wasted. Another existence snuffed out in the middle of the desert. Another son lost amid the plata y plomo. In a beautiful opening sequence, we see the flora growing over the spot where Nacho died, growth perhaps fueled by his remains. Amid such desolation grows a beautiful azure flower, the rain come to wash it all away. There, catching its droplets, is that same shard of glass, the one that gave Nacho his last bit of freedom, before the collective weight of these larger forces could firmly and finally take it away.

It would be too much to call Nacho a good person. At his best, he was still a drug dealer thriving on others’ addiction and misery. He may have been a touch nobler, a touch younger and thus more excusable, than the psychos he worked for. But he was still a bad guy doing bad things.

And yet, there was something recognizable in his fall and folly. Too many of us see shorter, yet more dangerous paths to the things we want, and believe we can avoid their greatest perils along the way to our hope for spoils. We see Nacho’s regret, his emptiness, his sense of being trapped in this before he realized how deeply he had fallen. We see how his desire to protect his dad -- from Hector, from Gus, from his own mistakes -- led him to this point, where he was in too deep with no good options.

Nacho may not have been perfect, but he was pitiable; he was recognizable; he was loved. There is always tragedy in the death of someone loved. Jimmy is also loved. He has his chance to get out, to turn to the police like Nacho’s father instructed his son.

But Ignacio didn’t listen. He’ll never have a chance to escape. He won’t ever meet Jesse in Alaska. Exit ramps are rare. Happy endings are in short supply in this world. And in the end, there weren’t enough of either left for Manuel Varga’s little boy.

[8.3/10] I could write an entire review just trying to decode all the little images that “The Guy for This” deposits. One of the things that set Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul apart is their penchant for that type of symbolism, letting the visual convey as much of what the audience is supposed to take away as the dialogue. So when an episode opens with ants slowly but surely descending on Jimmy’s ice cream cone, and ends with the aftermath, you know it’s supposed to mean something.

The easiest interpretation is that it’s a visual metaphor for the slow degradation of what Jimmy has. You’re enjoying something sweet, something good, and then the unexpected happens to turn it all upside down. Then one scavenger shows up to take a cut, then they tell a few more, and a few more tell a lot more, until eventually, the whole hive is there. Finally, you return to find what you had melted, with nothing but insects wanting their taste crawling around.

You can stretch that to Jimmy’s plot here, where his connection to one little bit of crime with Tuco led him here. You can stretch it to his broader arc this season, where his new practice colors outside the lines, but is mostly on the up-and-up, until he gets involved with the cartels and suddenly finds himself surrounded by them. Or you can read it as his story across two shows, where ever since he earned his law degree, his inability to put Slippin’ Jimmy to rest opened the door for bloodsuckers to come to him and lead him into this swarm.

Or maybe it’s just a cool shot of melted ice cream.

Either way, whatever that sequence means, it's cool to see the plot mechanics spin into place. The thing that really drives Better Call Saul is its incredible character work, bolstered by outstanding performances, which connect to piercing themes and an aesthetic bent. But it also knows how to spin a twisty plot that leaves you on the edge of your seat waiting to find out what happens next. As much of a stupendous slow burn as this series usually is, when it starts tying things together, it makes you bite your nails waiting for the boom.

Here, that results in a series of scheme that tie all corners of the show together, and even ties into Breaking Bad. It starts with Nacho’s suggestion that Lalo bring Saul in to handle the situation with Krazy 8. Lalo actually has a pretty good plan, which involves getting Krazy 8 back on the street by ratting out to the police, but about Gus Fring’s operation rather than the Salamancas. It’s a clever way to solve two problems at once: keeping a low-level guy who’s never done jail time from cracking in the joint while also using the police to put pressure on a rival.

The only catch for the title character is that he doesn't want to be involved in this. What’s particularly interesting about this interlude is how Saul’s brought in because Nacho has seen his resourcefulness first hand. Lalo even comments on his “mouth” in the same way that Tuco did. And yet, while Saul can use his gift of gab to get out of plenty of situatiions, he can’t manage to avoid doing this job. Even when he tries to offer alternative solutions or price himself out of the proffered task, Lalo pushes past it.
So he gets in and works his old Slippin’ Jimmy charms. Not only does he coach up Krazy 8 about what to say to the police, but he helps grease the wheels of justice when his “client” actually has to face them. And those police turn out to be...Hank and Gomey!

It’s a nice way to integrate them into the world of Better Call Saul. I’ll admit, for a show that’s already gotten a little too cute with its connections to the world of Breaking Bad (see also: the origin of Hector’s bell), I don’t know that we really needed this pair back in action on the spin-off. But if they’re going to be included, this is a great way to do it. Not only does the show nicely reintroduce the pair of DEA agents, hinting at who’s arrived before their faces fill the frame, but it makes them formidable opponents for Jimmy’s efforts to make good on his, shall we say persuasive, clientele.

That’s because Hank sniffs out the ruse. Even when Jimmy does the whole “lawyer trying to prevent his client from giving away the game” routine, Hank doesn't buy it. The show nicely walks the line with Hank, making him still the crass bulldog of a man he was before we found him sympathetic, but showing some solid police instincts with him. His banter with Gomey is still on point, but he’s also smart enough to go toe-to-toe with Jimmy and extract some concessions in his usual hard-headed way.

The plot means that Jimmy needs to mainly come out on top here. He gets Krazy 8 out on the “contingency” of the cops finding something based on his information and making arrests. He secures safe passage for his client so that he doesn't get fingered as a rat by his criminal associates. And he even tries to protect Krazy 8’s well-being by limiting his police confidential informant status to these two cops and these two cops only, giving Better Call Saul a convenient excuse to keep our favorite DEA special agents in the fold.

The one catch is that Jimmy tries to make this a one-time deal and can’t. He tries to beg off after laying out the terms of the deal to Lalo and Nacho, pleading that he has too busy of a schedule to keep up, but Lalo says he’ll make time. The ants have swarmed, the ice cream is melted, and he’s a part of this now, whether it was in the plan or not. That’s what Nacho tells him -- it doesn't matter what he wants -- when you’re in, you’re in.

It’s just one of many lines of dialogue in this episode said to one person and meant for another. Nacho is nominally talking to Saul about how he’s stuck with them now, but he’s really talking to himself. Whether Nacho wants to be in a life of crime or run away, he doesn't have a choice. He’s in too deep now, and there’s little, if anything, he can do to extricate himself.

That’s because he has to play all sides at this point. He tries to help fix things with Lalo, to continue ingratiating himself to his boss, by getting Saul to solve the Krazy 8 problem. But that just leads Lalo to trying to sic the DEA on Gus, which means Nacho needs to warn Gus about what’s coming, which mean he continues to be in the precarious position between two dangerous crime bosses who are trying to take one another out.

And yet, the most powerful scene in the episode comes when Nacho is confronted by his father. Mr Varga shows up to Nacho’s apartment to tell him about an offer he received to buy his store. But Nacho’s father is smart too, and like Lalo and Hank and even one recalcitrant would-be homesteader, he sees through the bullshit.

