HAPPY 12TH BIRTHDAY TO SAVAGE CINEMA!!!

 

Thank you, everyone! Honestly, graciously, thank you!!! 

It was 12 years ago on this date, as I was visiting my parents on a holiday visit, when Savage Cinema was born. I was sitting in their basement at their computer feeling absolutely terrified to hit the "PUBLISH" button for the very first time, wondering if this pursuit would be worth the trouble, if anyone would care, or even if I would let myself down in some way, because really, the world does not need even one more person to pine about the movies and there way no way I could ever reach the levels to which I aspired, which were my heroes, the late, great Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert.

I am a person who can talk myself out of anything and everything if given the room to just overthink and convince myself that my dreams are not worth following. This is a long standing issue with me and my brain and and hitting that "PUBLISH" button...as I think of those moments, I am just sadly sigh because I am imagining what I would have lost had my brain convinced me. I remember just sitting there, mentally at war with myself, telling myself that I could not accomplish this feat so, why even try? No one will care at all, so why even try? Who cares what I think, so why even try? And so on...

Somehow, some way and I really do not know how, I did indeed hit "PUBLISH" that very first time and that first time has led me to this moment in time after which 12 years of work has been written and still exists in its entirety right here upon this blogsite. T his is entirely where YOU come in because if none of YOU out there ever read, responded, and encouraged me to write another posting, Savage Cinema would have ended long before it ever had the chance to get started. My appreciation for YOU is endless for without YOU, I could not have encouraged myself to just keep going.  

I am not one to really take time to celebrate my own accomplishments. Partially because I just keep moving onto the next task and partially because my brain just continuously tries to downplay said accomplishments all the while telling me that there is always someone better. My brain is so often not very nice to me. 

And still, my brain is very patient, and therefore, encouraging because somewhere inside, something keeps telling me to just try again. This has been most evident over these last two years as COVID has so drastically disrupted the movie industry and therefore, my writing and even further, my motivation to even try as life and mental/emotional fatigue have overshadowed inspiration. 

Lately, I have found myself venturing out to the movies more frequently and in this past week, I have written three new pieces and a fourth is being composed as well. Now, even though there has been a new flurry of activity, I am not going to get ahead of myself and firmly announce that everything is back on track. I need to allow myself to think of this as a continuing work in progress...and really, that IS what Savage Cinema is as it is a representation of...ME. 

Thank YOU all for being there. For being positive and always sticking firm to the mission of this blogsite to keep Savage Cinema a place of positivity as the internet and social media have grown even darker over these last 12 years. Thank YOU all for just taking the time to read anything that I have written, especially as we are all inundated with all manner of this and that vying for our attention. 

Thank YOU all for just believing in me because it all helps me to believe in myself.

And now...onto the next one...

FAULTY UPGRADE: a review of "The Matrix: Resurrections"

 

"THE MATRIX: RESURRECTIONS"
Based upon characters and situations created by The Wachowskis
Screenplay Written by Lana Wachowski & David Mitchell & Aleksandar Hemon 
Directed by Lana Wachowski
** (two stars)
RATED R

Maybe I should not have taken the red pill this time...

In this current age of sequels, prequels, reboots, reimaginings and so on, I suppose it was only a matter of time before audiences were given an opportunity to return to The Matrix, and as with most of the retreads that are flowing in our direction, I was housed with a mixture of fatigue and curiosity. As envisioned by the Wachowskis, the bracing, game changing "The Matrix" (1999) and its two sequels "The Matrix: Reloaded" (2003) and "The Matrix: Revolutions" (2003), weaved a heady plot about humanity enslaved by machines within a virtual reality system while in reality being utilized as a power source and the band of freedom fighters, led by a potential messiah figure named Neo, determine to defeat the machines and reclaim our humanity. 

It was psychedelic cyperpunk merged with classic mythology, anime, philosophy, religion and spirituality, S&M fetishes, martial arts, machine gun ultraviolence, and even a love story all filtered through deliriously staged action and fight sequences plus bar raising special effects. Much like the first film's main character as portrayed by Keanu Reeves, we were all jet propelled into a wildly terrifying new cinematic universe that served as a warning about our reliance and continuous immersion into technology at the expense of our human interconnectivity. While it is easy to say that we did not necessarily need a new installment, especially after the series felt to reach a natural (if slightly open ended) conclusion, there is something to be said about how the Wachowskis' story could be revisited, especially as we witness how our societal relationship to technology has deepened profoundly in the 18 years since the third film. 

While it has its moments as well as a promising beginning third or so, Lana Wachowski's "The Matrix:  Resurrections," the fourth chapter in the series feels more like an addendum at best and an anti-climactic afterthought at worst. It is not a bad film but it is also not a particularly good one either as it contains quite a number of good ideas which never feel as thoroughly conceptualized as the previous three installments. And for a series that has always prided itself on attempting to wield a white knuckle approach to the proceedings, this new film feels more than a little sleepy by comparison with action sequences that just do not pop and a visual presentation, while glowing with color, feels more than a little artificial, making it at times difficult to buy the fantasy. That being said, at least "The Matrix: Resurrections" feels like an honest film and not a cynical cash grab. Even so, maybe I needed to just take the blue pill and I can have the original trilogy untainted by this lackluster effort.

Picking up six decades after the events of the trilogy, which found Neo (Keanu Reeves) sacrificing  himself to essentially forge a peace treaty between humans and machines, Lana Wachowski's "The Matrix: Resurrections" finds Neo as his original alter ego Thomas Anderson as the developer of a successful video game company basking in the success of a trilogy of games entitled "The Matrix," based upon Anderson's dreams or in actuality, his faint memories. Struggling with his sanity, Thomas Anderson habitually seeks the counsel of his therapist (Neil Patrick Harris) who keeps Anderson under the haze of a steady stream of blue pills, although Anderson desperately wished for answers to the source of his fragmented dreams.   

Meanwhile, and just as before, all is not what it seems as a new generation of freedom fighters from the Matrix, as led by Bugs (Jessica Henwick) and a new version of Morpheus (Yahya Abdul-Mateen II), are on the hunt for the believed to be alive Neo as well as Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss), who perished at the end of the Machine War but miraculously exists as Tiffany, the motorcycle riding married Mother of three children in San Francisco. 

Once the rebels locate Anderson and he accepts the red pill, once again opening his mind to the realities of the Matrix, its evolution and newfound dangers, including a revamped Agent Smith (Jonathan Groff), the resurrected Neo re-emerges to discern reality from illusion and potentially save Trinity as he submerges himself deep within the Matrix all over again.         

Lana Wachowski's "The Matrix: Resurrections" is earnest, affectionate, well intentioned and seemingly heartfelt as there does not feel to be anything remotely mercenary about this venture as it reaches its fourth chapter. In a way, it feels almost lighter in tone than the previous three films. More playful, less urgent and definitely, self-reflexive in a way the original trilogy was not, giving this fourth installment a new level to explore, especially regarding the nature of sequels. 

Throughout the film, we are given snatches of moments and sequences from the original trilogy as played out as flashes of Thomas Anderson's dreams/memories/flashbacks sometimes playing right alongside the new material, each side commenting upon the other. At times, the technique works well as it allows Wachowski to update us upon characters and events from the first films while circumventing lazy fan service based nostalgia by weaving everything directly intro the narrative as machine based deja vu, which is itself a clever jab at the current Hollywood based machine made culture surrounding the preponderance of recycled material at the expense of anything original. Other times, the technique fails as it does nothing else but to remind us about how much better the first films actually were, including the severe lack of having Laurence Fishburne as Morpheus this time around (which is not a slight upon Yahya Abdul-Mateen II's efforts but honestly, he is no Fishburne). 

By now, the pop cultural narrative remains that "The Matrix" is brilliant while the two immediately subsequent films fall far short, a viewpoint I whole heartedly disagree with as all three wove a complete narrative in the three distinct phases of birth-life-death, were consistently innovative (even if exhausting by the third film) and with action sequences that remain some of the best I have ever seen--the freeway sequence in the second film for my money is in the exact same league as the truck chase in Steven Spielberg's "Raiders Of The Lost Ark" (1981) or the apocalyptic white line nightmares of George Miller's "The Road Warrior" (1981) and "Mad Max: Fury Road" (2015).  

With a bar set so highly, and three times over, no less, anything that doesn't reach a similar height is more than noticeable. The action sequences that made our mouths drop to the ground over and over again are nowhere to be found this time around. The fights all feel like retreads and they way they are all filmed feel shoddy and choppy as opposed to the narrative and visual elegance of the original films. In fact, here's something to chew upon: the downright explosive and dazzling, flat out insane fights of Keanu Reeves' own "John Wick" (2014/2017/2019) series far eclipse anything that can be seen in "The Matrix: Resurrections" and if the original pre-pandemic plans had come to pass--where the upcoming "John Wick 4" and this new "Matrix" would have been released upon the same day--Wick would eat Neo for breakfast without breaking a sweat.

Also, as visually striking as the original films were and remain, there was a gritty, film noir atmosphere which for "The Matrix: Resurrections" has been replaced with a glorious sheen where colors practically dance on the screen yet everything, including the special effects, feel air brushed within an inch of its life, making the presentation look shockingly cheap at times. Perhaps, this aesthetic was purposeful, in order to give Lana Wachowski the benefit of the doubt as well as considering the self-reflexive (yet increasingly muddled) nature of the narrative. Maybe she is offering another commentary upon the nature of sequels as they typically grow brighter but emptier as more installment arrive? I don't know. But, I do know that I felt less immersed and more aware of the overall artifice which kept me from embracing as I had done three times over in the past.

