13 Thoughts You Have While Watching "F9"

August 19, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Lists

Before Fast & Furious became the larger-than-life global sensation that it is today, it all started twenty years ago with a tuna sandwich and a truck full of stolen DVD players. Originally pitched as Donnie Brasco meets Days of Thunder, 2001’s The Fast & The Furious was a profoundly influential action movie that set the tone for a new millennium. The premise follows a renegade crew of street racers gridlocked in an undercover police plot — a relatively simple formula with exponential modesty in comparison to the nitrous-fueled stunt show it eventually became.

Twenty years, one spin-off, and an animated series later, viewers are left with one burning question: how do these keep getting made? As the franchise keeps expanding in mainstream recognition, its sprawling vehicular voyages through Tokyo, London, Brazil, Mexico, Dubai, and of course L.A. keep intensifying in both complexity and execution.

With respect to their humble beginnings, they’ve managed to construct an affably self-actualized charm that exists behind the priceless cars, buckets of Corona, and baby-oiled juggernauts bursting out of an Under Armour shirt. Just like Predator and Godzilla, history has shown there’s popular value in mindless muscular spectacle. With the emergence of the franchise’s tenth overall entry, it’s become abundantly clear that these movies are bulletproof to any meaningful review or assessment. Instead, let’s tap into a livestream of moviegoing consciousness while following along to Justin Lin’s explosively fun F9.

Some spoilers ahead

“Can’t believe they gave us Young Toretto.”

The film opens in 1989 at a race track where young Dominic Toretto (Vinnie Bennett) watches in horror as his father Jack (JD Pardo) dies in a fiery collision. For two decades now, Vin Diesel has helped shape the mythology and archetype around this enigmatic series protagonist, especially since the untimely demise of his radiant co-star Paul Walker in 2013.

This prologue helps build character and context but also reveals a new development in the ongoing saga: Dominic apparently has a younger brother named Jakob. This newly revealed information highlights the primary conflict in the movie, as well as establishes the unifying themes of family and fatherhood.

2. “The gang’s all here.”

The returning main cast of Vin Diesel, Michelle Rodriguez, Tyrese Gibson, Jordana Brewster, Nathalie Emmanuel, and Ludacris comprise members of a family so prolific, it gives the Avengers a run for their money. Their collective chemistry produces a fun synergy that helps make the F&F movies so easy to return to every few years.

From Roman and Tej’s (Tyrese and Ludacris) constant bickering to Dom and Letty’s (Michelle Rodriguez) unwavering loyalty, many viewers have developed a deep attachment to these characters and their relationship to one another over the course of ten movies. Though your mileage may vary with that, it’s safe to say this mobile heist crew runs deep and provides exactly what the movie needs to keep its fanbase invested.

3. “No way John Cena could ever pass as a Toretto.”

At first glance, John Cena as Dominic’s estranged brother Jakob doesn’t exactly fulfill Toretto family expectations. Is this largely due to the fact that by now, we still have no clue what ethnicity they’re supposed to be? This ambiguity is acknowledged and quickly dispelled by recurring series antagonist Cipher (Charlize Theron) in her offhanded observation that “the Torettos have quite the mixed bloodlines”.

When it comes to performance, John Cena imbues Jakob Toretto with a gruff but stoic sort of stillness. This quality runs parallel to Vin Diesel’s now-famous portrayal of the philosophically complicated Dominic. Cena’s cartoonishly bulky frame takes up a massive amount of physical space within the movie, undoubtedly a representation for the imposing esteem that orbits the entire Toretto family. Maybe he is fit to wield the iconic crucifix pendant after all.

4. “By this point, any threat they’re facing is completely inconsequential.”

Around Fast Five, the series broke free from its narrative inhibitions and revved up to a whole new level. Since then, each new film introduces a new villain hellbent on carrying out some absurd global terrorist plot, an effort that is inevitably foiled by the forces of family and teamwork.

No one can argue that their conscious shift hasn’t been great for the franchise—they’ve earned $1.16 billion in global revenue since the sixth entry. Though it now lacks the gritty urban practicality of the first two films, director Justin Lin knew they had to adapt with the times, lest it fade into obscurity to become just another generic car movie. When the previous film shows The Rock redirecting a thermonuclear missile with his own bare hands, you should know exactly what you’re signing up for in these movies by now.

5. “Tyrese is MVP material.”

The most explosive blockbuster franchise of all time needs a character that audiences can relate to. Since 2 Fast 2 Furious, no performer has captured this essence like series favorite Roman Pierce, played by Tyrese Gibson. Over the course of 18 years, they’ve reconstructed his entire character to go from the cocky wild card to the lovable everyman who knowingly points out logistic flaws in the movie’s often insane premise.

During one hilariously self-referential moment in F9, Roman’s latest brush with danger makes him question his very existence asking “y’all ever thought about how many wild missions we’ve been on? And yet somehow we always survive?”. His tragically comic self-actualization in this moment is a thinly veiled wink to the audience and those willing to suspend their disbelief for a couple of hours.

6. “Holy sh**! The Tokyo Drift squad is back!”

The oft-forgotten third entry in this high-octane franchise was Fast & Furious: Tokyo Drift. The inexplicable 2006 sequel seemed to come out of nowhere and featured no original characters from the first two movies, save for Dominic Toretto’s surprise cameo in the epilogue. It also introduced audiences to Han (Sung Kang), the soft-spoken, snack-crunching globetrotter.

Along with Han, Tokyo Drift’s two main protagonists Sean and Twinkie (Lucas Black and Bow Wow) also make their triumphant return to the franchise in F9. Tej and Roman have the distinct pleasure of catching up with them in Tokyo in the middle of their latest misguided experiment—a Pontiac Fiero modified to fly in outer space. You know where this is going.

7. “These walk-on cameos are getting out of hand.”

Helen Mirren, Ja Rule, Ryan Reynolds, Kevin Hart, Ronda Rousey, Iggy Azalea—what does this random gathering of celebrities have in common? They’ve all made an appearance in a Fast & Furious movie at some point in the last two decades. Sometimes they’re racers, flaggers, heavies, syndicate overlords, and in Ryan Reynolds’ case, a Special Forces agent doing a Ryan Reynolds impersonation.

F9 welcomes its latest star into the eclectic mix: Bronx native Cardi B. Sporting full-blown tactical body armor, her surprise appearance as the head of a paramilitary group rescues Dominic and aids his getaway in the back of an Interpol van. For a lovable franchise that has so expertly made fans expect a puzzling cameo or two, this one might be the most absurd; even when counting the perplexing sexual chemistry between Helen Mirren and Vin Diesel.

8. “Dominic Toretto does not abide by any laws of physics.”

To be honest, no one in these movies tends to obey the Newtonian laws of physics; by this point, every member of the crew is pretty much a superhero. The spectacular crashes they’ve endured would have vaporized their bones by now. However, none of them are bigger offenders of this than their fearless leader Dom Toretto. His silhouette is a formidable sight, like a gorilla in a tanktop and Lugz boots. On paper, he should not be aerodynamic.

Despite his dense muscular build, in every movie he’s appeared in since Fast Five, Dom has catapulted off of cars, tanks, trains, airplanes—if it has wheels, Toretto has probably jumped it. Every single time he somehow manages to land safely, often in superhero pose. He’s flown 75 feet through the air and tackled so many people in mid-flight, he might as well play free safety for the Rams. Every great action franchise needs one hero who evokes total invincibility; Dominic Toretto has consistently proven he’ll rise to the occasion.

9. “They should have left Han’s resurrection out of the trailer.”

The marketing for F9 teased the storied arc of Han’s prodigious return. After his apparent death at the hands of Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham) in a mid-credit stinger for Fast & Furious 6, it was long speculated he’d return at some point. Similar to Letty’s comeback after her death in the fourth sequel, it’s a running joke that many people who die in the Fast & Furious franchise never permanently stay gone.

While Han’s return is emotionally satisfying from a fan service perspective, it was highly expected by anyone who happened to watch the Super Bowl spot. As an audience member, the emotional weight of that moment is completely undercut by the fact that you know it’s coming.

10. “Magnets.”

Each movie in the multi-billion dollar franchise boasts at least one sequence that was made to leave viewers in dumbfounded euphoria. They’ve dragged a 9,000 lb. bank vault through the streets of Rio De Janiero, flipped a military tank using high-grade tension cables in the Canary Islands, but F9’s pre-eminent set-piece conjures a stunt that might surpass all which have come before it: supercharged magnets.

The stunt’s simplicity is also its fundamental genius, despite how incredulous its logic is. In order to retrieve a weaponized apparatus known as Ares, Jakob’s crew implants hyperactive magnetic devices in their vehicles. When Dom and company come into possession of said vehicles, no enemy is safe as their cars are dragged in, only to be violently hurled aside like a Darth Vader force push. It might not make sense but it’s sure to satisfy those who tune in to see outlandish destruction.

11. “Aaaaand we’re in outer space now.”

In another move that was highly publicized in trailers and marketing material, the Fast & Furious saga finally goes interstellar in F9. In a convoluted effort to destroy a satellite in low orbit, Tej and Roman shoot the rocket car into space and ram it through the hull with some help from their friends over at NOS.

It seems ridiculous that a character who was introduced as a demolition derby driver in Barstow would somehow make his way into outer space. However, based on the scientific reasoning as presented in the franchise, their logic holds up pretty damn well. The moment you see the bright blue surface of Earth reflecting off Roman’s makeshift scuba helmet feels appropriately earned after years of jumping the proverbial shark.

12. “They even resurrected the Orange Supra.”

As Tej so lovingly proclaims in Furious 6, “it’s all between you and the car you build.” You don’t need to be a car fanatic to understand the iconography behind some of the most memorable vehicles they’ve driven since 2001. For a franchise whose roots trace back to a Vibe article about illegal street racing, the cars are embedded into the center of these films. So much so that they’re almost characters in themselves.

The Fast & The Furious showcased a smorgasbord of priceless import tuners, the likes of which inspired a new generation of gearheads and helped create modern car culture as we know it. The most iconic of which: the Buster-mobile: a souped-up, bright orange ‘94 Toyota Supra. Not only was this car stunning (by early millennium standards), but more importantly, it represented the inextricable bond between Dominic and Brian (Paul Walker). Bringing its later model back for F9 felt like a homecoming, both acknowledging its past while looking forward to its bright and ever-evolving future.

13. “Backyard barbecues are the lifeblood of this franchise.”

When the carbon fiber dust settles, the sentimental value is what keeps us coming back for more. For twenty years, the Fast & Furious saga has unfolded like an epic soap opera exploring love, loss, betrayal, and redemption—this is the apex of human drama, but with more destruction.

We’ve come a long way and invested countless affection into these characters, as well as some of the ones we’ve lost along the way. At the risk of buying into the cult of its overblown memefication, this movie really does its best to make audiences feel like family. The film’s endearingly corny epilogue brings us back where we always feel at home: among friends, giving thanks for the ones who always have your back. Also Corona. Corona always has your back.

NEXT | Life Lessons We Can Learn From Movies' Most Prolific Stoners

A Tale of Valor & Virtue: "The Green Knight" Review

August 06, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Reviews

★★★★ (4/5)

After months of feverish anticipation since the first trailer dropped in February of 2020, David Lowery’s The Green Knight finally made its way into U.S. and Canada theaters last Friday. On paper, the movie was a Medieval buff’s mouth-foaming wet dream: rich mythology, a really cool trailer, beautifully rendered atmosphere, Dev Patel’s aspirational beard, articulate costume/set design, and lest we forget the pulsating hivemind of millennial sensibility—distributed by A24.

Don’t get me wrong, that’s not a knock on what A24 has accomplished since its inception in 2012. On the contrary, their accolades are nothing short of remarkable. They’ve won Oscars for tender human dramas and they’ve won notoriety for obscene cult horrors about self-flagellating zealots. But sometimes their movies get pre-emptively lost in the translation of mainstream marketing.

The film’s premise delves into the plight of King Arthur’s eager but stubborn nephew Sir. Gawain (Dev Patel). When a mystical woodland knight challenges him to confront a foreboding fate, he must embark on a tumultuous journey to seek worthiness in the eyes of his kingdom, his family, and ultimately, within himself.

The film’s lead-up promised a sprawling Fantasy epic, a perilous world full of monsters, giants, and plenty of swordplay. As it turns out, The Green Knight trades in the action for dark, spellbinding rumination. It’s not a blood-soaked odyssey, but a massive introspective search for self-worth. Yet still, it manages to be absolutely stunning.

So why the polarity here? Are critics buying too deeply into its pretentiousness? Or are audiences being misled into thinking it would mirror the zeitgeist appeal of Game of Thrones? The answer, much like the movie, is open to endless interpretation.

While the movie can absolutely be classified as a sword-and-sorcery Medieval epic, The Green Knight’s dense, character-driven approach is a poetic deconstruction of the hero’s journey. Throughout the film, Sir Gawain must test the principles of his knighthood. Only by enduring the turbulent journey and learning the right lessons along the way will he find worthiness.

As proven by his previous work, David Lowery’s mindful direction propels The Green Knight down new pathways that had yet to be fully explored in the Arthurian canon, even though most of them revolve around similar themes. From Excalibur to Monty Python & The Holy Grail, they all share a commonality that pertains to people who must test their mettle by surviving a perilous ordeal.

But rather than questing for some generically established greatness, Sir Gawain is a refreshingly flawed archetype whose longing is intrinsically felt. Audiences need a relatable protagonist to latch onto, and Sir Gawain is an ideal avatar to explore the psychological underpinnings of why we strive for greatness. Beneath the safety of his chainmail tunic, he’ll come to learn the sacrifice, heartache, and disillusionment that all must confront in the existential search for validation.

If Medieval Times taught us anything as kids, it’s that every King Arthur story should always feature one glorious battle, right? Although some action unfolds, The Green Knight doesn’t exactly serve those who expect to see a spectacular set-piece like the Battle for Helm’s Deep. The warfare in this movie is mostly internal, though it’s just as emotionally devastating.

When it comes to conflict, Lowery explores knighthood in a way that examines the historical connection between chivalry and combat. Instead of glorifying the bloodshed, he uses it as a plot device, a reminder of a bygone time when violence was a means to establish legacy. Living in the shadows of his fabled uncle, Gawain’s inherent dilemma is that he yearns for his own Excalibur story. Throughout his journey, his willpower will be tested, as will the moral standing of his character in determining the lengths a young man will go for a seat at the Round Table.

Making a movie that takes place in the Middle Ages comes with its own fair share of technical difficulties. Sometimes filmmakers have the tendency of making movies about Camelot that feel corny and cliche, like they’re filmed at the county Renaissance Fair. To a visually gifted auteur like David Lowery, his vision always translates well on the big screen and noticeably stands tall in the foreground of all his work.

While watching The Green Knight, there’s a conscious understanding that it was purposely made with striking visual attunement. The period piece set design by Lowery’s frequent collaborator Jade Healy is second to none, while its captivating cinematography, color, costumes, and lighting create a haunting elegance that feels cinematically epic but still perfectly faithful to its time.

Throughout Sir Gawain’s daunting journey into the great unknown, viewers are possessed by its ethereal enchantments. Much like A Ghost Story and Pete’s Dragon, the prestige with which Lowery tells this story is captured through a lens of mystifying wonder and is meant to grip viewers with profound effect. No matter what viewers thought they could expect from The Green Knight, its stunning visual splendor is the one undeniable fact that everyone can agree on.

In measured contrast to its visual scale, the film’s performances are astoundingly intimate. Dev Patel breathes flourishing life into Sir Gawain with a majestic but headstrong spirit; his role requires a balanced measure of both, as one would expect from the kin of King Arthur. The supporting cast comprised of Alicia Vikander, Joel Edgerton, Barry Keoghan, Sean Harris, Sarita Chowdhury, and Ralph Ineson as the bewildering green knight help populate this dense tale and navigate Sir Gawain toward his inevitable destiny.

Just because it doesn’t feature Heath Ledger majestically jousting on horseback doesn’t mean The Green Knight won’t be remembered as one of the most beautifully rendered Arthurian epics of all time. Though your mileage may vary regarding its execution, the film rewards viewers who willingly engage with its deeper meditations on legacy, virtue, and what it means to live heroic.

The disproportionate feedback from critics and fans only seems to further solidify its refreshed originality, despite the way its marketing was positioned. Sir Gawain’s journey is a dignified portrait of being human told within the narrative framework of a fairy tale. This poignant tale of chivalry and honor is yet another astounding addition to David Lowery’s remarkable canon, a magical lead-in to Disney’s Peter Pan and Wendy, set to open in 2022.

NEXT | Let Them Fight: A "Godzilla VS Kong" Review

Bedsheet Revelations: A David Lowery Deep Dive

July 30, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Deep Dives

David Lowery is one of the most fascinating storytellers of the modern filmmaking era. Touting five highly intriguing feature films with a sixth releasing today, the writer-director’s artistic vision taps into the human experience with acute perception. His movies are deep explorations of imaginative worlds, inhabited by subjects whose perspectives are often driven by love, purpose, and personal attachment. These dreamlike dimensions are beautifully shot with boundless originality and stark visual elegance.