Mr. Varga knows that his son is fronting the money, trying to get his dad to leave town. But he refuses to leave. He refuses to take dirty money. He has a principle, and he won’t bend it for his son. You feel for Nacho, because he’s trying to protect his father through all of this. Whatever he wants or doesn't want, he doesn't have a choice at this point. The ants have swarmed him too, but he’s doing everything he can to keep his dad out of the muck. Mr. Varga is just too much a combination of stubborn and honorable to take the deal.

That puts Nacho and Kim in strangely similar positions. Her goal in this episode is to get an old man to move off his property, because it’s in the way of a major Mesa Verde development a la Up (or, Kelo v. New London if you’re legal-minded). She too tries to play nice with the old man standing on ceremony, offering him money, trying to make him see reason, only to be rebuffed due to the principle of the thing.

He’s only the second of three stubborn old men in “The Guy for This” though. The episode only briefly checks in on Mike, who’s drinking himself to death as he continues to mourn Werner. While the bartender tries to get him to leave, telling him he’s had enough, Mike won’t budge. He turns over his keys and orders another. He demands the bartender take down a postcard of the Sydney opera house, with the implication that it reminds him of Werner’s yarn about his father’s involvement in. He’s ready to inflict pain on random toughs, because he himself is raw. Mike is frustrated at what he’s had to do as part of his job, and it’s eating him up in that old familiar stoic-but-wounded Mike Ehrmantraut way.

That, again, oddly puts him in line with Kim. One of the big themes of “The Guy for This” is what people will do for money and how much of their soul and principle it costs them in the process. Kim is trying hard to maintain hers. She’s excited at the prospect of doing nothing but pro bono cases for a day. She is perturbed, to say the least, at her boss pulling her away from them to do less-meaningful but more lucrative work for her firm’s biggest client. And what sets her off, makes her play hardball with the homesteader, is when he accuses her of being all about money, despite what she tells herself. She hits back because it’s an accusation that clearly hit home with her and hurts.

It hurts especially because she’s been trying to distinguish herself from Jimmy here. Her retort to the homesteader is that he thinks he’s special, that he thinks the rules don’t apply to him, and that he’s wrong. Just because he doesn't like the outcome doesn't mean he can just set aside the law. Like Nacho’s words, those words are offered to one man but meant for someone else. She refuses to express these sentiments to Jimmy, sentiments she deeply believes, so she vents them to this man, safely in this situation, when her own mettle is tested.

(As an aside, my prediction for the series is that the breaking point -- if you’ll pardon the expression -- for Kim and Jimmy is going to come when Kim’s pro bono clients start leaving her for Saul Goodman because he can get them better results using nefarious means.)

So Kim tries to prove herself to this stubborn man, who refuses to leave his property despite a contract that says he has to. She tries showing him homes he could move into. She offers to help him move. She tries to explain how she’s more like him than she thinks, someone from a poor background who never owned anything and understands the value of having something that’s yours. She tries to prove that she’s not the type of person he thinks she is, only to be rebuked with his pronouncement that she’s someone who’ll say whatever it takes to get what she wants -- someone like Jimmy.

The ants are not the only bit of visual symbolism in the episode. Early on, Jimmy comes home to see Kim drinking on their balcony. He meets her there with two fresh ones, resting her empty on the railing. Kim gazes at the bottle as it sits there precariously, representing a certain recklessness in Jimmy that she’s tired of. She doesn't say anything, because she can’t. But when she goes inside, disgusted after hearing Jimmy talk about how this is the most profitable day Saul Goodman’s ever had, she grabs it, representing her rejection of that ethos.

And yet when she comes home after the verbal skirmish with the homesteader, the tables are turned. She joins Jimmy on the balcony. She shares a smoke with him, a continuing symbol of their bad kid camaraderie. Jimmy doubles down on his prior bottle-based recklessness, playing loose-and-catch with an empty of his own.

But Kim doubles down. She stops pussyfooting around and just throws her drink into the parking lot. Jimmy follows suit with his current beverage. And from there, they just take turns yeeting their full beers for the hell of it, until some unwanted attention sends them back indoors.

That image carries some potency too. Kim tries. She doesn't want to be swarmed like the others have. But no matter what she does, no matter how well she means, the world seems to treat her like Jimmy anyway. So if that’s the outcome no matter what she chooses, if she’s in this whether she wants to be or not, she might as well enjoy it. Pour one out for Ms. Wexler, and then toss it over the side. Let it mean whatever you want it to.

[7.9/10] I don’t know how Stranger Things wants me to feel about Papa. From my vantage point, he is, as Eleven calls him, a monster. In both flashbacks and present day scenes, we’ve seen him abuse the children in his care. So much of the first two seasons in particular was centered on Eleven moving past that. She embraces this new, wholesome, loving family, and discards her old, pernicious one. She finds a real dad, one who loves her and cares for her, rather than to have to swallow the harm presented as love she’d endured for so much of her life.

But then this season presented him as a force for good, at least to a degree. He helps Eleven regain her powers, as the ability to lift the giant metal drum indicates. He thinks she’s the only thing that can stop Henry/One/Vecna. He’s trying to make her better, make her well.

At the same time, though, Papa doesn’t care about what Eleven wants. He doesn’t care about her psychological well-being. Owens calls him out for it. He reminds Brenner that this bunker was never meant to be a prison and upbraids him for freaking out Eleven with the threat of Henry breaking the boundary between worlds, rather than easing her into it. Papa thinks he knows what’s best for his “daughter”. He holds her against her will, declaring that it’s for her own good, trapping her in the same shock collars he once held all of his other “children” in.

I was, frankly, glad to see that. It played like a reminder that Brenner is not a good man. After a season in which the show seemed to be trying to rehabilitate him, it finally had his worse, controlling, abusive nature rear its ugly head. Confining Eleven, ignoring her wishes, drugging her and putting her under your control, is legitimately monstrous.

And yet, when the military baddies show up, he tries to save her. More to the point, he wants her to believe that he always meant well, that he wanted what was best for her. God help me, maybe he did, at least in his own mind. I want to give Stranger Things credit. I want to believe it understands the nuance of abuse, where abusers do not necessarily see themselves as monsters, but think they’re doing the right thing for their victims. I want to buy that it sees the shades of gray in Brenner, someone who does unspeakable, repugnant things to innocent kids, but in his own twisted way, thinks he’s helping them. There is truth in that, and a complicated villain is a better villain.

The fact that Eleven grants him no absolution, but simply bids “Papa” goodbye, suggests the series understands. The feelings of the abused toward their parents is complicated. Love, attachment, care remains, even if it becomes hard to reconcile with the horrors inflicted. In a show that’s not afraid to spell things out, it leaves all this to subtext, a bold, subtle move that leads to humble, foolhardy viewers potentially overreading the situation.

Speaking of subtext, I don’t know if we’re going to get a scene with Will and Mike more emotionally explicit than the one we got here. The Pizza Van crew finally matters to the story, showing up to rescue Eleven from the Bunker and take her where she needs to go. But the most important thing they do isn’t plot-relevant.

It comes when Will reassures a worried Mike. Mike fears that Eleven doesn’t need him anymore, that he was a dumb schmuck who happened to find her, but that it’s not fated they be together. Will offers an emotional reassurance, about -- how it’s Mike’s heart that holds him together, how much he still means to her, how much he’ll always mean to her -- when it’s clear (to the audience at least) that he’s really talking about himself rather than Eleven.