All of that being said, there were elements I enjoyed including the very warm presence of Jessica Henwick as Bugs, the audience surrogate this time around. But most importantly, the love story between Neo and Trinity as portrayed by Reeves and Carrie-Anne Moss, still possesses a certain pull as the two re-ignite their considerable chemistry with ease and newfound layers of loss, tenderness and melancholy which at least, gives the film an emotional level to cling to. 

Even better is Keanu Reeves himself, who strikes some considerably stirring notes as Thomas Anderson rather than Neo. The earlier sequences in the film, with Anderson downing one blue pill after another, hands shaking in his therapist's office, or silently crying while sitting in his bathtub struck me purely and made me wonder if possibly the film was working as an allegory for surviving depression and trauma, because frankly, this character has undergone considerable trauma and then some, making the blurred lines of reality and delusion more precarious. If only Wachowski had followed this thread with a greater commitment, we would have had a greater emotional anchor to rely upon and give some gravity to a film that unfortunately grows increasingly goofy the longer it plays. 

That is the general nature of a sequel, isn't it. Something that just doesn't live up to what has come before. In fact, it is all in the film itself as just like Neo, who wants to take flight again, Lana Wachowski's "The Matrix: Resurrections" cannot get off the ground.

DEAF EARS: a review of "Don't Look Up"

 

"DON'T LOOK UP"
Story by Adam McKay & David Sirota
Screenplay Written and Directed by Adam McKay
***1/2 (three and a half stars)
RATED R

"The dark is far as eyes can see
It's raining ashes
We've reached the end of history
Here come the ashes

It's raining ashes
Falling on deaf ears..."
-"Deaf Ears"
music and lyrics by Todd Rundgren, Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross

Does the sting of satire lose its venom when simultaneously living through the reality the art is satirizing? Is there a point when the satire is just too close to mirror and therefore mine for humor?

Please just take a moment and think about where we are as a society at this point in the 21st century, regarding race relations and equity, regarding economic disparity, regarding voting rights and our rapidly disappearing democracy, rampant sexism and the rapidly disappearing right for any Woman to choose for herself what she would or would not do regarding her own body, and for that matter, the death of nuance and perspective in the process of critical thinking in favor of the exclusivity of binary so-called choices and the polarization of truth, facts and reality itself. 

Now, let's add into that cauldron the gun violence epidemic, climate change and our on-going global pandemic which has already taken the lives of over 800,000 Americans and still, there are those who refuse to think beyond themselves and wear a mask, get a vaccine, or just acknowledge (again) the dire reality in which we are all co-existing in favor of some individualized frontier fantasy, all of the while howling about "FREEDOM!!"  

The feelings that I have regarding this societal spiritual decay, this lack of understanding towards the clear interconnectivity of all living things on this ONE planet of ours range from despair to fury, especially when so much of what I see is apathy. 

And so, here we are with "Don't Look Up," Writer/Director Adam McKay's satire of global extinction being regarded with indifference and my reaction was slightly peculiar. It is a strong film. McKay has delivered an impassioned plea, one that is resoundingly depressing to experience. I rarely laughed or even found much humor in material to which I can easily point to the very real thing on every single news broadcast and channel in the real world. Still, I cannot understate how effective of a film it actually is and perhaps it is the finest film of his more socio-political driven material, worlds away from the loony yet messy "Anchorman: The Legend Of Run Burgundy" (2004), "Talladega Night: The Ballad Of Rocky Bobby" (2006), "Step Brothers" (2008) and "The Other Guys" (2010). Adam McKay's "Don't Look Up" certainly has much to say or for that matter, even scream about. But when we are screaming along with it, and to each other, is there still purpose?

"Don't Look Up" stars Jennifer Lawrence as Kate Dibiasky, a Michigan State University grad student in Astronomy, who discovers a previously unidentified object approaching Earth. She and her Professor, Dr. Randall Mindy (Leonardo DiCaprio) soon determine the object is a comet ("Larger than the size of the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs!!" Kate exclaims at one point), and is on a direct collision course with Earth, causing a complete extinction event in six months. 

After joining forces with Planetary Defense Coordination Office head Dr. Teddy Oglethorpe (Rob Morgan), the three Scientists soon attain the ear of President Janie Orlean (Meryl Streep) and her son, Chief of Staff Jason Orlean (Jonah Hill), who each in reaction to the cataclysmic news is a shrug filled response that the United States government will not spring into action to save humanity (since what good will it do for the President with the upcoming midterm elections since she's got it in the bag anyway?) but will "sit tight and assess."

Dismayed by the apathy but undaunted with the need to reveal the truth to the world, Dr. Oglethorpe suggests that they each leak their findings to news outlets. Dr. Mindy and Kate undertake a media tour, most notably leading them to the vapid morning show juggernaut "The Daily Rip," hosted by the inane Brie Evantee (Cate Blanchett) and Jack Bremmer (Tyler Perry), a program whose leading story, such as it is, is not the oncoming comet but the break up of pop star Riley Bina (Ariana Grande) and her cheating boyfriend DJ Chello (Scott Mescudi). While on the program, the severity of the news being met with one innocuous joke after another, Kate unleashes her fury and terror and immediately becomes a target for mockery on live television and internet memes...while the anxiety ridden yet comparatively more composed Dr. Mindy becomes a media darling...and the object of Brie Evantee's lusty desires, leading to an affair.

As a surprise sex scandal threatens to upend President Orlean's midterm hopes, the White House agenda just as suddenly shifts its focus to destroying the comet, of course as a means of distraction, via a Michael Bay a la "Armageddon" (1998) styled plan of sending a racist mercenary (i.e. "war hero") into space to blow up the comet before it hits Earth. But...what if...we abandon that mission and let that comet hit the Earth, so the United  States could mine the comet's remains for rare minerals, thus promising more riches for the richest and giving those at the bottom of the economic ladder hope for those "comet paying jobs"?   

And as Dr. Mindy and Kate continue to announce their findings and warnings, the world, by comparison is caught in the net of whims as dictated by political top donors, including Peter Isherwell (Mark Rylance), a billionaire tech guru and the politicized denial that the comet even exists. 

But...the comet is coming, time is running out, and...meh.

So often when I think of satire, I suppose that I envision something, that even if the material is in close proximity to the object it is satirizing, there is an aspect that feels askew, that "through the looking glass approach" that makes the proceedings feel like a funhouse mirror of absurdity while the humor bares its teeth. Certainly, Stanley Kubrick's "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb" (1964) remains the dark hearted pinnacle yet more recent examples, including Oliver Stone's "Natural Born Killers" (1994), Writer/Producer/Actor John Cusack and Director Joshua Seftel's "War, Inc" (2008), Spike Lee's "Chi-Raq" (2015) and especially Mike Judge's "Idiocracy" (2006) are all rapacious with the targets of their ire while each feeling not quite of this Earth. 

By contrast, Adam McKay's "Don't Look Up" feels more like a documentary and in doing so, is a deeply frustrating experience. Now, this is not the fault of McKay or a commentary of how successful he is or isn't regarding his satirical brand. This is an extremely well made film, filled with intent, purpose, creativity and passion. I am, however, describing how the film made me feel ultimately, and I honestly did not find much of it to being terribly "funny." 

Yes, this is absurdist comedy but this film felt more like nightmare comedy, where no one is subscribing to the doom laden reality that you are seeing and there is nothing you can do about it. And we are seeing this film as we are all existing through a very real and exceedingly unfunny nightmare. If the situation in the film played out in reality, we know that what transpires would essentially occur in real life...and we know this because it is happening as we speak, regarding climate change, regarding impending fascism, regarding the pandemic.  

Both Leonardo DiCaprio and crucially Jennifer Lawrence (the sexism her character endures from end to end of this film is rightfully infuriating) are each terrific in their roles, showcasing their trademark sense of commitment and intensity, for they are indeed any of us looking at the world in which we live in reality and are standing in horror every day at the indifference and the inhumanity we are inflicting upon ourselves.

In defense of the film, much of the criticism launched against it has been exceedingly harsh. Some have proclaimed it heavy handed but honestly, when we have lived through a year of COVID-19 under the leadership of a President who lied, denied and even instructed the public to literally drink bleach, while a complacent political party and news outlets signed on, this is not a time for subtlety. When we live in a time when radicalized domestic terrorists try to storm our nation's Capitol to overturn a legal and fair Presidential election and political figures attempt to reframe that day as being nothing more then akin to tourists having a picnic, this is not a time for subtlety. When Science, logic, reason, reality and empirical facts are waved away in favor of "alternative facts," this is not a time for subtlety. 

Adam McKay's anger is righteous, raw and real and while "Don't Look Up" makes it very easy for us to connect the dots between the fictional characters and their real world counterparts, there is an aspect where I wondered just who is this film for? 

Another criticism I  have seen lobbied against this film is that is a smug experience, where Adam McKay has enlisted his famous friends for a diatribe designed to exclaim how smart he is and how  dumb everyone else is. Well...I can see how some might come to that conclusion yet again, I do feel that "Don't Look Up" is a more earnestly delivered film from McKay than "The Big Short" (2015), which I felt to be overrated and a bit too in love with its own cleverness. 

Even so, with our culture as polarized as it is, where people are unwilling to listen to anything outside of their own viewpoints, why would anyone who feels that Hollywood is filled with elitists who are out of touch with reality even see this film at all? Perhaps these are the very people who would benefit this experience most, for maybe a pseudo-fictional narrative would be a great conduit to explore our real world. As it stands, the people who would choose to see it are most likely those who already agree with McKay and so, are we all just spitting into the wind?

Still, Adam McKay's "Don't Look Up" possesses a power and hold that does eat at you and it feels as if it was conceived to shake us out of our collective doldrums. But, do we even wish to wake up?

THREE IS THE MAGIC NUMBER: a review of "Spider-Man: No Way Home"

"SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME"
Based upon the Marvel Comics character created by Stan Lee & Steve Ditko
Screenplay Written by Chris McKenna & Erik Sommers
Directed by Jon Watts
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 13

"THAT'S how you make the movie!!!! THAT'S how you make the movie!! You do it like THAT!!!"