This keen sense for capturing humanity with such moody distinction is perfectly suited to Lowery’s latest project, the hotly anticipated The Green Knight, set to release today on July 30th. This sprawling fantasy epic delves into the Arthurian exploits of Sir Gawain (Dev Patel) as he embarks on a quest to vanquish a legendary foe. While The Green Knight is clearly built on a wider breadth of scale than his previous films, it’s deeply rooted in the same sense of spiritual crisis—a journey to find self-worth through pursuit of eternal greatness.

Given the scope of his latest endeavor, it’s become clear that few directors today have the bandwidth to tap into their creative instincts in the way Lowery can. Entry to entry, his body of work is reinforced by a deeply felt artisanship. Between the lines, you’ll find connectivity between their visual expression and thematic significance—a pairing that is often used to establish tone, build dynamics between characters, or mirror internal feelings. While his films haven’t achieved an overwhelming amount of mainstream success, his place in the pantheon of contemporary filmmaking goes unquestioned. Let’s revisit the five distinguished films that comprise David Lowery’s prior canon.

St. Nick (2009)

In the faraway plains of North Texas, 19-year old David Lowery wrote and directed Lullaby, his first short film, equipped only with a deeply embedded love for cinema but no previous experience whatsoever. For several years, he’d go on to collaborate on a number of local projects that circulated regional festivals until finally, he got the opportunity to make his first feature film entitled St. Nick in 2008. This tender, sweeping arthouse drama paints the lives of two runaway siblings (Savanna and Tucker Sears) living in squalor to escape a troublesome reality in the American southland.

This micro-budget drama was made for just $12,000, but its lo-fi minimalism speaks to Lowery’s natural talent for visual storytelling. Dialogue is used sparingly, which forces the narrative to play out through meticulous shot and scene direction. Every withering tree, every tortured expression, each discernable nuance evokes imagery and emotion through the eyes of children who navigate a desolate, colorless world.

Lowery’s phenomenal grasp on artistic control results in a superlative quality that embeds itself into all of his ensuing work. In what would eventually come to define his inherent style, St. Nick introduces a powerful dynamic between visual sadness and youthful wonder that observes life’s jagged edges with a uniquely woven perspective.

The film was praised at South By Southwest though it mostly dissipated from the popular consciousness, considering how few people saw it. Even now, the film can only be streamed through one proprietary streaming service. But much like his pint-sized protagonists, Lowery’s stories would persist and continue exploring the beauty in human struggle.

Ain’t Them Bodies Saints (2013)

Beaming with creative propulsion after St. Nick’s understated critical success, Lowery established Sailor Bear, an independent production company in 2011. Soon thereafter, he began work on a new love story with classic sensibilities; a doomed romance with old-timey evocations of bluegrass mythology.

Driven by a pair of impassioned performances from Rooney Mara and Casey Affleck, this 2013 indie drama follows Bob Muldoon, an outlaw who escapes incarceration to reunite with his lover Ruth and newborn daughter. Emotionally provocative and beautifully shot, this film approaches the Bonnie & Clyde mystique with an Old West feel and a foundation in grounded realism.

Having made its initial run in the 2013 film festival circuit to unanimous acclaim, Ain’t Them Bodies Saints is the definitive launchpad of Lowery’s career. Not only does he manage to tell a captivating story with a well-known cast on a shoestring budget, but from a technical perspective, his eye for cinematic composition reaches new heights of maturity. Each shot is constructed with purpose and feeling, creating an ambiance that looms over its star-crossed lovers.

Peppered with the rustic warmth of a timeless old folk song, the film’s visual energy hits you like warm desert air. Though Lowery chooses to emphasize the unspoken intimacy between two lovers entwined in their own little world, the Texan atmosphere engrosses you in their lover’s plight. This tender intimacy is a staple he returns for the ongoing length of his career, though his stories only grow in scale.

Pete’s Dragon (2016)

With a resume soundly building, Lowery is eventually approached by Disney to re-examine a beloved fable lost to time. The end result is a melancholy daydream through peaks and valleys of pain and hopefulness, a scary world through the eyes of an inquisitive kid whose story elicits equal shades of Steven Spielberg and Spike Jonze.

This contemporary retelling of the 1977 classic follows Pete (Oakes Fegley), a young boy who finds companionship with a mythical dragon after a fatal car crash leaves him orphaned and stranded in the forest. Though tonally, it’s slightly gloomier than your average Disney movie, it carefully retains their essence of mysticism and childlike wonder.

Beautifully filmed through lush, green filters of Pacific Northwestern mist, Lowery lent his perceptive eye to a grand-scale project in the major studio system. This artistic dexterity helps paint Pete’s odyssey as not just a spirited adventure movie, but a cathartic meditation on childhood adversity. By wearing the disguise of a whimsical Disney dragon movie, it can simultaneously succeed as a contemplative study on the importance of family.

With a stellar supporting cast that includes Bryce Dallas Howard, Karl Urban, and Robert Redford, the film went on to become Lowery’s first commercial success, earning $143 million in global box-office revenue. In light of its monetary accolades, the movie also exudes an unwavering artistry about it. Despite working within the rigid framework of a towering media syndicate, Lowery’s distinguished ability to create noble and respected movies proved his worthiness for wielding bigger and bolder projects.

A Ghost Story (2017)

Immediately after working with Disney, Lowery retreated into a dimension of esoterica to make one of the most brilliant avant-garde films of the last decade. This gloomy drift into the cosmic void follows a widow (Rooney Mara) who struggles to piece her life together after the death of her husband (Casey Affleck), whose spirit is resigned to linger in the home that they shared. Slow-burn but fully absorbing, this supernatural drama is a melancholy snapshot of grief, mortality, and the passage of time.

Infamously known for a five-minute segment where Rooney Mara eats pie in total silence while the blanketed ghost watches from an adjacent room, A Ghost Story is unconventionally crafted—admittedly speaking, its audacity might test some viewers’ patience. But for those who allow themselves to grapple with its larger concepts, they’ll find a uniquely thought-provoking experience at its core.

A Ghost Story’s central themes bear the existential weight of infinity, but by affixing our perspective to a standing bedsheet with eyeholes, this comical representation finds belonging in the space between simplicity and self-seriousness. While some might complain about its avant-garde craftsmanship, its silliness never strives to be better than its audience.

Breathtakingly shot, Lowery’s slow-crawling camera patiently digests the full spectrum of its surroundings. This conscious technical choice speaks to its thematic meditations on time and where we ultimately fit in the vast equation. These deep, metaphysical notions lie at the very center of A Ghost Story, a powerfully eccentric film that has something genuine to say about life, death, and the transcendental struggle to just let go.

The Old Man & The Gun (2018)

If there’s any validity to the observational judgments about Lowery’s work, it’s his tendency to lean toward darker, gloomier projects. A majority of his films have a slightly depressive allure, which lends itself to the tone or a deeper metaphor to be extracted within. His most recent entry breaks away from this mold by taking a more lighthearted approach and giving a monumental send-off to the illustrious career of Robert Redford, a true screen acting legend.

Redford’s effortless charms bring life to the movie’s magnetic antihero, Forrest Tucker. He’s a geriatric bank robber who, at the ripe age of 74, goes on the run from a lawman (Casey Affleck) hot on his trail. The film capitalizes on Redford’s charismatic appeal to its maximum extent, playing on all the pre-existing mythos that has accumulated over his decadent 50-year run.

Announcing his retirement shortly after the film’s wrap (despite his brief cameo appearance in Avengers: Endgame just one year later), Redford’s final starring role is a cherished farewell to an immortal luminary of cinema. Blending the sly charms of Bob Woodward with the smarmy fortitude of Sundance Kid, the elderly Forrest Tucker embodies a devilish but lovable archetype that doesn’t really exist in movies anymore. His portrayal

Lowery’s sharp direction enlivens The Old Man & The Gun with levity, style, and the carefree bounce of a freewheeling jazz album. In direct contrast with his previous work, Lowery assembles this film with an upbeat effervescence to mirror Redford’s infectious charisma. It subsequently garnered overwhelming acclaim from critics and fans alike, even earning Redford a Best Actor nomination at the 76th Annual Golden Globe awards.

With a resume like this, it’s no wonder Lowery has taken the reins on such imaginative projects as The Green Knight or the upcoming Disney retelling of Peter Pan & Wendy. His body of work is a stunning assortment of stories that ultimately mirror his preternatural vision: the world through a lens of endless possibility.

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Life Lessons We Can Learn From Movies' Most Prolific Stoners

April 20, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Lists

In the archive of frequently used character tropes, perhaps none have more unanimous crowd favorite appeal than the movie stoner. They’re generally not known for being the sharpest tools in the shed, but their sheer likeability is unparalleled by anyone they share screen time with.

While often portrayed as aimless floaters, there’s always more than meets the eye; the philosophies they live by speak volumes to the quality of their character. And with North America progressively loosening their grip on recreational marijuana regulations, it begs an earnest reflection on cinema’s misunderstood arbiters of wisdom and the quirky moral codes that they live by.

Own your inner weirdness - Charlie Willoughby

Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some is a spiritual successor to Dazed and Confused that comparatively evokes slice-of-life nostalgia about the people we meet who broaden our lenses—but in college. Of the varying mentalities that are personified, none represent themselves with as much distinction as Charlie Willoughby (Wyatt Russell).

This laid-back California oddball embodies the prototype free-thinker in 1980: expert weed chef, leaning tower of Twilight Zone cassette tapes, avid Pink Floyd listener, naked yoga practitioner. Willoughby’s high-minded originality earns him a spot on Linklater’s Mount Rushmore, his eternal words leave us with a warm reminder to “embrace your inner f**kin’ strange, man!”.

Aspire for more than they think you’re capable of - Silas P. Silas

They say success is the best revenge; How High features rap icons Method Man and Redman as Silas and Jamal, two underachieving stoners who face off with a dastardly Harvard Dean after miraculously getting perfect scores on their standardized tests.

Sure, Silas may be a pothead but throughout the film he proves to be an innovative thinker with an entrepreneurial spirit. Despite the adversity of a malicious dean plotting his downfall, he’s a phenomenal weed grower committed to the discovery of scientific breakthroughs in irregular planting methods. In fact, he probably belongs on the ‘movies best botanist’ list behind Mark Watney in The Martian.

Everybody needs one good friend - Saul Silver

James Franco brings life to a gregarious, bandana sporting weed dealer in Pineapple Express, an action comedy about two fumbling potheads on the run from a sadistic drug lord and his army of goons. Along with fellow pothead Dale (Seth Rogen), Saul is ensnared in an odyssey of hijinks that will test the bonds of their unity.

Though Dale initially rebuffs Saul’s affection, in the face of imminent danger, Saul’s unconditional loyalty helps Dale realize the value of trustworthy companionship. If life is an ongoing series of cross joints, Saul’s prescient wisdom teaches us never to smoke it alone.

Always be two steps ahead - Cheech & Chong

1978 was the dawn of a bold new era of comedy, one that reflected a counterculture zeitgeist that would pave the way for generations to come. Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke created the very formula for the stoner canon we still celebrate to this day, a wayfaring hang out with loose morals and guilt-free levity.

The film follows two clueless potheads evading police on a road trip from Mexico to L.A. in a van made entirely of hardened ganja. Whether it’s legitimate strategy or sheer dumb luck, our two unlikely heroes manage to elude capture by employing stoned creativity to stay out of reach of the dastardly Sgt. Stedenko (Stacy Keach). Happy accidents? Sure. But finding fortune ass-backwards is still a fortune, all the same.

It’s okay to be reasonably skeptical - Marty Mikalski

Sometimes the truth is far more malevolent than it appears. When five college friends embark on a secluded cabin trip, they learn this lesson the hard way in Drew Goddard’s horror comedy The Cabin in the Woods, a meta-bloodfest that dismantles the tropes by which horror movies function.

Among the afflicted is Marty (Fran Kranz), a dumb but lovable stoner whose erratic paranoia becomes a guiding voice of reason. His forward thinking transforms him into an avatar through which audiences can relate to in a horror setting. And despite his futile attempts to stop his friends from summoning vengeful spirits, his deceptively keen survival instincts prove spot-on.

If you fail, be brave enough to start over - Kunu the Surfing Instructor

Nicholas Stoller’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall is a generational breakup comedy that’s not shy about making statements. The only thing more boldfaced than a wide shot of Jason Segel’s manhood was how deeply we connected with the various walk-on characters throughout the movie.

In an attempt at spontaneity to overcome his breakup blues, Peter (Jason Segel) enlists the help of resident surf instructor Kunu (Paul Rudd), a 40-something glass eyed optimist who lives in his own little slice of nirvana. Empathetic to Peter’s grievances, he imparts some grade-A stoner wisdom that proudly reverberates through meme culture today: “when life gives you lemons, just say f**k the lemons and bail”.

Be relentless in your pursuits, no matter the cost - Doc Sportello

Paul Thomas Anderson’s Inherent Vice is a gonzo descent into abject hilarity that follows pothead detective Doc Sportello (Joaquin Phoenix) through a convoluted web of deceit to solve the case of his missing ex-girlfriend.

The film’s protagonist is a pastiche of Chinatown’s Jake Gittes if he got lost at a Grateful Dead concert. He’s a nosy, outspoken, fedora-sporting sleuth with strong instincts and an even stronger appetite for truth. These inquisitive munchies lead him through seedy, psychedelic rabbit holes but through it all, he never loses sight of the endgame and ultimately, the lines of demarcation between right and wrong.

If you want it, give it your best shot - Dukes

Semi Pro is a raucous sports comedy about a struggling basketball team in 1976. When star player/team owner Jackie Moon (Will Ferrell) devises an attempt to cultivate viewership, he summons Dukes (Jackie Earle Haley), a fortunate hippie for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to sink a full-court shot for the grand prize of $10,000.

Though he appears to be in a deep cannabis stupor, he miraculously makes the shot. The crowd goes nuts, he prances the court in triumph as Jackie Moon watches in disbelief--he can’t actually afford to pay him his prize money. Nevertheless, full-court shots are phenomena in themselves and for an unkempt hippie like Dukes to pull one off with all the marbles on the line, he’s an unexpected advocate for the importance of putting your best foot forward. Dramatic turn for the actor who once played Rorschach.

Live a life you genuinely enjoy - Jeff Spicoli

Face it, you knew this one was coming. Ridgemont High’s resident airhead, whom one student describes as being “stoned since the third grade” is the bar-none benchmark by which all other movie stoners have been measured for the last four decades. He fits every archetypal category one could ever ask for and in his own way, embodies every single trait we’ve discussed so far.

Amy Heckerling’s Fast Times at Ridgemont High was the first landmark high school film to explore weighty topics many teens actually go through: hormonal eruption, sexual inadequacy, unplanned pregnancy. Jeff Spicoli (Sean Penn) however, is the proud outlier. His sandy blonde hair and flowy mannerisms represented a transcendence of teenage despair, the rejection of a life lived on anyone else’s terms but his own. He might’ve been stoned since the third grade, but Spicolli’s absent-minded inspiration will forever remain inarguable. And don’t even get me started on his impact on Vans sales.

Let Them Fight: A 'Godzilla vs Kong' Review

April 04, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Reviews

★★★ (3/5)

This past Wednesday, Legendary unleashed Godzilla vs. Kong—a massive, bespectacled showdown that’s bound to make you upset you probably didn’t get to watch it in IMAX. Released simultaneously on both HBO Max and big screens in select cities worldwide, this movie was the long-awaited converging point of Legendary’s MonsterVerse, a blockbuster franchise started in 2014 with Gareth Edwards’ Godzilla reboot but unlike the MCU, you don’t have to have seen any of the previous films to enjoy it properly. This monster mash-up pits the titular titans on a destructive collision course…and that’s all you really need to know; those in search of a cohesive story or any metaphorical depth whatsoever might want to look elsewhere this weekend. It might not be Nomadland but sometimes, two gargantuan creatures battling to the death is exactly what you want.

Godzilla vs. Kong is a sensory experience, an achievement of blockbuster filmmaking by director Adam Wingard. His awareness for what audiences instinctively love about monster movies are amplified by his deep knowledge of genre films he took clear inspiration from. There’s actually a scene where King Kong leaps off the edge of an exploding aircraft carrier and recreates the iconic jump from John McClane at the end of Die Hard.

At a justified 1 hour 53 minute runtime, this meaty, muscular crowd pleaser does for monster movies what Fast Five did for heist movies over a decade ago—it takes typical genre conventions and cranks the knob to 11. Notwithstanding its fair share of ridiculous human interest subplots, the film’s beating pulse is the proverbial clash between two circling giants of ungodly proportion. Much like when The Rock squares off with Vin Diesel in a warehouse in Rio, there’s definitive satisfaction in seeing two physical specimens clash for the undisputed heavyweight crown—it’s Pacific Rim by way of Rocky IV.

Godzilla vs. Kong is a distinguished franchise film that stands out from its predecessors. Let’s dive into this magnificent showdown and uncover what works best about the most fun moviegoing experience of the decade so far.

If the first three films in this franchise taught us anything, it’s that no one cares about the people in it. From a performative standpoint, this carries a certain responsibility for the cast—when you know exactly what audiences are tuning in for, tempered balance is crucial in building the world. It’s easy to pinpoint when performers make a concerted effort to stand out, they take up unnecessary space. Alternatively if the actors underrepresent themselves, it could hinder the adequate set-up of a film’s larger set pieces.