It’s a great performance from Noah Schnapp, who absolutely kills it with the projected emotions he feels when speaking about someone else’s relationship. The reveal with his vaunted painting works and weaves together the complicated feelings of all three members of this unorthodox love triangle. The catch is, I don’t know if I want the show to go further than this. Will professing his true feelings in plain terms seems like a bill that’s due for the show at this point. And yet, there’s something poignant about Will having these feelings but, due to societal prejudices and recognizing where his friend’s heart lies, not being able to express them. There’s something true to life, even artful about that, and I wonder where Stranger Things will leave it.

I wonder far less what’s going to happen with Joyce, Hopper, Murray, and their pair of reluctant Russian allies. The most important thing in that corner of the show right now is the reveal that the Soviets are experimenting on creatures from the Upside Down. The scientists at this facility are vivisecting demogorgons, seemingly cloning or growing their own army of this sort of fauna, and even appear to have a mind flayer contained within their walls. Who knows what it means exactly, beyond the obvious -- the Ruskies are prepping for a war with extraordinary, albeit uncontrollable, weapons at their disposal -- but it’s an intriguing reveal.

What’s less intriguing is the Joyce/Hopper crew trying to find their way back to the United States. Escaping from the Russian prison is surprisingly easy. (Apparently Yuri’s van is bulletproof, which, fair I guess?) Their mission to use some combo of Yuri’s helicopter and a coded message to allies in the USA to get back is fine. But even this penultimate episode can’t escape the sense that this is a sideshow to keep the adults away from the major events happening in Hawkins and the the desert, rather than a meaningful part of the story in and of itself. Even Hopper and Joyce’s mutual “I thought you were dead” conversation doesn’t have much juice to it.

We get more character moments among the now united Hawkins faithful though. There’s still some excitement here. Nancy witnesses the horrors Henry experienced and then, in a big surprise, he lets her go as a messenger for Eleven. The crew steals a winnebago and collects weapons to fight Vecna’s demons. And they sit in fear with the knowledge that he means to use “four gates” to shatter the bounds between his world and ours, putting everyone our heroes know and love at risk in the process.

Still, this is mostly a “calm before the storm” part of the story for the Hawkins kids, which tend to be some of my favorite parts of genre movies and shows. It’s a chance to have those important character moments before the last act fireworks take the stage. We get to see the players bouncing off one another, expressing what they mean to each other, rather than just hacking and slashing at the dramatic CGI beastie du jour.

Some of these moments are small. Erica telling Lucas that even if they bicker, he’s still her brother, is quite sweet. Eddie roughhousing with Dustin over his puns and telling him to never change is weirdly flirtatious, but also very rousing in how he sees the kid’s greatness. And as much as I’m down on all the teases of Steve and Nancy getting back together, Steve waxing rhapsodic about his dream to have a whole “brood of Harringtons” roaming the countryside in a car like this, while Nancy looks on admiringly, is a really warm moment.

But there’s bigger moments too. Robyn seeing her crush with a boy and it hitting her like lightning is sad and sympathetic. But the same goes for her and Steve aiming to reassure her about it, while she insists there’s bigger fish to fry right now, but he still shows care for his best friend. Likewise, Max and Lucas’ heart-to-heart -- about Max’s willingness to be the bait for Vecna because she doesn’t want to be in harm’s way, about her confidence that she can best him by finding her happiest moment that just so happens to involve Lucas, and Lucas’ insistence that if things go wrong he’s going to deploy Kate Bush in a heartbeat -- affirms one of the sweetest and most earnest little romances on the show before the going gets tough.

Let’s be real, it’s stupid as hell for the kids to strap up and head into the breach to fight a psychic, telekinetic demon dude. Sure, there’s the patina of plausibility to the plan, with the notion that they can get him in his trance while he’s going after Max, something he needs in order to reach this world. But Eleven’s right to fear for them after she uses her mental wandering powers to learn what they’re up to. The blaring sounds of a Journey ballad undercuts the gravity of the situation (and weakens the vibe) more than a little as the episode comes to a close, but it’s a still an ominous thing our heroes are walking into.

There’s grace notes for other villains here. The jerk jock whose name I’ve forgotten in the month or so between episodes menaces Nancy at the gun shop, but never feels like more than a tertiary villain from another show. The big bad military dude shows he’s truly evil (if the torture didn’t do it) when Ownes gives him a safe way to test his theory that Eleven’s behind all the killings, and the guy decides to just kill her anyway. And Henry gets a few more chances to show his victims what waits in store for them if they continue down this path.

The heart of this one, though, comes with Eleven’s confrontation of her would-be father. She takes out those military goons with comparative ease, under the circumstances. SOme of the show’s best imagery comes with her and her pals amid the desert blaze. Eleven even enacts violence against Papa when he threatens to cage her again, force his will upon her “for her own good.”

In the end, though, forces beyond his control prevent him from enacting his plan. To his dying breath, he wants his “daughter” to believe that he meant well. Eleven won’t grant him the forgiveness and understanding he seeks, because whatever lingering attachment she has to the man who raised her, he doesn’t deserve it. But now, whatever his wishes, she is untethered, recharged, and ready to save the people who do deserve her care, and her love.

Gosh, I hate plot armor. It's a motherf*** pyroclastic flow! Yet, all main protagonists escape (more or less) unharmed. Fantasy world or not - I don't feel treated in a serious way. They added the eruption only because it looks good and it was a great cliffhanger last episode. It looks awesome indeed, but it's all show and no substance. They refuse to go through with the inevitable consequences. Cowards! Who says that everyone needs to live? (Bronwyn even saved her infamous Met Gala dress - no blood stains, no burns).

Likewise, I don't like the scene between Elrond and Prince Durin. They try to negotiate an alliance. They talk and talk and talk. But nothing results from all the dialogue and multiple episodes. Instead, another miracle/vision saves the story: leaf and metal tell you what to do. Why should I pay attention to all the dialogue, the characters, the father/son conflict, the character's needs, hopes and attitudes? In the end this part of the story is (pre-) determined by a miracle/vision. The Prince does what the leaf tells him. [They did something very similar back at the islands with Galadrial. All her behavior (and bossy misbehaviour) had no consequences whatsoever. In the end it was a vision (and again leaves) that suddenly forged an alliance between Numinor and Galadriel.] That's not good story telling.

The score is again back to mediocre. It was suitable for last episode. But it's annoying in this episode. Music just won't stop. It doesn't help that this is a boring orchestral score - couldn't they come up with something more unique? The music often subdues everything else. And when they chose to focus on actual noises it's totally over-dramatic (like when the boy draws his sword when the Orcs approach. That's not how a sword sounds like when you draw it out the scabbard). I'm not even sure whether the dialogues between the Prince and King or between Galadriel and the boy are actually any good - I'm just annoyed by the melodramatic music during these scenes.