I practically shouted those words at full volume in the movie theater at the conclusion of Sam Raimi's "Spider-Man 2" (2004), a wondrous, dazzling experience richly filled with genuine excitement, pathos, and heart pounding romance, making it simultaneously a rarity in the comic book film genre while raising the bar for the genre as a whole. What Raimi achieved for my sense and sensibilities, was a film that harkened back to the quality of the big budget escapist films I grew up with during the late 1970's and the 1980's, when at their finest the stories were first and foremost, filtered through a collective of actors committed enough to make the most fantastical live and breathe purely and, most  importantly, the special effects were a tool and decidedly not the engine for the enterprise. Raimi's "Spider-Man 2" was up to the minute in 2004 yet it almost felt like a throwback due to its utter lack of cynicism or any potential mercenary qualities of the type when you just know the filmmakers are treating you the viewer as product and not deserving of sharp, smartly executed entertainment. 

Sam Raimi's film was a jewel during a period when superhero/comic book movies were not omnipresent and the ones that did arrive were usually not terribly good. Flash forward seventeen years to the present where superhero/comic book movies are omnipresent, the film industry, at last, having devised as to how these types of films can be made. Whether so many of these types of should be made with such breakneck frequency, especially at the expense of nearly any other types of movies that could be made, is an entirely different subject. But if you have been frequent visitors to this blogsite over the past decade, you will already know and understand my own sense of superhero fatigue. 

With regards to our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, all of the sequels and reboots have almost exhausted me, yet none, save for Sam Raimi's overstuffed, chaotic mess that was "Spider-Man 3" (2007), have disappointed me. Surprisingly, just as I was about to throw up my hands with the notion of another Spider-Man anything, the character, as so winningly portrayed by Tom Holland, has been my absolute favorite incarnation of the character since he officially joined the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU). Yes, for all of this time and even with the terrific heights scaled in Jon Watts' "Spider-Man:  Homecoming" (2017) and "Spider-Man: Far From Home" (2019), Sam Raimi's "Spider-Man 2" was the gold standard.

Until now.

Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home," the third solo entry in our hero's MCU adventures and 27th film in the ever expanding MCU overall, is superlative, spectacular, sensational entertainment. Grabbing the brass ring as previously attained by Ryan Coogler's "Black Panther" (2018) and Anthony and Joe Russo's "Avengers: Infinity War" (2018) and "Avengers: Endgame" (2019), the film is overflowing with storytelling invention and ingenuity, fueled by a narrative that honors fan driven nostalgia with dignity while also pushing our character into deeply uncharted territory, as foretold by the film's own title. Kaleidoscopic in scope yet never losing sight of the heart, soul and core of the characters, Jon Watts delivered a work that is downright sparkling for certain but most importantly, one that carries a profoundly effective emotional weight and resonance. As previously stated, for me, out of all of the Spider-Man cinematic adventures, for so many years, Sam Raimi's "Spider-Man 2" was the very best. Jon Watts' outstanding "Spider-Man: No Way Home" is even better.

Opening at the precise cliffhanger moment which concluded the previous installment, Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home" finds Peter Parker (Tom Holland) reeling from the shock that not only has his secret identity as Spider-Man been revealed to the world but he has also been framed for the death of Quentin Beck a.k.a. Mysterio (Jake Gyllenhaal) with blowhard...ahem..."newsman" J. Jonah Jameson (J.K. Simmons) loudly calling for his head.

Now shouldered with the now constant invasive and unwanted attention which threatens to continuously upend his life, including his hoped for acceptance into M.I.T. alongside his best friend Ned Stacy (Jacob Batalan) and new girlfriend MJ Jones-Watson (Zendaya), Peter Parker pays a visit to his neighborhood superhero colleague Dr. Stephen Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) with a request: devise a magic spell in which the world can forget he is Spider-Man. But, wait...except for Ned...but uh..wait again... except for MJ...and what about Aunt May (Marisa Tomei)?       

The fallout from this request and the interference into a dangerous magic spell, opens a rift within the Multiverse, making for an adventure even more fraught with dire consequences of the intimate and epic, threatening to leave Peter Parker in a world forever changed once more.  

In the history of this blogsite, never have I revealed spoilers and I will continue that promise at this time, even though--and even after the film has existed in the world for only one week, at that--essentially ALL of the secrets have been released through a variety of sources including the folks at Marvel Studios. Regardless, I will not pretend that everyone interested in seeing the film has seen it just yet and I will do my very best to speak about my reaction without ruining any surprises. 

What I can announce initially is that from its opening moments, Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home" immediately takes flight. It had me firmly from the moment Spider-Man and MJ soared through the New York skyline with Talking Heads' propulsive "I Zimbra" pushing them along valiantly and the experience built upwards from that point, never letting up for a moment. As we have come to expect from a Marvel film, Watts has delivered a ravishing looking production, crisply written, directed and performed by the entire cast top to bottom.

Shifting to the cinematic universe populated by the characters and situations of DC Comics for a moment, earlier this year, I undertook the experience of watching "Zack Snyder's Justice League," the four hour Director's Cut of the original 2017 theatrical version as completed by Director Joss Whedon, and direct sequel to Snyder's "Man Of Steel" (2013) and "Batman v Superman: Dawn Of Justice" (2016). It too was a resplendent production but as with Snyder's earlier entries, it was also a bombastic, bludgeoning one. An experience that was humorless, joyless and so pretentiously in love with its own magnanimous scope. Certainly, it was clear that Snyder definitely created exactly what he wanted to make and I cannot fault him at all for following his artistic vision. That being said, and despite some good sequences and performances, it again showcased everything wrong with comic book movies and definitely confirmed Martin Scorsese's commentary that movies of this sort aren't even movies but theme park rides.  

Unlike that film, where every solution to a problem involves endless pummeling, carnage and destruction with a complete lack of consequence, I praise the Marvel films for their commitment to  always strive to find the underlying humanity of their stories and characters. I understand that Zack Snyder is purposefully attempting to realize a certain Wagnerian spirit to the proceedings, treating these characters as modern version of the Greek and Norse myths. But a little of that goes a long way yet Snyder never seems to know when enough is enough and by the end, I simply do not care a whit about what happens to anyone.  

For all of the impossible otherworldly content, consequences and humanity sit at the heart and soul of every single Marvel film, so much so that we connect not to the superhero incarnation but to their overall humanity. That is why we think of Tony Stark rather than Iron Man or Steve Rogers rather than Captain America and so on. Additionally, I have thoroughly enjoyed how events these characters experience only continue to reverberate from film to film. Nothing is forgotten or waved away, ad i doing so, the characters only continue to develop over time ensuring nothing remains emotionally static. 

As far as I am concerned, Marvel has unveiled one tremendously successful year of new content that has expanded the post Thanos world of the MCU with purpose and the very humanity that has endeared audiences to these movies so passionately. With Matt Shakman's "WandaVision," Kari Skogland's "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier," Kate Herron's "Loki" and Rhys Thomas and Bert & Bertie's "Hawkeye" for television and Destin Daniel Cretton's "Shang-Chi and the Legend Of The Ten Rings" for movie theaters, we are given the socio political, economic and even cosmic consequences of a universe readjusting to life and living post Thanos. We are also given the first shock waves of the splintering Multiverse and the fabric of time itself. But what pulsates most vibrantly is the human conflict as our characters struggle with grief and mourning, family conflicts, racial politics, deep regret and whether one is worthy of redemption regardless of how deeply one wishes for it, and finally, what is it that makes a hero and it is ever possible to live up to those qualities.

With Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home," nearly all of those qualities are explored and examined with urgency and honesty. Yes, Watts continues to utilize his screwball comedy styled light touch but he has also raised the conceptual stakes for all of the characters as well as his own bar cinematically. It would certainly have been easy enough to give Spider-Man a new solo adventure that crackled and popped and be done with it. But, wisely Watts understands that in order for us to care, for us to want to take another ride that was worthwhile, simply being entertaining would not be enough. Watts accomplishes this feat due to the plot which does indeed include the Multiverse to a more explicit degree than seen before, yet that plot point is then utilized to plunge even deeper into the humanity of Peter Parker, his family, friends and even his enemies.  

With his triumvirate of Peter, Ned and MJ, which always felt to echo John Hughes' trio of Ferris Bueller, Cameron Frye and Sloan Peterson, Watts has now deepened their bond with great emotion, this time echoing something much closer to J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger on the hunt for Horcruxes as their circumstances have grown that much more dire, making their friendship and reliance upon each other more crucial. Aunt May is allowed to display previously unseen and deeper layers to convey a stirring moral fiber to great poignancy. And while I will neither confirm or deny the appearances of a collective of characters rumored to arrive within the film, I will say that everything that could have been simply been delivered as empty fan service, again has been superbly conceived, written and performed, ensuring that every character possesses a full purpose.

As previously stated, Jon Watts has more than performed his due diligence with realizing a new Spider-Man film that not only extends the narrative of our titular hero and the MCU overall but it is so much greater and exceedingly more profound and moving that it had any right to being. The larger themes of guilt, redemption, fate, destiny, purpose, consequences and what it means to be a hero or a villain, and are those titles more malleable than given credit for are all played out in an intimate fashion with an epic backdrop. Watts has even allowed his film the even grander opportunity to re-contextualize the Sam Raimi trilogy as well as the two unfairly maligned films from Director Marc Webb--"The Amazing Spider-Man" (2012) and "The Amazing  Spider-Man 2" (2014). And still, with all of those conceptual spinning plates in the air, not even one of them falls to the ground for Watts' strict focus to the humanity of the story and characters made for a film that was surprisingly stirring and truthfully, I would even challenge Martin Scorsese himself to see if he could keep his eyes dry throughout.   

A melancholic heart exists at the core of the entirety of Marvel Comics as our heroes and villains all shoulder considerable psychological baggage and damage and Peter Parker is of no exception, especially so as he still is a teenager. Without delving into spoilers, a line from David Bowie's seminal, iconic song "Changes" echoed in my brain often as I watched "Spider-Man: No Way Home," and it is as follows: 

"So I turned myself to face me." 

The level of self-analysis seen within "Spider-Man: No Way Home" exists to an unprecedented degree for a Spider-Man movie and in doing so, it is one that I found to be supremely soulful. I can think of perhaps four sequences in the film when Watts dials the pyrotechnics way down and allows the words, characters and emotions rise honestly, patiently, carefully and richly...and for me, tears absolutely flowed. 

I have never seen Peter Parker as thoroughly as depicted here and Tom Holland reveals such grace, depth and vulnerability as he has never had to burrow as deeply in this role previously and he is equal to every moment given to him. By undergoing multi-levels of self exploration, so to speak, Peter Parker is ultimately led to achingly painful depths, losses and emerging more alone in the world than ever...which in turn makes for a riskier, most unpredictable future for the character and upcoming films.

We are really entering exciting times in the MCU based upon what has been released and revealed this year. Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home" is the fulfillment of promises made and challenges met as it represents Marvel at their absolute finest. For it is not about the costumes, the special effects and the excited set pieces as well crafted as they are. At their best is when Marvel focuses upon the people inside the costumes and capes, underneath the masks, the ones who wield the shields, hammers and powers as they all wrestle with the responsibilities given, mistakes made, defeats endured and how to rise again. 

Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home" rises exceedingly high.  

GHOST STORIES: THE SAVAGE CINEMA TRIBUTE TO "THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE"

 

"THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE"
Based upon The Haunting Of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
Created and Directed by Mike Flanagan
10 Episodes
Released October 12, 2018

Many years ago, I found myself involved in a very funny yet quite provocative conversation with a roomful of school aged children and my co-teacher at the time. The conversation delved into monsters and the supernatural as the children asked my co-teacher if she was afraid of anything. She thought for a moment and soon answered without even a modicum of humor, "Zombies."

Perplexed, I gently questioned, "Zombies?"
"The fast ones," she clarified. "Not the really slow ones," she said, again revealed without any stitch of humor.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" one of the children asked her.
"No, not at all," she replied.
"How about you, Scott?" one of the children asked of me. "Do you believe in ghosts?"
I found myself actually having to think seriously about that question for a moment before answering, "I don't think so...but...I don't like to rule anything out."

The reason behind this particular preamble will become clearer by the conclusion of this posting and I believe that it will arrive surrounded by a greater seriousness than the tenor of this opening. For any of you who have ever been regular visitors to this site, and to the wholly uninitiated, please allow me to divulge my feeling concerning the horror genre in film. It is a genre that I tend to give a wide berth as it is a one that I typically find unenjoyable, from its rampant, repugnant sexism to its equally rampant, repugnant gore both of which revel in a certain sadistic cruelty that firmly runs against my sensibilities. Yes, indeed there are quite a number of horror films that I have seen, enjoyed and have even loved. That being said, I keep my distance as the sensation of willingly placing myself into a state of fear is not a form of entertainment in which I take pleasure. 

And yet, and as I have alluded, there are always exceptions. 

Entirely based upon an exuberant recommendation, I took the plunge into the Netflix series "The Haunting Of Hill House," based upon the novel by Shirley Jackson and created and directed in its entirety by Mike Flanagan, who seriously impressed me with the intoxicating, somnambulant dread of "Doctor Sleep" (2019), his adaptation of the Stephen King novel and serves as a direct sequel to, of all things, Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" (1980), itself widely regarded as one of the greatest horror films ever made, an assessment to which I firmly agree. 

Seeing as I do keep my distance from the horror genre, I honestly had no idea of the existence of this series, let alone it pedigree. I simply dove in due to my friend's recommendation and nothing more, for what else would I have really needed? I watched the entire series in less than one week. What resulted for me was an experience in which the horror genre had been unquestionably and simultaneously revitalized, upended and even transcended, while upholding the aesthetics of the genre faithfully. 

As with my previous written tributes to the television series "Lost," "Freaks And Geeks," and "Breaking Bad," I am compelled to write this new tribute as Mike Flanagan's "The Haunting Of Hill House" is superlative television, scaling heights that uniformly surpass the qualities of many feature films, and definitely much of what makes up the horror genre. Flanagan has delivered a tale of pulpy, gothic horror with such high intelligence and elegance that is also stirringly and undeniably terrifying, as it is filled end to end within its 10 episodes with unforgettable sequences and images that burrow directly into your psyche and touch some extremely primal nerve endings. Yet, as genuinely disturbing as it is, what truly elevated the series for me was its strict adherence to the overall humanity of the story and the characters who populate it and in doing so, I found myself profoundly moved over and again and so beautifully by the series' aching conclusion. 

If you are like me and are very late to this particular party, as well as being just in time for Halloween, I more than enthusiastically urge you to do just as I did. Dive right in and undertake a superlative journey into the beautifully threatening darkened hallways, corners and forbidden rooms of "The Haunting Of Hill House."

Mike Flanagan's "The Haunting Of Hill House" weaves a darkly lustrous and non-linear tale set within two timelines both centered on the members of the Crain family. 

In 1992, we meet Hugh and Olivia Crain (played by Henry Thomas and Carla Gugino) and their five children; the oldest, Steven (Paxton Singleton), Shirley (Lulu Wilson), Theodora a.k.a. Theo (McKenna Grace) and the youngest, twins Luke (Julian Hilliard) and Nell (Violet McGraw), as they move into the Hill House mansion with the intent of renovating and re-selling, utilizing the profits to fund the creation of their own dream home, designed by Olivia.

While only planning to reside and renovate Hill House for the duration of one summer, plans go awry when the family is confronted with a series of  unexpected and continuous repairs by day and increasingly malevolent forces every night, from the proverbial bumps in the night to further manifestations, most notably, the horrifying presence of The Bent Neck Lady, who has seemingly targeted Nell. And finally, there is the mysterious presence of the Red Room, the one area in the mansion for which there is no key or any way of gaining entrance. 

The mounting terror within Hill House reaches its terrifying zenith on one fateful night when tragedy hits the Crain family, forcing the to escape from the mansion.

Flash forward to 2018 as the Crain family has become fractured. Against the wishes of his siblings  Steven (now played by Michiel Huisman) has become a famous author as he has capitalized upon his family's tragedy. Shirley (Elizabeth Reaser) is now a Mother to two small children and owns a mortuary alongside her husband Kevin (Anthony Ruivivar). Theo (Kate Siegel) is a child psychologist who lives in Shirley's guest house and constantly wears gloves in order to temper the psychic awareness that occurs when she touches other people. Luke (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) has become a drug addict and Nell (Victoria Pedretti), never having shaken the events of her time in Hill House, is still traumatized by vivid night terrors and sleep paralysis, which are gradually spilling over into her waking life. As for patriarch Hugh (Timothy Hutton), he is all but estranged from his children, who all still blame him for the family tragedy.  

When tragedy strikes for the second time, the Crain family is forced to reunite to face down the collective traumas of their pasts that are now playing out in their current lives, threatening to overtake them completely.

Without hyperbole, it must be stated right up front that Mike Flanagan's "The Haunting Of Hill House" is nothing short of tremendous. Exquisitely written, acted and directed, the series is a showcase for the high bar that can be reached within the framework of cinematic storytelling when all of the elements are symbiotic and everyone is working at the peak of their respective powers. The writing from Flanagan and his staff is impeccable, taking what could have easily existed as a collection of haunted house tropes, well worn clichés, and interchangeable, paper thin characters and have completely circumvented every conceivable conceptual pitfall by intricately interlacing a multilayered storyline and a tapestry of history for the characters themselves. 

Yes, the series is based upon a novel but I was overjoyed with how that novelistic approach was conducted in order to ensure the series contained a greater relevance that just being scary. There is a  musicality and poetry to the actual writing, from the various monologues certainly, but primarily from distinct lines and themes that repeat and therefore, work as echoes to each other through all 10 episodes. In this way, the series is very reminiscent of Stephen King's The Shining (1977) and especially, It (1986), a novel, which for me, felt to be a work about history and the nature of storytelling, while fueling the story of traumatized children returning to face down their demons as adults. Flanagan allows his series to veer in a series of directions via its non-linear narrative, flowing seamlessly from past to present, from character backstories to present day PTSD, all the while finding those gossamer threads that ensure every moment is essential to the entirety. And in doing so, not even one moment is wasted or remotely superfluous.

As previously stated, I remarked about the symbiotic nature of the writing, direction and performances. Flanagan who directed all 10 episodes, has cemented a signature rhythm, tone, atmosphere and flow to the proceedings, that may not have been as effective if the series has been helmed by a revolving directing team. The series does house an extremely complex narrative structure, so consistency is key while also allowing that signature guiding hand the freedom with playing with the visual storytelling when necessary.

Flanagan's style often reminded me of existing as somewhat of a hybrid between Stanley Kubrick, M. Night Shyamalan and Steven Spielberg. Regarding Spielberg, I felt this comparison most notably from Flanagan's clear gift with working with his child actors and eliciting superior performances from each and every one of them. Additionally, Flanagan's visual style clearly evokes the nature of childhood fears and nightmares, via several sequences throughout when the children--most often, Luke and Nell-- are indeed being taunted, threatened and even pursued by the ghosts that exist within the labyrinthine Hill House corridors. A fateful trip while trapped inside of a dumb waiter. Fitfully hiding from the creature that floats above the floor, who signals its approach by the foreboding tap of a cane against the ground. The repeated appearances from the aforementioned Bent Neck Lady. All of these and more provide the groundwork as well as clues to the larger narrative and ultimate revelations while being genuinely frightening every single time.    

