One Battle After Another

Well, that’s an interesting concept for a movie: make a film about characters whom only a crazy person would find sympathetic. I guess this is what happens when you start from a position of making sure you have the correct politics, and then work on developing the story from there. That applies especially so when those correct politics echo the most deranged fever dreams of campus justice warriors. The result here is that the story’s villains are plainly villainous, but the putative heroes are simply bundles of uncontrolled animal urges who are not any more admirable than the other side. Other relatively minor issues grow out of a muddled timeline—the tale clearly has contemporary happenings on its mind, but includes a time shift that requires an origin point much further back in the day—and a central relationship that is preposterous on its face. So much for the problems. On the other hand, one must acknowledge that the plot has good pacing, the performances are solid all around, the script does not shy away from any particular difficulties, and—lastly but certainly not least—the core story in its human dimensions overcomes the film’s self-inflicted wounds to grow increasingly more compelling as the narrative moves forward. Also, the movie deserves credit for presenting a most compelling argument for the fact that security and liberty are diametrically opposed forces; increased emphasis on the former necessarily undermines the latter. That’s a political statement that is very much worth making these days, more so perhaps than the blanket canonization of one population cohort versus the demonization of another. So while this flick would hardly qualify as a Best Picture nominee (let alone winner) but for it tickling the strings of Hollywood’s preferred viewpoints, it must merit consideration as a good to maybe even excellent film—it’s just not an example of greatness. So don’t take that PURR as more than it really is. As usual, the real neverending battle is the fight to get people to stop overhyping whatever catches their momentary, acculturated but unrelated fancy. 

The French Dispatch

One of the worst half-movies I’ve ever seen. How bad is it? I watched, stopped watching about a third of the way through, later went back and tried to finish watching it, and had to stop watching it all over again, getting no further than halfway through. Hence, worst half-movie. The second half could rival Casablanca for all I will ever know, but I saw more than enough to make this call. The performances are dreadful all around, the script is an unfunny pastiche of unrelated and uninteresting vignettes, director Wes Anderson’s penchant for meticulous framing and visual design goes far overboard (he can’t even settle on an aspect ratio), and his usual wit—always in danger of falling too far into preciousness—is either well past the limits of tolerable or just outright absent. And all of the above comes from a viewer who typically counts himself as a fan. The over self-indulgence here is just too much, so much so that this can’t even count as a noble failure—it’s simply a disaster, and a waste of everyone’s time. It had better be back to simplicity and honest effort for this auteur, or else this misstep could signal a career that has reached its lovingly crafted denouement.

No Sudden Move

I have a sketchy history with Steven Soderbergh movies. I also have a sketchy history with crime caper movies, the kind that are convinced of how clever they are and think that you should be convinced of it, too. So what do you think happened when I watched this flick? Well, it wasn't all that bad, but you're not too far off. The bulk of the enjoyment here comes from watching veteran, professional actors like Don Cheadle and Benicio Del Toro playing off and against each other; they're fine, especially in the early segments of the film. But the plot eventually gets away from itself, becomes too convoluted, and then attempts a ham-handed effort at injecting a bit of socioeconomic commentary and muckracking into the tale, without that element really being part of the story from the start. It also doesn't help, either, that Soderbergh--despite or perhaps because of his reputation as an innovative filmmaker--seems unaware throughout the running time that his camera--possibly smartphone--created distortions of the image throughout the picture; a lot of the frames look like they were (unnecessarily) shot with a fish-eye lens. So despite some decent aspects of this movie, it mostly comes across as a muddle.

Star Wars: Episode VIII -- The Last Jedi

The previous installment was a very "green" movie: lots of recycling. This one's more along the "reuse" lines; elements we've seen before come back at us again, but with just enough turns to show different facets and seem like something (almost) new. The viewer can even believe that something truly surprising is about to happen at more than one point in the proceedings, though it never really works out that way. And if the twist of the climactic scene is telegraphed...well, it's still a good bit of work anyway. You can say that very thing about this whole film: it's very strong conceptually, the execution is nearly flawless, and--most importantly--it is immensely entertaining throughout. Forceful indeed.

Licence to Kill

A reaffirmation: Dalton was doomed from the start. After watching this movie, one wonders what a third Timothy Dalton-James Bond movie would have been like. Hell, this one barely feels like a Bond movie: again the tone is grim; there isn’t even the traditional Cold War context to the story (this one is all about Bond’s personal vendetta against a Latin American drug dealer); and, most baffling of all, the production values took a steep nose dive for some reason. Watching this movie feels a lot more like tuning in to a TV movie rather than a big screen outing in filmdom’s most durable franchise. This film seems cheap, unimaginative, and joyless. Whatever one thinks of Dalton as Bond, all of these problems couldn’t have been all his fault. However it happened, bringing in fresh blood--for both the outlook and the character--was a dire necessity by this point.

Swimming With Sharks

A wildly inconsistent movie, to say the least. Moments of outright hilarity give way to deep drama in roller coaster fashion, and the swings come across as too violent. The principal actors, Kevin Spacey and Frank Whaley, playing the psychotic boss and terrorized underling respectively, give good performances. But the pitch is too steep, and the ending just doesn't ring particularly true. Probably not worth it.

Traffic

Tough to watch, thanks to the fact that this film is about total wretchedness and the cancerous evil that inhabits the soul of a nation (and that nation is not Mexico, kiddos). The extensive cast gives good performances, but Soderbergh's directorial gimmickry--tinted lighting, grainy textures, self-conscious editing--considerably detracts from the overall movie.

Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas

Tough to screw up one of the best books of the latter half of the twentieth century, but they did it. Everything is just a little bit off here; Hunter S. Thompson's weird behavior--which comes off as hip counterculturalism in the book--just looks like pointless stupidity here. A disappointment.

The Usual Suspects

A movie that set the tone for a generation of crime flicks to come. Cool, funny, smart, and steeped in good performances. You hardly need any advice from me on this one, just a reminder that you're not hip if you haven't seen this film.