I still don't understand the whole Halbrand story. How did he end up as Lord/King? He used to be a random guy on a raft, a drunk prisoner, a thief and showed interest in becoming a blacksmith. Galadriel noticed that he can pick up a sword elegantly. That's all? That told her that he's a capable soldier? And now it feels like he's somehow (almost) the most capable soldier in the ranks of a FOREIGN army? [Strange enough that Galadriel - previously hated by almost everyone in Numinor - is suddenly accepted as a peer in battle.] In a very expensive armor tailor-made for him? Even a Lord? A King? And nobody questions this? People asked King Charles III. after his proclamation "who voted for you?", and I ask: what's Halbrand's merit or legitimacy? Is that something we have to accept because it was predicted in yet another vision (I somehow missed this part if there was such an omen)? His legitimacy surely can't be based on the coat of arms he carries around, can it? Anyone could have picked this up.

And I still don't know why nobody is alerting the elves. They deal with the drwarves. They deal with the bad omens they observe (like the dying tree). They send Elrond on away missions. I understand this. But all of this is not yet closely connected to the main story. Why does nobody send a messenger to report that Galadriel is back and she and Arondir fight Orcs and witnessed the "birth of Mordor"? Wouldn't that represent the more pressing issues for the elves? Remember: Arondir wanted to alert the other elves when he was caught in that trench. Has he forgotten what his plan was? Not saying that the metal/forge story might not eventually become handy in a war with Sauron and his Orcs - but shouldn't this story connected with the events in the Southlands aka Mordor? And wouldn't that help to convince the dwarf King to help them? It feels like no message is relayed simply because the writers wanted another episode to tell the father/son conflict. Why all that conflict between the King and his son when we already know that the common external threat represented by Sauron will eventually unite elves and dwarfs? It's all so predictable and artificially dragged out by not sending a messenger.

All what I said before sounds very negative. I still enjoy this episode. It's certainly not spectacular and lacks (like the whole show) complexity, but it's still nice to look at.

I feel like this a low rent Nashville that makes black people look terrible. The music is mediocre, the story generally lazy and hacky. It's like a show that were it given the attention of an HBO or Showtime might make you feel immersed in, but you're left with seeing how much Terrance Howard and Taraji can carry the series. (edit: Nov 2016 I recently finished watching Power which is a glimpse at what Empire might've been like on a different network) Extra points for making me hate Cookie so much, that's powerful acting or character development.

The relationships are soap opera like, the writing fairly blah and redundant. What could be compelling story lines are wrapped up quickly or ignored all together. It feels like the show can't pick a direction. I don't understand why it's so hyped, it certainly can't be from the song quality, and the superficial glance at the scatter-brained roles each character is supposed to play doesn't endear me to any character in particular. There's way too much TV to compare this to for this to stick out for any other reason than Black-ish does. It caricatures black people and requires zero effort to follow. (Black-ish has laid off the accelerator...a bit)

Technically, IT was a good movie. The effects, the cinematography, actors, pretty much everything was objectively good. But as a horror film, it doesn't have an impact on me.

The film was definitely designed for the kind of people that go into horror movies WANTING to be afraid. It is filled with clichés and typical stupid behaviour from characters, such as choosing to slowly walk into a trap just so the audience can say "DON'T GO IN THERE!". And most of the "scary" things that happen in this movie, aren't really scary because they aren't REAL. Which is what bugged me most about the movie.

Most of the horror scenes are nothing more than a figment of the character's imagination. Why should i be afraid when a zombie spawns out of nowhere in the middle of the street in broad daylight when i know that it isn't actually happening and no one other than the kids can see it. Pennywise does prove to be a physical monster when we see him kill people, but it isn't clear what the writers of the movie were thinking when they created him. How am i supposed to believe that he can casually teleport around public spaces without anyone noticing, or that he can somehow make himself appear in old photographs and pre-recorded television shows. His capabilities aren't consistent and it just feels like a compilation of cheap scares. Like the writers used a slot machine of horror tropes to create his character.

Still, i am looking forward to the sequel just so i can see how adults would deal with Pennywise. Maybe they will be a lot smarter and spend less time running from things that aren't real. But who knows, IT is a pretty basic horror flick.

Well… this movie has absolutely broken me.

For context Unbreakable is one of my favourite movies of all time. Shyamalan was clearly ahead of the curve by deconstructing the standard comic book narrative only five months after the release of the first X-Men movie. The slow pace and highly intentional camera work make for a very entreating character study.

Split really caught me of guard back in 2017. James McAvoy’s performance being a highlight of the year and the reveal of David Dunn at the end lead to some great discussions about how the two stories would connect.

So now just two years after that revel but a whole nineteen years after Unbreakable Shyamalan brings us the concluding chapter to his comic book inspired trilogy.

Having seen the critical response before going in I wasn’t expecting much but for the first two thirds I really could not tell what the problem was. All of the performances were great. Bruce Willis coming of the back of years worth of disappointing performances seemed to actually care about his character. Samuel L. Jackson shows his ability to showcase a characters entire thought process with just the rise of an eyebrow and James McAvoy is so good at switching between personalities that moments in this film exist for the sole purpose of letting his show off.

The camera work kept me on edge the whole time, Shyamalan utilises every trick he has ever pulled of from hand-help tracking shots, point of view shots, panning shots reminiscent of his every work of Unbreakable and Signs and absolutely wonderful one takes that allow for McAvoy fully showcase the potential of his character(s). The more minor roles are also handled really well with Taylor-Joy returning as Casey Cooke adding to her wonderful performance from Split and Spencer Treat Clark making me question why he hasn’t had the chance to show just how great an actor he can be since his appearance in Unbreakable. Sarah Paulson is also far more important to this film than I had first presumed and her character has some great moments and aided by her subtle and purposeful performance.

But eventually you have to get the the finale. Without spoiling anything I am not a fan of the way this film concludes. To me it appears as if Shyamalan wanted a bigger reveal to justify the existence of the film and it just does not work.

The typically Shyamalan ending only serves to highlight some other issues I had with the film, particularly how underused the character of David Dunn was and how Shyamalan clearly cares more about the plot and characters in Split than Unbreakable begging the question of why this film had to exist and why It is called Glass when that character doesn’t do or say anything for about an hour of the movie.

Most of Glass is good, some of Glass is great but it never quite lives up to it’s full potential. Its worth seeing to round of the trilogy and maybe that ending will grow on me over time.

Great performances across the board and bold, unique direction but ultimately unsatisfying.

[8.3/10] Parasite wears its themes on its sleeve. The divide between rich and poor, between the class that has to scrape and scrap to make ends meet, and the kind that blithely lives in largesse, is made massive and eventually deadly. In the film, the wealthy have the privilege of remaining oblivious to it all, while the underclass must con and fake and fight off one another for a small cut of what their social superiors squander without thinking.

Those themes give ballast to what is otherwise an amusing, twisty, thriller of a film. Separate and apart from the class conscious themes, Parasite is an engaging movie through the premise of one poor, desperate family ingratiating and insinuating themselves into the lives of a wealthy, complacent one. Director Bong Joon-Ho crafts tension in how far the Kim family will take this ruse, and how long they’ll be able to make it last, before it all comes tumbling down.

From there, Parasite simply escalates, going to stranger and more dangerous places as the film wears on. The reveal of a hidden bunker under the stairs, where the former housekeeper hid her loan shark-dodging husband, immediately ups the stakes. Until then, it’s a matter of the Kims slowly but surely pulling themselves out of their meager existence, and the entertaining craft of their schemes and scams to gradually infiltrate the ranks of “the help” for the Park family.

