A sweaty, gritty, horny, sapphic thrill ride that, if not for it's divisive and dreamlike fizzle of a finale, would be a personal modern classic. Rose Glass absolutely blew me away with her debut in Saint Maud, and her penchant for blurring the lines between fantasy and reality only continues with more fervour in her sophmore outing. A departure from her horror roots, Love Lies Bleeding is part lesbian romance, part crime thriller with a dash of body horror. I absolutely loved everything this movie was putting down for about 90% of the runtime, even down to its manic escalation towards the back half, but I can't help but feel shortchanged by the haste with which concludes things right before the credits roll. Lovely visuals, everything looks so caked in sweat and dirt and humidity; Kristen is quietly hilarious and the perfect fit for the awkward, sprialing-in-love lesbian she's asked to play opposite larger than life Katy O'Brian, who absolutely steals the show with her troubled, muscular, steroid junkie Jackie. I have a feeling that subsequent viewings will only aid this one, as well as musing on the signivicance of a lot of the imagery in play here. Really great stuff, I look forward to now reading explanation posts and watching video essays until I fully understand every part of this movie, and there is no greater praise I can give it than that.
"I'm going to make him watch all the Star Trek, all three series." - Danielle Poole, 2003~4
If you count The Animated Series, that means this timeline did not get Deep Space Nine or Voyager (or Enterprise). I can imagine this has something to do with the falling out Ronald D. Moore had with Star Trek's Executive Producer at the time Rick Berman, who gave him hell on DS9 and led him to leave Voyager very early on. I wonder how many TNG movies there are in this timeline. This episode is set about around when the last TNG movie, Nemesis, was released in our timeline.
Edit: Someone else pointed out that FAM's timeline might have gotten Star Trek Phase II. Which would mean no Next Generation either. And because The Motion Picture was created from the ashes of the cancellation of Phase II, probably no Star Trek films at all! Imagine a few years of 60s Trek, a couple years of 60s cartoon Trek, then maybe a few more years of 70s Trek, all influenced by a young Roddenberry. And then the franchise peters out and gets shelved alongside shows like Battlestar Galactica and Space 1999 because people are much more interested in actual space travel than imagined space travel.
Another dense episode. This episode is divided into 4 storylines. The primary tracks Margo and her unrequited love with Russian counterpart Sergei. Their chemistry has always fascinated me. Two loners who share the same dreams, but separated by geopolitical conflicts. Her story here reminded me of Sofia Coppola's seminal Lost in Translation, driven by wordless expressions. Their mild encounters gradually amp up the stake with each time jump until everything is revealed and there's no turning back but to go "all in."
The second storyline is Aleida, who is groomed to be Margo's replacement. Unlike Margo, she has a husband and kid, and her dad. But her life is at NASA, where she spends 18 hours, completely oblivious to problems at home. Margo is her paternal role model figure with whom she feels more intensely connected than anyone, just as Margo was once deeply connected to Wernher Von Braun. In the later 2 year time jump, we see that she has risen to Margo's former role. But her personal cost is not yet revealed. She has undoubtably gone "all in" on NASA.
The third storyline tracks Danny, who has lived under the shadows of his heroic astronaut parents, Gordo and Tracy. Largely neglected by his busy and distracted parents, he longed for their approvals, always closely following their footsteps. His paternal relationship and approval came from Karen, with whom he eventually develops Oedipus complex. Her eventual rejection causes him to turn to alcohol and womanizing, mirroring his dad's. By the end of this episode, he goes "all in."
The last storyline follows Ed. He is the true American hero archetype, with a string of one impressive achievement after another. But his extraordinary highs in space are always followed by the emptiness of his personal life on earth. On this episode, he is again driven by the ambition to be the first, as he believes the feat would solve all of his (and Danny's) problems. It would certainly distract his personal demons for the time being. So he also goes "all in" sitting on his Star Trek-like captain's chair as he smirks "here we go, kid" to his co-pilot Danny.
The mission to Mars is on and there's no turning back.
There have been some film critics who have expressed unfavorable opinions about Cerrar los ojos, the latest work by Víctor Erice. However, contrary to the views of these critics of the TikTok generation and immediate consumption, this film conceals a great masterpiece. While it is true that its extensive duration, nearly three hours long, can be challenging, at times one perceives, amidst the frequent use of fade-to-black transitions, a sense that fragments have been omitted, as if part of the footage is missing to complete the narrative. Nevertheless, the real challenge can be appreciated from the very beginning, from the shot of the statue depicting the dual nature of man, both young and mature, simultaneously. Here, the film delves deep into symbolism; in essence, it is not a work designed for immediate consumption.