Regarding Kubrick and Shyamalan, Mike Flanagan's directorial gifts are in greater evidence, especially during this period in cinematic storytelling when audiences are bombarded with all manner of CGI bombast, therefore making nuance and subtlety increasingly tools of the past. Flanagan's resplendently composed shots are often static or augmented by slowly elegant moves through the visual frame, allowing the tension, atmosphere and terrors unfold naturally. He places enough trust in the inherent drama and horror of the written material so he never has to force his hand through the aforementioned overkill of visual effects or ADD editing, bombastic music score cues and so on. Every jump scare is earned and never gratuitous. The violence is indeed gory but never descends into torture porn. And when he wishes to stretch his visual aesthetics, as in the stunning Episode 6 during which we receive several unedited long takes (the longest being a full 17 minutes), blending the past and the present even more luxuriously, it is entirely at the service of the story and characters, therefore making us feel as if we are watching live theater.

Mike Flanagan's gifts extend further and best with the team of actors, who themselves have been gifted with excellent writing and rich, three dimensional characters to portray. Like Quentin Tarantino, for instance, Flanagan feels to come from the school in which if one is to hire actors, then let them act! Give give them real characters to play, give them something to do!

The casting for this series is flawless. As far as I am concerned, if awards are ever given to Casting Directors and teams, then they should have bee been delivered to whomever cast "The Haunting Of Hill House," for this collection of actors actually looks as if they are actually related to each other! And further, they also truly appear as if they are the younger and adult versions of themselves so seamlessly. But aside from the their appearances, the performances from the full cast are sensational in their multi-layered qualities as representing the various stages of trauma, grief and familial disarray they are undertaking individually and collectively. 

What a surprise and pleasure to witness both Henry Thomas and Timothy Hutton as the young and older versions of patriarch Hugh Crain! Thomas, whom I really have not seen in anything this significant since his iconic performance in Steven Spielberg's eternal "E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial" (1982), gracefully conveys a loving gravitas as the almost Spelbergian Everyman, devoted to his family, yet gradually thrust into an experience where his life and sanity are upended. Hutton, cleanly picks up the baton, so to speak and so empathetically showcases the deep, unhealed physic scars of the character. And both Thomas and Hutton, work wonders with the outstanding Carla Gugino, who portrays Olivia Crain in both timelines.

Carla Gugino is an actress I have admired for a very long time and yet, in "The Haunting Of Hill House," Mike Flanagan has given her the opportunity to allow her to swing for the fences and it is clear that she has been so hungry for this chance as she knocks every conceptual ball completely over the fences every single time. I have never seen Gugino give a performance to this degree and she matches the myriad stages of the character beat for beat, moment for moment and within every psychological stage the character experiences. Nurturing and counseling, loving and alluring, focused and disoriented, terrified and terrifying, magnetic and malevolent, hopeful and tragic. She is absolutely marvelous!!!   

As the adult versions of Shirley and Theo Crain, respectively, Elizabeth Reaser and Kate Siegel are each thrilling, startling and shattering, absolutely nailing everything they are given from quick moments to epic monologues. And yet, it was both Victoria Pendretti and Oliver Jackson-Cohen as the doomed Nell and the drug addicted Luke, who so often nearly brought me to tears due to the sheer fragility of their characters. 

This quality extends even further to the supporting characters as, honestly, not one of them could ever be considered as being "minor." I loved Jordane Christie who shines so brightly as Nell's sleep technologist and eventual husband as their palpable chemistry showcases precisely what a healthy romantic relationship can look like, especially when one partner is suffering. Anna Enger as Joey, Luke friend in rehab, also made for a strikingly heartfelt presence. Even further are both Annabeth Gish and Robert Longstreet as Clara and Horace Dudley, the caretakers of Hill House who refuse to venture into the building once the sun sets. Longstreet, in particular, carries his dynamic extended monologue with such an unforced, patient, deliberately paced reveal of wrenching internal pain and psychological torment, that I was brought to tears. 

Note to casting agencies, as well as established and aspiring Writers and Directors, Mike Flanagan has delivered unto all of you a bounty of superb actors all ready to take on and deliver beyond any pre-conceived expectations. Yet, for you the viewer, you can partake in the depth and soulfulness allof these actors inject into these characters and the series as a whole. 

Truth be told, I found myself succumbing to tears quite often throughout "The Haunting Of Hill House," especially within its final episodes and its sobering, profoundly satisfying finale. This may be an odd reaction to have in what is indeed a horror series. But, for me, it was precisely that very quality that made the series fully transcend the constraints of the horror genre, as it is ripe to exist as so much more than it actually does. 

Returning to the opening of this posting, with my answer to my former students as to whether or not I believe in ghosts, after watching "The Haunting Of Hill House," I am inclined to reassess my feelings. There is a song by Pink Floyd from the album "The Final Cut" (released March 21, 1983) entitled "The Hero's Return," which features a set of lyrics that kept returning to the forefront of my mind as I watched this series. They are as follows: 

"Sweetheart, sweetheart, are you fast asleep?
Good
That's the only time that I can really speak to you
There is something that I've locked away
A memory that is too painful
To withstand the light of day"

With that in mind, I think I can safely say that I do believe in ghosts. I believe that every one of us co-exists with ghosts every single day for ghosts are our memories. Ghosts are our deepest thoughts, our innermost conversations with others via ourselves. Ghosts are our regrets. Ghosts are our worries, fears, our most horrific screaming meemie nightmares. Ghosts are our pasts that formulate our collective joys and psychological baggage as well as the futures that are forever unwritten even when we feel at our staunchest that everything upcoming is a set in stone done deal. And with that, to me, ghosts are as real as life itself.

This quality is the heart and soul of Mike Flanagan's "The Haunting Of Hill House" and what makes it  such a tremendous achievement as a self-contained series and within the horror genre itself. For me, so much of the horror genre is entirely about watching monsters kill and watching people in the process of being attacked, vivisected and then, dying. 

By contrast, "The Haunting Of Hill House," for all of its genuine terror, for all of its aching upset, for all of its beneath the skin disturbance, it is an experience, that is about and fully approximates what it means to live and the day by day process we each undertake as we all figure out how to keep living.

SAVAGE CINEMA: AN UPDATE

 

It has been a while, hasn't it?

Life during this time of COVID-19 has unquestionably done a number upon us in ways that we can all easily recognize as well as in ways that are indeed carry a larger subtlety. I have written about my own personal feelings a bit upon this site so I will refrain from delving into all of that once again. But, with the infrequency of Savage Cinema activity compared with life Before Covid (B.C. anyone?), I do feel that I need to address this more explicitly.

For quite some time, I would use the monthly openings as near apologies for the lack of postings due to the ongoing pandemic, which has certainly forced me to not frequent movie theaters until August on this year since February 2020. Yes, during lockdown, I did begin to subscribe to various streaming services and while they have provided me with copious amounts of content, I guess I have succumbed to feeling overwhelmed. And granted, it is a strange feeling, being a life long lover of the movies, having more than enough content to choose to watch at will and somehow not feeling the impetus to even select one, let alone watch and write about. Such is life during Covid. And I believe that all of you would understand as, it would not surprise me, that all of you are experiencing variations of this same ennui.

So many movies that I haven't seen and so many new features are forthcoming that I cannot wait to see. Yet, now, I have to simply accept that as life has changed, I have changed with it and so...Savage Cinema will change as well. 

Let me assure you, Savage Cinema is not ending. And nor for that matter will Synesthesia. That said, I am no longer going to make promises as to the frequency of future postings due to my increased work responsibilities as they are taking up so much of my time and energy that I would otherwise use for watching and writing. Postings will now arrive when they arrive. That is just the best that I can do right now.      

I hope to one day return to the movies in earnest and therefore, writing and releasing postings as I used to, for this communication means everything to me and I do not wish to stop...ever. Thank you all for being patent with me as well as understanding. 

We will be together again. I need to believe that. 

Until next time...

A SUPERHERO'S CODA: a review of "Black Widow"

"BLACK WIDOW"
Based upon characters and situations created by Marvel Comics
Story by Jac Schaeffer and Ned Benson
Screenplay Written by Eric Pearson
Directed by Cate Shortland
*** (three stars)
RATED PG 13 

Several years ago, when it was first announced that at long last, there would be a solo feature film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe starring the superspy Natasha Romanoff, otherwise known as Black Widow I have to admit that I was one of seriously mixed feelings.

Now, to get everything straight between myself and all of you, it had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with having a Marvel film centered around a female character. And to that end, it most certainly had nothing whatsoever to do with how the character had been portrayed by Scarlett Johansson. 

Over the course of 10 years and seven increasingly significant and finally, essential appearances throughout the ever growing Marvel saga, Scarlett Johansson continuously shaped what could have easily existed as a stereotypical (and sexist) female sidekick, emphasizing her looks and figure over the content of her character, and ultimately devised a hero whose empathy, pathos and gravitas carried equal weight to those of her compadres in Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) and Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), and her relationships with both Cliff Barton a.k.a. Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) and Bruce Banner (Mark Ruffalo) were crucial ones that did not solely exist to serve the male characters but to grow the backstory and inner world of Natasha Romanoff with regards to her emotional isolation and need for a sense of family, connection and home.

Natasha Romanoff more than deserved her own film without question. My hesitation stemmed from my long written about superhero movie fatigue combined with the fact that once her film was given the green light, the full knowledge of her character's fate as presented in Anthony and Joe Russo's "Avengers: Endgame" (2019) was widely known, therefore giving the prospect of such a film more than a bit of an anti-climactic feeling.  

And well...what a difference a global pandemic makes. 