But afterwards, Parasite’s ambit becomes more and more outsized. The Kims have physical confrontations and mutual blackmail sessions with the old housekeeper and her husband. A bizarre episode of Frasier breaks out as the Kims try to hide their indulgence in the Parks’ excess, their bloody handiwork with their working class rivals, and themselves after the Parks unexpectedly return home. And an impromptu garden party becomes a scene of intra- and inter-class warfare, as combatants for the chance to live off the wealthy’s spare change square off, and the insults from being treated like appliances and class signifiers like one’s smell accumulate into a bloody end.

It’s all dark and funny and potent. The violence in the film has power because it’s largely muted and held back until the final reel. Joon-ho spends the bulk of the runtime letting the tension build, letting the audience wonder how far the Kims will let their scheme play out, whether they’ll be able to subdue their competitors, if they’ll evade detection from their benefactors, and when all this sneaking and resentment will boil over.

So when it does, when the rival breaks free and the final insult becomes too much to bear, the contrast between the polite deference and the angry blade, between the sharp young man doing whatever it takes to climb the ladder and the deranged basement dweller bent on vengeance, has a shock and a force to it.

That choice works in a film of contrasts. Joon-ho shows the Kims living in a semi-basement, riddled with “stink bugs” and pestered by random passersby using their alleyway as a public toilet. He depicts the housekeeper and her husband as scraping out an existence without light or air underneath the floorboards. And he depicts the Park household as one of wide-open spaces, of abundant food, protection from the elements and the fresh air and sunshine their less affluent counterparts are bereft of. The destitute are depicted as literally below those of a higher station. It comes through in how cinematographer Hong Kyung-pyo and his team shoot the film, with impossibly vivid greens and brighter than bright sunshine coloring the world of the Parks, juxtaposed with the grungry dark and gray that inhabits the Kims’ home and environment.

The film centers itself on the irony of that. The key moment in the film is a deluge that wrecks one family’s life while proving a minor inconvenience to another’s. The rain floods the Kims’ home, destroying their possessions and forcing them to sleep in a gym, packing away the last few signs that the family patriarch was somebody.

All the while, the Parks don’t even understand. Their son pretends to be out in the elements, playacting as a native American who has to brave the raw weather on his own for fun. His parents literally get off to role plays about what it’s like to be the type of people they fire and disdain. The family smiles about the lack of pollution the rain caused and summon their servants for a frolic in the aftermath, safe from any blowback or life-changing consequences that their help is dealing with.

The old saying goes that it rains on the just and unjust alike. But in Parasite, who bears the brunt of that downpour, and who gets to remain blissfully ignorant of the hardships given the financial wherewithal that makes it a mere minor inconvenience, makes all the difference in the world.

There’s supreme, if not exactly subtle, commentary in that. Some of “the help” downright worship the wealthy family whose “grace” lets them lives on the margins of their luxury. The need to survive pits the members of the underclass against one another, ready to con and fight and even kill to maintain their small piece of the pie while their blasé benefactors live in unquestioned plenty. It turns people with talents -- in language, in art, in sport -- into people who strive only for that brand of comfort and security and the money necessary to attain it. It flattens us, changes us, debases us.

It’s a cheesy thing to say, but Joon-hoo asks who the real parasites are. At the beginning of the film, the Kims complain about the bugs infesting their tiny home. They are signifiers of how the upper class views the inhabitants of these places, as those sponging off the successes of those in higher rungs. But by the end, the tables have turned, as the same type of insect hovers around the dead body of the Park family patriarch. It suggests that he and his socialite cohort are the ones siphoning the labor, the talents, the lives of so many others who don’t have a fraction of what he and his family take for granted.

It’s a reality that the Parks can remain wilfully blind to, until the flash of steel and panic of a perfectly manicured garden is haunted by ghosts kept outside and below. Parasite spins an engrossing, comedic, and suspenseful yarn without that barely-submerged subtext. But the combination of story and theme gives the film a weight behind its thrills, a knowing glance behind its laughs, and a darkness beneath the bright images of success, punctured by those denied its fruits and necessities.

Juno is not only one of those movies about mistakes in adolescence or about an unwanted pregnancy, is above all a film about maturity that escapes to all the usual clichès of all films of the genre.

Juno is a 16 year old and she is a very confident and good with herself teenager. She always tries to accept everything in life with easiness and did not run away to her responsibilities when she discovered that was pregnant. Quickly managed a solution and being perfectly aware that she is not ready to be a mother she is looking for a couple to adopt her unborn child. But Juno soon discovers that everything that involves the pregnancy, both physically and psychologically, are not so easy to deal with.

The best thing this film has is perhaps the fact that we think he is taking us to a certain way and after all that happens is not quite what we were expecting. Escaping the usual clichès, ultimately becoming an honest movie and accepting the decisions of the characters without requiring them to be judged by the choices they make.

Ellen Page's performance is absolutely fantastic! Very natural and real, but did not only felt that about her but also from the rest of the cast.

Overall, Juno is a movie with a serious tone that manages to be entertaining addressing at the same time important key issues of life.

[7.5/10] This show has earned a lot of trust. Sure, if you parse through Walter White’s plans or Jimmy McGill’s schemes, some of them rely on happy accidents or have pieces that don’t fully add up. But for the most part, the Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul-verse plays fair. If something is unclear, or scans as peculiar, or even just seems confusing, you can normally rest assured that if you wait long enough, a satisfying explanation or payoff is on the way.

Which is all to say that I think I understand Lalo’s ultimate goal. He doesn’t just want to kill the chicken man; he wants to discredit him with the cartel so that the murder will be justified in the eyes of their fellow “businessmen”. The Salamanca leader wants proof that Gus Fring was preparing to build his own lab, to be able to do business independently of the cartel, something the audience knows as well as Lalo wouldn’t fly with Don Eladio or his associates. It’s a clever plan, one with an elegance and consideration that makes it worthy of threatening Gus and making Lalo a formidable opponent.

But I have no idea how Lalo arrived at it. How much valuable info did he really get from his brief conversation with Werner back in “Winner”, the season 4 finale? How did he track down Werner’s wife, Margarethe? How does a slide ruler encased in lucite, engraved with “With Love, from Your Boys” bring him closer to finding them?

You can imagine answers to these questions. Maybe the details he heard from Werner were enough for a smart guy like Lalo to piece together what Gus was up to, or at least realize Fring was doing something shady. (Or shady by drug runner standards.) Maybe the info Lalo got from the guy at the TravelWire was enough for him to pinpoint a woman named Margarethe in the general area. Maybe the tag at the bottom of the lucite memento will be enough to get him to the facility that made it and track down their client and get one of Werner’s boys to spill out of a loyalty to their leader and a desire for Lalo to get revenge on the men who ordered and carried out his death. But it all requires a few more logical leaps than you normally get from a tightly-orchestrated show like Better Call Saul.

The same goes for Gus’ actions in “Black and Blue.” I love ninety percent of what we see of him here. This normally unflappable man is utterly paranoid. Actually, paranoid’s the wrong word, since he’s justified in his fears about a shark like Lalo. Nevertheless, it’s unusual, to say the least, to see Gus rattled. He can’t do his work at Pollos Hermanos. He can’t work the cash register without zoning out in a state of low-grade terror. He can’t sleep and finds himself scrubbing bathtubs with a toothbrush as part of his fear-exacerbated OCD.