The evolution of this film is tranquil and remains true to Erice's essence. However, in his many references to classic cinema, specifically European cinema, one can discern a naturalistic approach, perhaps as a homage, which was not as evident in his previous works. In Erice's work, color is subordinated to reality rather than being an exercise in artistic chrominance, while in Garay's work, the characteristic grain of celluloid and the vibrant aesthetics of Technicolor are apparent. Music, for Erice, assumes a purely diegetic role, complementing the film in the sung moments with its verses, except when we contemplate La mirada del adiós, the work of the character director, where non-diegetic music is chosen. On the other hand, while Garay, in what little we glimpse, connects shots through music and crossfades, Erice frequently opts for fade-to-black transitions. This distinction between the real and the fictional directors is an intelligent display of cinematic language and extradiegetic significance that enhances the value of the film.
Furthermore, it is intriguing to note that Cerrar los ojos does not deviate significantly from the narrative structure of El Sur (allow me to digress personally: I felt that the film was going to end without a conclusion, much like what happened in his previous work). The theme of time, which was already hinted at in earlier works such as El sol del membrillo, persists as a recurring thread in Erice's filmography. This persistence suggests an unceasing quest into the temporal and emotional depths, an exploration that is poetically and reflectively expressed in his latest cinematic creation. Additionally, the use of existing films as a narrative thread, as he did in El espíritu de la colmena with the film Frankenstein, reveals a recurrent inclination in his work towards intertextuality and the exploration of the deeper layers of cinematic art.
Nonetheless, returning to my critical perspective, and in disagreement with those critics who belittle this film, I pose a question: How would the films of Bresson and Dreyer appear if they were made today? The acting, the use of color and lighting, the types of shots, would not differ significantly from what Erice presents to us. This comparison with the masters arises from the phrase that accompanies the conclusion of the film: "Miracles in cinema ceased to exist when Dreyer died."
In conclusion, this film invites us to contemplate the evolution of cinematography in relation to its predecessors, the passage of time itself, humanistic happiness versus individualism, while simultaneously seeking the miracle of cinema within cinema, the yearning for a metamiracle of cinema!
Honestly, this was one of the best series finales I’ve seen in awhile. It was really cool to see Issa find happiness and security. That end scene where her inner voice wasn’t talking shit in the mirror back at her, that was a really nice touch. Thought for sure she’d pop up with something snarky and funny to say, but instead it was just a mirror doing mirror things and reflecting. Which after the entire series of rapping and joking and shit talking back at herself, was a really touching end to the whole thing. Also when Molly’s mom passed away, I cried. The news of my fathers passing was just as abrupt and delivered over the phone in such an unbelievable fashion, so it was ultra relatable. Speaking of Molly, seeing her finally settle down and marry with someone that loves her for her was also really moving. She was doubting herself the whole series, people were doubting her, and it was always sad to see how most of her relationships crumbled because of all the insecurities. Not to mention her man is as easy on the eyes as she is lol.
Seeing the way Issa and Molly evolved over the series was also quite relatable. I’ve had my ups and downs with best friends over the years, where they finally find a place to stabilize after years. It was cool to see a best friendship portrayed so naturally and convincingly. But most of all, was really happy to see the two of them find that stability and let go of their egos and be there for each other in all the stages of their lives that were revealed to us, the audience.
Anyway, I’m sad this series has come to an end, it was a great insight into the lives of these characters and seeing them grow, ima miss em.
I read the book as this release came nearer, and I thought that while good, it was clearly a ‘first big passion project that grew in scope and theme in the telling’. And that resulted in a charming work, but also one that could be refined and sharpened if given a second go around and seen by experienced eyes. Well, this movie did that and then some. It’s an affecting allegorical fairy tale for our time, one I honestly sorely needed after all that happened today.
If there’s one word to sum it up, it’s unapologetic. There’s a very big reason Disney didn’t take this on, yes, but there’s a whole lot smaller ones too. This is daring in a way their work hasn’t been allowed to be in years, if not a decade or two. A gay romance is one of its centerpieces, but it also tackles the fear of the other hurting so many today, the classism holding so many down, how it’s rooted institutionally, how you can’t just play nice and appease them. Balister did everything right, he played by the rules, he excelled, he gives them chance after chance, but that’s never going to be enough. The system and those behind it will toss you aside because you don’t belong.
Riz Ahmed plays him perfectly, making what could’ve been a stick in the mud such fun to listen to, and displaying his journey from lost and tossed aside golden boy to a man who’s found strength in the truth and most of all, his friend. In conjunction with the most effective set of puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen, you can’t help but feel and root for him. Beck Bennett is always a gem in any ensemble and gets some big laughs. Eugene Lee Yang was a sleeper hit- I didn’t expect a Try Guy to remind me so heavily of Crispin Freeman, and that is high praise. It’s not that he sounds like a discount version of him, but that he has a similar lived in earnestness and genuine personality amidst a theatrical and dramatic performance, somehow grounded and knightly all at once. And Conroy is a risible antagonist, one who has convinced herself her paranoia and prejudices are noble and for the greater good and all the worse for it. She does not consider herself a monster by any means, but an aggrieved martyr doing what must be done, and Conroy makes her real while not sympathetic to anyone but herself.