Scheduled for release in 2020 yet shifted three times and finally, postponed entirely in the face of the COVID-19 pandemic, Director Cate Shortland's "Black Widow" is finally here and for me, I was actually more than ready, and even a bit excited, to see it. Perhaps the 18 month absence from the movie theaters played its part. Most certainly, the three outstanding Marvel television series--Creator Jac Schaeffer and Director Matt Shakman's "WandaVision" (2021), Creator Malcolm Spellman and Director Kari Skogland's "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" (2021) and Creator Michael Waldron and Director Kate Herron's "Loki" (2021)--more than played their parts. Yet, when all was said and done, "Black Widow" was a solid if straight down the middle Marvel experience. One that was satisfying overall but also one that did indeed house a certain share of feeling more like a placeholder, despite various elements that did provide a serious emotional resonance as well as a fitting farewell for our leading heroine.  

Positioned in between the events of Anthony and Joe Russo's "Captain America: Civil War" (2016) and "Avengers: Infinity War (2018)," Cate Shortland's "Black Widow" finds Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) on the run as a government fugitive for violating the Sokovia Accords, leaving some of her compatriots in the Avengers imprisoned, some working in full adherence to the Accords, ultimately fracturing apart the union the Avengers once had. 

After fleeing to a safehouse located in Norway, Natasha is pulled into a new adventure which directly links her current status as an Avenger to her past as a trained KGB assassin and even further, to her childhood, when she and her surrogate sister Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh, who nearly steals the movie) were delivered by their Russian secret agents and surrogate parents, the Alexei Shostakov a.k.a. the super serum enhanced Red Guardian (David Harbour) and Scientist/spy Melina Vostokoff (Rachel Weisz), to Russian General Dreykov (Ray Winstone), head of the Red Room, where stolen young girls are trained and brainwashed into becoming assassins. 

This personal crossroads propels Natasha into a globe trotting escapade involving reunions, new adversaries, including the formidable Taskmaster (Olga Kurylenko) and the opportunity to not only reclaim the family she had once lost but to potentially serve as an..ahem...avenging angel for the worldwide fleet of Black Widow assassins, all stolen and enslaved just as she was. 

In keeping with the Marvel Cinematic Universe aesthetic, Cate Shortland's "Black Widow" is a visually gripping installment, keeping itself firmly in line tonally with the 1970's style conspiracy format as developed in the Russo brothers' "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" (2014) as well the aforementioned "Captain America: Civil War" and "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier." 

Despite the grittier atmosphere, a strong opening sequence featuring Natasha and Yelena as children, an and especially harrowing opening credit sequence, the film really does take its considerable time to really get itself going and not in the very best way. This is not due to deliberate pacing. Quite the contrary, Shortland gives it her all to dole out the requisite Marvel set pieces and action sequences including a breakneck motorcycle chase in Budapest and some nifty fight choreography when Natasha Romanoff battles the Taskmaster. 

And yet, we have seen all of this before...in Marvel features as well as anything starring Ethan Hunt, Jason Bourne, James Bond and the entire "Fast and the Furious" family. In doing so, when we should be enthralled or on the edges of our theater seats, we shrug our shoulders and stifle yawns with the over familiarity. Granted, in this age of such heavily recycled material, it really takes some heavy innovation to make something as tired as a car chase feel new or is at least exciting...but it can be done in the right cinematic hands as evidenced in Edgar Wright's exhilarating "Baby Driver" (2017). 

But just sticking to the MCU itself, the filmmakers have truly raised their own bar in these last several  years creatively and thematically, as they have extended themselves further than just being "comic book movies." Ryan Coogler's "Black Panther" (2018) especially, plus the aforementioned "WandaVision" and game changing "Loki," Marvel has nearly re-invented themselves with regards to purpose and invention. So, for its first third or so, "Black Widow" feels like a few steps backwards, with seemingly lower stakes, and in doing so, I was less invested in the outcome, even moreso as the ultimate fate of Natasha Romanoff is already known. 

Yet, after the initial pyrotechnics, Shortland settles down and sharpens her narrative as "Black Widow" grows surprisingly quieter as the principal characters of Natasha's family reunite and therefore, reveal themselves to each other as well as the audience, with sharply written scenes that showcase considerable humor, and grace notes that play out within the character's futures but serve as callbacks to us in the audience. But, most of all, Cate Shortland's attention to character, empathy and emphasis of humanity over CGI bombast then takes the center stage, which then allows the actions sequences and the film overall to gain and emotional intensity and larger purpose on the whole, for the film and the fullness of Natasha Romanoff herself. 

It was very clever for Cate Shortland and her screenwriters to set the story of "Black Widow" within this section of the MCU timeline as this is indeed the point when Natasha finds herself n a position of being a lone wolf again, just as we first met her in Jon Favreau's "Iron Man 2" (2010). It is a new starting point for Natasha as her childhood family is non-existent and her new Avengers family has essentially broken up...just like The Beatles, as Bruce Banner quips incredulously in "Avengers: Infinity War." 

This tactic therefore allows "Black Widow" the opportunity to exist as more than just yet another "comic book movie," as Natasha Romanoff embarks upon an inner journey upon which she re-discovers what family means to her and how it exists in her world with her surrogate parents and the Avengers, while also delving into the more immediate tale of female subjugation, entrapment, empowerment and emancipation in her attempts to defeat General Dreykov and free all of the Black Widow assassins from his insidious clutches.

I deeply appreciated how Cate Shortland injected a pure feminist stance within "Black Widow," utilizing the thread of human trafficking as the film's and main character's haunted core, one that serves the character exceedingly well with regards to her motivation within this film's story as well as her motivation within the full arc of the saga. 

And as Natasha Romanoff's conduit, Scarlett Johansson again shows how and why this role has been tailor made for her and how she has commandeered the conception and execution of her ever since her debut. In doing so, the high flying climax of the film set in the Red Room and spiraling through the skies, the weight of all of the story threads and themes snap together with a stirring earnestness. No, we don't have something as visceral and bracing as what we witnessed with Charlize Theron in George Miller's superlative "Mad Max: Fury Road" (2015), but we are in that ballpark and what results is a sense of triumph as well as elegy, as Shortland delivers the proper farewell that Natasha Romanoff was denied in "Avengers: Endgame."        

While not one of the great Marvel entries, Cate Shortland's "Black Widow" is a good one, if a bit muted and modest. And yes, the post-credits scene is a doozy, setting up very interesting new conflicts to come. But for now, it is time to give a proper farewell to a character who was kind of a Marvel dark horse, yet truly and deeply served as much of the entire series' moral conscious. And you know, I think beyond the costumes and the capes, the special effects, stunts and cliff hangers, we have so powerfully embraced the Marvel Cinematic Universe due to the filmmakers' commitment to always treating these over the top figures as living, breathing human beings with foibles and faults, doubts and demons just as the late, great Stan Lee originally conceived.

As operatic as these stories can be, the humanity and morality reigns supreme...just as it should, and just as Natasha Romanoff championed.

SAVAGE CINEMA'S COMING ATTRACTIONS FOR AUGUST 2021

 

Today was a monumental day for me in regards to my life at the movies. 

After a year and a half of not setting foot inside of a movie theater, I finally returned on this first day of August 2021. Now, with the COVID numbers steadily ticking upwards all over again, who knows if this one visit will lead to subsequent visit in the near future or otherwise. That being said, I wish to take this day as a success: one for crossing a personal threshold and secondly, I have seen a new move which I can now write a new review for you, as well as myself.

Beyond this initial review, again, with life being what it has been, I will make no promises. But, I do hope that I am able to see another film and continue to gradually forge ahead.  

Please keep wearing your masks and furthermore, please, please, please get yourselves vaccinated if you have not already done so. That way, we can all get back to the movies without any sense of anxiety or health risks.

SUENOS BONITOS: a review of "In The Heights"

"IN THE HEIGHTS"
Based upon the stage musical "In The Heights"
Book by Quiara Alegria Hudes   
Music and Lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda
Screenplay Written by Quiara Alegria Hudes
Directed by Jon M. Chu
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 13

Wondrous!!! 

What a time we live in, here in the 21st century, currently a period fraught with considerable tension, malice, inconsiderateness, insensitivity, selfishness, avarice, and purposeful cruelty, exacerbating the turbulence of our social/economic/political landscape and or collective national health and survival. It is a horrific time, one that has compartmentalized us from each other, whether physically, ideologically and spiritually. Honestly, now that we live in a world where empirical facts are questioned, nuance is non-existent as perceptions and beliefs have become so unforgivably binary. 

And then, there is the matter of race.

Never in my lifetime have I been a witness to acts of racism presented in such a severely overt manner.. It is the blatant inhumanity that is most hurtful. The cruelly willful inability to even try to honestly see the shared humanity between an individual, ethnic group or community that is different than the dominant White culture only further works to compartmentalize, reducing full human beings to fear based fantasy, disabling any ability to see each other properly and completely.   

It is such an exceedingly dark, grim period and just in time, here arrives a blinding ball of sunshine in the form of Jon M. Chu's "In The Heights," his deliriously joyous, visually luxurious, deeply felt adaptation of the Tony Award winning musical drama by Quiara Alegria Hudes and Lin-Manuel Miranda. While I am one that typically rejects any and everything that smacks of a certain forced merriment, "In The Heights," for all of its splendor, is cemented with a truthful gravitas and palpable respect and affection for the lives, experiences and souls of the people it is clearly celebrating. 

As with the stage musical, Jon M. Chu's "In The Heights," is centered around the collective of characters who reside in the predominantly Dominican neighborhood of Washington Heights of Upper Manhattan in New York City. The magnetic Anthony Ramos stars as Usnavi de la Vega, our film's narrator as well as the nearly 30 year old owner of the neighborhood bodega who dreams of returning to his native Dominican Republic in order to resurrect his late Father's business. 

Through Usnavi, we meet his teenage cousin Sonny de la Vega (Gregory Diaz IV), who works at the bodega and is undocumented; "Abuela" Claudia (Olga Merediz), the elderly neighborhood matriarch who raised Usnavi after the passing of his parents; Kevin Rosario (Jimmy Smits), owner of the local taxi company plus his daughter, troubled and homesick Stanford University student Nina (Leslie Grace); Usnavi's best friend Benny (Corey Hawkins), who is also Kevin's employee and Nina's neighborhood boyfriend; Daniela (Daphne Rubin-Vega), who owns the neighborhood saloon and her employees Carla (Stephanie Beatriz), Cuca (Dascha Polanco) and aspiring fashion designer Vanessa Morales (Melissa Barrera), upon whom Usnavi harbors a long standing unrequited crush; and finally, The Piraguero (Lin-Manuel Miranda), whose piragua business is threatened by the arrival of a Mister Softee truck.

As Usnavi weaves his story, we are all given a front row seat into the hopes and dreams of a community and its people, especially when faced with life challenges (a lengthy blackout in a sweltering summer) and greater tribulations (gentrification, financial struggles, feelings of displacement) and as told via a bounty of vigorously high spirited songs and musical sequences.

With regards to the movie musical, Jon M. Chu's "In The Heights" is a flat out winner from end to end. It is a dynamically energetic and beautifully first rate production propelled by Lin-Manuel Miranda's outstanding songs, the absolutely dazzling choreography by Christopher Scott, the luscious Cinematography by Alice Brooks and unquestionably the inventive, supremely warm, succulent direction by Chu, who guided his extraordinary cast to glory to a wealth of riches in performances, singing and dancing. 

Despite the varying genres of the actual songs, which range freely from selections heavily fused through salsa, hip-hop, and freestyle rap, for instance, "In The Heights" exists as much as a classic Hollywood musical as Gene Kelly and Stanley Donan's "Singin' In The Rain" (1952). The film positively soars with its stupendous opening salvo "In The Heights," the downright electrifying "The  Club" which itself is immediately followed by technicolored skyrockets of "Blackout," and, without question, a spectacular Busby Berkeley styled sequence set at a public swimming pool ("$96,000"). 

Elegant visual effects richly enhance the proceedings within "It Won't Be Long Now," as Vanessa dreams of a life as a fashion designer as the sky above her unfurls in lush fabrics and most vibrantly in a literally gravity defying ballet between Benny and Nina in "When The Sun Goes Down."  

But, where Chu's film and Lin-Manuel Miranda's songs speak their most impressive volumes are selections that speak directly from the inner lives of the characters with all of their wishes, frustrations, regrets, fears, failures and triumphs--precisely the very best songs that make our most beloved musicals so memorable and cherished, as we are seeing souls become music.   

With "No Me Diga" and the aforementioned, "It Won't Be Long Now," respectively, I loved witnessing the inner turmoil and parallel stories of both Nina and Vanessa, two young women with equally conflicting viewpoints of leaving their beloved neighborhood, venturing outwards from that security and questioning whether they are meant for a world outside of their own. The film's emotional peaks arrive as the characters fall into sorrow, beginning with "Abuela" Claudia's elegiac musical soliloquy "Paciencia y Fe," and continuing through the choral "Alabanza" and then further through revitalization via the soaring "Carnval del Barrio." 

What was so impressive to me was how Chu handled the extremely delicate balancing act of ensuring the pathos of the film and its characters remained so firmly intact while being filtered through the artifice of a musical with characters literally breaking into song. And again, the entire cast, so beautifully anchored by the sensational Anthony Ramos, absolutely all radiated from the screen, so obviously enraptured with the opportunity to tell the stories of their own culture and to do so with sheer joy.   

It feels more than fitting that I have seen this film immediately after seeing Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson's "Summer Of Soul (...or, When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised)" as both films are impassioned, celebratory odes to the culture, community, communion of a people. And in its depiction of a neighborhood deep in the sweltering heat of summer, Chu's film also greatly recalled, of all things, Spike Lee's "Do The Right Thing" (1989), which despite the brutal tragedy of its final sections, is an otherwise resplendent film overflowing with the natural joys and rhythms of life itself. 

Yet, most of all, as "In The Heights" showcases a variety of people who emerge from the various communities and cultures which constitute Mexican, Puerto Rican, those from Dominican Republic, Afro-Cuban, and Afro-Latino/Latinx, all residing together within this one neighborhood, we are indeed receiving a story of the immigrant experience. To that end, we are all also witnessing how through the interconnectivity of cultures and generations, variations of the same immigrant experience has continued to play out over and again, most notably, through the conflict of balancing assimilation into the new culture while retaining the culture from which one has originated, which even then leads us to the greater issues of how different cultures thrive and survive within a greater national community that so often vilifies them.  

Beautifully, "In The Heights" is decidedly not a film about cultural pain even though there are painful moments of doubt, failure, and tragedy. Chu has delivered an exceedingly humane film that boldly unveils a sheer resistance to the darkness of the world via the vitality and resilience of a community refusing to shadow its own collective light regardless of how determined the obstacles of life seem to wish to extinguish that light. And in that manner of representation and delivery, the messages of "In The Heights" are propulsive and paramount in its collective power, which so often can nearly raise you completely out of your seats through the dazzling grace of its energy and spirit.      

Jon M. Chu's "In The Heights," is a feast for the eyes, ears, heart and soul fueled with performances filtered through sheer elation, sparkling choreography, singing and some truly elegant visual effect yet is grounded in an intergenerational story of a people and community, richly represented and presented with bountiful truth and humanity. It is a film wise enough to know that not every story needs to be littered with tragedy and tears while deftly ensuring the inherent human drama remains intact. 

Sometimes, our stories necessitate being shared through the medium of uplift for it is so easy to fall into despair and holes so deep and ark that we are unable to see ourselves as we truly are, especially those of us in communities that are marginalized, discriminated against, abused and targeted. Stories of uplift or stories presented through uplift are designed to inspire. Not by any cliched sense of manufactured movie manipulation but through the act of being seen, being heard, being felt just as we are, therefore allowing us to see ourselves and inspire ourselves and hopefully, others outside of our respective communities will be able to see us as we are too.   

As the variety of characters within "In The Heights," all armed with their respective struggles, obstacles and challenges are ultimately echoes of each other, we are asked to find those same echoes within ourselves as we all navigate life in this ever expanding and evolving nation of immigrants. 

That is precisely what makes Jon M. Chu's "In The Heights" such a marvelous experience to behold as it is truth and resistance to darkness by way of song, dance, and the rich tapestry that exists within the familial bonds of a community. And it is also one of 2021's brightest and best films.

ARE YOU READY????: a review of "Summer Of Soul (...or, When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised)"

 

"SUMMER OF SOUL (...OR, WHEN THE REVOLUTION COULD NOT BE TELEVISED)"
Directed by Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 13

I was born in 1969. 

For reasons that still remain ever so mysterious to me, I have always held this deep, to practically primal, relationship with my fascination with the 1960's. How enraptured I have always been, especially as a child, with newsreel stories that illustrated that decade's midpoint to the dawn of the 1970's, as American society was facing its cultural sea change due to the turbulence of the generation gap, the counter culture, the sexual revolution, the Vietnam war and unquestionably the Civil Rights movement. The aesthetics of the period, from fashion to hairstyles and of course, the continuously revolutionary and psychedelicized music, only helped to serve and shape a world view, the core of which, an admittedly more utopian ideal, still resides inside of me. 

I could see the chaos of the time only through snapshots of images and sounds, always wanting to gather a greater sense of what that time was really like. Yet, whenever I asked my parents to illuminate and flesh out my perceptions, the answers I was given were decidedly muted to completely unexciting, almost as if holes were being punctured into the balloon of illusion. While everything I had seen and read about contained truth, there was an even greater truth that my parents displayed to me: the sights I would see in archived news footage did not fully describe or represent what was happening or even not happening everywhere. I was repeatedly seeing one representation of a historical period, decidedly and truthfully, a representation delivered through the lens of Whiteness. And in doing so, how many other lenses, ones that would fully present the larger mosaic of society, were being unseen, therefore depleting a greater understanding of ourselves and the time period during which we co-existed?

Recently, I reviewed Director Sam Pollard's terrific documentary "Black Art: In The Absence Of Light," a work that lushly presented a largely unseen (or more truthfully, unacknowledged) collective of Black artists, historians, educators, curators, collectors, writers and journalists within the more European based canon of the art world. It is a film that beautifully exists to not only expand the nature of our perceptions of the medium of art, it more importantly and gorgeously extended itself to expand upon the Black consciousness of who we are and what we can be. For again, if we are not able to see ourselves, then we are denied the opportunities to be inspired by ourselves to become whatever we are able to ascend towards.

Ahmir Thompson, famously known as Questlove, drummer/songwriter/producer/bandleader of The Roots, as well as revered DJ, musicologist, author and Professor at the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music at New York University, has now expanded his copious gifts even further by becoming a film director and believe me, his debut is a grand slam!! "Summer Of Soul (or, When The Revolution Couldn't Be Televised)" is an electrifying, evocative and supremely emotional document of a cultural event that otherwise would have been lost to time. 

Much like the late Sydney Pollack and Producer Alan Eliot's extraordinary retrieval and full restoration of "Amazing Grace" (2019), the document of the late Aretha Franklin's live performance recording of her iconic "Amazing Grace" double album (released June 1, 1972), material that was shelved and unseen for 47 years, what Questlove has achieved is akin to a movie miracle. In addition to rescuing a mass of unseen and superlative performance footage from some of the peak Black musical artists of soul, blues, pop and gospel of its day, the film, like the very best documentaries, transcends the immediate subject matter to unveil an impassioned statement of the evolution of Black consciousness 52 years ago and how it mirrors that continued evolution within the 21st century. And furthermore, the film serves as a dissertation about the nature of our perception of our collective history.

Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson's "Summer Of Soul" details the experience of the Harlem Cultural Festival, an event held over six weekends in Harlem's Mt. Morris Park at which over 300,000 people attended. And, stunningly...the event was FREE to the public! 

The festival, as produced and directed by nightclub singer Tony Lawrence, with aid from the then Republican New York Mayor John Lindsey, was designed as a testament and tribute to Black pride and culture, and arrived as the Civil Rights movement, grim sequence of political assassinations of President John F. Kennedy (1963), Malcolm X (1965), Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy (both 1968), the rise of President Nixon and the overall social/political/economic landscape of the nation, and Black America in particular, was reaching a combustible apex. 

Despite attracting performers on the level of B.B. King, Gladys Knight and the Pips, Abbey Lincoln and Max Roach, Hugh Masakela, Sly and the Family Stone and so many more, plus attaining corporate sponsorship from Maxwell House and General Foods and even then, having the entirety of the event completely filmed, the contents of the festival have been unbelievably unseen ever since...until now.

Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson's "Summer Of Soul" is a stunning, sun soaked film of community and communion, firmly settling itself next to the likes of Mel Stuart's "Wattstax" (1973), Michel Gondry's "Dave Chappelle's Block Party" (2005) and the aforementioned "Amazing Grace." Featuring new interviews with some of the festival's performers as well as some of the patrons who attended the series when they were in their late teens, Questlove has delivered an unabashed labor of love, a fervent poem to the community of Harlem, a valentine to a specific time and place in Black culture and history, and an outstanding musical artifact of a time and period during which Black artists existed to enrich and enliven as well as entertain. 

Leave it to a drummer on the level of Questlove to essentially open his film with a drum solo, one performed by none other than a then 19 year old Stevie Wonder no less!! Yet, instead of being anything approaching self indulgence, the sequence is a fireworks display of a performance, preparing us for the dynamic presentation to follow, while also brilliantly accenting the cultural undercurrent and purpose of the festival itself, in the past as well as the present. 

From purely the standpoint of a music documentary, "Summer Of Soul" is first rate from end to end. From the stoned soul picnic vibes of The Chambers Brothers' "Uptown," David Ruffin's "My Girl," and Gladys Knight and the Pips' "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" to the soaring songs of Black togetherness as witnessed in The Edwin Hawkins Singers' "Oh Happy Day," to the sweat and fire of B.B. King's "Why I Sing The Blues," every single musical sequence is a showstopper. 

Instead of serving itself up simply as a parade of stars, which would have easily been more than good enough considering the high quality of the performances themselves, I deeply appreciated how Questlove and his interview subjects made great strides to provide a larger context to the music being seen and heard. Within this festival, and therefore this film, music is not a passive event. It is designed for you to engage with it, to attain a complete experience as the music is a form of communication, conversation and connective tissue from performer to audience, from one racial group to another, from us to ourselves and from ourselves to our ancestors and back again. To that end, we are then able to see the interconnectivity between the music styles and genres themselves, all of which are elements of the Black history which birthed all of them.

With the performances of Mongo Santamaria, Ray Barretto, Herbie Mann, and Hugh Masakela, the film showcases the linkage between the music and communities of Black, Latino, African, Puerto Rican, and Afro-Cuban, all of whom resided within Harlem. We can hear the blues of Pops Staples' guitar in The Staple Singers' gospel, as well as influences of gospel in the righteous funk of Sly and the Family Stone's "Higher." And in one of the film's most musically explosive sequences, we bear witness to a sky scorching duet between the inimitable Mavis Staples and Mahalia Jackson (!), and really, what was more rock and roll than that?!

Beyond the actual music, the festival, and now the film, affords us the opportunity to bask in the presentation of ourselves in ways that challenge and expand our own horizons into what and how we, as Black people, are able to envision ourselves. As previously stated, 1969 was truly a psychedelicized time as a more conservative (i.e. White American) appearances and attire gave way to the cultural changes towards presenting ourselves through more African themed clothing as well as our unapologetically natural hairstyles. 

The decidedly psychedelic outfits of The 5th Dimension, in addition to their hybrid sound of soul, pop and folk, was a quietly revolutionary act in and of itself when it came to the perceptions of what beautiful Black people could look and sound like. Sly and the Family Stone, in particular, was the most radical group in attendance in mere appearance alone, from the band's wardrobe to the sight of a mixed race/mixed gender band of musical equals (therefore pre-dating what we would see from Prince more than a decade later).

Yet, most of all, it was remarkable to see over and again throughout the film, from performers to audience members, the sense of awe felt when witnessing a veritable sea of Black people shoulder to shoulder in harmony and without incident, unveiling a deep celebration of self while also and in essence fully challenging the perceived inherent sense of wrongdoing and evil of Blackness. 

How clever it was of Questlove to have as one of the very first images in the film, an announcement over the PA system of an audience member's lost wallet, which was found and could be reclaimed. Questlove also presented how we, as Black people, were so effectively able to self govern as the Black Panthers provided security for the entirety of the event (as the New York City police department initially refused to perform the job but eventually assisted) without conflict. Seeing every moment succeed was indeed the powerful message necessary to be received during a time when we left the concept of the "Negro" behind and claimed "BLACK" as our cultural identifier, one that was committed to cultivating the Black excellence that resides within ourselves and delivered from ourselves to ourselves in an incendiary musical sermon by Nina Simone and her shattering recitation of the poem "Are You Ready?"

Questlove's "Summer Of Soul" so richly provided a sprawling canvas on which we, as Black people, are represented so lovingly and fully, that we, again, are afforded the opportunity to see ourselves in ways we typically do not within media sources. Seeing each other in such a powerfully inspiring and beautiful light allows us to help us to SEE us and I can only imagine what a film like this would have been like if it were viewed by the masses in 1969.

Which leads us to the mystery and miracle of what Questlove has achieved with "Summer Of Soul," for why was a document such as this now seen for over 50 years? As the film informs us, back in 1969, there was no interest to be gathered from sources who could then attain and distribute the visual contents of this festival and broadcast them nationwide for what was deemed to be solely "a Black show." Even when attempts to capitalize upon juggernaut that was Woodstock, by referring to the Harlem Cultural Festival as "the Black Woodstock," no interest was gathered whatsoever. And so, the footage sat, leaving the art, the music, the people and the time, lost to memory and time...as if it had never happened at all. 

At the outset of this review, I essentially asked the question regarding the nature of what history is. In my mind, history is the collective experience of all those who have lived through the experience and not solely the document of the one or the few who have the access to record, document and then present that particular account because in doing so, we are treated to only a certain perspective rather than the mosaic of life and lives lived. Yes, there are facts. But, just the facts do not represent the fullness of truth. Again, my fascination withthelate1960's is founded and cemented in the images and sounds that have been presented over time and decidedly through that aforementioned lens of Whiteness. 

With regards to Questlove's "Summer Of Soul" (and to a certain extent, Mel Stuart's "Wattstax" as it is a film which is rarely seen or mentioned these days) Michael Wadleigh's "Woodstock" and that festival itself is the proverbial elephant in the room regarding this period of time in American history. Now do not get me wrong, I LOVE "Woodstock"!!!! I vividly remember when I first saw it and how much of it blew my head apart and even served to jet fuel my '60's fascination, to the point where Jimi Hendrix's rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner" is the definitive version in my soul. 

And that, is where I take issue now...  

Woodstock, the three day festival, which also occurred in 1969 (and less than100 miles away from Harlem at that in Bethel, New York) and the subsequent Michael Wadleigh documentary film released in 1970 alongside the soundtrack album (released May 11, 1970), is the definitive statement, the benchmark concert film, the watershed statement of the counter culture in America and because of its cemented in stone status, it is the ONLY statement. 

But why???? 

And who are the powers that be that have anointed it to that pedestal? Maybe it would've ascended to those heights naturally but why not have that festival plus others held, and therefore filmed, during that exact same time co-exist to represent a larger palate of the period? Why does there have to be only one and one that, again exists through the lens of Whiteness? 

Yes, certainly the presence of Richie Havens and Santana injected and suggested that wider lens through which to view that period--and truthfully, the level of Blackness contained in Hendrix's fireworks are as unquestionable as they are untouchable--but Woodstock is filtered through a White perspective, one that people of color could be invited into but it is a White perspective nonetheless.  

Beyond the performances, beyond the politics, beyond the presentation of Black culture and pride in 1969, the movie miracle of what Questlove's "Summer Of Soul" has achieved is found in downright startling moments and sequences when we view performers and audience members in present day watching the footage of what was thought to be forever lost, except within their own memories, which by this point may be hazy enough to almost feel as if it were a dream.  

Just take a moment to ponder. So many of the performers themselves have passed on without having seen this footage and the audience members who were 19 years old at the time of the festival are now 71, making 52 years of holding onto memories that are unvalidated due to the actual material confirming those memories being hidden. What if they could have been re-watched and therefore, re-introduced for all of this time? But it wasn't and this serious omission results in an erasure of history, a history that would have served a greater purpose than just harboring a collection of songs. 

At one point, an audience member now aged 71, tearfully regards the footage and exclaims, "I'm not crazy!" Precisely!!!! Because what he knew to be true but could not reach or touch or prove due to the shortsightedness, accidental or intentional, of others, has denied a culture the right and opportunity to regard itself in order to see itself, learn from itself and rejoice in itself. 

Yet, now in 2021,we can.

Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson's 'Summer Of Soul (...or When The Revolution Could Not Be Televised)" is a film of reclamation as well as one to be rejoiced, for we now all can see how beautiful it was and how beautiful it is! 

And it is also one of the very best films of 2021.