The episode nicely lays out why. Mike says it -- this is a waiting game. Gus isn’t used to waiting. He likes to take action. He plans everything out to the finest detail. He prepares for the future and executes his plan. But now, somebody else is in charge of the when and why and how, and all he can do is react. That's an unfamiliar position for Gus, and one that unsettles him even in his own home and place of business.

But I don’t know why he descends into the bowels of his superlab and tucks a gun into the tire tread of an excavation vehicle. Once again, you can read between the lines a bit. Presumably he’s onto Lalo’s game. He worries that someone, whether Lalo or a representative of the cartel, will force him into his off-the-books cooking site, and he’ll be forced to defend himself. So he’s providing his future self a Chekov’s gun to be able to use if he’s cornered.

That requires a lot of forethought from Gus though. It requires him to predict exactly how this might go down and have exactly the right remedy for it. Maybe the plan will blow up in his face in it’ll take some crazy intervention from Mike or others to save him, not the gun. Maybe he had the flash of recollection of Lalo learning the info from Werner and just wanted to cover his bases. Maybe he’s in full paranoid mode and is just trying to provide for every conceivable contingency, no matter how unlikely, because he has to do something other than sit around and wait for the attempt on his life to happen. You can justify most of this stuff in some terms, but it doesn’t play as natural, and requires near-clairvoyance from Gus.

The contrivance in all of this doesn’t make everything bad, though. Seeing Fring squirm is a remarkable thing, and it’s a positive that the show takes its time to depict the typically steady boss freaking out a little bit in his own understated way. Lalo’s plan requires filling in a few gaps, but his flirtatious scene with Margarethe plays his debonair manipulation to the hilt. His snooping and willingness to kill another civilian makes his scenes in her house terrifying. (Plus, for a guy who bears a resemblance to Timothy Dalton -- no relation -- his scenes feel appropriately Bond-esque.) And guest actress Andrea Sooch does a tremendous job as Margarethe, evincing the love she had for her husband and the pain she still feels over her loss.

Seeing Werner’s wife recollect and grieve, Lalo fish for information however he can get it, and Gus panic in an uncharacteristic way are all worthwhile, even if the paths to get there require some narrative contortions.

Gus isn’t the only one, panicking though. Kim is likewise afraid of Lalo, unable to sleep at three in the morning, barricading doors, and having a smoke to try to calm down. Seeing the way this weighs on her, while she feels as though she can’t tell Jimmy the truth lest it trigger an even worse response from him, is a compelling note for Rhea Seehorn to play. It could mess him up mentally at a time when he’s doing well, happy with his new success and able to hire back Francesca to manage his big influx of clients. Kim understandably doesn’t want to disrupt that. And we also see the intimacy between she and Jimmy in their home life, the casual chumminess they have apart from their plotting and scheming.

Howard’s onto that scheming, though. For once, we see why Howard is successful at what he does, calming a room full of elderly class members and convincing them that their lawyers aren’t just fighting to get them more money, hence the delays, but fighting for a broader principal about not letting big companies take advantage of people. Who knows if Howard believes it himself, but he sells it better than poor overwhelmed Erin can, and it shows the audience that he may be a prick, but he’s not a schmuck. There’s a reason he’s risen to where he is, even if it’s just packaging pablum with the perfection of a politician.

Clifford confronts him about the suspicious goings on of late, not out of a sense of accusation, but as an offer of help. He really is the most decent man in this entire show. But his offer of assistance only tips Howard off that, once again, Jimmy McGill is out to get him.

That’s where it gets bizarre though. Hamlin, under the cheeky pseudonym “Mr. H.O. Ward,” lures Jimmy into an impromptu boxing match. It feels silly, even by Better Call Saul’s occasionally outsized standards. The show doesn’t dress up two middle-aged guys throwing body shots at one another. It’s awkward and ugly the way it ought to be. But it seems unbelievable that either one of them would go through with a stunt like this.

Only here, “Black and Blue” provides answers. For Howard, it’s an opportunity not just to maybe, just maybe, work out some of the pair’s psychological issues through physical activity, but a chance to sic a private eye on Jimmy. Howard’s no rube, after what he’s been through. He’s fighting fire with fire, hoping to catch his antagonizer in the act and clearing his name with his co-counsel. The fact that his tail might run into Gus’ tail on Jimmy and Kim only leads to even more tantalizing possibilities.

More to the point, we learn why Saul would do it, when he has every reason to just walk away from Howard. Kim explains it -- because Jimmy knows what happens next. He knows that they’re going to ruin Hamlin’s life. And just like Kim starts to feel a twinge of guilt when her former colleague talks about how much she admires Kim, Jimmy feels the same. He wants to let Howard have his jollies while he can, because he knows the hammer will fall soon.

It’s a satisfying answer for an absurd thing. That's the trust I have in Better Call Saul writ large, to be able to cover for contrivances like Lalo’s detective work and Fring’s premonitions in a way that's emotionally and narratively satisfying. This show, and its predecessor, aren’t perfect in every detail, but they’re strong when it counts. More to the point, they’re strong enough at delivering that punch, that turn, that unexpected but cathartic jolt in the story, that makes you trust wherever they’d like to take you, and however they’d like to get there.

The early arcs might drag slightly, but oh, the four part finale redeems it all.It has everything essential about these characters. Anakin's desperate longing for human connection and for those he holds most dear to be alright, and the rejection and disillusionment he feels from the weight of this war. Obi-Wan swallowing down his doubts and hopes to be the perfect model Jedi, pushing away and distancing himself from his closest friends in the process. Yoda hopeless and raw, wishing for the old days when Ahsoka was a Jedi and the Jedi weren't soldiers, and unable to shake the dread in his soul.

And, of course, the core trio of this season- Ahsoka, Rex, and Maul- shine. Maul's the last physical antagonist of the show but even in this moment he's overshadowed by Sidious. There's this dread to him as he can sense that everything is about to change, that he is always one step behind his master. He's always playing catch up, always surviving instead of thriving. That is his tragedy- a pawn that's outlived his usefulness trying to become a king. A man who thinks vengeance and power will finally give him satisfaction, but the pursuit of these things have only left him alone and hollow. Like Vader himself, it's that tragedy that makes him so compelling to watch, and Witwer perfectly acts every inch of Maul's bitterness and despair and dissatisfaction. Maul hates who he is, what he knows, and he will never be satisfied. He will never be happy. But he has no choice to be what he is, from the very beginning. He never had a chance.

None of them do. Maul is desperate, even willing to team up with his sworn enemy Kenobi to kill Skywalker. This is his last fight against the inevitability of fate, and it is already doomed. Neither of them arrived- they were called to 'rescue' Palpatine from Grevious. Ahsoka came instead. Sidious is about to seize power. Anakin's already killed Dooku, falling further and further. It's too late for Maul to stop his master and too late for Ahsoka to save hers. And yet they fight anyway. Because Ahsoka believes in Anakin so much, she cannot turn against him. She knows this is not the clones' fault, so she cannot kill them. She's left the Jedi Order and has found her own morals, her own way. Rex, meanwhile has come to realize he moves his brothers above all else, but must fight against them. Each of them have their own pathos that makes this enthralling entertainment.