But the most striking performance of all, of course, is Chloe Grace Mortez as Nimona. She put her heart into this role and you can feel it. She straddles the line of what could’ve been either ‘softened and smoothed so as to lose all edges’ and ‘so obnoxious and bloodthirsty so as to lose empathy’, and makes it look easy, instead conveying a character who’s found her way to survive in a world that turned its back on her first. An inner pain at the heart of her rage, one that’s always hoping that she’ll be proven wrong. Or rather, proven right with what she first saw all those years ago- that people can accept and love something different. But the film also never frames her as in the wrong for pointing that anger where it belongs- at the system that props up what was done to her. Many films would’ve agreed the director was the only problem, but this one asserts that the institute and the wall that enables and created her must also be torn down. Mortez goes hand in hand with immaculate writing and gorgeous animation to craft a character who’s hilarious, heartfelt, and devastating. Nimona in motion is such a striking vibrancy against everything else, bringing a life and beauty and color they don’t see until the end. And it makes it such a gut punch when Nimona has lost hope and that pink is replaced with black and white.
There’s a lot of ways Nimona resonates with today. The Director exclaiming Balister has a weapon is a subtle, brief one that only lasts a minute but hits like a punch to the gut. There’s Nimona defending herself being taken as self evident proof she is a monster. There’s her suicide attempt, where the rampage in the book is a path of vengeance here it’s just a last resort after once again losing everything and being rejected on a fundamental level. All that is one reason Disney wouldn’t take this on. But another is it’s sense of humor, or in acknowledging that yes kids know what blood is and many like it and they can handle it. The movie’s not a bloodbath by any means, but blood is just. There! Gay people are there! This movie, despite Disney, despite the conservative backlash against queer children’s media, is here. Saying you are seen. You are not alone. It’s something I think a lot of people, of any age, needed to hear today, and will need to hear in the future. I know I’m one of them.
What a finale. Watching everyone come together and use what they have learned and prove to themselves and each other how capable they are felt so good, while on the flip side of that we see devastation in Carmy. The restaurant recovers and runs smoothly without him as he sits alone, cold, and while falling victim to his insecure self-worth and ultimately inadvertently ruining one of the best things to ever happen to him in Claire. I knew the fridge issue would come into play in the finale, but didn’t expect it to happen like this. The rich complexity is that Carmy isn’t necessarily wrong. His focus given to Claire took him away from the restaurant, but Claire is also so incredibly good for him otherwise. She made him a better person, but in some regards also a worse leader during a critical time in his professional life. I hope that he can eventually find the right balance, repair things with Ritchie, and find happiness in his personal and professional lives. I think he needs to learn to relinquish some of the control he holds over the restaurant and lean on others around him who have proven themselves capable. His presence in their lives and pushing/challenging them has helped all those around him grow, and he just needs to give himself credit for that while also not putting so much pressure on himself. He’s shaping up to be a fantastic character and I can’t wait for more. Season 3 better be announced soon.
[9.8/10] Susie nails it. When Midge tells her she’s considering doing something reckless with the four minutes remaining on The Gordon Ford show, Susie tells her number one client to go for it. She tells her that she got into this thing by taking a stage nobody invited her to and saying things she wasn’t allowed to say. Why should today be different? Why shouldn’t the same boldness and hilarious honesty carry the day now?
And oh my lord does it.
“Four Minutes” is, like so many series finale, full of call backs and bookends. In the finale of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s first season, Midge and Joel are on the verge of getting back together. What stops the reunion is Joel hearing an underground “party record” of Midge’s confessional rant from the night he left her. He couldn't stand her spreading their private lives to strangers, and perhaps more damningly, he couldn't stand her being better at comedy than him.
Now, when he hears that Midge is going to be on The Gordon Ford Show, he is overjoyed for her, not jealous. And more to the point, without being asked, he tells her to talk about anything, about him, about the kids, about any part of the life he helped fracture, if only so that his sins can be further made fodder for something good and worthwhile. I’ve ragged on Joel a lot, but there may be no bigger sign of his growth and maturity than that.
Some echoes are not so happy. In the first episode, Midge hears Lenny’s rant about the meat grinder of stand-up and asks him in response if he loves it nonetheless. He gives her a shrug of resignation, a wry sort of acceptance that love it or hate it, this is the path he’s on. Here, Susie gives Lenny a plea when his life is disintegrating. She gives him an offer for help he sorely needs. Folks aware of the real life story know that Lenny is not far away from his untimely end. But when asked one final time, not in so many words, if he’ll accept the assistance it would take to pull out of this tailspin, all he offers is the same resigned shrug. It’s an underplayed but brutal affirmation that he’s as stuck on that path now as he was then.
Some lead to moments of honesty and vulnerability. The desperate phone call that pulled Midge away from work was having to bail Susie out of jail. It’s a meaningful reversal of the series’ beginning where it was Susie who got Midge out of the slammer. What led Susie there is continued raw feelings over Hedy, and having to dredge up that painful part of her life in order to get Midge the ticket to being in front of the camera she needs.
In the wake of that concession, which Midge now understands the gravity of, Susie (and Alex Borstein) gives arguably her best monologue in the entire series (give or take her eulogy for Nicky). When she talks about her relationship with Hedy, the plans they made that she let herself believe in, the love that they shared in a time and a place it wasn’t accepted or embraced, the heartbreak of seeing the woman she cared for pulled away from her, it is the most raw we’ve ever seen her. Her heartfelt confessional to her closest friend not only gives Borstein a time to shine as an actor, not only helps Midge understand what her manager did for her, but underscores the extra pain folks like Susie had to endure at a time where there were even more hurdles to finding love and acceptance that folks struggle with under the best of circumstances.
But the sacrifice is worth it because it works. Midge gets an invitation to appear on The Gordon Ford Show. The invitation is a bitter one. Gordon Ford resents Midge and Susie going around him to make this happen. But by god, it’s happening. And it leads to all sorts of great comedy and better grace notes for the cast of characters who made Mrs. Maisel feel so lively and hilarious for five seasons.
Dinah pulls off one last miracle, getting Midge the dress of her dreams for free for a mere mention of Bergdorf’s. (A far cry from when Midge had to struggle with a domineering boss to keep her job at a competing department store.) Zelda calls Rose to let her know about the show in secret, so as not to let Yanucz know she’s entangled with the Weissmans again. Archie and Imogene make it to the big show and take credit for dumping on ol’ Penny Pan from a cocktail party. Mrs. Moskowitz cuts through the elder Maisels’ monkeyshines and gets to the bottom of their grand plans.
Those grand plans are to, well, retire and spend the rest of their lives together. The epiphany arrives in an appropriately silly way, with a couple of choice falls in the shower and a sopping fur coat leading to some honest conversation. But in a season that started with the prospect of their divorce, there’s something adorable and endearing about Moishe retiring and giving up his business, the thing that represents the outward success he so cherishes, to revel in the inward success of a marriage to the woman he loves.
For a finale that is, quite understandably, full of sap, “Four Minutes” doesn’t skimp on the comedy. Susie and Dinah debating how to get a bucket across two buildings using a trained squirrel is a big laugh. Midge ranting to her fellow writers about deserving a few hours off without an array of pestering phone calls, only to find out it wasn’t them, is a very funny moment. And Abe and Rose frantically trying to explain to a series of unsympathetic cabbies during a shift change (relatable!) that through money, math tutoring, wedding rings, or magic whistles, they need to get to Rockefeller Center, is another one of the show’s great comic set pieces, with expert cinematography to match.
And yet, theirs might be the most touching moments in the finale. Rose’s schism from her husband and daughter in the first season stemmed from the sense that they were lying to her, that they were keeping the important things from her, that she wasn’t taken seriously. So when she has to find out Midge’s big news second-hand, Rose declares she’s not going thanks to this affront. It is merely the latest insult, the latest case of her being kept out of the loop by her “pathological liar” of a child.
Except, hilariously, Midge has enlisted everyone she knows, from Joel, to Shirley, to Zelda, to her fellow writers, to try to get the news to Rose. Wouldn’t you know it? Mrs. Weissman inadvertently left the darn phone off the hook. Nonetheless, she is touched that Midge went to such lengths to reach her, and it shows her how much her daughter does value and care about her.
Abe’s moment is much simpler. Midge tells him the news, and he’s confused about Midge’s references and colloquialisms and other things he just doesn’t understand. But what he does understand is that this is an achievement. He stops his all-important goings-on to tell her so and, even when the appearance isn’t going as planned, tells her how incredible what she’s accomplished is. It is a heartwarming follow-up to his hollowing epiphany of what he’d done wrong from the prior episode. And it is a tacit acknowledgment that, even if his daughter’s life doesn’t fit what he’d wanted or expected from her, it is no less extraordinary for it.
His pride carries extra resonance because Midge’s vaunted appearance isn’t going well. Gordon’s begrudging admittance of her to a spot on the show is not to perform her act; it’s to be interviewed as a writer. She is a “human interest” story. He will technically fulfill his wife’s request to have her on. But he also demeans her in the process, treating her like a sideshow and a curiosity rather than a comic.
She’s permitted to perform. She isn’t permitted to sit on the couch where the “real” guests go. He all but denies Midge her name, introducing only as “a Gordon Ford show writer”, and “our resident lady writer” before briefly providing only her first name, in contrast to the male writers who get their surnames as part of their introductions. And when she has the temerity to be funny during this neutered little segment? He throws to commercial because he can't stand her and Susie getting one over on him.
It is a brilliant exercise in frustration. Midge’s last stretch to glory in this finale is not a primrose path of triumph. It is another instance in which she must scratch and claw to get what she ought to have earned through talent and hard work alone. It is another example of her being punished for not doing things “the right way”, when that way contains every roadblock for people like her. It is one more time when succeeding at this means being bold and daring and a little dangerous, taking what you deserve because otherwise no one will give it to you.
That is the biggest bookend and parallel between The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s final bow and its opening salvo. Susie calls out that same fire that led Midge to the Gaslight to vent her frustrations on stage in the first place. Once again, Midge goes where she supposedly doesn’t belong, speaks when it’s not her turn to speak, because whether it’s liquid courage or simply the courage of her convictions, by god, she’s meant for this.
In one of those impossible, brilliant, writerly monologues, she tells it all again. She talks about being Jewish. She talks about being the child of two demanding parents. She talks about being left by her husband. She talks about being a mother. She talks about wanting fame and recognition for what she does. She talks about the challenges she’s faced as a woman, a comic, and someone who’s tried from day one to reconcile her life on stage with her life off of it.
At base, she talks about her life. With tremendous choices in lighting and direction, the show sells the enormity of this moment, the way this is the tipping point of her climb to fortune and fame, but also an intimate confessional, the truth behind her art that makes the comedy funnier and the confessions more piercing.
As I wrote in the series’ beginning, Seinfeld was not meant to be “a show about nothing.” It was intended to be a show about how comedians found material for their act. And in the same way, this moment in Mrs. Maisel is about the same thing. The performance that puts her on the map is not a riff on random nonsense or “put that on your plate”-style phoniness. It is about how, from her initial wedding toast, Midge has used her life as fodder to stand-up in front of the crowd and connect with her audience.
In a way, Midge’s whole life has led to this moment. She uses the events of the series, her challenges from being single again, the unique struggles of being a comedienne, her relationship with her kids and her relationship with her parents and her relationship with the ex-husband whose selfish deeds started this whole wild journey, to make up the set that becomes her crowning achievement. The trials and travails of the last three years and five seasons amounted to this: a set that kills, a truth that resonates, and a person less revealed than transformed, who’s come out of her original betrayal stronger and willing to seize what’s waiting on the other side of that window.
It’s beautiful and stirring and a magnificent capstone to all Midge was achieved. If there’s an element of wish fulfillment to it all, it’s that she’s so hilarious that even grumpy Gordon can't help but break down and admit he should have had her up there a long time ago. He does fire her, so she doesn’t get off scot-free. But in a parallel to Joan Rivers’ big break with Johnny Carson, she’s invited to the couch, a recognition of her talent and the fact that, whether he wanted her there or not, she was going to be a big star. It’s enough for Gordon to give her the benediction of announcing her name, a title drop for the series that could hardly come in a more satisfying way.
But other people knew before Gordon did. One of them was Lenny Bruce. Whether or not he’s there for her great success, he saw the star that she would become. It is downright lovely that the thought we leave Lenny with is not his sad passing, but rather the image of someone who had utter faith and confidence in Midge, with a fortune cookie fortune, spun into honest flattery, that gives her a boost via their sweet inside joke when she needs it most.
But the first person who knew was Susie. Season 5 teased discord between manager and client throughout. Our flash forwards suggested enmity between them that couldn't be resolved. And for all the talk of fame here as the ultimate goal, our semi-shocking glimpse of Midge in 2005 suggests a lonely life. Her parents have presumably passed on. Her kids clearly have mixed feelings with her. Joel is but a loving picture on a desk. All that's left, seemingly, is for Midge to wander through an opulent but empty living space, albeit one in a familiar part of town, that suggests she may be as isolated and aloof as Sophie Lennon became amid her success.
Except she isn’t. She retreats to her room, connects with a blissfully retired, tropically-residing Susie, and the two uproariously funny old vets crack each other up over Jeopardy and reincarnation across a continent. In the end, when the work together has ended, what’s left is their true friendship. And more importantly, Midge has what she was looking for the last time Susie was in a beachside locale -- someone who makes her laugh.
When Midge lost one partnership with Joel, she accidentally discovered another with Susie. And while the former fueled her, and eventually worked its way to being a worthy part of her life, it’s the latter that drove her, comforted, and sustained her.
What a lovely note to go out on for this series, which nailed the landing in a way few television shows do. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’s final set is a glorious one, which pays due tribute to these rich characters, this colorful little ecosystem, and the journey that led them here. A small-time bar boss comes to manage the stars, a jilted housewife comes to be the groundbreaking entertainer she was always meant to become, and two people uncover a friendship that nourishes them even when the work fades away. To Amy Sherman-Palladino, to the talented creative team that brought this series to life over the past six years, to Midge and Susie -- thank you and goodnight.
This episode was an improvement on the all others in the show, it seems there was less nonsense than in the earlier parts, and some vistas were really visually stunning, I love the forges of Eregion, they are definitely beautiful to look at. There is nothing at all about dwarves, which is a bit of a pity since the making of the dwarven rings could have been shown as well, but the focus is on the Elven smiths of Eregion and the forging of the Elven rings. Soon after being healed, Halbrand starts taking shop with Celebrimbor and giving him advice about forging the one piece of mithril the Elves have, soon they start to work together but Galadriel gets suspicious of him and gets intel on the kings of the Southlands. When she confronts him about his identity, Galadriel gets a strange mind trip in which Halbrand reveals himself to be Sauron and even offers Galadriel to be his queen and rule Middle-Earth alongside with him (using the words Galadriel says in FotR when tempted by the ring). She rejects him and goes to warn the smiths. By this time, Sauron is already gone on his way to Mordor. It is Galadriel's idea to make three rings to help Elves stay the decay, which are created out of Galadriel's dagger and Elrond's mithril piece. The forging scenes are visually impressive and a total eye-candy, though perhaps they don't have much in common with the real smithying business. Galadriel was much less irritating now, though it was silly of her to risk a direct confrontation with Sauron, it could have ended much worse for her than it actually happened. I guess Sauron must have had some soft spot for her as he didn't hurt her in any way even though she discovered his identity.
The sauronists find the Stranger and first they hail him as Sauron but when he does not live up to their expectations, they decide to bind him. This is when the hobbits find him and want to rescue him, and it is Nori who finally talks him into standing the side of the Good, as a result he banishes the sauronists to the darkness (they look a bit like the Nazgul then but there had been no Nazgul back then) and is revealed as one of the Istari. Finally, Nori's family encourages her to go on an adventure with the Stranger, and there are long goodbyes with her family and her bestie Poppy, which could have been shorter, the showrunners apparently wanted to mirror the long ending of RotK, but it didn't work this time. As they set off, the Stranger uses Gandalf's words about always following your nose, known from the scene in FotR in the Mines of Moria, suggesting he might be Gandalf.
Minor Numenorean things:
- Pharason orders the painting of the dying king to be done, and Elendil's daughter is the one to hear his last words, in which he mistakes her for Miriel and warns her of the fall of Numenor, if they would not return to the ways of the Faithful;
I could repeat my comments from last episode, but I won't do this. In a nutshell: it looks awesome, but the story and most characters are mediocre. I still enjoy it but it's certainly not great.
Let me talk about something else instead. Tolkien's work and Jackson's adaptation have always received their fair share of criticism regarding ethnic and racial stereotypes. One example is the problematic Wagner-ish portray of dwarfs. I won't go into this. Enough was said about this. In this show, they added Hobbit "ancestors". Hobbits were never funny and a a big fat Irish stereotype. Now they added this element of "migration". How could you not think that they are inspired by Irish Travellers? The Harfoots have other traits allegedly ascribed to their culture: they too love music, gather around campfires, organize themselves in families and live at the edge of society in relative poverty. It's like costume artists were fans of The Kelly Family. I'm not even saying that only negative stereotypes are reverberated: the Harfoots are too likable to immediately incite prejudice and discrimination against Travellers. But I wonder why they always do that in this franchise? Why do they often use a discriminated ethnic or racial group as a template and why do they choose to portray them in a very stereotypical way? They could have designed this people very differently very easily. Who's next? Gypsies? Pygmy peoples? Sámi? Eurasian nomads aka "horse people"? It doesn't really bother me though. (I'm not a snowflake and I realize that fiction is different from reality). This was mostly an academic remark. But I think, it was worth to be mentioned. Instead, very interestingly though, the show is (totally unfairly) criticized by some for including (as in: inclusion) black actors. Really? It makes you think whether "our" value system is well calibrated.
PS: I knew it. Yolandi Visser is one of these weird, otherworldly, pale elves. These guys are elves, right?
[7.9/10] Nope is a film of tremendous spectacle. Writer/director/producer Jordan Peele has not lost the slightest of steps in crafting evocative sequences with his team. He elicits tension as heroes and bystanders alike flee the giant specter lurking through the sky, ready to suck them up. He captures the balletic grace of a ribbony jellyfish creature floating through the clouds and gobbling up what it finds. He gets the heart pumping as his new age cowboy races through the western skyline, dust whipping in his wake, as the creature sharply pursues. To see it on the big screen is to be awed by it.
But at the same time, it is a film about that spectacle, the lengths filmmakers go to capture it, profit from it, take credit for it. It’s hard to know how to take that. There’s a recursive quality to the film, a movie rife with impossible images about the cost and peril, moral and otherwise, about committing those images to film. At the very least, it speaks to one of Peele’s recurring narrative motifs, those overlooked or underappreciated, who nonetheless contribute to that which is beautiful and even transcendent, even as they’re appropriated or forgotten.
Here, he extends that franchise to the animals made to perform for Hollywood productions. From Gordy, the sitcom chimp who goes on a rampage, to the horses on the Haywood family ranch loaned out for television and film, to Jean Jacket, the living UFO who feeds on whatever flesh he finds in the great loping west, Nope is suffused with an inherent respect and fear for the wild animals made to perform for our amusement.
The subtext of the story suggests that these animals should not be treated as just another prop, but rather respected and treated like the fellow souls they are. They possess a power, one that requires us to meet them on their level to be able to forge a working relationship with them, lest we be subject to the parts of them that remain wild, the parts we cannot control, no matter how much we think we have them cowed.
The themes, as always, are potent. Nope lingers in the mind and the heart, in its reflections on the creatures made to perform, the urge to wrangle such heart-stopping images, and those who are disregarded and overlooked in both efforts. But the film’s characters are some of Peele’s most inaccessible. Their decisions are often strange, their reactions stranger. Their motivations vary, but often come down to the need for wealth or fame or both. They are some of the director’s most colorful figures, but in a way that can obscure the sense of an inner life beyond the ideas and motifs they signify. It makes the movie a hard one to warm to at times, with the players more sketched than defined.
And yet, in those quieter undefined spaces, Daniel Kaluuya shines once again. It’s hard to discern whether his character -- O.J. Haywood, the inheritor of his father’s Hollywood horse ranch -- is meant to be neurodivergent or simply the archetypal strong silent type. Regardless, he is a man of few words, and Kaluuya makes a meal out of the meaningful looks and body language that convey his bearing and demeanor despite that.
He is reserved, if not outright shy, full of determination, if only to carry on the barrier-breaking legacy his father built, and he is made of steely, steady, stuff. Those qualities make him someone who understands animals better than people, and combine to make him the perfect soul to respect, comprehend, and even commune with this being from the beyond.
Peele and cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema also understand how to shoot him. Nope is filled with any number of eerie, low-light scenes where OJ, his more extraverted sister Em, and their handful of neighbors and allies investigated the strangeness hovering above their doorstep. Peele and his collaborators still know how to evoke a sense of dread in these moments, with obscured visions, suggestions of something ominous, and blank spaces for the viewers to fill in with god knows what.
But there’s also great attention to the detail in the lighting, bringing out Kaluuya’s complexion and definition even in darkness, highlighting his expressive eyes, that allows his performance to take center stage even amid the building horror and eerie tone. There’s an interiority to O.J. in particular, and sharp choices in lighting and composition help draw it out to the audience’s wavelength.
Peele and company also do well to set up rules for Jean Jacket that both speak to the movie’s themes while creating practical challenges for the main characters to overcome. The flying beast deadens anything electrical in its wake, something that stops vehicles in their tracks, permits the sound team to chill the audience with waning audio, and makes filming it that much more challenging. The alien creature can only consume organic matter, with rains of discarded metal and other leavings that make it sick creating both a practical danger and frightening imagery. And as with the horses the Haywood family trains, it is provoked through making eye-contact with it as it roams the skies above, turning the horror flick into a reverse “the floor is lava” game of staying shielded from view. These qualities are cinematic, while also creating pragmatic challenges that the main players must be clever and determined to overcome.
In that, the movie’s creative team crafts some of the stunning horror that already defines Peele’s budding filmography. The title drop comes when O.J. witnesses the magnitude and power of this cloud-hopping behemoth, “nopes out” of doing anything to get in its way, as the same imposing figure prompts the audience to do the same. It’s a film as steeped in feelings as it is in thoughts, and the sense of abject terror as something that cannot be controlled, or tamed, only accommodated, imposes its will on those brave or foolhardy enough to try to use it for notoriety, riches, or entertainment.
Nope uses it for those ends too. It’s hard to tell whether the filmmakers want us to feel complicit in this, to speak out against animal cruelty in Holywood, to recognize the below-the-line workers who make the impossible into the real, or simply to experience the same terror and triumph its players do. But in this alternating languid and exhilarating movie, the spectacle, and the awe, overwhelm, as Peele conveys his signature incredible images, through his characters striving to do the same.
[9.5/10] The most ingenious choice that Greta Gerwig’s Little Women makes is to chop up the story so as to juxtapose present and past. It not only immediately marks this adaptation as distinct from its predecessors, but helps to recontextualize and connect different parts of the story to make it feel new again.
The audience has a chance to meet and appreciate Freidrich before Laurie has burrowed into their hearts. By the same token, the joy and connection between Amy and Laurie can be front and center from the get-go, without springing it on the viewer halfway through the story. And the bookend approach allows Gerwig to put Jo’s drive and travails as a writer into the spotlight early.
But the biggest advantage it confers on the film is how it allows Little Women to constantly contrast the lives that these young girls imagined they would lead one day, with the lives each finds themselves inhabiting in the future. Like the novel it’s based on, Gerwig’s adaptation is anchored squarely around considering the wildest dreams of its titular set of sisters, and measuring them against the paths actually available to women in their time, and the places their choices and passions take them. The jumps back and forth and time allow Gerwig to check expectation with reality, to trace cause and effect, and to resolve the two with poignance and grace.
It also allows Gerwig and company to flesh out each of the young women at the center of the narrative. Jo March still commands the story and the screen. Saoirse Ronan throws herself into the role, conveying all the punch, heedlessness, and subtle vulnerabilities of the character with endearing abandon. It is both a dream role and a hard one, but Ronan makes it look effortless.
And yet, this adaptation makes time for the other March sisters to falter and flourish. Amy is vivid and real from the jump, with her questioning of her own talents, her sense of being second to Jo, and her truth-telling relationship with Laurie put front and center. Meg’s chance at a life of elegance and plenty, the love that pulls her away from it, and the joys and hardships of that choice are given time to breathe. And Beth remains the heart of the film -- still a little too pure for this world, but one who suffers for her own goodness, reminds a kindly neighbor of what’s been lost, and spurs her sister to take up what she’s put down.
All the while, Little Women is utterly gorgeous to look at through the March Sisters’ misadventures. Gerwig and cinematographer Yorick Le Saux capture the bucolic beauty of scene after scene draped in New England splendor. The pair construct tableaus of faraway elegance and local beauty in turn. But these visuals aren’t gratuitous. Beyond making the movie a treat to watch, it helps sell the contrast at the heart of the film. Scenes set in Jo’s youth have a golden hue, an inviting glow that conveys the idyllic, hopeful tone of those early days. And the ones set in her adulthood are darker and starker, visually communicating the various cold realities the March family has had to grapple with in later years.
As necessary as it is to contend with those cold realities, it’s just plain fun to vicariously share in the joy that Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy share with their mother and friends in their family home. Apart from its structural choices, apart from its character focus, the greatest strength of Gerwig’s Little Women is how well it captures this sense of young people at play, of a headstrong young woman in their element, and that unfathomable, spontaneous vigor of youth.
The March Sisters, and their friends and close confidants, fight and babble and hug and exalt together. There’s a move toward Gilmore-esque speed and overlap in conversation after conversation, expressing the happy chaos that envelops these lives. This story is founded on the breadth of possibility forged in such a simple, familiar environment, on the pleasures and satisfactions found despite absences and meager means, on blessings shared and passed around. The warmth of the March household would not work if those who orbit and inhabit it, did not seem so real in their rough-and-tumble interactions and simple joys.
Those joys, however, are meant to run up against the expectations of adulthood that clash with allowances of youth. That’s the role Aunt March plays -- the naysayer to the slack existence her brother and his wife and children have made for each other. But Gerwig does not make her a villain. Instead, she is merely practical, a woman who knows from her own experiences which choices are permitted and which invite difficulties, delivered with an amusing wryness that makes her endearing even as she aims to stifle her nieces’ dreams.
That’s the crux of Gerwig’s adaptation. The March sisters imagine wondrous lives for one another, borne on the backs of each’s great talent. Jo pictures herself as a bold writer in the big city who never marries anything but her art. Meg sees glimpses of a life where she’ll never have to work, where there’s time for things like acting and society and beautiful dresses. Amy envisions the life of the genius painter overseas who stands with giants. And each finds those dreams running aground on the many limitations of the real world, with tethers made extra taut for the declaratively fairer sex.
All except for Beth, whose dreams lie in the simple doing of good, the making of music for those around to hear it rather than for the masses, despite her prodigious abilities. She is the cinch of Little Women, not merely in her death which brings the March sister home. But in her life of quiet kindness at home, in her peace with what must come and the joy to be found despite it, a joy they found together in the attic and can still share and revive no matter how big or little they are now.
Jo, Amy, and Meg each regains a measure of that golden glow in the shadow of the house they grew up in. Amy loses the artists life in Paris she imagines, but finds happiness in a partner who vindicates her talents and for whom love triumphs over station. Meg is denied by circumstance of the beautiful things and easy life she once pictured, but is buoyed by the care and satisfaction of family and a life built with the man she loves. Even Jo turns away from the “spicy” stories that sell to stuffy cigar-smoking New York publishers and finds her truth, finds her greatness, in the bonds fraught and familiar at home, with a winking-but-joyous connection to a beau of her own. And each is seen sharing the fruits of their talents, passing them on to a new generation of young men and women.
There’s a degree of wish-fulfillment to the close of the film, a heartstring-tugging image of familial warmth in a bucolic setting. But Gerwig earns that warmth. The happiness crafted in a humble home is measured against the metes and bounds of the wider world, and found no less worthy. The choices afforded to women of any station at the time are reckoned with and suffered in, with the ensuing joys and small, self-possessed rebellions made more potent in that unfair crucible. The losses each suffers, the distance between the lives they dreamed and the lives they live, is laid bare in the cuts between past and present.
But in the end, Gerwig does as Alcott did, and makes the fulfillment each chooses meaningful by those terms. The hardships great and small each endures, make it more than a publisher-mandated happy ending when, despite that difference between past imagination and present truth, each of these little women realizes they’re living the lives they truly want.