Godzilla vs. Kong retains a harmonious balance with a cast who clearly understands what it means to take a backseat and let the action speak for itself. There isn’t much ‘people’ subplotting, but the all-around solid performances from Alexander Skarsgård, Millie Bobby Brown, Rebecca Hall, Brian Tyree Henry, Julian Dennison, Demian Bichir and breakout performer Kaylee Hottle help unpack the complicated lore with natural chemistry and carefree ease. Their interaction takes up hardly any space and is only in service to the film’s higher purpose, a table setting for what’s to come. Ali vs. Joe Frazier wouldn’t have been the Thrilla in Manila if not for Don King’s infamous hype; in that same regard, when Rebecca Hall explains why Kong is wielding a 50-foot enchanted battle axe, you can rest assured it’s because he plans on using it to slay a radioactive iguana. Just like fight promotion, your excitement slowly builds between hard-hitting set pieces.

Director Adam Wingard is most known for his work in the lo-fi horror realm; with a background in indie filmmaking, he instinctively knows the importance of executing a vision within monetary constraints. For a low budget director, you wouldn’t assume that by watching Godzilla vs. Kong—the $155 million budget is leveraged with skilled economy so that even when every single dollar isn’t on the frame, you never forget which film you’re watching.

Appropriate to its subject matter, the movie is striking, propulsive and genuinely massive. The world it takes place in is both modern and futuristic, a well-rounded blend of adventure/sci-fi with color palettes of vivid neon, befitting Godzilla’s atomic breath. Towering giants need an expansive arena to roam around and clash in, the path of destruction in their wake is what helps us comprehend the enormity.

In cataclysmic movies, no thing is safe: ships, bridges, oil rigs, helicopters, skyscrapers will all be demolished to a comical degree that somehow never makes you question how many people must have died as a result. It’s almost cartoonish how blockbusters like this or Independence Day or even Armageddon showcase action in a deliberately flagrant way that suspends disbelief for the sake of entertainment. It’s a special thing when a movie can deliver a ‘wow moment’ that embodies the magic of the moviegoing experience; when a submerged Godzilla swims toward Kong and his spiny fin rips through an aircraft carrier like a hot knife through butter, it’s a breathtaking gesture of otherworldly destruction that serves as a reminder for what we go to the movies for.

Amidst the devastation, the earth-trembling roars or the majestic Junkie XL score, one of the most engaging aspects of Godzilla vs. Kong is its supreme level of self-awareness. Part of this stems from its ability to pay homage to the canon that inspired it.

From the aforementioned Die Hard leap to the bioluminescence of Avatar’s Pandora, the mechanized neural networking of Pacific Rim or the 2-on-1 fight sequence à la The Raid, this movie doesn’t go out of its way to attempt anything new. Rather, it chooses to Frankenstein different parts from other successful movies that came before it. Why struggle to re-invent the wheel when you can show up to the pitch meeting and suggest “let’s make this movie…but add monsters”.

While it’s easy to misconstrue this as lazy filmmaking, it’s moreso understanding of how people will inevitably receive it. No one who tunes into Godzilla vs. Kong expects the second coming of Stanley Kubrick. It’s safe to say when you’re making a movie like this, it’s completely appropriate to throw in a few lines like “these prototypes we’re loaning you will make what you’ve been flying look like used Miatas”. Where movies sometimes struggle finding that even balance of tonality, a knowing lack of self-seriousness is the key virtue this movie uses to ultimately succeed.

While this movie doesn’t break new ground in the grand scheme of things, Godzilla vs. Kong reconfigures the framework laid out in its three previous entries, and manages to put everything in its right place. The film’s record-breaking success is a promising step not just for Legendary’s MonsterVerse, but for the industry and resurrection of the moviegoing experience as a whole.

Everyone knew that in order to get the world back in proper orbit, pop culture needed defibrillation, a massive shockwave to jump start momentum. Godzilla vs. Kong reignites the flame by appealing to your inner-kid and following one simple rule as fondly remembered from the throwback Ken Watanabe meme: “let them fight”.

The New Classics: Revisiting "Mortal Kombat"

March 12, 2021 by AJ Mijares in The New Classics

If you grew up in the golden age of video games, there’s a high chance “Mortaaaaal Kombaaaaaat” is not just a song lyric, but a battle cry. To its faithful apostles, Midway’s fantasy-fighting classic was a turning point in youth culture that signaled a rebellious new era of early 90’s audacity. The premise: Earth’s mightiest fighters travel to a mystic realm to compete in a Kumite tournament against the fierce, magical forces of Outworld. Kind of like Bloodsport if Chong Li was a mythical creature with four arms and a ponytail.

The game was a landmark success. Naturally, when a movie adaptation materialized three years later, fans salivated at the prospect of seeing our favorite warriors on the big screen engaging in bloody combat for the fate of our realm. When it finally arrived in the Summer of 1995, it was met with financial success, though it polarized critics. Many cited its surprising lack of trademark carnage, character depth, coherent script and general substance whatsoever. Despite the obvious shortcomings, its stratified fanbase aggressively latched onto it with ferocious cult acknowledgement.

Almost three decades and seventeen game titles later, we’ve seen a smorgasbord of Mortal Kombat media resurface ranging from a short-lived show on TNT to an animated film and even a moderately successful web series. All things considered, none have come close to building an anticipation like the one we felt in 1995—until now. With HBO Max rebooting Mortal Kombat for a new generation on April 16th, a long lost hype is suddenly brewing. And with it, rejuvenated appreciation for the delightfully cheesy beat-’em-up that taught us one of life’s most valuable lessons: never mess with a man’s designer sunglasses. So let’s bang the inaugural gong, fire up the techno and dive into a new classic: Paul W.S. Anderson’s beloved mess of an action movie, Mortal Kombat.

Never bring fake Ray Bans around Goro, he can always tell.

What many critics disliked about this movie is coincidentally what also made it an instant classic. Within minutes, Mortal Kombat makes it abundantly clear that it’s not trying to make a run for Best Picture, so to hate it is to simply misconstrue its appeal. Paul W.S. Anderson (aka the one who didn’t direct Boogie Nights) brought a quintessential branding to late-90’s and early-aughts genre movies. His high-octane directing style became era defining, most notably evident in Event Horizon and Resident Evil, two heavy-handed sci-fi horror movies that still have devoted fanbases to this day.

While Anderson is no prophet of the high-art variety, all of his movies are shameless thrill rides. Their entertainment value comes with an unspoken understanding that when “directed by Paul W.S. Anderson” flashes across the screen, you should know you’re not in for a Ridley Scott epic. They’re rich in atmosphere, largely in part to his careful attention to detail in production and set design - this creates a strong sense of visual immersion that permeates his work. Whether it’s a spaceship from Hell or a blood soaked research facility, Anderson’s gutsy effort to build viscerally distinguished worlds is ultimately what separates Mortal Kombat from being just another video game adaptation.

Proof that fight scenes with neon lighting were cool long before John Wick came around.

In Mortal Kombat, we’re transported from ancient Shaolin temples to white sand beaches, through lush green forests and cavernous subterranean depths only to end up in Outworld, a desolate wasteland inhabited by decrepit things and creatures alike. This film recaptures the spark of one of the game’s most significant legacies: a diverse array of fighting arenas that aren’t just backdrop, but well crafted atmospheres that become entrenched in the vast mythology.

Since Mortal Kombat’s theatrical release in 1995, martial arts movies have undergone many a renaissance in the way fight choreography has evolved, as have the filmmakers who adapted to better capture it. All things considered, these fight sequences are enduringly entertaining, even by modern standards. Fusing traditional combat with supernatural elements, Mortal Kombat was, in many ways, a superhero movie before contemporary superhero movies existed.

Reminiscent of the late-80’s when martial arts resurfaced in a major way and icons like Jean-Claude Van Damme could split his way into the halls of eternity, Mortal Kombat was a showcase for flashier fight sequences than the ones we have now. The punches were louder, the editing faster, and the athleticism was literally unbelievable. Prior to 2003’s Ong Bak, action movies weren’t really concerned with being tactile, a direction that was further solidified when The Raid: Redemption emerged in 2012. From the late-80’s to mid-90’s, martial arts movies were all about three things: effect-driven set pieces, rapid editing and copious amounts of baby oil.

That’s enough baby oil to make Dwayne Johnson blush.

Mortal Kombat delivers on all three fronts; choreographed by Robin Shou who also stars as protagonist Liu Kang, the movie pays tribute to the canon that inspired it by embodying every facet of what we loved most about movies from that time. Punches, kicks, backflips, people being frozen and subsequently shattered like glass—you know, the usual. There’s a showmanship to the way these warriors clash, a respectable display of skill and strength but cartoonish enough for viewers to simply enjoy it for what it was: a mindless orgy of bare-knuckled fisticuffs, superpowered sorcery and throbbing techno music. But most importantly, copious amounts of baby oil.

It’s important to distinguish that while a lot of movies considered to be “modern day classics” are beloved by many, there’s a fair case to be made for the long list of people who fundamentally oppose them. This movie currently holds a 46% rotten rating on Rotten Tomatoes which isn’t exactly Street Fighter but that’s another video game adaptation for a different day.

It should go without saying that Mortal Kombat is far from a masterpiece. Whether it’s the painfully dated techno, the comical overacting, the exposition-heavy dialogue or everything about Kano and Sonya’s subplot, the movie wears its flaws proudly on its flowy Shaolin monk sleeve. Despite the audaciousness there will always be a split between those who embrace it and those who don’t. But let’s put it into context: if the second act set piece is built around a four-armed mutant getting punched in the crotch, maybe that indicates a certain level of self-awareness that has to be taken into account when assessing the movie’s foremost intentions.

No one’s trying to claim it’s the Chinatown of action movies—it’s not. But it’s easy for critics to poke at obvious flaws and dismiss any praise as irreverent static from basement-dwelling gamers who are unwilling to accept that it’s just a bad movie. The truth is Mortal Kombat is a lean, mean action flick that deftly delivers B-grade substance with A-level execution. In spite of all its many quirks and flaws, those who love it do so for nothing more than what it is at face value. As the sun rises on a burgeoning crop of new MK fans, we who worshipped its genesis look forward to a reborn future on HBO Max and will forever look back with fondness on what inevitably became the most culturally significant video game adaptation of its time.

No defense for Mortal Kombat: Annihilation though — No defense for *Mortal Kombat: Annihilation* though

Method to Madness: "The Little Things" Review

February 18, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Reviews

★★ (2/5)

The Little Things had unwavering potential to be great. On paper, HBO Max’s latest original movie almost seemed too good to be true: a brooding psychological thriller with a really cool trailer, an established director at the helm but most notably—it boasted not one, not two, but three Oscar winning performers going toe-to-toe. It was like The Irishman for gritty crime junkies.

Further adding to the film’s mounting hype was Warner Bros’ decision to roll out their entire 2021 film slate on HBO Max; The Little Things wasn’t just a movie, but a colossal first step into the new order for how audiences will ostensibly experience most, if not all cinematic entertainment this year. The film’s marketing was a strong statement of arrival that previewed a tense, melancholic thriller—instead, we got a fumbling mood piece where Rami Malek describes the undigested beef in a dead woman’s stomach and Jared Leto was doing…that creepy Jared Leto thing.

It wasn’t unwatchable but it certainly didn’t rise to the occasion. Were our sights set too high? Or were there nuanced issues that proved too costly to save? For a film with so much going for it, you can’t help but wonder where things went wrong. So let’s dive into it and break down the big and the small of what didn’t work with John Lee Hancock’s The Little Things.

I don’t know who let the anarchist Golden Globe saboteur into its voting core—the acting in this movie was flat out bad. Like, glaringly bad. This is despite all three being really good actors. Take Rami Malek for example; the first time he registered with me was when I watched Short Term 12. While he was only a side character, there was an odd subtlety about him that really seemed to stick. In 2015, he was cast as series lead in Mr. Robot, a role that inevitably earned him notoriety as a character actor, one who leans into really distinguished, borderline overt personas. In 2018, he scored huge as Freddie Mercury in 2018’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Malek had now entered a new echelon, a higher rung exclusive only to those worthy of the most iconic roles of his generation.

Let’s shift gears and focus on the outlier in this equation: Jared Leto, no stranger to taking on the weirdest of weird roles from the start. If even you needed any more proof of this (I highly doubt you do), feel free to look up his dramatic weight gain in Chapter 27 as Mark David Chapman, the sociopath who assassinated John Lennon. If character actors had a Mount Rushmore, some might argue it would just be Jared Leto’s face four times. Despite this, his pedigree as an actor is unquestionable, having clinched an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in 2013 for his transformative role in Dallas Buyers Club. With all this in mind, it’s a safe assumption that Leto will always double down on unique roles with a blind ambition that unfortunately only pays off some of the time.

Sometimes it’s more blindness than ambition.

The Little Things pits Malek against Leto which results in the alchemic equivalent to bleach and vinegar, an offensive mixture. Malek plays Jimmy Baxter, an eccentric L.A. detective hot on the trail of Leto’s Albert Sparma, a maniacal weirdo. The weakness in their interplay doesn’t fall entirely on the script, but also the peculiarity in the way they’ve constructed their characters. They both put up an effort to make bold character choices but instead, only end up leaving viewers disoriented with their sheer weirdness. All of Malek’s dialogue is spoken through a monotonic groan, almost guttural in nature. Leto seems to be lost in a foreign astral plane altogether. When paired, they take the film in such different directions that even Denzel Washington himself can’t keep the movie afloat. We’ll circle back to that a bit later.

The Little Things was written in 1993 but was iced for almost 30 years. Since then, thrillers have evolved in so many substantial ways so this film might frustrate viewers who were hoping for a sizzling platter of rising tension. The film suffers from pacing issues that I want to describe as “slow burn” but in all reality, it’s just slow. Being conceived in the wake of The Silence of the Lambs, you can see a reasonable effort in replicating those iconic thought-provoking elements: moral code, right and wrong, psychological depth. But vague, muddled writing prevent it from becoming so, thus falling short in activating any meaningful provocation.

“Show me where you buried the ending, you sunuvabitch”

Character motivations are wildly unclear which only adds to the disorientation. Many “big” moments feel unearned, which is a stark deviation from the subgenre; in David Fincher’s Se7en, the reason we’re so consumed by its depravity is the calculation with which the reveals are presented. The suspense only heightens because it feels earned but if one minor detail is missed or neglected, it could ruin the entire payoff. Somehow The Little Things unwinds like a series of missed and neglected details so its ending suffers from a serious lack of resolve.

The movie touches on some interesting themes that mostly go unfulfilled. Having seen so many iterations of the story, the film beats on overplayed tropes that make it harder for it to really set itself apart. Knowing this, their casting trifecta of Denzel/Malek/Leto was the over-reliant Hail Mary its imminent success or failure hinged upon. When their performances don’t live up to the hype or serve its intended purpose, audiences might find it hard to resonate with damn near anything in this film.

“Your d**k is hard as Chinese arithmetic” - Actual line from the movie

If The Little Things has a saving grace, Denzel Washington is it by a longshot. He plays Joe Deacon, a former homicide detective haunted by ghosts of cases past, caught in the fray of this grisly affair. His role demands a little more restraint and silent repression but when your co-stars are running amok chewing up scenery, it creates an imbalance that the movie never recovers from. This movie stresses the importance of how acting can make or break its tonal stability; while Denzel carries an enormous weight to keep this movie glued to its foundations, he’s thwarted by the two oppositional forces of nature who threaten to topple it.

In addition to its one really good performance, the film’s visual elements stand out as one of its strongest components. There’s a particular timelessness to crime movies set in L.A., a striking composition that manages to capture that carefully hidden ugliness beneath its many sprawling highways. Lighting and mood play a major factor in the way you engage with its setting, especially during night scenes. As eye-catching as it is, the film can’t capitalize due to poor editing that makes its presentation seem needlessly propulsive and arbitrarily thrown together. When its editing suffers, a film’s cadence is at stake, thus sabotaging the way viewers perceive its story.

All things considered, John Lee Hancock’s The Little Things might still find an audience with those who want to kick back and throw popcorn at the screen, while basking in the presence of three award winners trying new things. Plus, there’s a respectable admiration for the movie it was trying to be, though it sadly falls short of—but sometimes we tend to look at a movie’s stat line through rose-colored lenses.

Leto’s alter ego sings lead vocals for 30 Seconds to SARS

Remember The Snowman? Michael Fassbender starring, Tomas Alfredson directing, Martin Scorsese producing—universally disliked and mocked mercilessly. At the end of the day, a good movie is never defined by the weight of its parts, but the efficiency with which they operate. And if your movie features Jared Leto, you’d better hope you have enough face paint to last you the entire shoot.

New Horizons: How Movies Can Teach Us to Start Over

January 31, 2021 by AJ Mijares in Deep Dives

At the dawn of a new year but still staring into the barrel of sustained uncertainty, we find ourselves grappling with a hefty notion: is it possible for us to cling to hope despite the ongoing despair? As we move past what’s being colloquially recognized as the worst year of our lives, we’re left dealing not only with the lingering fear, but the unquestionable fallout of our collective trauma. If you feel like I feel, 2021 probably still seems disturbingly surreal and with our perceptions of time caught in the purgatorial vortex, we can sometimes find difficulty grasping onto the moment and learning how to proceed with refreshed optimism.

As hard as it is to contend with the fact that patience really is the only remedy, how we choose to pass our time can provide temporary ease to keep the lingering fear at bay. While cinema can be used as a helpful tool for distraction, engaging in its nuance can help reframe your perspectives on the situation at hand. Much like a playlist on Spotify, if what you watch is curated with care and intention, moviegoing at home can be a powerful cathartic experience when you’re facing adversity. The question is—where should you start?

When the good news seems sparse, remind yourself: optimism is created, not given. One way to refine your disposition is to immerse yourself in a mindset conducive to one key concept: “fresh starts”. And what better way to explore this notion than to pursue an index of movies whose deeper meanings can actually help you see that light at the end of your tunnel? Beneath all good films are poignant lessons we can stand to learn from—the teachings they advocate can grant enlightenment to those who are receptive to its underlying message. These films are flexible in structure and genre but their transformative properties are evident in the resonating thoughts we’re left with for hours after the credits have rolled. Join me in this exploratory dive into these cinematic lessons on what it means to brave new storms with a hopeful heart.

Lesson 1: Embrace new frontiers with open arms

Everybody Wants Some (2016) - dir. Richard Linklater

Richard Linklater’s spiritual sequel to Dazed and Confused is a raucous love letter to the best days of our lives—and the entanglements of being too caught in the moment to notice.

Told from the viewpoint of an enthusiastic college freshman (Blake Jenner) in 1980, he and his new friends discover the joys and complications of your first taste of unsupervised freedom. Everybody Wants Some is a delightful portrait of life’s new phases and the myriad ways in which we navigate them. Using wit, humor, a crackling roster of diverse characters and a groovy retro soundtrack, it buzzes with infectious energy that is sure to achieve a future cult status that might just rival its predecessor.

From Dazed to Before Sunrise, Linklater’s films are an encapsulation of moments that explore human interconnectivity through communication; this movie’s youthful glow is a veiled study of the people we meet and the lessons they teach on approaching life’s exciting new chapters with open-mindedness. The film’s closing remarks leave us with a resounding spark to embrace our unknowable future with an insatiable lust for life.

Lesson 2: Cherish warm memories of the past but learn to push forward when you need to

Up (2009) - dir. Pete Docter

Despite its reputation for being so heart-wrenching it’s borderline unbearable, Pete Docter’s high-flying fable has gained universal praise for its boldness about recontextualizing our most painful truths with wonderment and spectacle.

Following a grumpy old widower (voiced by Ed Asner) fulfilling his beloved wife’s lifelong fantasy of finding forgotten paradise, Up was Pixar’s introduction to animation that refuses to shy away from the harsh realities of our mortal coil. The underlying meditation helps us reason with grief at the counterpoint of honesty and fantasy, so its message has a tangible effect on viewers of all ages.

From Carl and Ellie’s adolescent courtship through the ladder of life’s inevitable milestones, Up crescendos to a dazzling journey into the unknown, with a palpable human element at its core that implores audiences to reflect on their own lives in the process. Through life’s peaks and valleys, Carl’s arc is a portrait of what it means to sift through our dredges with a grateful heart for the memories that sustain us. His acceptance of this universal truth is a poignant reminder: there’s always a Paradise Falls for those brave enough to seek it.

Lesson 3: Channel your demons through expressive creativity

Poetic Justice (1993) - dir. John Singleton

The late John Singleton was a filmmaker who left an immeasurable imprint on cinema; his work, his voice set out to deliver an unflinching vision of the black experience in America with artistic clarity and deep characterization. His sophomore feature Poetic Justice is a searing drama that wasn’t as well received as Boyz N The Hood but also approaches weighty social topics with an empathetic touch.

The film unfolds through the eyes of Justice (Janet Jackson), a young hairdresser. Though she mourns over the senseless murder of her boyfriend, she finds solace in writing poetry. When she’s reluctantly roped into going on a road trip with Lucky (Tupac Shakur), a troublesome postman, they both learn what it means to open up and heal their pain through creativity.

Janet Jackson and Tupac deliver painfully vulnerable performances that anchor the film’s thematic statement on nourishment through expression. Singleton’s body of work is a subtle exploration of the destructive ways in which human beings can choose to interpret suppression; some channel through anger, some through resentment or violence but his films try to remind us that at the end of the day, all we have is one another and the ways in which we connect. Poetic Justice may be overshadowed in the archive of Singleton’s work but its resonating message reminds us that creativity is a gift, and expressing it is a prism through which we examine our pain. And much like a kaleidoscope, it’ll turn the broken pieces into brilliant fractals of shape and color.

Lesson 4: Leave behind that which no longer serves you

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008) - dir. Nick Stoller

Who says a movie that so prominently features full-frontal male nudity can’t teach you profound life lessons? This Apatow-produced comedy follows Peter (Jason Segel), a depressed songwriter as he attempts to cure the breakup blues by taking a spontaneous trip to Hawaii, only to find his ex-girlfriend staying there with her new beau.

It may be profane and outlandish but Forgetting Sarah Marshall is a very funny movie that genuinely has something to say on the subject of starting over. Moving on is an exercise of your ability to endure hardship and try again; this film, at its core, is an anthemic celebration of that human resiliency. Sure, not everyone can relate to being broken up with while standing naked in your living room but the same type of pain is felt by anyone who’s ever had to confront some form of life-defining difficulty.

The essence of comedy is to make a caricature out of your most personal shortcomings; without pain, humor doesn’t exist. In that spirit, Peter’s uphill struggle to overcome his breakup and move on to something new is a humorous representation of a realistic concept. By taking himself out of his comfort zone, he begins to gain perspective on the issue and with it, an awareness for the superfluous weight we all tend to carry around with us. By the end of the film we reach a uniquely profound conclusion: know when it’s time to shed the excess and find your joy in life again.

Lesson 5: No one gets through this life alone—lean on loved ones when you need support

Midsommar (2019) - dir. Ari Aster

This deeply twisted fable is an unconventional pick, but its underlying framework is an abstract lesson on how to start fresh. Ari Aster’s sinister folk tale is a hallucinogenic trip into the mind of Dani (Florence Pugh), a trepidatious young woman who’s begrudgingly whisked to a rural Swedish commune for a lavish midsummer festival with detached boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor) and friends. Bearing witness to the village’s macabre and drug-fueled ceremonies, their sanity dissipates as they quickly begin to realize this festive hellscape isn’t exactly the party they were looking for.

Much like Hereditary, Ari Aster’s follow-up is depraved but enchanting to watch, a true statement of bold indie moviemaking. The film’s shock value amassed buzz and a cult following that took over conversations by storm, but the reason it still resonates with so many people is its sub-narrative commentary on the things that we cling to in times of despair.

What makes Ari Aster such a unique storyteller is his ability to blend intense family drama with unspeakable horror. Because of these dramatic roots, audiences are engrossed in Dani’s plight—a layered character with a complex arc and background; she’s a broken soul in the wake of an unspeakable family tragedy who seeks refuge in a toxic, floundering relationship. As the film unfolds, we follow her down a twisted path that shatters her constitutions but more importantly, teaches her a profound lesson on the bonds worth clutching onto in times of helplessness. These teachings permeate its colorful surface, invading your perspective so vividly that by the end of the movie, you’ll somehow feel a guilty peace with the morbid atrocities happening onscreen. By hook or crook, Midsommar will plunge its way into your brain and interrogate your fundamental understanding of what community means, standing proud as a brilliant example of a film that doesn’t need to be conventionally “happy” to impart a deeper life lesson.

Lesson 6: Life is fleeting, so live it on your terms

The Truman Show (1998) - dir. Peter Weir

Of all the films most frequently mentioned every time a “movies that’ll change your outlook on life” list is assembled online, maybe none are spoken about with such reverential praise as late 90’s fan favorite, The Truman Show. Peter Weir’s cerebral dramedy was a showcase that not only demonstrated Jim Carey’s true range as a performer, but captivated us with its thought-provoking ideas and questioned our understanding of autonomy and free will.

The film follows Truman Burbank, an average joe whose entire life has been closely captured by an endless array of hidden cameras and broadcast as a fabricated reality show to viewers worldwide, though completely unbeknownst to him. When Truman starts questioning the validity of his life’s ostensible narrative, he goes on a quest to disprove the predetermined fate he’s careening toward by any means necessary.

While Carey’s comic magnetism plays a huge part in how closely it still resonates with fans almost a quarter-century later, The Truman Show has remained a permanent fixture in our consciousness because of its metaphorical density. The film proposes a distinctly original take on people as living in a sort of terrarium—an artificial construction where reality is presented as something chosen for us, an entity out of our control. Truman shows us that only through deliberate action can we break through and construct our own free will. This reconfiguration of our worldview is an exploration of starting over, for the simple fact that it helps remind us that life is uncertainty—but uncertainty is a blank canvas. And if reality is, in fact, something we have any agency over, let’s fill that canvas with the colors of a life worth living.

The Christmas Movie B-Team (2020 Edition)

December 25, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Lists

In the greater movie macrocosm, I can’t think of a single subgenre more beloved, more passed down, more celebrated over time than the Christmas movie. Year after year, millions have gathered in joyous communion to take part in this cultural pastime that has set festive vibes since TV first became widely available. Besides creeping your kids out with the strange little man you put on a shelf, watching Christmas movies has been one of the most time-honored annual traditions, upheld by countless families worldwide.

HBO cord-cutters weep in festive unison at the thought of missing out on Chris Pine in a Members Only jacket.

To put things into perspective: since 1997, Turner Broadcasting Network has aired A Christmas Story on repeat for 24 straight hours on Christmas day. Over this two-and-a-half decade span, they accumulated viewership averaging around 40 million households per year. With metrics like that, you’d think this delightful tradition seems everlasting but in a frightful turn of events, this year stripped that possibility from all of us. While we cope with this radical change, many of us are left with no choice but to find ways to celebrate alone. And if the stranger whose HBO Max account you’ve been mooching on these past two months finally decided to change their password, the Wonder Woman 1984 premiere is officially out of the question. So…what now?

Well, in the spirit of optimism, watching Christmas movies alone can still be a lot of fun—if anything, no one’ll be around to judge you for that ninth Hot Toddy you just drank. But if watching those cherished Christmas classics doesn’t quite feel right, consider trying something new and approaching it from a curator’s standpoint; subgenre movies have an appeal that is best explored when we reconfigure our notions of what they typically look like. And of all the obscure subgenres out there, few have generated a cult-like following like unconventional Christmas movies have; it’s become somewhat trendy to spot out Christmas movies that some might have to think twice about. While Die Hard is commonly referred to as the king of lowkey Christmas movies, there are far more out there that expand the scope of the many ways we can celebrate the moviegoing experience this holiday season. So put on a snuggie, pour yourself another Hot Toddy like the filthy animal you are, and join me in taking a festive holiday dive into the wider Christmas canon.

You’ll Shoot Your Eye Out

The Long Kiss Goodnight (1996) - dir. Renny Harlin

Plot Synopsis: A suburban mom’s life goes off the rails when she begins having amnesiac flashbacks of her past life as a deadly CIA operative. When a private investigator uncovers a villainous plot for her former employers to re-stake their claim by any means necessary, they find themselves trapped in a desperate fight for their lives.

Why It Belongs: Renny Harlin and writer Shane Black’s forgotten classic is as underrated an action movie as they come. Despite being lost in the fray of the 90’s action renaissance, The Long Kiss Goodnight is everything you could ask for in a Christmas/action hybrid: ice skates, machine guns, dysfunctional family affairs, people plummeting into exploding gas trucks—y’know, the usual.

Santa Sam puts a big fat F-bomb in your stocking this Christmas.

Renny Harlin, best known for his seminal works Cliffhanger and Deep Blue Sea, is a director who has mastered the formula for a particular brand of action movie that requires precisely zero brain cell function. Being grounded in this base of mindless movie anti-logic allows for a considerable amount of freedoms: it appeals to a wider range of casual moviegoers who just want to see bullets fly, where the reloading is virtually nonexistent and the line readings strike a perfect balance between corny and cool. Speaking of which, Samuel L. Jackson brings his trademark foul-mouthed fury as P.I. Mitch Hennessy, which might be the single greatest action movie name of all time. Jackson brings an irresistible energy to the role reminiscent of Jules from Pulp Fiction if he finally found his niche on the right side of the law. At its core, this movie actually owes a lot to Tarantino—from the quippy dialogue to the offbeat chemistry and a literal Mexican standoff, viewers can clearly see the resemblance to the style of 90’s filmmaking that inspired it.

If Die Hard is the crown jewel of the Christmas/action hybrid, The Long Kiss Goodnight is a diamond in the rough. It’s affectionately flawed, though executed with maximum effort so it keeps your attention when it needs to. The ideal Christmas movie should establish a vibe, create an ambience that viewers can make a routine out of coming back to. This movie, much like Die Hard, is propped up on the strength of its set pieces and quippy action movie-isms. It doesn’t demand complete attention, it doesn’t request expenditure, you can zone out blamelessly and peer back to the screen at the moments that catch your eye. This self-aware, alternate take on subgenre fusion is dripping in outlandish pulpy flair that might just surprise you as to how far it slipped from the radar of popular knowledge.

When Santa Comes to Town

Rare Exports (2010) - dir. Jalmari Helander

Plot Synopsis: When a team of researchers in a remote mountain village excavate a mythological deity buried under depths of snow, a local boy and a band of locals must stop the unimaginable evil that comes lurking in search of it: a demonic envisioning of Santa Claus—and this year, everyone’s on his naughty list.

Why It Belongs: So I admit, I didn’t do the film any favors by describing it like one of those terrible movies you’d find in the back of a local video store. No, not those videos. But on paper, Rare Exports sounds outlandish. Strangely enough, that’s also its greatest strength; though it certainly treads into grindhouse territory, the film is compelling, original, and pulled off with total dedication to the world it’s built. If you don’t want to take my word for it, its Rotten Tomatoes score would like to chime in, for whatever that’s worth.

Rare Exports might be built on a gimmick but its true feat is how easily it transcends that gimmick—sure it’s about evil Santa Claus but as you can probably imagine, it’s not the one you’d expect. The film builds depth by establishing a rich mythology, a surprisingly layered narrative that’s written with succinct clarity that serves as an allegory for corporate greed. Its world is populated with a likeable cast of characters that feel fleshed out; their motivations are clearly presented, but they never outshine the ideas we’re given to play with. In terms of sheer enjoyment, this film is an absolute blast to watch from beginning to end and much like its more recognized contemporaries Krampus and Gremlins, it morphs genre by playing with conventions most commonly assigned to horror, adventure and Christmas movies all at once.

The revisionist Santa second place ribbon goes to..

This Finnish production was directed by Jalmari Helander, a filmmaker and country that are overwhelmingly underrepresented in mainstream conversation. Rare Exports was crafted to evoke scale, it transports viewers to a snowcapped Scandinavian vista and traps you in it. Much like John Carpenter’s The Thing, the cold isolation of our setting creates dreadful unease but instead of smashing the pedal, it reels you back in with enough whimsey and intentional humor to keep viewers cheerfully engaged and eager to return to it—an essential hallmark of the Christmas movie. This begs the question: despite its grindhouse status, is Rare Exports a future classic?

The Naughty and Nice

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005) - dir. Shane Black

Plot Synopsis: A stroke of dumb luck lands a petty crook the lead role in a detective movie, but his mandated training with a bumbling Private Eye proves to be more than he bargained for. When he finds himself caught in the middle of a seedy murder plot, he’s whisked from the dark alleyways of Downtown L.A. to the sun baked hills of Hollywood in a frantic scurry to solve a case he’s comically unqualified for.

Why It Belongs: Because Shane Black’s stylish envisioning of a neo-noir is everything you could ask for in a Los Angeles detective movie with a modern touch. And yes, it also happens to take place during Christmas—a frequent signature of Shane Black’s directorial style. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang boasts an exceedingly witty script and a peerless cast who run amok in the concrete jungles of L.A. getting into all kinds of trouble. It’s darkly humorous, outwardly self aware and incredibly fun to re-watch, if anything to commiserate on the lighthearted fun it pokes at the self-serving emptiness of vapid L.A. culture.

This film catches lightning in a bottle with its cast; Robert Downey Jr. makes his triumphant return to godlike form as the bumbling smartass Harry Lockhart. The role proved so iconic, it famously won him the role as Tony Stark in Iron Man just three years later. His counterpart Michelle Monaghan plays off Downey’s neuroses with an equal measure of eccentricity and likeable charm. Throw in Val Kilmer as the catty private eye whose unsavory snark teeters between blunt and bitter, creating hilarious frictions between the trio. Their zany, dysfunctional interplay is in stark contrast to the cool, hardboiled noir detectives we knew from films like Chinatown and The Big Sleep.

A common trait of film noir is its signature pacing: known for being calculatedly slow, their simmering stories unfold in segments, with each new bit of information forwarding the plot until the revelation reveals itself. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang hastens the pacing with lighthearted humor and self-aware silliness. Though it never treads into parody levels of lampooning, Shane Black crafted a deeply lovable detective movie that feels more like an homage than a flat out farce. Armed with wit, personality, style and charisma, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is one of the greatest unsung entries to the extended Christmas universe and I’ve no doubt in my mind that in time, it’s bound to be recognized as such.

Gather Round the Fire

The Lodge (2019) - dir. Veronika Franz & Severin Fiala

Plot Synopsis: A Christmas vacation takes a dreadful turn when two siblings, still reeling from the suicide of their mother, shack up with their dad’s new girlfriend in a remote winter cabin. Strange and chilling events begin to unfold and the trio must confront a long-suppressed darkness that’s clawing its way to the surface.

Why It Belongs: To say 2020 has been a downer year is an understatement, but for sickos like me, sometimes existential terror is exactly the kind of vibe we want to immerse ourselves in. This movie is despicable, vile and shockingly effective, while also totally qualifying as a Christmas movie. As a matter of fact, you might be hard pressed to find a more twisted Christmas movie than The Lodge, but for fans of the modern horror renaissance, it checks every box that genre heads salivate for: mortality, family crisis, inconsolable loss and last but definitely not least, a fascination with the occult.

Without spoiling anything—because the plot does twist in some pretty wild directions—The Lodge is a solid Christmas candidate for the drafting class of 2020 because, while it doesn’t have the joviality of Happiest Season or the whimsey of Jack Frost, its ominous tone grants catharsis to viewers who intrinsically feel a little more grim about holiday spirit this year. While I understand that many look for the lighthearted movies to distract them from problems of the real world, in art that builds a world of bleak hopelessness, many viewers might strangely find solace to know “things might suck but at least my Christmas will never be that bad”.

The movie is directed by Austrian filmmaking duo Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala. Though they’re relative newcomers only having directed one feature film prior to The Lodge, their art clearly indicates that their instinctive chops are natural. Their latest entry is meticulously constructed with an artisan’s touch, building strong atmospheric tension with slow burn pacing, but delivers a fiery payoff that’ll leave a massive hungover for hours after the film reaches its conclusion. The plot rests on the backs of a minimal but talented cast led by Jaeden Martell, Lia McHugh and indie darling Riley Keough as the enigmatic Grace. The film is a soulless plunge into the human experience and seeks to explore the destructive ways in which we choose to process grief. To describe the film in comparisons: think The Shining meets Yours, Mine and Ours with a touch of Hereditary—the unholiest of unholy trifectas, because sometimes the only thing scarier than axe murderers or cult worshippers are step families.

Making Spirits Fight

Rocky IV (1985) - dir. Sylvester Stallone

Plot Synopsis: When a terrible tragedy befalls a legend of the ring, the Italian Stallion must put it all on the line against his toughest opponent yet—the formidable Ivan Drago in the icy tundras of Soviet Russia.

Why It Belongs: Because the only thing scarier than a pandemic is the imminent threat of nuclear destruction; at the height of Cold War panic, Rocky Balboa brought home a gift that can’t be quantified with any price tag—he pummeled intolerance and fought his way to diplomacy between the U.S. and the USSR. Our country owes him this eternal debt of gratitude: for Rocky IV to forever be memorialized as a definitive lowkey Christmas movie. When you boil it down to the framework, you’ll find that this vascular specimen of cinematic entertainment features touchstones of any great Christmas movie: family values, tragic human flaw, a musical number, introspection on the error of our ways, but most importantly, a robot servant wearing a Santa hat. It’s basically a fireside Yuletide fable with baby-oiled biceps.

Universally recognized for its fan friendly spectacle and high-octane energy, the fourth in the franchise is a crowning achievement of not just the series, but the sports movie genre as a whole. The fight scenes are choreographed with reckless abandon for any notion of boxing defense, instead we find ourselves just trying to comprehend the seismic power these greased up titans possess. In the hearts of many, the franchise’s epic revival in 2015’s Creed still plays second banana to Rocky IV’s mindlessly enjoyable yet painfully 80’s individuality. From the cheesy montage sequences to the cool synthesizer score, it somehow manages to achieve timelessness while simultaneously serving as a snapshot of an excessive time in American history when a man’s worth was measured by the amount of full-grown men he could pull on a sled through the snow.

Stallone took quarantine beard to a whole new level way before it was cool.

While Rocky IV isn’t unanimously known as a conventional Christmas movie, by approaching its premise with an open mind, you’ll find that its heart pumps with more than just illegal substances…but of holiday morality. Not only does the film’s epic showdown between Rocky Balboa and fearsome Ivan Drago take place during Christmas, but its anti-war sentimentality boils down to a simple yet resonating value that we can all relate to and reflect on: no force on earth can match for the weight of unity. Casting aside differences has been a massive point of contention this year but to unify for the sake of giving thanks is a core tenet of such timeless classics as How the Grinch Stole Christmas and even Home Alone, thematically. The immortal, marble-mouthed teachings of Balboa rings true all these 35 years later, “If I can change and you can change, everybody can change”. *cues James Brown*

Lighting the Tree

Friday After Next (2002) - dir. Marcus Raboy

Plot Synopsis: For fear of being evicted, underachieving cousins Craig and Day-Day must hatch a scheme to make back their rent money that was stolen by a burglar in a Santa suit.

Why It Belongs: With so much bad news to digest on a daily basis, sometimes a stoner Christmas movie is exactly the kind of altitude you feel like cruising at. Unanimously recognized as the forgotten Friday movie in Ice Cube’s iconic trilogy, After Next is not remembered for its achievements, but its memorable characters. With no shortage of outrageous supporting performances from the always funny John Witherspoon as wide-eyed Willie Jones, and Terry Crews in his breakout role as hulking behemoth Damon, this film harkens back to a simpler time when our biggest issues revolved around “which velour tracksuit should I wear today?”.

Though it lacks moral substance, Friday After Next is carelessly fun and terrifically quotable. Some films are remembered exclusively for being a good time and as I’ve explored in previous posts: there are almost always redemptive qualities to be found in objectively bad art. The film’s humor is vulgar and seems quite aged, though its appeal is rather charmingly dated, like it’s preserved in the amber of early 2000’s sensibility when hip-hop culture was still finding its way into the mainstream popularity—it dictated the way we talked, the way we walked, the way we dressed, the jokes we found hysterical. While Friday remains the catalyst for when that cultural moment became consummated, After Next was the overlooked carbon copy—undoubtedly flawed, though it retained a glimmer of its predecessor’s timely allure.

When a movie lacks in depth, you can sometimes look for its charm to take the lead. What Friday After Next is missing in substance, it more than makes up for in its raucous stable of kooky but lovable characters; Ice Cube and Mike Epps, at the height of their moment, reprise their roles from Next Friday as dysfunctional slackers with displaced stoner ambition. The late, great John Witherspoon as wide-eyed Willie Jones, always chewing up the scenery with his uniquely spastic intensity, Katt Williams during his moment of cultural relevance as a painfully dated pimp with a chip on his shoulder, but the biggest break sprung from Terry Crews in his breakout role as the hulking behemoth Damon. Where largely he was known for being the big, scary dude sort of just lingering in the background of movies like Training Day, this film lets him flex his muscles a little more candidly—quite literally so. The film’s lack of general direction is somehow a trait of its charm, because it gives these actors free reign to test the limits of their comedic chops. Sometimes, that’s the defining essence of the perfect movie you can curl up and maybe light your Christmas tree to.

The Skin You're In: A "Possessor" Review

December 01, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Reviews

★★★ 1/2 (3.5/5)

For the past eight months since doomed to life indoors, we’ve all been treated to a myriad of nameless films that simply come and go. You probably know the kind—they take up no mental space whatsoever. Picture rifling through thumbnails in Netflix on a shapeless Saturday afternoon. Maybe you stop when you see a recognizable face. You read the caption then think to yourself, “what have I got to lose?” and you take your swing. More often than not, your response is something along the lines of, “eh, that was pretty good”, then you go about your day while the imprint sort of just dissipates from your memory—which is completely fine. Sometimes movies don’t need to make a profound impact for you to appreciate it in the moment. The inherent problem with this is that it results in a sort of complacency. Lately, these subpar films outnumber the objectively good ones maybe 8 to 1, it seems. And these subpar films usually have one consistent trait: you can feel a substantial lack of effort to make it something that’s actually worth standing out.

Actual live image of someone who was expecting to see a different kind of possession movie.

Brandon Cronenberg’s latest sci-fi horror/thriller Possessor is a film that instinctively knows how to stand out. The film premiered at Sundance Film Festival back in January and after a short theatrical run at the beginning of October, started to make its rounds on the rental circuit of streaming platforms. It quickly became a cult hit among genre fans though generally overlooked due to its lack of mainstream marketing and controversial subject matter; the film doesn’t just push envelopes, it dropkicks them. Possessor is a gritty tale of unflinching violence and graphic sexuality, but Cronenberg tells it with stunning visual flair and nuanced execution. For anyone who thinks his name sounds familiar, Brandon is the son of legendary body-horror filmmaker David Cronenberg, who turned Jeff Goldblum into a man-fly in 1986. So with that in mind, understand that Brandon is of a lineage that has a history with pushing the limits in cinema.

Possessor follows Tasya Vos (Andrea Riseborough), an elite operative who carries out high-profile assassinations for a futurist corporation. By leveraging brain implant technology, these possessors take control of a subject’s bodily functions to commit grisly murder then get away scot-free. While she’s proven to be the best at what she does, the brutal nature of her work has made her increasingly apathetic to the world around her. When she occupies the body of a rival corporation’s low level employee (Christopher Abbott), they both become entangled in a vicious descent that untethers the binding between their existences.

Though Possessor is only his second feature film, Brandon Cronenberg has proven his worth among the most talented indie filmmakers today. His uniquely constructed universe is a bold envisioning that pays careful attention to the details that help establish its near-future aesthetic. Any fans of Black Mirror should be thoroughly pleased with Possessor’s shared ability to feel grounded in reality while absorbing you in its dense sci-fi atmosphere. The film’s pacing is well crafted and builds suspense by embedding graphic brutality at pivotal points of the narrative; the moments between develop its characters in a way that make these tense payoffs feel earned, though never shying away from its responsibilities as a personal story at its core. The unfiltered violence is primarily effective because of its commentary on the ugliness that arises when we abandon our humanity. Possessor posits that the willful ignorance of what makes us people results in a progressive corrosion that has the power to kill the spirit and transform us into something hideous—the foundational basis for all body horror is rooted in this very concept.

A high concept movie like Possessor demands complex performances and from a casting perspective, it’s nearly faultless. Andrea Riseborough delivers a powerful performance as Tasya Vos, the coldhearted contract killer whose rapid disassociation as a result of the zoetrope of personalities she must embody, is driving a spiked wedge into her personal life as a mother and a wife. Her counterpart in Christopher Abbott also does heavy legwork as Colin Tate, the subject of mind control. There’s brooding intensity behind his black eyes, they match the robust physical eruptions that outline his character’s mortal struggle to retain control of his agency. Supported by a strong backing cast that includes Jennifer Jason Leigh, Sean Bean, Tuppence Middleton and Rossif Sutherland, Possessor gets maximum mileage from its highly credible cast. Their collective commitment to the story will grip you and drag you into its bleakest depths with no regard or hesitation.

For those who aren’t big fans of graphic violence in movies, it’s easy to hear one thing about Possessor then slap a label on it as run-of-the-mill gore porn. While those with really sensitive stomachs might want to steer clear of this one, the truth is that directors like Eli Roth aren’t making movies on this wavelength. Gore porn (or splatter film) is, by nature, self aware—it has a target audience that expects exaggerated violence to the point where it’s almost comical. In Possessor’s case, you can feel Cronenberg’s intention to craft a film that demands to be taken seriously, that audiences might think about long after the credits have rolled: from the opening sequence, you’re drawn into a world that’s sleek and futuristic, though plausible enough to still feel somewhat reachable. The characters feel layered, never unrealistic so the violence against them isn’t cheapened, rather heightened. As a result, Possessor is provocative while never feeling deliberately offensive. Achieving this delicate balance is no easy feat, as even his dad could probably tell you:

Wipe that smug look off your face, you brilliant jerk.

While it might not be everyone’s cup of tea, this brutal genre showcase finds its stylistic stride from the opening frames and gains locomotive steam as it careens into the heart of psychological darkness. By the time we reach its gruesome conclusion, we find ourselves grappling with concepts that run much deeper than what we saw on its razor bladed surface: identity, reality, control, our relationship to technology, to each other, to ourselves. Possessor at its core is a story about the struggles of being human and the pitfalls that come when we deny our programmed humanity. Some interpretations might suggest a conflicting reading of these ideas as being tied to an embrace of those Freudian instincts and the independence it truly yearns for. No matter your reading, one objective fact is for certain: Brandon Cronenberg’s second feature film is a bold statement that rivals some of his own father’s best work. It’s a solemn reminder on so many levels of why we love science fiction and horror—in times of unprecedented change, it helps us cope with what we can’t control. And ultimately, coming to grips with this finite vulnerability is what being human is all about.

The Definitive Works: A Sean Connery Retro-Schpective

November 24, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Deep Dives

On October 31st, cinema lost one of its brightest burning stars in Scottish acting legend, Sir Sean Connery. At 90 years old, he lived a long and notable life that, despite the dated nature of the lifestyle he outwardly represented, left an indelible impact on film and culture as a whole. His cherished legacy that spans almost half a century introduced an acting style (and excessively overdone impersonation) that found its way into the popular consciousness and carved new pathways for generations that followed.

Largely identified as the very first (some would say best) James Bond, his towering presence built new dimensions around super stardom by exhibiting the radiant and dynamic energy he’s characteristically known for. His effortless charisma and dashing sense of style created an image that redefined perceptions of mid-century masculinity but took on controversial new meanings over the course of time. Despite this, Connery’s career took him in a number of intriguing directions that shifted the cultural meanings of that image. To celebrate this one-of-a-kind career, we’ll be exploring five of his definitive films that outline his trajectory and solidified him as one of cinema’s eternal icons.

Goldfinger (1964) - dir. Guy Hamilton

After the success of Dr. No in 1962, Connery rose to monumental prominence and immediately became a fixture of the industry. Based on Ian Fleming’s captivating spy novel, Dr. No featured Connery in his breakout role as MI6’s most luxurious secret agent; his commanding onscreen presence was a strong introduction for the world’s most electrifying new action star. He came back to reprise this role in the two consecutive years that followed, with Goldfinger serving as third in the James Bond franchise. First in the franchise to earn over $100 million in box office revenue, Goldfinger follows the exploits of our suave secret agent as he goes toe-to-toe with the titular crime lord and his bowler-cap slinging sidekick, Oddjob.

Having been in the role for three years by this point, his radiance reaches an apex that could aptly be described as invulnerable; his swagger is unwavering and his elegance is unparalleled by any other movie star in his era. The camera gazes in admiration on his tall and sturdy frame, capturing each crinkle of the devilish grin he’d imbue, the razor-sharp glimmer in his eye reflected the alluring danger we knew him to be capable of. His image stood for something larger than life itself; in a time that was dominated by status and powerful men, this role became the beacon of class and masculinity. Calm, cool, collected and in control, Connery became a sex symbol who defined the gold standard by which all men wanted to be measured by—though over time we’d find that it came at a hefty price.

While the role was a showcase for Connery, it’s proven to have aged quite poorly, famously sparking dispute over the problematic ideals it portrays of an era that openly reinforced misogyny and devaluation of women. Butt slaps, overt sexual innuendo and general objectification are not rarities in the Bond-iverse. While it’s important to never shy away from these transgressions, it’s also important to view the Bond films with an understanding of what his character is meant to represent: the tailored suits, the Aston Martins, the shaken martinis—James Bond is a steward of lifestyle and luxury. To truly appreciate this series’ true value, we have to process it in proper perspective, with a clear understanding of how far we’ve come since the 1960’s. For many, its age factor has been diminished by these ideals, though it doesn’t negate the lasting cultural impact of Connery’s contributions to the discourse of entertainment. And as Connery began to outgrow this image, his career began taking shape, as did the intrigue of the vastly more complicated roles he became associated with.

The Offence (1973) - dir. Sidney Lumet

As time went on, Connery began to resent his responsibilities as James Bond. In an effort to shed the image he felt trapped in, he started taking on a multitude of interesting projects in the 1970’s that began showcasing his true talent as an actor. In order to execute this vision, he wanted to team with filmmakers who could capitalize on the full range of his acting potential. Seeking collaboration with acclaimed NYC-based auteur Sidney Lumet, Connery knew that if anyone could help him reinvent his image, it was the genius behind 12 Angry Men. First teaming in 1965’s war drama The Hill, their creative marriage reached its peak on their sophomore follow-up, The Offence. This gritty psychological thriller follows a distraught police detective through the darkest case of his career; when a child molestation suspect is apprehended, the detective’s suppressed rage unfurls in this harrowing exploration of the depths of the human psyche when pushed to the brink of its limits.

Despite its mainstream underappreciation, the brilliance of this film is that it presents a sobering look at the unflinching realities of Connery’s Bond mystique. Like 007, Detective Johnson is shown to be a committed, unstoppable force of sheer will and carries out his mission with bulletproof invulnerability. What makes it an effective divergence is its ability to provoke deeper thought on the bleaker sides of criminal justice. While Johnson tries hard to retain his moral position, the overexposure to grisly violence blurs his sense of judgement and brings out something sinister in him. His headstrong aggression isn’t glamorized—it’s uglified. For the first time in Connery’s career, he uses his infamous fortitude to convey a man hanging onto his reasonings by a thread, grinded down to the soul by the horrors of human injustice.

For Connery, this bare-knuckled noir did more than shed his Bond persona, it solidified his place as one of the greatest actors of his generation. It was complex to a degree that audiences weren’t used to seeing out of actors who were typically associated with one specific role, and for Connery to break that mold was a colossal step forward in his career. Think of it this way: if the Bond franchise was Dazed & Confused, then this was his True Detective. The Offence sealed his place as a great dramatic actor but as age became more of a factor, Connery began to embrace his new frontiers in a vastly different way.

Time Bandits (1981) - dir. Terry Gilliam

The early 80’s were a transitionary period for movies and pop culture; after the release of Star Wars in 1977, entertainment was defined by corporatized, grand scale entertainment that appealed to imagination and wonder. The ushering of this new blockbuster age found Connery’s super sensation fading gradually into the backdrop of the culture machine, though he still retained powerful pole position within the industry. In a critical move that would shape the next phase of his career, Connery’s self-awareness led him to roles that softened his image. Combining forces with Terry Gilliam, the silly mind behind the Monty Python films, Connery lent his talents to the critically applauded Time Bandits. This fun romp of a fantasy adventure follows a young history bookworm as he zips through dimensional portals, braving wild and dangerous landscapes throughout world history.

In the film, Connery makes a cameo appearance as the brutish but caring King Agamemnon who assumes care of the young boy when he finds himself in Ancient Greece. Mindful of the impossibility for audiences to shake Connery’s brutish presence from their memories, Gilliam knew rather than to reinvent it, he must instead leverage it in a way that serves his signature lighthearted, humorous filmmaking style. The role shows a warmer side to his alpha demeanor, which humanized the man once thought to be the epitome of testosterone fueled self-seriousness. The playground of fantastical creativity allowed for Connery to retain his essence, but to play it off with just the right balance of whimsey and trademark fury.

In his long and storied arc, this particular phase of Connery’s career was especially pivotal in the sense that there was an extreme shift in his cultural meaning. This was the point where audiences knew that Connery had achieved veteran status, and that this cameo appearance would set the tone for how audiences perceived him moving forward. Why do we cheer when we see Sylvester Stallone in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 for thirty seconds? Because modern audiences know that once upon a Cold War, he fought Ivan Drago in Soviet Russia. By the time Bandits came out, Connery was universally recognized as a seasoned icon, worthy of the unexpected cameo in an adventurous, self-aware comedy. Having fully embraced this new plateau, the later part of the decade finds Connery in a fun co-starring role that most fittingly showcased the legend status in all its charismatic glory.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989) - dir. Steven Spielberg

While almost thirty years had passed since first emerging onto the scene, Connery’s star power reaches a second peak in the late-80’s. Teaming with the biggest filmmaker of the century in Steven Spielberg, a visionary who’s always known how to capitalize on the most beloved characteristics of his cast, Connery’s magnetism coalesces magnificently in a showcase of both charm and humor. Sharing a screen with Hollywood’s favorite hotshot Harrison Ford, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade follows the iconic archaeologist on his continued adventures in search of the Holy Grail, a proverbial artifact rumored to grant everlasting life.

Third in the quadrilogy and most lucrative film of the decade, Crusade features Connery in the definitive late-phase role of his career playing the stubborn father of a globetrotter with a knack for finding himself in precarious situations and booby-trapped temples. Spielberg immerses audiences in another treacherous world of global expanse and childlike wonder that, even when considering his distinguished resumé, still serves as the benchmark for all adventure movies. While Crusade’s action-packed set pieces remain untouched as a milestone of the genre, its high regard is largely in debt to the performances of Connery and Ford. These titans of machismo have palpable father-son chemistry; their witty interplay is an endearing snapshot of the love, dysfunction and sacrifice that often come with complicated family values. From E.T. to Gremlins, this tonal modesty was an earmark of 80’s entertainment and this movement helped soften the opacity of Connery’s reputation.

His performance as Henry Jones set the stage for the twilight of Sean Connery’s career as a featured mentor; his presence became a reverent symbol of wisdom and guidance in the same way Mark Hamill did in the new Star Wars trilogy. His star power never really diminished, it rather reshaped into another form. While it was atypical for him to share top billing with another A-lister, Crusade gave viewers an unmistakable sense of the passing of a torch from one action star to the next. In many regards, he and Ford were mirror images of one another, both placed on similar paths at two different points in time. Their intersection was monumental and the result was highly lucrative, though Connery’s fifth and final phase took a slightly different approach to explore the concept of duality.

The Rock (1997) - dir. Michael Bay

So here’s the thing: The Rock is far from Sean Connery’s final film; in the spirit of productivity, he made nine movies in the last eight years of his career, culminating in 2003’s catastrophically mediocre League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. For the Scotsman whose roles were known for being larger than life, perhaps a more satisfying closure can be found in his creative marriage with larger than life action director Michael Bay. Hot from the hype of his debut feature Bad Boys, he quickly put his name in the hat for Hollywood’s premier action director. His follow-up pairs Connery with everyone’s favorite wild man Nic Cage as they infiltrate an Alcatraz stronghold to stop a rogue USMC general from launching weapons of mass destruction into San Francisco.

With special effects progress on the upswing, Michael Bay taps into a vein of sensory indulgence that James Cameron prospected in 1991’s Terminator 2: Judgement Day. Bay pushes the envelope to its explosive new limits and The Rock becomes a landmark for the action movie renaissance based solely on the concept: “let’s just obliterate everything and see what happens”. Co-stars Connery and Cage are exactly what you’d expect together—their collective insanity is hard to take your eyes off. Their scenes unfold like a series of hilarious improv sketches with back and forth spitfire pacing and a playful aggression that reflects their strong mutual awareness for one another. If Connery passed the torch in Crusade, then Nic Cage intercepted it and ran it 5000 miles in the opposite direction in The Rock.

While The Rock isn’t a likely candidate for the AFI Top 100 List, you can bet it’s become a staple of the action movie genre and a beloved keepsake in the hearts of movie fans worldwide. It’s even been inducted into the Criterion Collection. While there will always be a special place for movies with groundbreaking cultural impact, the modern generation was raised in an age where sensationalism is necessary to offset the pervasive cynicism. This film is vulgar, violent, in many ways tasteless but above all, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. And that’s just about everything you could ask for in a “turn your brain off” action movie.

The film’s massive cult following helps reinforce Sean Connery’s generational appeal: he rose to fame as a symbol of class and sexuality but through decades of exploring a number of roles that began to showcase his talents and diversify his image, he became something different entirely. This diversity gave way to a relativity, an inroad for modern audiences to latch onto. For the peculiar nature of this unassailable journey, despite the controversies, Sean Connery’s legacy as a performer will never, ever be remembered as just an artifact.

Halloween Horror Essentials (2020 Edition)

October 30, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Lists

Grab your hockey masks and plastic machetes, Halloween is upon us once more. This season has always held a special place in my heart; being a child of October, I’ve always shared a special kinship with it. When I think of Halloween, I think of covering my eyes—I would cover my eyes when Michael Jackson transformed into a monster at the end of those Thriller reruns on MTV and I would cover my eyes as Freddie Krueger eviscerated Johnny Depp through the mattress in A Nightmare on Elm Street as it ran on AMC. I lived shamelessly as a coward for the first third of my life.

But the older I got, the more I learned to embrace the horror genre and relish in the thrill of its entertainment value. I desensitized myself to the nightmares I’d get by convincing myself that it was just a movie; the terrible things that I would see onscreen could never conceivably come true in real life, could it? Well, here we are in 2020 and let’s face it, Wes Craven himself couldn’t possibly dream up a scenario more existentially terrifying than the cursed year we’ve all been living through: civil injustice, brush fires, pandemics, raging storms, and Doolittle among the atrocities.

So maybe I’m being a little harsh and sure, maybe I don’t have any real right to complain given the ultimate scope of our collective struggle. But what’s Halloween without the trick-or-treaters? What does this holiday even mean if I can’t walk through the cobwebbed halls of a haunted house? This year, instead of trick-or-treaters, we’ve traded in for contact tracers. Instead of haunted houses we have…haunted car washes? Actually, those are pretty cool. But at the end of the day, we’ve been left no choice but to move on with the complete understanding that this Halloween just isn’t quite like the rest of them. The one silver lining? No crisis on Earth can deny us the right to settle safely at home and put on a good scary movie. In the spirit of upholding that tradition, I’ve compiled my own personal SLAYlist of Halloween favorites that captures the myriad flavors of what October really means to me.

Something Spooky

The Others (2001) - Directed by Alejandro Amenábar

Plot Summary: In post-WWII England, supernatural occurrences begin plaguing a mother and her two children upon the arrival of three mysterious caretakers who claim to have lived in the house many years ago.

Why it Belongs: This psychological mind-bender is an overlooked gem of the early millenia that is sure to set a haunting tone this Halloween season. With the rise of Shyamalan-ian horror, The Others made a splash upon arrival, but quickly faded to an echo in the years that followed. Among fans and critics alike, this film is remembered for its refined period-piece authenticity, its amazing cast led by Nicole Kidman, and its bone-chilling set pieces that became a benchmark of early 2000’s pop culture. Though almost two decades have passed, this film still retains an ageless quality, delivers genuinely scary frights with refined poise and creepy gothic sensibilities that horror fans really gravitate to. All in all, it’s an ambient horror tale with an engrossing story and a twist ending that is sure to rattle your cage and start your binge off right.

Where to Find It: Available for rent on Vudu and Amazon

Something Campy

The Cabin in the Woods (2011) - Directed by Drew Goddard

Plot Summary: Five college friends embark on the trip of a lifetime to a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere, only to find that an ancient evil has been lying for them in wait.

Why it Belongs: This horror-comedy is the undisputed middleweight champion of genre sensibilities; it has supreme self-awareness, it’s sufficiently frightening, it’s thematically centered around youth culture, and it throws a wicked curve ball. Camp horror is traditionally characterized by its deliberate divergence from high art; much like punk rock counterculture, this movement steamrolls convention rather than conforming to it. The Cabin in the Woods is a fun deconstructive study in why horror tropes exist, giving insight into the lasting popular appeal behind classics like Evil Dead and Friday the 13th. Featuring some of the most unforgettable set pieces of the past century, this film is sure to entertain all fans of even the most moderate spectrums of horror.

Where to Find It: Now streaming on Hulu and Amazon Prime

Something Foreign

Noroi: The Curse (2005) - Directed by Kōji Shiraishi

Plot Summary: A paranormal researcher gets more than he bargained for when he investigates a disturbance regarding a demonic entity from Japanese folklore.

Why it Belongs: For fans of slow burn horror, this found footage/mockumentary hybrid is a master class in pacing. Told in a stitched-together narrative style that combines camcorder footage with news broadcasts, what begins as an investigation sputters into a shocking dive into the twisted world of Japanese demonology. Noroi delivers an exceptional payoff for all those receptive to its cadence; rich in haunting imagery that is sure to stay with you at inconvenient sleeping hours, this Japanese horror gem is the essence of nightmare fuel.

Where to Find It: Now streaming on Shudder

Something Cosmic

Event Horizon (1997) - Directed by Paul W.S. Anderson

Plot Summary: A rescue fleet is sent to investigate the distress signal of a rogue ship that had been lost in the cosmos for years, only to find that the dimensions it came from sent something home with it.

Why it Belongs: Widely known for the massive cult following it has gained in the 23 years since release, Anderson’s blood curdling film balances sci-fi elements with Lovecraftian cosmic horror that genre fans still recognize as one of the scariest movies of all time. With a cast led by Laurence Fishburne and Sam Neill, Event Horizon hurls audiences through unknown galactic dimensions to the depths of Hell and back, refusing to loosen its grip for one second until the very end. This movie is cool, shocking, chaotic, depraved, and one hell of a thrill ride.

Where to Find It: Now streaming on Amazon Prime (with ads)

Something Strange

The Lighthouse (2019) - Directed by Robert Eggers

Plot Summary: Cold and stranded on a remote island in the late 1800’s, a pair of lighthouse keepers undergo a slow, surreal descent into complete madness.

Why it Belongs: This black-and-white psychological horror is one of the most mystifying movie experiences of the last decade with full credit to its visionary writer/director, Robert Eggers. Hot on the heels of his indelible debut in 2015’s The Witch, Eggers has proven himself a filmmaker with an acute sense for building tension and atmosphere through sheer force of authenticity. In every shot, you can feel the cold, grey solitude on the secluded rock that our protagonists endure. Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson deliver career-defining performances as a pair of lighthouse keepers who think, speak, and feel like they’re crafted with complete historical precision. Their drunken plunge into obscurity is set to a malevolent score by Mark Korven that perfectly establishes the moody tone and serves as a harbinger for what grim fate awaits. All hope abandon ye who enter this film.

Where to Find It: Now streaming on Amazon Prime

Something Lovely

Spring (2014) - Directed by Justin Benson & Aaron Moorhead

Plot Summary: Reeling from the death of his mother, Evan embarks on a European vacation where he meets a beautiful young woman with an ominous little secret.

Why it Belongs: For the past eight years, indie darlings Benson & Moorhead have quietly been making some of the decade’s best and most unique horror films. Their collective artistic vision is undeniably original, leveraging the hardships of a modern human experience and marrying it with unspeakable horrors of the unknown. This heartfelt horror-drama follows a broken young man on his search for substance, and inevitably finds it in a fearsome creature he doesn’t quite understand. It’s got some really impressive effects and some very well made set pieces but what really consumes you is the realism of their relationship. Through their unfolding interactions, we ask ourselves what it means to unconditionally accept, despite imperfections. This is the true innovation of Spring—it ultimately reframes the way we define being human.

Where to Find It: Now streaming on Shudder

Something Awful

Thirteen Ghosts (2001) - Directed by Steve Beck

Plot Summary: A late business magnate bestows a labyrinthian glass house to his only living relatives, only for them to realize that it houses thirteen vengeful spirits…and they’re all hungry for blood.

Why it Belongs: If the horror Olympics existed and I could give a participation medal to any one movie, it’d be this by a landslide. This movie was decimated by critics and truth be told, it’s not that hard to figure out why: it’s obnoxious, cruel, poorly edited and pretty damn corny. But you can feel a worthy effort to make it something better than it turned out to be. From a set design standpoint, the architecture of the glass house is genuinely intriguing as it shifts, unleashing a new spirit into its corridors one by one. These spirits look hideous and though their origins are only implied in the movie, a special feature establishes a full-blown mythological backstory for each one. There’s always some redemption in bad art and for the purposes of this movie, I can’t help but imagine that in some alternate world in a different director’s hands, we got a version of Thirteen Ghosts that became an instant classic.

Where to Find It: Available for rent on Vudu and Amazon

Something Retro

The Thing (1982) - Directed by John Carpenter

Plot Summary: When a parasitic alien creature infiltrates a research team on a secluded base in Antarctica, they turn against one another in a desperate fight for survival.

Why it Belongs: With everything going on in the world, there may not be a movie that more accurately captures our underlying paranoia than Carpenter’s timeless masterpiece, The Thing. Binding relentless intensity with grotesque creature effects, this film takes alien horror to new heights. What makes this film so effective is that it’s essentially a whodunit where the traitor turns out to be a freakish alien symbiote. Viewers are thrust among the unstable crew of a research base in the heart of the tundra and Carpenter grips you with unspeakable terror in knowing that at any moment, the person next to you can turn. When stranded and left to our own devices, human instinct will rise; it’s not about the alien organism who invades human hosts or even the monstrosity it turns them into, it’s about what people are inherently prepared to do in times of desperation.

Where to Find It: Available for rent on Vudu and Amazon

Screaming Subconscious: An "I'm Thinking of Ending Things" Study and Review

October 26, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Reviews

*WARNING: Mild spoilers ahead*

As the title alone would likely indicate to a curious moviegoer browsing Netflix on a pale Fall night, we have a clearcut shoo-in for bleakest, most gonzo film experience of 2020, and it’s Charlie Kaufman’s latest feature, I’m Thinking of Ending Things—but that isn’t to say it’s a bad thing. Based on a best selling novel by Iain Reid, Kaufman couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate story to adapt; after all, he’s no stranger to making movies about the curiosities of mortal struggle. Having written the screenplay for such indie classics as Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Kaufman has proven himself an artist with uncompromising vision, both for better and for worse. As a standalone feature director, he’s just about as divisive an auteur as they come, with a strong sense for crafting deeply cerebral yet painfully personal films that often fly so far beneath the general public’s radar that they may as well not exist in a mainstream sense.

His latest, an oddball relationship horror-drama, follows a nameless young woman (played by Jessie Buckley) who takes a road trip with Jake (Jesse Plemons), her boyfriend of six weeks, to visit his parents (Toni Collette and David Thewlis) in their secluded farmhouse. Simple enough, but it gets stranger as the night unfolds. Her innermost thoughts punctuate the film’s narrative, revealing the sum of her darkest fears; a pummeling stream-of-subconscious that leads to an onslaught of surreal and unnerving imagery. The unshakeable dread interrogates her sense of what’s real and forces her to lose grip on both identity and time, giving way to a chaos that lies dormant within.

There’s a peculiar dreaminess to I’m Thinking of Ending Things that distinguishes it from the usual lot we’re conditioned to seeing on Netflix. It’s weird, dark, funny, thought-provoking, and somehow equal parts grim and poetic; like taking acid at your grandmother’s birthday party, it’s the kind of movie that could make you reconsider your most questionable life choices. It almost feels more like a moving human experience than it does a standalone piece of pop culture. Picture this: Netflix’s biggest original movie to date features a ripped Chris Hemsworth throwing henchmen through walls—obviously, this movie hums to the beat of a wildly different tune. Even considering Bong Joon Ho’s environmentalist sci-fi adventure Okja and Dan Gilroy’s artistic nightmare in Velvet Buzzsaw, this film might just take the coveted crown of most avant-garde film to ever be produced and distributed by Netflix. Can we expect to see Netflix beginning to fund more ambitious auteur-driven projects? Let’s certainly hope so.

From a directorial standpoint, Kaufman does an amazing job of reeling you into this world by establishing its tone strong and early. The opening shot skims past oddly colored wallpapers through the empty old farmhouse while our protagonist delivers a stirring monologue. Her cadence is poetic, her whisper is soft and stripped of hope—for herself, for that of her floundering new relationship, or for the uneasy world she implies to be navigating. In this world, a dense coat of snow blankets everything in sight, creating a strong visual energy that permeates every shot and makes even the most vibrant colors appear pale and weirdly muted. This aura of wintry desolation remains consistent throughout the entire film and its prevalence is a key identifier of Kaufman’s time-tested skill. Name another filmmaker who can make respectable claymation that ponders the meaning of life.

Despite the film’s most jarring subversions, one of its more universal assets are the brilliant performances that keep its characters grounded. The main cast is spearheaded by Jessie Buckley, the anonymous subject, whose outward warmth is played in measure with an archaically cold detachment. She’s abstract, opinionated, and really sells you on the tyrannies of an overactive mind. Then there’s Jesse Plemons as Jake, whose deadpan neuroses are incredibly awkward and tremendously genuine. His obnoxious intellect is undercut by a distinct lack of expression that creates uneasy frictions with each character he interacts with. Their ongoing repartee throughout the film is both witty and stimulating, though it evokes complex emotions around the horrors of social disconnection. Together, their offbeat synergy is the unpredictable pulse of the viewer’s experience in I’m Thinking of Ending Things.

Rounding out the film’s supporting cast is Toni Collette and David Thewlis as Jake’s parents, perhaps the film’s most intriguing characters. As far as individual performances go, Collette puts on a clinic as the cloying mother who exudes overt politeness with silent desperation while Thewlis counterbalances as an aging old man on the cusp of mental decline. As parents, they’re sweet, simple and emotionally invested in the accomplishments of their son. Nevertheless, he’s oddly disturbed by their pride while they actively vie for the affections of his shiny new girlfriend. Their roles become warped as the movie unfolds and they morph into representations of the cyclical nature of time and the melancholy of what it ultimately takes from us.

The film is a monument of provocative artistry and you can feel Kaufman’s intention in every shot, every scene, every interaction. By breaking the mold and withholding our rights to straightforward storytelling, it dares audiences to carve their own interpretation from it rather than having it spoonfed. The boldness of such filmmaking is quite rare and for good reason—it can easily go sideways. One example that stands out from recent memory is distinguished Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos, writer/director of 2015’s The Lobster and 2017’s The Killing of a Sacred Deer. Like Kaufman, Lanthimos disrupts narrative by using social disconnection to create bizarre worlds that simply don’t adhere to normative expectations and portrays them with utmost deadpan sincerity.

While I wouldn’t expect this film to crack Netflix’s top-10 algorithm anytime soon, it feels undeniably special because of its innovative quality. It’s not exactly Hubie Halloween, but Charlie Kaufman’s not exactly in the business of making fan favorites. I’m Thinking of Ending Things is an unforgettable film because of its ability to broaden viewer expectations on what movies can be on a more accessible streaming platform. This surreal tumble into the heart of psychological vulnerability is easily Netflix’s most avant-garde film to date, and should hopefully encourage its audiences to widen their scope for what to expect from a streaming achievement. Considering Netflix doesn’t have a surefire means of box office analysis, it’s hard to say whether or not this film can be considered a relative “success”—however since the film’s release almost two months ago, it’s drawn widespread acclaim as 2020’s favorite mindf**k. And in the spirit of artistic integrity, sometimes that’s the only validation a film really even needs. Don’t believe me? Go check Twitter.

Freshman Focus: Christopher Nolan's "Following"

October 05, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Freshman Focus

The enduring wrath of COVID-19 has upended the entire movie industry as we know it, forcing studios to show their hands and release their giants despite the calamity, or keep them hidden for the indefinite future. While studios stand in the shadows awkwardly twiddling their thumbs, in all likelihood no one feels more agitated at the moment than the Patron saint of big-budget films himself, Christopher Nolan. This proven, prolific filmmaker whose immeasurable body of work spans two memorable decades of excellence, was left no choice but to release his latest time-bending epic Tenet amid the pandemic, after several troublesome delays, to some less-than stellar results.

With a reported $225 million budget, Nolan’s latest was pre-packaged for massive box office appeal. The sheer scale and spectacle by which he’s well known to deliver promised a magnitude that intended to shepherd audiences back into theaters and break a symbolic barrier. But in a time with rapidly changing perceptions of how we need to define normality moving forward, the traditional theatrical release schedule is looking more and more hazy by the day.

With many a night spent in confinement, instead of sitting in the airy comfort of an IMAX auditorium, we’re forced to sit cross-legged on our futons trading incoherent theories about Interstellar with roommates. While Nolan’s reputation is largely built upon the hype of his films’ spectacularity, I’d argue that his true talent lies in his ability to create art that incites critical thinking and discussion from his target audience—the average moviegoer. The cerebral demands of his style support not just his incredible skill as a director, but a gifted storyteller as well. Looking back on his luminous career, the blueprints can be found in his first feature film, Following. This 1998 super low budget thriller set the tone for his future and laid the framework for his narrative style.

Don’t let them teach you otherwise, stalking is NOT an acceptable form of social distancing.

Following tells the story of a reclusive young writer (played by Jeremy Theobald) with a strange penchant for pinpointing and following random strangers in crowds through the bustling streets of London. While he tries his best to operate by a rudimentary code of ethics, his life takes an abrupt turn when he meets a confident grifter (played by Alex Haw) who invites him to take part in the ultimate form of vicarious living: burglary.

The film’s low-fi conviction is a testament to what can be done on a measly budget of $6,000—microscopic in relative terms. What Nolan lacked in funds, the more he made up for in clever flourishes and swanky, brooding style that shaped his approach to filmmaking and earned him instant recognition as one of the UK’s finest rising auteurs. While he continued his ascent to the ranks of mythological proportion in the years that followed, his inaugural debut still stands alone as the sturdy foundational point for which he built his entire forthcoming legacy upon—and we’re going to break down just why.

Psychological Fixation

Much like Following’s enigmatic protagonist, Nolan has shown a particular interest in the inner workings of the human psyche; the understanding of cognitive mechanics permeates most of his work. Throughout his career, this intense fascination has often manifested itself through psychologically complex characters, each one carefully crafted with layered purpose to navigate grandiose, open-world playgrounds. Their personalities reflect poise and resolve, though subtle fractures bring light to their hidden obsessive (and sometimes destructive) tendencies. Beneath the blockbuster pageantry of what’s become Nolan’s signature style, there lives a bleak subtext that helps define those who populate his elaborate onscreen worlds.

While 2010’s box office smash hit Inception touted a $160 million budget, his stunning set pieces and groundbreaking effects would largely be ineffective without a thoughtful character study at its core. The high-concept premise: a sleek heist crew with really cool haircuts weave their way through lush dreamscapes led by the charismatically tortured Dom Cobb (portrayed by Leo DiCaprio) to invade the metaphysical plane of other people’s subconscious. While considered the best at what he does, the residual guilt and trauma he’d sustained from the death of his wife is shown to be further worsened by his habit for getting lost in the revolving zoetrope of fantastical dream states. By progressively losing his grip on reality, Cobb shows a constitutional inability to accept his existence for what it is, exploiting a primordial character flaw echoed from Nolan’s very first film.

Minus the magnificent rotating hallway fight sequences and really expensive Hans Zimmer score (though leaving in the cool haircuts), Following plays out through its fleshed out protagonist (credited only as ‘The Young Man’) who is also shown to be driven by an equally intrinsic desire to vicariously live life through other people’s perspectives. Portrayed as a reclusive outsider, The Young Man rejects all accountability and justifies his bizarre obsession for following strangers by using those insights to provide context for his fiction writing. After pursuing and inadvertently catching the attention of a handsome grifter who exudes the unwavering confidence he subconsciously aspires for, The Young Man finds himself spiraling into an oblivion that forces him to question his own perceptions of self.

Men in suits explaining things. That is the Nolan way.

Though twelve years and $159,994,000 stand between these two benchmark films, both share commonalities that run deeper than the superficial grandeur of Christopher Nolan’s mainstream appeal. Do we like seeing Tom Hardy in a tailored suit firing grenade launchers at bad guys? Sure—but the crux of Nolan’s work has always meant to grip audiences on a subconscious level, engaging them with a relatable human element that conceptualizes the mind’s inner clockwork. In both Following and Inception, through two opposing character studies in two unrelated contexts, we’re invited to analyze two men who live by a single converging thought as it passes through through the lens of a psychological breakdown in motion: repression, obsession, and the ensuing coil of indulging oneself in it. Their respective journeys support the deep metaphorical nuance that poses the human mind as the romanticized object of Nolan’s undying affections.

Non-Linear Structure

With his back pocket full of clever sleights, one of the more upfront flourishes of Nolan’s filmmaking vision is his use of non-linear story structure. Many of his films are told in a narrative style that utilizes shifting patterns of crosscuts to represent different points in time. While some filmmakers use this chronological tactic for sheer deception or tonal appeal, Nolan’s use typically holds complex thematic relevance in the way it relates to his characters. With the constant shift in overlapping narratives, he is able to retain complete control of the way his characters’ viewpoints are presented; only through actions and motivations do we carefully start to peel the layers back and piece their journey together ourselves.

Pictured: Nolan flexing more than just a creative muscle.

In the history of film, perhaps no non-linear narrative is talked about with such unanimous admiration than Memento, Nolan’s 2000 cult classic that firmly cemented his place in the Hollywood power rankings. The auteur’s second feature film astonished critics and audiences, who praised its bleak originality and cleverly executed twists. The film is methodically constructed around its protagonist and his unique neurological condition, a chronic amnesia that impedes his quest to find and kill his wife’s murderer by resetting his memory every 15 minutes. As a structural representation for this disorder, the film’s plot unfolds in a puzzling juxtaposition that intercuts between two visually opposing timelines: black/white and color.

While the film’s black/white segments start at the beginning of the story and move forward chronologically, the interwoven color segments start at the end and work their way to the start, with both timelines eventually merging at the end of the film. Sounds complicated, right? Well, it’s supposed to. And to make any attempt to further elaborate would only end in shameful embarrassment. Though his films have a certain reputation for being undeniably watchable, it’s worth noting that to be able to experience their intended effect, some deductive reasoning is not suggested, but required.

Two years before Memento thrust Nolan into the hot seat, Following preemptively set the stage by subverting traditional story structure to show a metamorphosis in motion. The film’s abstract narrative, once again, plays out in several overlapping timelines. While Memento uses color, Following’s unique storytelling device is most aptly distinguished by an inexplicable change in its protagonist’s physical appearance over a certain period of time:

Told mainly in three interweaving timelines, The Young Man’s physical appearance is altered more drastically the deeper he spirals into his crooked mentor’s influence. In the language of film, a physical transformation is typically meant to represent a character’s arc, or personal journey. Think Jeff Goldblum in Cronenberg’s The Fly.

Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf.

Hell, even Michael Keaton in the God-forsaken trainwreck that is Jack Frost.

The connective tissue that binds these wildly different characters are the physical transformations they must undergo to reach some deeper form of resolution within their own lives. So, while Following doesn’t meddle with the concept of magical snowmen, its irregular editing structure amplifies the metamorphosis. And by showing The Young Man’s varying progressions over time, Nolan pieces together a puzzle that elicits reflections on reclusiveness, desire and consequence that solidified his abilities as a multi-faceted storyteller who understands that there’s more to every story than just what’s spoon-fed to us.

Aside from Memento and Following sharing commonality in their irregular editing structure, their associated prestige as back-to-back breakout entries built a firm and early awareness around Nolan’s special talent for abstracting narrative without diminishing entertainment value. A self-professed student of architecture, Nolan assembles his films to mimic the art of building design; while both entries stand tall as functional forms of cinematic entertainment, they also evoke the complexity of three-dimensional space. Nolan stands at the helm, choosing specifically when to disperse just enough information, so the story takes shape as it goes. Each shifting angle is carefully planned for optimal immersion without sacrificing integrity.

Neo-Noir Elements

Every conquest begins with a seed of inspiration; for Christopher Nolan, it’s impossible to truly dive into his work without first reflecting on the influences that helped shape his style. Heavily inspired by hardboiled film noir of the 1940’s, Nolan’s work echoes the resurrected vanguard, whose stylish portrayals of cops and criminals illustrate the gray areas in morality and justice. By blurring the lines that separate good and evil, film noir introduced a cynical realism to the larger popular consciousness.

With a few exceptions, the genre’s identifying motifs permeate most of Nolan’s work. The faithfulness he pays to its tropes have branded the filmmaker a staunch revivalist of the neo-noir movement. The viewpoints he poses on moral ambiguity adds a layer of philosophical weight to even his most commercially marketable films. Riding the momentum of 2002’s critically praised Insomnia, Warner Bros. gave Nolan a young director’s dream shot: to breathe new life into the proverbial superhero film. With a built-in fanbase that almost guaranteed financial success, Warner Bros. knew their property was in good hands…but no one could forecast that what followed would ultimately determine a new direction in moviemaking for the next two decades. To this day, Nolan’s Batman trilogy is largely credited with revitalizing the superhero origin epic and ushering in a brave new era of bolder heroic entertainment.

Prior to 2005, superhero movies leaned into a more jovial sensibility but ignored a crucial element to what made comic book heroes so culturally significant for over 70 years: a relatable component. In the gunsmoke of a post-9/11 world, Nolan set out to build a cinematic universe that could bottle the hysteria of an uncertain time. And no film in his subsequent trilogy quite captures that essence like 2007’s The Dark Knight, a superhero film that casts a more stoic light on the caped crusader by disguising itself as a grounded neo-noir. It follows Batman as he goes toe-to-toe with Heath Ledger’s iconic Joker, an unpredictable anarchist whose acts of terror thrusts Gotham City into a state of panic. While Batman struggles to retain his just constitutions in the face of civil erosion, Joker’s total lack thereof reframes Gotham’s perception of “hero” and “villain”.

Confrontations over awkwardly small tables: a recurring motif

Though he doesn’t wear a cowl or brandish cool gadgets, Following’s protagonist faces a moral crossroads of his own. The Young Man’s absurd impulse to follow strangers is fueled by his instinct to create, though his skewed sense of “right” or “wrong” leads him to seek inspiration in the worst ways—after all, film noir doesn’t always have to follow the good guys. The ambiguous line that separates right and wrong is a staple element of the genre; much like Scorsese and Schrader did with Taxi Driver, Nolan wanted to flip the script on normative expectations by showing what ethical diplomacy looks like from the opposite end of the law. And while The Young Man’s initial intentions are strictly nonphysical in nature, his tendency to be swayed by deceptive influence ignites a domino effect that challenges the very code he lives by. And like most enigmatic figures in film noir, the deeper he falls into the influence, the clearer his abandonment becomes.

In many ways, Following and The Dark Knight are two linear points that best represent the initial ascent of Nolan’s career. One reinvigorated the superhero movie, the other lacked resources to even be filmed on industry standard equipment. But while these films wildly differ in scale, they both posit a case study in how deeply you can bend the framework of neo-noir and still tell a compelling story in the process. The way he presents the ambiguous nature of morality highlights Nolan’s mindfulness to what makes the moviegoing experience relatable on a human level. We don’t rewatch Batman Begins because we like marveling over Gary Oldman’s exceptional mustache game, or Christian Bale’s dominant jawline. Well okay, maybe I do. But besides me, people generally see Nolan’s films and respect them on a deeper level because of his ability to craft a dignified story that doesn’t shy away from morality, regardless of scale.

The Summary

As Tenet resumes its shaky theatrical run, for the rest of us moviegoers who remain unsure about seeing it in theaters, we’re left with a clear and unfillable movie-shaped hole in our lives. But as we inch toward inevitable acceptance that in-home streaming is, in fact, the modern moviegoing experience, I strongly encourage movie fans to do a little digging of your own; find your favorite filmmakers, go deep into their filmographies, find patterns and study their artistic growth. For Christopher Nolan, this growth is incomparable to any filmmaker working today, specifically because of what his films have meant to the discourse of our generation’s mainstream movie culture.

With an uncompromising ability to craft thrilling set pieces that set the bar for all movies in the 21st Century, what keeps his films etched in the popular consciousness are the word-of-mouth discussions that circulate in their wake. Following cemented his firm commitment to delivering dynamic entertainment with a certain degree of mental dexterity that marked him as one of the most ambitious creative voices of our time. Now, is this to say his movies are logistically perfect? Not really. Objectively speaking, the crux of his higher-concept films are usually based on incredulous leaps of faith that fold under deeper examination. But let’s be reasonable—the average moviegoer isn’t exactly Neil DeGrasse Tyson. His worlds come with a fixed-in suspension of disbelief and his audiences are willing to accept those minor imperfections because of the deliberate effort at toying with structure, introducing a philosophical spin on marketable movies and bringing elevated storytelling to the forefront of entertainment. Whether you agree with me or not, the simple fact is: you don’t see him putting nipples and bulge on a Batsuit (rest in peace Joel Schumacher, you crazy diamond).

Lost in Perpetuity: A "Palm Springs" Study and Review

July 14, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Reviews

*WARNING: Mild spoilers ahead*

You awaken in a groggy haze. Struggling to reclaim your bearings from what seemed like an oddly vivid dream, you shuffle out of bed but feel an unshakable sense of déjà vu as you take in your surroundings—you’ve been here before. Is your mind playing tricks on you? Or are you stuck in some strange, inescapable vortex somewhere in the folds of time? Believe it or not, I’m not actually referring to any given morning in quarantine; I’m talking about Max Barbakow’s latest Hulu Original that just set a streaming record for biggest opening weekend, Palm Springs starring Cristin Milioti and Andy Samberg.

This sun drenched sci-fi/rom-com revolves (literally) around Nyles and Sarah, an unlikely pair whose chance encounter at a Palm Desert wedding quickly spirals out of control when they find themselves trapped in an infinite time-loop where both are fated to relive the same day over and over again. Ripe with Lonely Island-esque comedic silliness but taking solemn influence from the seminal films that paved its way (specifically Groundhog Day), this film breathes new life into a decades-old concept by doubling up the lessons to be learned.

The Structure

From a narrative standpoint, Palm Springs ideally seeks to explore the idea of personal growth by disguising itself with a high-concept premise. Structurally speaking, time loop movies usually follow a flawed character who, by some twist of fate, becomes doomed to repeat their actions in perpetuity until they manage to learn the life lessons necessary to get it all just right. In a way, the protagonist usually finds themselves stuck in a personal hell of their own design that, by being given the opportunity to try it all over again, highlights the futility in running away from internal conflicts that they can’t or don’t want to confront. While Nyles and Sarah’s predicament can be considered “supernatural”, its underlying heart is always rooted in the human struggle—therein lies relatability.

A major factor that distinguishes Palm Springs is how it blends its sci-fi element with a vastly opposing genre so seamlessly; while this film executes on the basic structure of a time loop narrative, its romantic comedy never feels overshadowed. The rom-com structure begins with a fundamental difference in philosophies about the way our two protagonists live their life: while cynical Sarah’s (Milioti) turbulent life choices leads her to doubt the existence of true love, carefree Nyles (Samberg) chooses to live by a code of total complacency. This duality that separates them as individuals is ultimately what draws them closer together as they learn to tolerate and gain insights from one another.

Despite its bold creative choices, the film manages to maintain a consistent tone throughout by not getting lost in the minutia of its mechanics. With a tightly written screenplay by AFI alum Andy Siara, the film’s multi-layered characters navigate their existential oasis with profound morality like few would ever come to expect from a movie that so prominently features Andy Samberg being chased butt-naked down a mountain by a sadist with a crossbow. Palm Springs is everything that it sets out to be (and maybe more) by reinforcing its ability to balance clever tonal shifts while simultaneously serving as an inward reflection on what it means to live and love in what seems like the neverending continuum of life.

The Cast

With standout lead performances turned in by Samberg and Milioti, both get the chance to showcase multi-dimensional acting chops that are largely unexplored in their mainstream repertoire. Together they bring life to Nyles and Sarah—their crude humor, while typical of any Lonely Island-produced film, is cleverly counterbalanced with an equal measure of emotional depth that underlines their palpable onscreen chemistry.

Backed by a deep supporting bench in Peter Gallagher, Camila Mendes, Meredith Hagner, June Squibb, Tyler Hoechlin and most notably, J.K. Simmons in one of the most comically appropriate roles of his career as the slightly deranged Roy, each maximize their presence in our duo’s ever-repeating world by helping provide context, comedic relief, ethical reflection and living subjects to the film’s philosophical question: “if you could live every day without any relative consequence, how would you choose to spend your time?”.

The Breakdown

While Barbakow’s sun-soaked fantasy world is densely loaded with moral principle, radiant aesthetic composition, gut-busting humor and an extremely likeable collection of complex characters, its timely release on a major streaming platform might just be what makes Palm Springs the perfect snapshot of our strange Summer. While Nyles and Sarah’s raucous hellscape plays out like premier genre filmmaking, their unfolding struggles mirror tangible life issues that almost everyone has had to confront in some form or fashion these past few months—but amidst the gloom of modern uncertainty, one of the film’s most resonant lessons might just help us cope with our struggles by reminding us a key essence of finding happiness within ourselves: being stuck doesn’t mean we can’t live.

What Lurks Below the Surface: "Jaws" in the Age of Social Distance

July 04, 2020 by AJ Mijares in Deep Dives

A resounding *chomp* shook the theater and sent the crowd shifting visibly in their seats. The visual onslaught prompted audible gasps. Through a slit between fingers, I saw the crimson waters. My palms felt slick and my blood ran cold, but I didn’t really care; my undivided focus was on the tension in the room...a frantic energy, an aura so thick, you could cut it with a knife.

It was that day I learned the captivating grip of what the cinematic experience could be. I’ll never forget watching Renny Harlin’s aquatic adventure, Deep Blue Sea.

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In hindsight, maybe I was hereditarily disposed to have a fascination with shark stories--even genetically modified ones that have a taste for mega famous movie stars.

Flash back to a sweltering Summer in 1975; my dad, 15 at the time, scraped together what funds he could to participate in what was being commercially touted as the must-see experience of the Summer. When Hollywood’s most eager rising filmmaker, twenty-seven year old Steven Spielberg took on directing efforts for the film adaptation of a best-selling adventure novel, he overcame the challenges of a famously burdened production that not only went on to break records, but laid the foundation for an entirely new movie industry moving forward.

Raking in $470 million at the box office worldwide, Spielberg’s film Jaws became the highest grossing smash hit of its time. Aside from making people afraid to ever touch water again, it created the formula for what we now know as a Summer Blockbuster.

With an unprecedented $2 million marketing strategy that saturated mainstream media outlets, Jaws was the first monumental moviegoing event with an associated phenomenon attached. Its captivating thrills ensnared audiences globally and re-wrote the roadmap for how studios distribute their biggest films. With its lasting sensation and groundbreaking box-office success, Jaws established the blueprint for what we still classify as a must-see zeitgeist...or at least we did.

Swing back to 2020 where the altered complexion of our new reality leaves the movie industry in grave uncertainty, putting the future of the cinematic experience as a whole in questionable limbo. Undergoing a painful metamorphosis, society finds itself engaged in a series of struggles against a relentless onslaught of social unrest and the looming threat of a lethal pandemic.

In a hazy new world where each day unfolds with an overwhelming sense of fear, I hope to nurture a haven from the existential dread through appreciation for the art that helps remind us why we so desperately need entertainment in dark times. With Summer in full stride, we reflect on some key elements that make Jaws a strangely relevant but thoroughly enjoyable classic at the 45th anniversary of its original release—though it still doesn’t measure up to Renny Harlin’s underwater opus, Deep Blue Sea.

Fear of Uncertainty

The mounting concern of our present state has thrown a wrench in the gears of perceived normalcy, as paralleled by the film’s main protagonist—police chief Martin Brody. Jaws unfolds through his eyes when he’s thrust into confrontation with an uncontrollable force he can’t quite understand.

When his ordinary life as a devoted family man in idyllic Amity Island is rudely upended by the arrival of a man-eating shark that prowls the harbor stalking its prey, Brody must abandon his comfort zone and reluctantly take to the open sea with his two mates: the cocky academic Hooper and the salty sea dog Quint in an effort to slay the menacing beast.

Brody’s initial instinct to the bloodshed awakens the implied trauma he sustained as a former NYPD cop. Those demons and the subsequent fear that it brings manifest themselves through unhealthy coping mechanisms, mainly drinking—and if there were a single frame of the film more emblematic of the spirit of 2020, it’s Brody in despair guzzling red wine out of a pint glass.

Mrs. Brody looking like the concerned Rite Aid cashier as I buy my fourth bottle of cheap merlot this week.

A partial factor of Jaws’ lasting entertainment value lies in its ability to tell a compelling story without relying solely on spectacle. While, sure, it’s admittedly thrilling to see a 25-foot behemoth crunch into the stern of a capsizing boat like it’s a hardshell taco, the essence of all truly great horror lies in its ability to find a relatable human element. That element sometimes eludes viewers at first or second glance but reaches their subconscious from a level that’s not always obvious at face value. Though most of us can’t relate to what it’s like being terrorized by a sea creature, we can all find commonality in Chief Brody’s mortal struggle to maintain control and find resolve in the midst of uncertainty.

Immersion & Catharsis

While a film’s deeper meaning can serve to provoke inward reflection, its ever-reaching power can transcend the fourth wall to create a living, breathing sensory experience. A transaction occurs between the film and our brains; what we see with our eyes, what we hear with our ears, what we build with our mind can poke at emotions and stimulate psychological responses that manifest themselves in physiological ways. This very real response is the reason horror fans..well, love horror movies--it helps purge the conscious mind of the fears we face in real life.

As legend would have it when Jaws made its gargantuan splash, it famously targeted the fears of a beachgoing Summer audience, as exemplified by the now universally recognizable promotional image used for nearly every single piece of its marketing content.

From John Williams’s foreboding main theme to the haunting imagery of a young boy’s bloody raft washing in with the tide, the film’s most engaging horror elements prey on subconscious fears of our inability to control the forces of nature. The film’s portrayal of sharks as cruel, deadly and uncaring inspired a generation to never want to set foot in water again. According to common cultural lore, its very release caused a downward trend in beach attendance that very Summer.

The immersive visual element of the film’s out-to-sea portion remains a staple in its use of space and atmosphere. A large part of the film takes place aboard a shabby fishing vessel, the Orca, as it bobs up and down a vast stretch of ocean. Much like Alien’s (1975) Nostromo hurtling through an empty black void, Jaws set the gold standard for blockbuster horror in solitary locations.

Floating on a boundless stretch of sea with no land in sight, the film illustrates the terror of isolation by effectively trapping you on a hunk of buoyant steel in a slow, disorienting cradle with an incomprehensible force lying nearby in wait. The madness and tension it awakens in our three distanced heroes is sure to strike a chord with stir-crazy viewers trapped in their apartment, belching tequila breath and howling songs into the night like a couple of drunk sailors.

Lasting Merit as a Political Statement

Through the gunsmoke of social struggle, we still battle an unseen enemy as COVID-19 shows no signs of slowing. While states begin to open up tentatively, massive ideological rifts have formed between those who firmly believe in city closures in the name of public safety, or reopening in an effort to avoid a full scale economic meltdown. This ethical dilemma is mirrored in one of Jaws’ most enduring motifs that bears striking resemblance to the current state of our global affair.

A crucial thematic element of Jaws is the underlying motivation of people in power--specifically, that of Amity’s incumbent mayor, Larry Vaughn.

In a tight-knit New England beach community where the crux of their economy relies on Summer tourism, the two primary factors behind Vaughn’s most critical decisions are money and reputation. When the remains of a local teenage swimmer washes ashore mere weeks before July Fourth, Vaughn, thinking solely in terms of economic consequence, refuses to shut the beaches down--much to Chief Brody’s chagrin but met with support by various business owners in the community. This decision ultimately leads to further bloodshed.

While the man-eating shark is clearly used as hyperbole, it represents underlying themes that are still just as resonant today, but with implications that have potential to be innumerably more fatal. In a time characterized by deepening ideological polarity, individual priority has proved to be a big indicator of stance. While more states begin to open up and reported deaths soar past the 100,000 mark in the US alone, we can’t help but draw connective lines to the potentially grim downsides of a Capitalist mindset.

The Blockbuster Prototype

For years prior to our present day turmoil, we’ve been undergoing a transition in the way we ingest and define entertainment. In a digitally connected age where streams of content are perpetually churned and spoonfed to us from the comfort of our own homes, most of us feel no obligation to go out and experience a film unless it has instantaneous commercial recognition like Avengers: Endgame or spectacle event marketability, like anything Christopher Nolan touches.

As theater chains tremble under the weight of an indefinite disruption due to COVID-19, studios are forced to suspend the release of their biggest projected films until further notice. Meanwhile--prospective audiences, weary from endless months spent cooped up at home in restless desperation, are flocking to take part in alternative means of pastime entertainment by rebooting an artifact long thought to be extinct.

Last weekend, 45 Summers after its initial release, Jaws swam back into 187 drive-in theater screens across the nation, grossing over $516,000 in revenue. While the concept may seem like a novelty relic from an ancient past, Jaws’ continued success in the drive-in movie theater resurgence and its recent addition on the HBO Max streaming platform indicates agelessness, a proven influence and global appreciation that transcends all notion of time.

In simplistic terms, the true legacy of Jaws lies in its undeniable rewatchability; the scale and spectacle of this brisk two-hour creature feature somehow always feels like a fresh experience, regardless of year. A major factor in that timelessness is its ability to distinguish itself from the entertainment of its time; while it’s not actively trying to be as existentially ambitious as 2001: A Space Odyssey (1969) or as ancestrally poignant as The Godfather (1972), Spielberg approaches a high-concept premise with a masterful balance of childlike wonder, gripping intensity and stunning execution that made audiences fall in love with how much fun the moviegoing experience could be.

For all intents and purposes, Jaws was rolled out to be a home run. As previously mentioned, Universal took a big swing by investing $2M in the marketing of this film, whose mythical production hiccups were once thought to be the ultimate undoing of everyone involved.

Nevertheless, Jaws burst onto the scene on an unprecedented 460 screens across North America and fundamentally popularized the key tenets of Blockbuster film structure: a harrowing hero’s journey set to the tone of an Oscar-winning musical score that features cutting-edge special effects, a slew of tremendously complex, multi-layered characters and maybe most importantly, you can never underestimate the power of a witty one-liner:

You have to admit even John McClane would be proud of this line.

To Make A Long Story Short...

The quality of a film’s appreciation value over time is most aptly measured by the sum of its moving parts—sometimes literally. The legacy of Jaws and its animatronic antagonist stands out as a monolith of pop culture phenomenon whose groundbreaking influence on the movie industry built an everlasting legacy that formed the foundations of entertainment as we know it and cemented Steven Spielberg as one of Hollywood’s most prolific filmmakers.

The half-century span of Jaws’ continuous reign is cold, hard proof that it simply does not age. Its ability to trigger emotional and sensory response pioneered the moviegoing experience and helped us understand how entertainment gives fleeting shelter from the hardships of life. But with all its praise and definitive universality, did we ever get Roy Scheider doing an end-credit rap song like LL Cool J in Renny Harlin’s Deep Blue Sea? I think not. Catch up, Spielberg.

Some spoilers ahead

“Can’t believe they gave us Young Toretto.”

2. “The gang’s all here.”

3. “No way John Cena could ever pass as a Toretto.”

4. “By this point, any threat they’re facing is completely inconsequential.”

5. “Tyrese is MVP material.”

6. “Holy sh**! The Tokyo Drift squad is back!”

7. “These walk-on cameos are getting out of hand.”

8. “Dominic Toretto does not abide by any laws of physics.”

9. “They should have left Han’s resurrection out of the trailer.”

10. “Magnets.”

11. “Aaaaand we’re in outer space now.”

12. “They even resurrected the Orange Supra.”

13. “Backyard barbecues are the lifeblood of this franchise.”

St. Nick (2009)

Ain’t Them Bodies Saints (2013)

Pete’s Dragon (2016)

A Ghost Story (2017)

Own your inner weirdness - Charlie Willoughby

Aspire for more than they think you’re capable of - Silas P. Silas

Everybody needs one good friend - Saul Silver

Always be two steps ahead - Cheech & Chong

It’s okay to be reasonably skeptical - Marty Mikalski

If you fail, be brave enough to start over - Kunu the Surfing Instructor

Be relentless in your pursuits, no matter the cost - Doc Sportello

If you want it, give it your best shot - Dukes

Live a life you genuinely enjoy - Jeff Spicoli