The fight scenes are gorgeous- Ahsoka and Maul's battle being a standout. The beautiful environments, from the shattered throne room to the icy moon the series ends on, will take your breath away. But more than anything else, the ending justifies it all. Each Star Wars movie, even the darkest, end with at least a hint of triumph, or a light flung into the future. Attack of the Clones almost ends on the formation of the clones, a moment Yoda dreads, but the marriage of Anakin and Padame is a reminder that Luke and Lelia are on the way. Empire Strikes Back and Last Jedi both end with the heroes fractured but not broken, ready for round three. And even Revenge of the Sith assures us Luke and Leia will make things right in the end. Animated contemporaries Rebels and Resistance, too, end in triumph.

Not Clone Wars.

Clone Wars is a tragedy. There is no flash forward to better days, there is no hint of the rebellion, or that Ahsoka and Rex will be fine in the end. The last shot of Ahsoka shows her haunted, and the last shot of the show...is Vader, reflected in the helmet of one of the clones he respected so much, and was respected by in turn.A helmet specially decorated in support of Ahsoka, who both Anakin and the 501st adored, a last reminder of Anakin's and the clones' humanity, completely discarded. The ending doesn't care about the Skywalker Saga, about Anakin being redeemed in the end, or Luke rising up, or Rey carrying on their legacy. And that's what makes it great.

The clones were made for this war- pawns from life to death. All to help facilitate Anakin’s fall. For Anakin and his prophecy the clones and so many people from the Jedi to the average man suffered and died in a brutal, grueling war that only led to a brutal and grueling regime. All actors of a play they were never privy to. The show has the conviction to not cushion that blow.It is about the Clone Wars, not what comes after, and the Clone wars was a tragedy without redemption. Nothing will have made this war matter retroactively. The vast majority of people have no idea that a rebellion is forming or that Luke and Leia were born. All the Jedi and clones and civilians we've grown attached to and seen die certainly don't. The Clone Wars pulls back and shows exactly what the Skywalker Saga, what the Chosen One prophecy, has wrought on the people that saga turned its back on- the nobodies. The ordinary. After one horrendous finale, this one- this show- shows what Star Wars could be, and quite possibly never will be again. And I will always love it for that.

7.5/10. Dan Harmon, creator of Community is known for several things -- his trademark bottle of vodka, his tendency to spill his guts to audiences full of strangers, but also his story circle. The story circle is a device that Harmon uses as a blueprint for nearly any story he writes or supervises. It offers a series of steps to telling a story: 1. A character is in a zone of comfort; 2. But they want something; 3. They enter an unfamiliar situation; 4. Adapt to it; 5. Get what they wanted; 6. Pay a heavy price for it; 7. Then return to their familiar situation; 8. Having changed.

Brooklyn is basically Story Circle: The Movie. Eilis may not have the best life in Ireland, but she is comfortable there. But she hopes and wants for a better life than she can expect to have in the Emerald Isle. So she moves to Brooklyn, a situation whose unfamiliarity is hammered home from the first Irish immigrant she meets on the boat, to her fellow boarders who snip at her a bit, but also guide her through her new surroundings. She slowly but surely grows accustomed to her new home, with its different social mores and customs. She eventually has a good job, a future in accounting, a boyfriend, and the good life her sister wanted for her when she helped send Eilis to America. But just as she grows comfortable in that new life, she pays the price not being able to be home for her sister's funeral or to comfort her mother in person. Eventually, she's able to return home, but as the film makes clear in its third act, she is much different person now then when she left it.

That's not meant to be a criticism of the film. That type of adherence to story structure does lead to a film that feels conventional, and in truth Brooklyn is a feel-good story that is as interested in a film experience that feels like slipping into a warm bath as it is in proceeding through its simple-but-sweet coming of age tale. The notes are familiar, but the melody is beautiful, and the audience goes home happy.

At one point, Eilis offers her beau, Tony, an adjective to describe herself -- amenable. And it's the perfect way to describe Brooklyn It's a very amenable film, happy to lean into the soft hues of the past to tell a love story, and immigrant story, and a bildungsroman, in gentle tones that provoke smiles and sighs as Eilis finds happiness, love, and fulfillment despite her initial reservations and homesickness.

If I have a criticism, its that Eilis's journey is almost too successful. For all the accusations of unrealistic perfection leveled at Rey in Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Eilis is a paragon of good fortune throughout Brooklyn. Nearly everyone she meets in Ireland and in Brooklyn short of the prickly Miss Kelly likes her and helps her to feel more comfortable in whatever her current surroundings are. To boot, she becomes successful at nearly whatever she sets her mind to, from working at the department story, to courting, to her burgeoning skills as a bookkeeper.

But that's not to say Eilis does not face challenges in the film. Hers are challenges of conscience rather than the standard plot obstacles we expect our cinematic protagonists to leap over. The crux of the film is Eilis returning to the land that she thought had nothing there for her, and finding that she was wrong, that there is good work, and friendship, and family, and a nice boy with a good future. Suddenly, the life she forged across the pond, the one with her husband, and her studies, and seems distant, something that unexpectedly has to compete with the renewed comforts of home. The choice the film stakes out -- whether to take the stronger, more confident persona Eilis has built back to Ireland and start a life there better than any she hoped to be able to enjoy, or return to the place that made her into that stronger person with the man she pledged her love to.

The problem is that as well as the film sets up that choice, and lays out compelling elements on both sides of the equation, it glosses over the conclusion in a somewhat unsatisfying fashion. While the touch of Miss Kelly's would-be blackmail is nice, it seems abrupt that after all the time the film spends setting up Eilis's hometown as somewhere that Eilis has a place and could be happy, one harsh woman is enough to send her back to New York. There's subtext about an iron fist hiding beneath the velvet glove that's been offered to Eilis since she returned to Enniscorthy, but it's hard to see it anyone besides Miss Kelly, with everyone else in the town seeming a bit pushy and presumptive, but also genuinely enamored with the young Ms. Lacey. Her confession to her mother is a quietly powerful scene, and the breakup letter she gives to her Irish beau feels like too easy way to resolve that relationship, but more than anything, it just feels odd that one mean old crow is all it takes to convince Eilis that she could never have a life in a place that, despite the vows she's tried so hard to put out of her mind, seemed to welcome her with open arms.

Still, the scene where Tony finds Eilis waiting for him and the pair embrace is a sweet moment, even if it doesn't feel totally earned given what motivated Eilis to come to that point. But it's a lovely image in a film full of them. Brooklyn is awash in muted pastels and primary colors, that give the past a gauzy hue that catches the eye and conveys the sense of a sweeter, simpler time. It's also a supremely well-shot film, that shoots Eilis and Jim Farrell at the beach having a conversation with their romantic companions framed in between them in the distance, conveying the subtext of the exchange. It's also a film keen to use subtle touches to show changes in Eilis's mood or perspective, from the simple act of wearing her bathing suit under her clothes that impresses her friends back home, to the letters she shoves in a drawer to signify the way in which she's putting Brooklyn out of her mind. None of these techniques is so subtle that the viewer will miss them, but the film takes the old admonition "show don't tell" to heart, and succeeds well with that principle in mind.

