[3.5/10] Woof. This was bad. Real bad. I’ve said my piece about Samantha Morton/Alpha already, but suffice it to say, spending forty-five minutes with her terrible southern accent and stage-y performance was not my idea of a good time. But I don’t want to put this all on Morton’s shoulders. The performances were bad all around, and how could they not be, with everyone having to deliver that awful, tortured Whisperer dialogue? And this one was just thoroughly boring to boot, leaving me literally checking my watch multiple times to see how close we were to finishing this one.
What kills me is that I actually like the idea behind this one! I like the notion that the Whisperers’ whole ethos is detachment, but that even the most hardened and devoted members of Alpha’s flock, including Alpha herself, cannot rid themselves of their human attachments. I like the idea that the Whisperers have resorted to this out of a certain fatalism, with the idea that any chance of survival or a normal life after the zombie apocalypse is a fantasy, and so they’ve stopped pretending.
But god, the dramatization of those ideas is so god awful. Again, Alpha having pangs for her daughter, Beta wearing his brother’s (friend’s? husband’s?) face, Gamma’s sister being unable to let go of the loss of her baby, are all solid enough throughlines. And the back and forth flashback structure does an admirable job of trying to mix and match Alpha and Beta’s becoming a team with their failures to live out their own principles in the present.
But every realization of these ideas is so blunt and on-the-nose, rife with the same corny dialogue and ridiculous cult vibe that makes it hard to take anything seriously. There’s no point on The Walking Dead that the show won’t hammer home until the point of exhaustion, and neither story in the episode is dramatically interesting apart on a standalone basis. The ideas the show’s gesturing toward are interesting, but it has no idea how to grab them or translate them into a story.
Throw in consistently terrible dialogue, a languid pace, and cruddy performances all around, and you have one of the worst TWD episodes in recent memory, which is saying something.
[8.9/10] One of the questions The Walking Dead has been interrogating from the beginning of its run is whether the end of the world changes people, or just reveals what we truly are. Most notably with Shane, the show has played around with the idea that the end of civilization, the lack of rules and orders to keep people in line, forces some to be different, turning them into changed people. But for others, it just gives license for them to be who they were the whole time.
The centrality of that question to “Hostiles and Calamities” is part of the subtle way in which The Walking Dead pays tribute to its network-mate Breaking Bad in the episode. Fans of Vince Gilligan’s seminal drama know the significance of a character hanging onto a cigarette with a loved one’s lipstick on it. We’re quite familiar with the notion of a former science teacher finding himself enjoying the spoils and status of his talents when recognized, producing poisons, puffing himself up, and taking to his new role a little too easily. Most of all, Breaking Bad watchers know the exploration of whether changed circumstances change a person or simply let the beast out of the cage.
But despite those similarities, Eugene is not Walter White, and Dwight is not Jesse Pinkman. The key epiphany for Eugene in “Hostiles and Calamities” is that he is a follower, a coward, someone who knows what will keep him safe, and accepts the path of least resistance in that regard despite the people who will be misled, hurt, or even killed in the process. If there were only a handful of qualities that defined Walter White, it was his need for control, his need for recognition, and his blithe self-denial about his own motivations. By contrast, Eugene knows exactly who he is and the reasons, however shameful, that he does what he does -- kowtow to whoever has the courage and boldness to be in control.
So when he finds himself enmeshed in Negan’s machine, he is both afraid and in awe. The episode plays on the expectation that Eugene will be broken the same way that Daryl was, starved and isolated into compliance. But The Saviors are smarter than that, and quickly see that someone as weak-willed as Eugene is more likely to be moved by carrot than by stick. He exults when he sees a refrigerator of food just for him. He is taken aback by the living space he realizes is to be his own. When he hears “Easy Street,” it’s not the sign of his torturers arriving, but the symbol of the creature comforts he will get to enjoy for the first time since the world fell.
And, like Walt, he changes. Initially Eugene is tentative and tries to be moral. He is reluctant to take anything made by Negan’s workers rather than scavenged. When Negan rewards him for a walker-smelting idea with a visit from a few of his “wives,” Eugene treats them with respect, resisting their attempts at physical interaction because he knows they’re not there of their own volition. While his motives may be a bit mixed, he’s only willing to make a poison pill for humanitarian reasons.
But slowly but surely he settles into his new surroundings. Rather than waiting in line for the tools he need, he turns on that Savior entitlement, dressing down the point-keeper and taking what he wants (including a stuffed animal that, true to form, he gives a silly name). He begins to enjoy those creature comforts, indulge the attentions of those “wives” and give in to the privileged position in which he’s been placed. He is familiar, but seems different than the Eugene we’ve gotten to know over the past few years.
Dwight is the inverse of Eugene here. While we’ve known Eugene as a kind-hearted, if misguided individual, slowly being tempted by what The Saviors have to offer, we’ve known Dwight as a bad guy, one who seems to buy into the cruelty of his position, only now getting wisps of the idea that he wasn’t always this way, and that he’s having his doubts and reservations.
In that way, maybe that lipstick-ringed cigarette is a hint that there is some of Jesse Pinkman in him. Perhaps Dwight had, and has, a moral compass, one that gives him pause about the deaths that have come at his hands. He too may be under the thumb of a tyrant, one who manipulates him, uses the woman he loves against him, and makes him a party to things he wants no part of, but eventually make stains on his soul that aren’t so easy to wash off.
The thrust of his storyline suggests that he was not always this way, and he is starting to remember that. The chief reminder is his wife, Sherry, who it turns out was the one who freed Daryl. It’s an obvious device, and a bit overly sentimental, but her letter to him, read in voiceover, underscores that this life is something Dwight didn’t want, that it was a last resort he and Sherry paid dearly for. The glimpse we had of him in his first interactions with Daryl don’t paint a pretty picture, but there’s the notion that under different circumstances, Dwight might have been a decent person, and with Sherry’s memory burning within him, he might be one again.
But Daryl also awakened something in him. When Dwight goes out in search of Sherry, he’s wearing Daryl’s vest, carrying Daryl’s crossbow, riding a motorcycle. As the shot where he’s reflected in a pool of Fat Joey’s blood suggests, he is a dark mirror of Daryl here. Dwight may have been a burnout going nowhere like Daryl was, one with the misfortune of ending up attached to someone more like Merle than like Rick in the end.
Daryl represents something for him -- the idea that it doesn’t have to be this way. So much of Negan’s philosophy, his method of molding people to his will, is by convincing them that there are only two choices: you either submit or you die. That’s the lesson of the (frankly kind of ridiculous) moment where he throws the doctor into the furnace. But Dwight threw that doctor to the wolves, ostensibly not just to cast suspicion away from himself, but because of the doctor’s embrace of that philosophy, of his statement that Sherry was too “tender-hearted” to last. Dwight is beginning to have doubts about who he is, about who he’s become, in the embrace of The Saviors, and once more, he seems on the precipice of resisting and standing up as Daryl did.
Eugene, however, has the opposite reaction to these events. Witnessing the doctor being so brutally (if ridiculously) disposed of is not a moment of pause for him to contemplate what he’s become and what he’s a part of; it’s a confirmation that he fears that result, that he, unlike Daryl, can be cowed. He sniffs out the assassination plot of the wives who told him those poison pills were for assisted suicide and shuts them down, acknowledging that he is too afraid, too comfortable, too meant for this to do anything but accept his face and the rule of the man who dictates it. Despite Eugene’s typical florid and boastful proclamations that he was self-sufficient to Abraham, he has always been someone incapable of looking after himself, lying and doing what was necessary to attach himself to those who could protect him, whether it’s Abraham, Rick, or Negan.
Dwight seems to be in a state of uncertainty, but Eugene is clear-eyed. He tells his captor without hectoring or pressure that he is Negan, that he was Negan before he even met the acid-tongued head of this operation, and deep down he knew it. He has no illusions when he puts on that black jacket, surveys the enactment of his plans, and bites down on the gherkin that represents his acceptance of the take what you want ethos of The Saviors. Dwight, like Jesse, is in limbo, unsure whether he can go on with all he’s done or whether it requires something more of him to restore the balance. But Eugene, like Walt, is discovering that his new circumstances have not forced him to become someone else, but instead exposed him for what he truly is, however unpleasant, self-serving, and lacking in moral will that person that may be.
[8.6/10] The running line on The Walking Dead has been that the show is too bleak and too steeped in misery. The open-ended nature of the show, and thus the demand for more adventures means our heroes can never truly “win” and the abject state of the world has to continue. That means that, for the plot to have any bite, people we care about to keep dying; equilibrium can’t be established; more problems and losses and hurdles have to pile up.
I understand how that prospect wears on people. Maybe I’m just jaded from years of post-apocalyptic and gritty works that allow me to take this sort of thing in stride. But I get it – the notion that this is simply the ongoing march of The Walking Dead, never to cease, with characters we like continually picked off, could be too much for a number of viewers.
But what I like about the show, what keeps me coming back, and what is always underemphasized when this debate arises again and again, is that The Walking Dead is also a show about what motivates people to go on in these circumstances, about the connections that give them something to fight for when there’s no institutions or expectations or anything else to make them do it. It is a world of outrageous choice, one where there is still joy and comfort and sacrifice and love, regardless of whether the environment is hospitable to it.
What elevates “Say Yes” is how Rick and Michonne acknowledge that struggle, how they recognize what the current state of the world means for them, but find the happiness in it anyway. There is a strength that comes from the bond with another person, a buoying connection that can emerge even in the harshest of circumstances. It’s laced with the sad reality that such things, like all things, are only temporary, but it’s there.
So when Rick and Michonne go out searching for guns to placate the Junkyardigans, and stumble across an unexpected supply near a walker-filled carnival campground, we see the two of them enjoying the closest thing there is to a honeymoon The Walking Dead has to offer.
And it’s fun! They are playful with one another. They are loving with one another. They embark on this quest, nominally a functional one to obtain the fodder to put up a fight against The Saviors, but it’s also an escape, a chance to be together just the two of them. There is banter, honest to god banter between the two of them, and it is unexpectedly adorable.
To be frank, this is the most I’ve cared about Rick in years. While Michonne has been one TWD’s most compelling presences for a while now, Rick has just been sort of there, doing much of the same “heavy is the head that wears the crown” material he’s done for a while. There’s some of that here too, but pairing him up with Michonne, having them fight together, laugh together, getting a little peace together humanizes him. It turns him from the ever-conflicted leader of men into just another person enjoying time with someone he loves.
Of course, this being a show set in the zombie apocalypse, that time is a little unorthodox relative to what we might consider normal. The carnival is a great setting, because it leads to all sorts of little ways for Rick and Michonne to do their job while adding a little whimsy to it. Small touches like Michonne winning a midway game using a real sniper rifle, or the pair falling through the roof and chuckling about it, or tucking into some ready-to-eat rations livens the episode in a way that belies the show’s bleak reputation.
It also makes for some entertaining zombie set pieces. There is a cockiness to Rick and Michonne when they gear up for the big zombie fight in the carnival itself. They’ve done this for a while. They’re confident in their strategy and abilities. That gives the plan, even when it goes awry, a certain fun vibe. You can’t do this sort of thing every week, because it would take away the scariness of the show’s most persistent villains, but it makes the walker attack less about whether our heroes will survive, and more about the great dynamic between them while they’re doing it.
“Say Yes” does have one good scare. Perhaps it was naïve to think, even for a half-second, that The Walking Dead would kill off Rick in an unheralded mid-season episode, but when Michonne witnesses a crowd of walkers chowing down in the spot where we just saw Rick, I at least wondered if the series would have the stones to go through with it. I attribute much of that to Danai Gurira’s superior acting skills, to where she can convey Michonne’s shock and distress at this seeming death, and her relief and gratitude when Rick, of course, emerges from some implausible enough safe hiding spot. The call back to the deer, and the cleverness of it, does a nice job at papering over some of the cheesiness of the fake out.
But that tense moment also serves to puncture that rarified air that Michonne and Rick have been breathing. It’s a reminder that no matter how on top of things they feel, this is a world of threats and that, as Maggie learned, your happiness can be shattered in an instant. That sense of fun starts to dissipate. The excitement over the motherlode is dampened. The playful back and forth gives way to ruminations on death and sacrifice.
It’s not just Rick and Michonne who ruminate on such things, to the episode’s detriment. In a clunkily-written scene, Tara talks to Judith about whether to tell Rick and the gang about Oceanside, worrying about the potential lives lost in the balance. By the same token, Rosita grouses at Father Gabriel, goes on her own gun-hunt, and eventually meets up with Sasha. They agree on a suicide mission to take out Negan, each feeling bereft of those reasons to hang on, committed to avenging their lost loved ones and other innocents even at the expense of their own lives.
“Say Yes” contrasts them with Rick, who accepts the same outlook but on different terms. He keeps trying to push off their return, trying to extend this little vacation, just a couple of days more, because he knows the choices they’re coming back to. On the one hand, it’s just returning to responsibility, to potentially having to be the person in charge of everything once Negan is toppled. Rick demurs on that point, saying that he wants to do whatever there is to do in tandem with Michonne, but there’s a definite sense that he’s enjoying the freedom from having to be the leader, from having to be the guy who makes all these big decisions and tries to hold it all together.
But on the other, it’s also a sign that he’s internalized Aaron’s lesson from “Hearts Still Beating.” Rick seems to have made some peace with the fact that there’s a good chance they don’t make it out of this, that the upcoming war will lead to casualties of people they care about, because that’s what always seems to happen.
And yet, he also realizes that they have something to live for and something to die for. They are fighting for the future, for the possibilities of the world to come. Rick wants to cherish the time he and Michonne get to share together, because he realizes it might be slipping away, that soon, he might not be able to experience that sort of joy. That is bleak, the sort of rough reality that bums viewers out. But it’s also hopeful and perhaps even joyful in a different way. It acknowledges that even in the harshest of places, there is something to fight for, something worth putting your life on the line, and something to be happy about.
I love these condensed, boiled down character studies so much, even if they're told with this level of camp and soap-operatic flair between scenes. It tells such a thematically dark story, but keeps it bubbling under the surface for the entire runtime, only told through brief glimpses and passing conversations between these embroiled characters. Gripping and thoroughly engaging, with a lovely layer of double-speak dialogue and symbolism, May December will leave you feeling disparaged and gross, but also deeply sad and empathetic towards some of the people wrapped up in this morally questionable tale.
-- Incoherent, spoiler-filled ramblings --
Although on the nose, I really did like some of the framing and symbolism woven through this movie. Joe cultivating butterflies, caged and trapped while they are given time to cocoon and transform, a direct metaphor for Joe himself. I like the hope this builds around the character, he's still in chrysallis, all he needs to do is break out of the cocoon he finds himself in, be reborn and start anew.
I really liked the shot of Elizabeth going to see Joe at his place of work. These two people of equal age, but with completely different levels of maturity and posture. One plucked from childhood by Gracie before he's had a chance to grow, still a child in demeanour, shoulders slouched and unable to confidently talk or hold a conversation. The other fully grown, at the top of her respective field, speaking coherently and with projection. It was a very nice way of showing the difference between the two, and how regressed Joe really is after this entire ordeal.
Gracie is shown as a proficient hunter, holding a snake in the reenactment, a predator, only giving off the fascade of innocence and softness to entice and ensnare her prey. We see throughout that she attempts to instill a sense of purity, innocence and childlike maturity to those around her to control and make people do what she wants. It's only when Joe later attempts to speak openly about how he really feels do we finally see the real Gracie. Cutting, manipulative, and immediately on the defensive, blaming those around her with a deft spin. She tells her son from her first marriage to lie about being a victim of incest to try and win sympathy; to give a cosy explanation as to why she is the way that she is while also trying to manipulate his way onto the movies production. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree it seems.
Elizabeth's monologue to the drama class is also very apt and inkeeping with the themes of the movie. Firstly it shows the maturity difference between boys and girls at that age and by extension Joe when he was groomed by Gracie. All the girls in the class are mature, poised, ready to listen, while the boys are all joking around, unserious, immature. Elizabeth talks about actors accidentally becoming one with their characters and scene partners, the line between reality and fiction blurring, becoming one in the same. This directly relates to Gracie, who is playing a character of her own creation, trying to convince everyone she's lovely and innocent when she's really the exact opposite. Controlling, manipulative, sociopathic. We also see Elizabeth fall victim to this as well, growing too close to Gracie and Joe, culminating in her sleeping with the latter. I still can't decide if Elizabeth is just as bad for preying on this couple for her own career, I feel I might need to go back and watch this one again to fully understand how I feel about her.
A thoroughly entertaining 157 minutes!
'American Gangster' delivers in every area it needs to. Enthralling premise, immaculate music, phenomenal casting and great pacing. I was surprised slightly with how it finishes, but it's far and away from a disappointing/underwhelming conclusion.
Not much really needs to be said about Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe. They're exactly how you'd expect them to be, outstanding! Washington is fantastic as Frank, while Crowe is superb as Richie. You have to wait a while for their proper screen time together, but it's worth the time it takes.
Away from the leads, you have a load of recognizable faces - I was literally that Rick Dalton meme for the first 45-60 mins! Chiwetel Ejiofor (Huey) and Josh Brolin (Trupo) have sizeable roles, though there's also appearances from Carla Gugino (Laurie), Cuba Gooding Jr. (Nicky), Idris Elba (Tango) and Norman Reedus (Norman). Excellent casting, that!
I was expecting slow moments due to the run time, but there aren't any - at least in my opinion. As noted, the way it ends is a tad differently to how I would've predicted, but I still enjoyed it alongside the rest of the it.
It might not be accurate on the real life Frank Lucas, but all that truly matters is does it excel as a film? Yes it does. Highly recommend!