In the end, Brooklyn is a fairly simple story. Girl leaves home. Girl makes a new life with success and romance. Girl returns home, seeing the beauty of what she left behind and has to choose her new life or her old one. But the film's pleasures come from the sweet stillness of the moments in between, of the temping worlds the film creates on either side of Eilis, in the recognizable steps of maturation, of change, that Eilis goes through as she moves past her homesickness, past her reticence, and eventually, past the girl she used to be. Brooklyn is an aggressively amiable film, that breaks little new ground, but covers the familiar territory with such a pleasant, charming air, that it can be forgiven for making few new steps.

I've literally seen this movie decades ago and really enjoyed it then, but during the last years entirely forgot about it - until I saw Split in a sneak preview - when they showed the closing (or after credit?) scene, I was the only one in the cinema hall screaming "Oh my god, this is Unbreakable", while all the other visitors where puzzled. Unbelievable. Even my girlfriend didn't know the movie, so it had to be rewatched, and as "Glass" will be released this month, we finally got to actually watching it:

David Dunn (portrait by Bruce Willis) lives an ordinary life in modest circumstances, working as a football stadium security guy who is estranged from his wife and planing to start anew, when he gets in a train accident which he survives as the only person. He is then approached by the comic book enthusiast and comic art trader Elijah Price (Samuel L. Jackson) who is certain that David is a real life impersonation of all the super heroes written about in comic books. He tries to mentor David who doesn't believe a word...

Being a comic book fan and loving the mid 2000s for all the stunning great super hero movies (Sam Raimis Spider-Man, X-Men, The Dark Knight Trilogy, Hellboy, Constantine, Watchman, 300, Sin City and of course the first MCU movies), I have to say this movie really stands out. It's not a typical comic book movie - it's not based on a comic book, it isn't even seeing itself as a typical super hero movie - it's rather a meta comic book movie, all the while having an integral part of typical comic books and focusing on this relevant mechanism that every comic book thrives on.

All the while this movie is so totally different to any super hero movie you have ever seen. Totally calm, slow paced, no special effects, hardly any fight scenes, all the while absolutely thrilling due to brilliant cinematography, great acting and a killer score. The characters and their relations are as deep as in a drama movie, and nearly the entire movie is a built up to a great finale and an unexpected turn of events. There is no CGI, no action, not even a hero vs super villain showdown. All the while it touches the essence of every comic book story, and does so in an ingenious way.

Because of this, of course not everyone will like the movie - a lot will probably not even consider it an comic book or action hero movie. But it really is a memorization of the comic book genre and given its age, and the fact that it came before the action hero genre took off, it really aged well - even after all the Marvel, DC and independent stuff this movie stands out as a great movie.

And now I am really looking forward to seeing the final movie :)

This is clearly Matthew Vaughn’s attempt to shake things up and expand the Kingsman films into new territory.
It's a very respectable choice (it’s easier to play it safe, because ultimately that’s what most people want), but we end up with a film that doesn’t quite get the appeal of the franchise.
They used to be keep it simple, character driven and fun, and instead they went with something that’s too plot driven and overly serious here.
A big part of what makes the first film great are its characters. Now, Ralph Fiennes is quite good in this, but Harris Dickinson’s character is very one dimensional (and his performance doensn’t have the charisma that Taron Edgerton gave to Eggsy), and the villains all feel like they’re ripped out of a saturday morning cartoon.
It also struggles with its tone because of that. Like I said before, this is at parts oddly serious for a Kingsman film, and then every time it cuts to the villains it feels like a completely different film and it goes completely bonkers, fully embracing the camp. It kinda reminded me of the first Wonder Woman movie in that regard.
The production makes up for a lot, though. It’s very stylish, you can instantly tell that this isn’t a generic Hollywood production. There’s a lot of personality in the visuals, and the action is well staged (not nearly as tacky as in The Golden Circle), I just wish there was a little more of it.
I’d say it’s about as good as the second film. Not really memorable or something worth recommending, but it has its moments.

4.5/10

I started watching The Time Traveller's Wife last night. I loved the book and read it so many times i dogeared the copy I had.I hated the movie that came out some years back. Eric Bana and that Adams chick just didn't capture the characters for me.

Theo James though... oh gosh, he is Henry. He's absolutely Henry. Rose Leslie is a good actress, and she's doing a good job, I am not sure I like her as Claire. I'm not sure why, but she's just not fitting the picture I made in my head about this woman with guts and long love. I can't fault her acting though, she's doing a great job. But it's Theo doing it for me.

I honestly am yet to not like him in anything. I can't tell if I think he's pretty, or if he's a good actor or a bad actor. I just like watching him... he makes me believe every character I've seen him play. And say what, for me, he has definitely captured Henry's humor, his fear, his kindness, his ruthlessness, his wily cunningness, all of it... I particularly loved the scene with him and Rose Leslie in The Stacks where Henry introduces Claire to his mother.

Gosh... he totally sold me.

I read a half and half kind of review from a big outlet a couple of weeks ago, and was very surprised someone attempted this story again, and was totally prepared for another wan attempt, but no... I am really liking this.

This is definitely doing some justice to Niffenegger's beautiful love story.

Den of Thieves is like the male reproductive organ: exciting at each end but long and boring in the middle.

It's a trap most films of this genre fall into. An action scene at the beginning to grab our attention and one at the end for a climax, but in the middle nothing but cliches. And with the European version clocking in at TWO HOURS AND TWENTY MINUTES (WTF!?) there's a lot of room for cliches.

The renegade police squad as bent as the criminal gang they're pursuing is a cliche we've come to expect, but too much time is wasted demonstrating how '3-dimensional' and 'fleshed out' these men are. To be sure, there's enough beefcake here to choke the deepest of throats (Gerard Butler, Pablo Schreiber and 50 Cent are so cut their shirts keep falling off), so they're 3D and fleshed out all right, but family men? We're meant to believe they consider family important, yet the only proof of that we're given is they feel guilty every time they treat their families like shite.

It's a shame, really. Christian Gudegast does a competent job directing the action and suspense, but he should've stuck to that rather than drawing so heavily on the source material (a 1992 non-fiction book by Pulitzer Prize winning author James B. Stewart).

No, Den of Thieves is not the epic cops and robbers film it thinks it is. It's simply a giant fake boob: over-inflated, self-aggrandizing and not as unique as it thinks it is.

The absolute cheek of Hulu calling this a "Hulu Original" when it was originally announced in 2012, got stuck in development hell at 20th Century Fox, then was planned to release under Entertainment Studios Motion Pictures, then the release was postponed, re-announced, delayed again before the film leaked a few months ago…

Hulu, you had nothing to do with creating this movie; please don't brand it like you did.

I'm also interested in any background on why the version Hulu released this week runs only 94 minutes, when IMDB indicates the runtime should be 100 minutes. What did they cut? I wonder…

I have to admit that it's fun. The characters are all pretty flat, even Roy, but the concept is cool enough even if Mel Gibson makes for a really lame villain with no depth whatsoever.

Where others objected to the title, I thought "Boss Level" was fairly apt. Roy's experience mirrors what a gamer might have to do in order to clear a particularly difficult level in a video game. That worked really well for me—much better than the characters.

You think Selina Lo ever got tired of saying, "I am Guan Yin, and Guan Yin has done this"? :joy: