FASTER? YES. HIGHER, FURTHER? WELL...: a review of "The Marvels"

"THE MARVELS"
Based upon the Marvel Comics
Screenplay Written by Nia DaCosta and Megan McDonnell and Elissa Karasik 
Directed by Nia DaCosta
** (two stars)
RATED PG 13

And the wax and wane of the Marvel Cinematic Universe's quality control goes on...

By the time you have become acquainted with this posting, the latest chapter in the MCU has been in the world for two full weeks and has suffered a painful trouncing at the box office, thus inspiring much post-game debate about what the reasons could have possibly been for this rare Marvel stumble, possibly its worst to date. Was it the then ongoing Actor's Strike, which prevented the film's stars from promoting it before the release? Was it superhero fatigue? Was it the sexist, racist internet trolls who are just determined to see the film fail regardless of its actual quality? One will never know with absolute certainty but there is a quality that is running against the narrative that the MCU is hearing its own death knell: the word of mouth is actually pretty good. From the reviews to word of mouth, response to the film has been one of fair to strong enjoyment, fully acknowledging that while not being one of the best entries in the MCU,  it is a most entertaining diversion.

And that, is indeed where I have my own issues. 

On this blogsite, I have long professed my own sense of superhero fatigue and the ultimate danger to our movie culture they present many times, so I will indeed spare you the diatribe again. I will also again profess to my overall enjoyment of the MCU and the fact that for so much of their existence since the 2008 inception with Jon Favreau's "Iron Man," there was a strong sense of quality control that ensured that I would happily keep purchasing tickets. Yet since, the end of The Infinity Saga which concluded with the fall of Thanos and tragic hero losses, the MCU has widened its scope grandly through narrative and commercial means but inarguably with more uneven results. 

For me, each time I have been lifted, as with Jon Watts' "Spider-Man: No Way Home" (2021), Ryan Coogler's "Black Panther: Wakanda Forever" (2022) and nearly all of their television series with "WandaVision" (2021) and "Loki" (2021-2023) being the strongest, I have been severely disappointed, as with Sam Raimi's "Doctor Strange In The Multiverse Of Madness" (2022), Taika Waititi's' "Thor: Love And Thunder" (2022) and do not get me started on the disaster that is James Guinn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" (2023). 

Essentially, the assembly line nature of the MCU production schedule, which is farming out feature films and television mini-series with frightening alacrity, release dates announced before scripts are written, and an ongoing Multiverse Saga that feels to have no true anchor to its still growing narrative, the MCU is indeed in trouble, as far as I am concerned because all of those issues speak directly to quality control. 

For my own cinematic sensibilities, I strongly feel that if Marvel has the ability to present and reach greatness, then that is what they should aspire to every chance they get. Placeholder films just cannot earn a piece of the Marvel pie if they wish audiences to remain devoted. A tighter over-arching narrative is essential if they wish for audiences to continue giving a damn about this entire enterprise. All of that being said, Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels," the 33rd MCU feature film, while not a failure, is not a success either...which is more than unfortunate as it has so much going for it, from its high flying energy, delightful chemistry of its three leads and more than enough backstory to propel one terrific narrative. But, as it stands, "The Marvels" really just gives more than enough ammunition to Martin Scorsese's criticisms and warnings, as this is no more than a theme park ride when it could have been so much more..  

Continuing the events as set up in Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck's "Captain Marvel" (2019) plus television's "Ms. Marvel" (2022), "Secret Invasion" (2023), and the aforementioned "WandaVision," Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels" is the official team up of Carol Danvers a.k.a. the interstellar Captain Marvel (Brie Larson) with her long estranged "niece," Monica Rambeau (Teyonnah Paris), an astronaut now armed with the power to manipulate electromagnetic waves in the electromagnetic spectrum and 16 year old Kamala Khan (a wonderful Iman Vellani), a Captain Marvel superfan and human-mutant who wears am ancient bangle that helps her harness hard light and cosmic energy.

The trio are brought together after the seismic arrival of Dar-Benn (Zawe Ashton), a Kree revolutionary warrior on the hunt for Captain Marvel whom she blames for the civil war of her race leading to a decimated planet with dwindling air, water and a dying sun. After discovering a Quantum Band, one that is identical to the one Kamala Khan wears, Dar-Benn utilizes its power to rip open a portal in space, which then further entangles the powers of Danvers, Rambeau and Khan forcing them to inadvertently transport themselves when their powers are active. 

With the aid of Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), The Marvels join forces to stop Dar-Benn's wrath from saving her own planet at the expense of Earth's survival.

Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels" is filled end to end with candyfloss colors, a quicksilver pace, terrific fight choreography and wisely anchored by the clear chemistry and bond between our three leading heroines, with the MVP easily going to Iman Vellani, whose crackerjack comic timing and fangirl exuberance makes for a star making performance, whether inside or outside of the MCU. Much like the recent television mini-series "Star Wars: Ahsoka" (2023), I thoroughly enjoyed the defining shift to a more female centric narrative with all of the primary heroes and main villain being women and to that end, having much of the creative team behind the scenes, from Screenwriters and the Director being women makes for a terrific new perspective to shine the Marvel lens through. 

That being sad and celebrated, it just isn't enough and frankly, our trio of heroes and singular villain all deserved much better than what they were given. We can explore and even debate whether issues occurred on set or within post-production, ultimately, the only thing that matters is what has ended up upon the screen and in the case of "The Marvels," DaCosta has delivered a inexcusably messy film with a sloppily constructed narrative which too often propels itself with an "and then this happened" raison d'etre that feels as if they just threw more then enough at the screen, the entire proceedings would be good enough. Trust me, it isn't. 

From a presentation that possesses an over-reliance on CGI technology oddly merged with a surprisingly cheap looking aesthetic design with otherworldly locations that indeed look like rapidly constructed sets, to humor that never really lands (a little of the ravenous feline Flerken goes a long way and here, we just have too much oft), to two dreadful musically driven sequences, Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels" keep shooting itself in the foot right when it could be reaching narratively and emotionally higher and further. Yes, there is something to be said for having a superhero film that is just fun and not overly filled with dark passages and ponderous tone, which has now become more of the norm within the genre. But even still, with all of the existing elements and inherent drama within these three characters and their respective stories, would it have been too much to ask if DaCosta gave any of them the time, patience, and purpose to ensure that "The Marvels" had a beating heart to go alongside its own enthusiasm? 

I am not saying that we necessarily needed another three hour epic but what I am saying is that with a film that arrived immediately after the superlative journey of "Loki," which found the MCU operating at its absolute peak, what DaCosta delivered is a sharp decline, to say the least, especially as it possesses conceptual and emotional stakes that could equal anything we saw in "Loki." 

With the unresolved emotional/familial issues between Carol Danvers and Monica Rambeau, for instance, they deserved exceedingly more than the few lines that are just tossed off in this film. As for Monica Rambeau, who really has not been seen since the transformative events of "WandaVision," where is she emotionally at this juncture? For that matter, what of Nick Fury and truthfully, I was more than unsure if "The Marvels" took place before or after the events in "Secret Invasion"? And most egregiously, what of the inner and outer world of Captain Marvel herself, who really hasn't been seen since Joe and Anthony Russo's "Avengers: Endgame" (2019)? Compared to the breadth and depth given to say, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, Carol Danvers's trajectory is sorely and unforgivably lacking. And from the looks of things, it seems that the powers that be at Marvel either didn't know or care themselves.  

And that in and of itself present a larger problem for the MCU moving forwards, especially with this continuing Multiverse Saga, which hasn't really made much sense as far as an advancing narrative is concerned. If I had my magic wand, I would force Marvel overlord Kevin Feige and his core team t just sit and map out what they want this saga to actually be and then, instead of creating whatever Marvel property they have purchased the rights for, they build this section of the MCU house to solely serve the overarching narrative. The MCU has always been terrific in presenting the set up, and they continue to do so within "The Marvels" as the film's conclusion and post-credits sequence opens some really exciting doors. But, there has to be as much care with the story in totality not just the stinger to get us ready for the next, and now, underwhelming installment.

Believe me, dear readers, I am more than rooting for female driven superhero films to succeed and I am definitely, urgently more than rooting for Black female Directors to have a strong, creative seat at the big budget filmmaking table. But, very sadly, and despite the well meaning effort, Nia DaCosta's "The Marvels," while intermittedly entertaining falls far too short of its goals.       

40 YEARS ON...STILL AHEAD OF ITS TIME: a review of "Stop Making Sense"

"STOP MAKING SENSE" (1984)
Conceived for the stage by David Byrne
Directed by Jonathan Demme
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 

It felt as if I was seeing it for the very first time.

Dear readers, in regards to Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense," his now iconic concert film documenting an equally iconic performance from the iconic final, tour by Talking Heads, I actually came a little late to the party. While I was more than aware of it upon its original release back in 1984 at the age of 15, I was in prime condition to see the film, especially after the rapturous reviews delivered by the late Gene Siskel and the late Roger Ebert. But, if my memory is serving me correctly, Demme's film was relegated to the art film circuit and therefore, it was one which played in downtown Chicago art cinemas, venues that my parents would typically not be convinced to transport me to and from, and additionally, it was definitely a film neither of them were remotely interested in seeing.

By the time I arrived at University of Wisconsin-Madison for my college years in 1987, I was convinced that some theater or campus film society would show it and then, I would have my chance. Unfortunately, that never happened either. I finally saw the film for the first time well into adulthood on DVD and indeed, after finally being a witness, I had to add my voice to the choir in its universal praise. "Stop Making Sense" is an absolutely remarkable film, one that is overflowing with energy, enthusiasm and jubilance all engulfed in an outstanding collection of songs and performances that range from art rock, post punk, country, disco, funk, R&B, gospel, African rhythms and soundscapes resulting in a golden amalgamation of what music, concerts and concert films could actually be.

Once it was announced that in anticipation of the films 40th anniversary, a re-release and full audio/visual restoration supervised by Talking Heads' guitarist/keyboardist Jerry Harrison was underway, I kept my hopes up that I would be able to at long last have a chance to see the film in a movie theater...the way it has always meant to be experienced. Now having seen the film in a theater, and so truthfully, for the sake of the movies and our relationship with them in our current cinematic landscape, plus our relationship to music itself for that matter, Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" resonated and uplifted to a degree that was more powerful than ever, making it a film of essential viewing, whether as a reunion for fans or as an introduction to novices.

Filmed over a period of three nights in December 1983 during Talking Heads' tour promoting the album "Speaking In Tongues" (released June 1, 1983), Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" opens with frontman David Byrne walking onto the barren stage alone and armed with only an acoustic guitar and a boombox. He sets the tape deck upon the stage, presses "PLAY" unveiling a skeletal drum machine beat to which Byrne begins to perform a full throated and unrepentantly twitchy "Psycho Killer," complete with brilliantly sudden and unpredictable gyrations suggesting the mind and body of the unhinged, the isolated, the disconnected . 

Over the course of the following three songs, (the sublime country of "Heaven," the galloping "Thank You For Sending Me An Angel" and the four-on-the-floor funk of "Found A Job," respectively) Byrne is joined one by one by his bandmates, bassist Tiny Weymouth, drummer Chris Franz and guitarist/keyboardist Jerry Harrison and soon thereafter, the core band of Talking Heads is further augmented by five auxiliary members: guitarist Alex Weir, percussionist Steve Scales, keyboardist Bernie Worrell and backing vocalists Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry. 

From this point, the band and film launches into a superlative showcase of Talking Heads' hits and deep cuts (including "Burning Down The House," "Life During Wartime," and "Swamp"), one solo David Byrne selection ("What A Day That Was") plus another from the Chris Franz/Tina Weymouth side project Tom Tom Club (the classic "Genius Of Love"), and an orgiastic Al Green cover ("Take Me To The River"), each song in this beautifully sequenced experience ascending higher and higher.

As I stated at the outset of this posting, even though I have seen and even own the film, seeing Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" within its proper context of the movie theater going experience truly made me feel as if I was viewing it for the very first time. The sheer sound and vision of the film was splendidly breathtaking, surprisingly moving and trust me, I was unable to remain still in my theater seat, as the propulsive rhythms keep my body moving and my arms and feet attempted to keep pace with Chris Franz's superb drumming for the bulk of the running time. 

Truth be told, I really am not sure if this is the greatest concert film ever made, as so many have attested over these four decades. But, I can easily and firmly express that every concert film made after "Stop Making Sense" lives completely in its immense shadow and gargantuan influence--and believe me, that even incudes the likes of Prince's spectacular "Sign O' The Times" (1987) and even Spike Lee's wonderful document of David Byrne's "America Utopia" (2020). 

Even the film's narrative, such as it is, makes...well...complete sense now, as Talking Heads' current media tour surrounding the rerelease and restoration have elucidated over their storytelling intentions of the show's conception. Yes, from my original viewings, I was captivated by the overwhelming energy upon display but the narrative of the isolated loner who finds acceptance within a community leapt as far off of the screen as the music and performances from all nine members of the band, with the brilliantly magnetic David Byrne at the center, as he swivels, contorts, and literally runs laps around the stage in restless yet artfully controlled and innovative frenzy that left me in amazement.

To that end, Jonathan Demme views the proceedings through an enormously empathetic and generous lens, where the spontaneity and delirious affection all of the band members display towards each other allows us to witness a full celebration of the rapture they are creating together. These are individuals who are clearly impressed and taken with each other just as we are as we watch them. Seeing Jerry Harrison suddenly begin dancing alongside Ednah Holt and Lynn Mabry lifted me in a way I did not expect, for instance. How Harrison and Bernie Worrell regard each other from behind their keyboard stacks. How Steve Scales and Alex Weir are never felt to be relegated to existing as hired hands but as full, equal players, afforded the exact same spotlight and appreciation as the core quartet. And then, there was always that kid in a candy store delight that is plastered upon Chris Franz's face throughout, making me feel that he was regarding every rock dream he ever had becoming beautifully rendered to vivid life right in front of his and our eyes.  

All of these emotions are tied directly into the narrative certainly and have always existed as part of its cinematic fabric. But seeing "Stop Making Sense" nearly 40 years later, the film's attributes and gifts are even more impressive to behold as it is a euphoric work of art as it utilizes minimalism to maximum effect while also demystifying the experience as it creates its own sorcery. This aspect is deeply notable as we are constantly subjected to all manner of CGI overkill in film, television and even commercials plus the sensory overload extravagances of 21st century live performances from the likes of Beyonce Taylor Swift and U2's brand new stage show residency, which looks like ten IMAX screens in one.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not immune to spectacle, and I do often find myself enraptured. A live performance I attended by The Flaming Lips a few years ago remains possibly the greatest concert experience of my life as it was akin to being as overtly psychedelic and as otherworldly as being transported inside of a rainbow while also packing an emotional wallop. That being said, seeing "Stop Making Sense" in 2023, when our eyes and ears are constantly being bludgeoned with artificial sound and spectacle, so often signifying not very much at all, it was a wonder to behold the special effects on screen in Demme's film as being nothing more than the human body in motion, the music being made and the overwhelming effect it had upon the participants as well as us in the movie theater audience. In that way, the film repeatedly reached crescendos and a transcendence that all of the CGI in the world could never attain.

As has been rightfully celebrated over the years, the sight of the show and film beginning upon a barren stage with David Byrne at the center is striking by what is and is not present. It defies expectations by upending what we are conditioned to seeing in a live setting. This feeling continues as each band member arrives, and we regard the stage crew building up the event piece by piece, with a black background and screens behind the band appearing before we even realize it. The band's monochromatic clothing and seeing how it is all juxtaposed with not much more than while lights and shadows, as photographed by Cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth, is often dazzling. And of course, Jonathan Demme's innovative technique of not showing the audience at all until the film reaches its zenith, affords us the moment when band, audience, crew and movie theater audience are all as one--the moment when community becomes communion, when a movie becomes church! 

Every sight is meant to be savored. David Byrne dancing with a lamp. Byrne and Weir running in place while playing their guitars. Every band member seemingly possessing their own signature dance moves. The entire band DRENCHED in sweat by film's end! Of course...the unforgettable BIG suit! The physicality, agility, and athleticism all fueled into the overall musicality and artistry is so astounding and in a time when special effects are just not terribly special anymore due to their ubiquity, Talking Heads' sense of revivalism is worth celebrating more now than in 1984.   

Jonathan Demme's "Stop Making Sense" at 40 is the definition of a celebration. For Talking Heads, it is a time to reflect and rejoice at their legacy while bearing witness to themselves at the shining jewel of their fully idiosyncratic career. For all of us, especially in our social and politically divisive point in 2023, it is telling to regard this multi racial and gendered band circa 1984--one that echoed Sly and the Family Stone and ran concurrently with the likes of Prince and the Revolution during a period when pop, rock, soul and funk music was deeply segregated from band make ups to listeners, for it was a period during which people existed within specific camps and had to choose sides--working, collaborating and playing together to create a joyful noise for the masses. 

What Talking Heads displayed within "Stop Making Sense through the mixture of musical genres and the make up of all nine band members on stage was and is an elated defiance against any well worn rules of the day, firmly extolling a more utopian viewpoint and ideal. 

And doesn't that just make perfect sense?

ACCEPT THIS MISSION!: a review of "Mission: Impossible- Dead Reckoning Part One"

"MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE-DEAD RECKONING PART ONE"
Based upon the television series "Mission: Impossible" created by Bruce Gellar
Screenplay Written by Christopher McQuarrie & Erik Jendressen
Directed by Christopher McQuarrie
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 13

Under normal circumstances, I would say that there is not one reason in the world that the seventh entry in an ongoing film series should only continue in top tier excellence.  But, in the case of the "Mission: Impossible" series, that one reason undeniably, unquestionably, and absolutely is...Tom Cruise.

For nearly 30 years, the "Mission: Impossible" series, starring Tom Cruise as the intrepid Impossible Mission Force (IMF) secret agent Ethan Hunt, has exceedingly defied...well...impossible odds, at least as far as continuing film series tend to progress. After two strong opening films, Brian DePalma's "Mission: Impossible" (1996) and John Woo's "Mission: Impossible 2" (2000), it was J.J. Abrams' "Mission: Impossible III" (2006) that truly began the series' rocket ride into becoming a cinematic beast often eclipsing features starring James Bond and/or Jason Bourne. 

Brad Bird's "Mission: Impossible-Ghost Protocol" (2011) and the previous two chapters, "Mission: Impossible-Rogue Nation" (2015) and "Mission: Impossible-Fallout" (2018), each directed by Christopher McQuarrie, who is now shepherding the enterprise alongside Cruise, who produces the series, all worked furiously to ensure that the adventures of Ethan Hunt and his team would not only refuse to grow tired but would only ascend to new heights with every new installment. And if Tom Cruise needed to perform his increasingly eye popping and death defying stunts himself, then so be it. 

Christopher McQuarrie's "Mission: Impossible-Dead Reckoning Part One," the seventh chapter once again is an absolute triumph. Just as he achieved miraculously with Joseph Kosinski's skyrocketing "Top Gun: Maverick" (2022), it is as if Tom Cruise is ensuring every movie mission featuring Ethan Hunt is accomplished through sheer force of will as again, the end result is a master class display of the modern day action adventure thriller. 

After saving the world from the nearly cataclysmic events of the previous film, "Mission: Impossible-Dead Reckoning Part One," finds Ethen Hunt (Tom Cruise) and his teammates Luther Stickell (Ving Rhames) and Benji Dunn (Simon Pegg) as well as the disavowed MI6 agent Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson), who now has a bounty placed upon her head by the IMF, faced with an even greater threat than before. 

An experimental AI known as "The Entity" has achieved sentience and has gone rogue, forcing the world's nations to all go in pursuit in order to establish sole control of the artificial intelligence. Ethan Hunt and his team, however, wish to find the two halves of the cruciform key, which allows the user to harness The Entity. as a means to destroy the AI. Complicating matters further is the arrival of Gabriel (Esai Morales), a pre-IMF ally of Ethen's, now turned terrorist and Grace (Hayley Atwell), a professional thief, each of whom are also racing for the key.

With that, you have the basic plot of "Mission: Impossible-Dead Reckoning Part One," and as with the other six films, this is essentially all you need as the straightforwardness of the plot allows Christopher McQuarrie to invent all manner of conundrums, obstacles, sleights of hand, pitfalls, cliffhangers and so much more in the execution. While I will give "Mission: Impossible-Fallout" the sleight edge as being the best film of the series to date, this seventh chapter is unquestionably sensational and only continues the exceedingly high  quality control that has been established. Despite the "Part One" that exists within the title, McQuarrie has ensured that we receive as complete of a film as possible, while also leaving us wanting more.in the already filming Part Two (which has, at this time of writing, been placed on hold due to the Writers and Screen Actors Guild dual strikes).

Tom Cruise, as always, more than delivers the cinematic bang for our buck, literally risking life and limb to gift us with soaring, spectacular entertainment and doing so, his cast mates are all equally up to the task with their commitment to the enterprise as a whole. I love how after all of this time, Cruise has made Ethan Hunt a hero that we would follow upon any adventure, anywhere while also being largely a man of mystery as we still do not know terribly much about the man behind the secret agent, only learning tidbits about him (and his teammates) here and there with each film. This speaks volumes to the magnetism and intense commitment delivered by Tom Crise, an actor--despite one's feelings about him and his celebrity--is not an actor who cold ever be accused of "phoning it in." Tom Cruise, once again, is ALL IN!!

Back to the film at hand, in essence, "Mission: Impossible-Dead Reckoning Part One" gives us a glimpse into the man Ethan Hunt quite possibly was before his time in the IMF, yet cleverly not through his character necessarily, but largely through the character of Grace and her character's arc throughout this film and Hayley Atwell is more than up to the challenge as her portrayal is as breezy as it is complex, always allowing us to lean in closer to garner her intentions as her motivations truly depend upon the situations she finds herself entangled. I like that even now,  am still wondering if "Grace" is even her character's real name and that gives her the precise sense of intrigue that makes her a perfect addition to this series. 

Ving Rhames (the only actor besides Cruise to have appeared in every film in the series) and Simon Pegg continue to be solid anchors to the film as well as Hunt's IMF team, functioning as the soul and the heart, respectively. Rebecca Ferguson remains as formidable as her previous two appearances. And I really loved how this film essentially circles back to, while also updating, the first film of the series with the return of Hunt's nemesis, IMF Director Eugene Kittridge (Henry Czerny), now the head of the CIA.

Honoring the past while pressing headlong into the future is a paramount theme for Christopher McQuarrie and Tom Cruise's intentions and journey for the series, and for this film in particular. Certainly the past in regards to this series but most importantly, the past within the history of the action film itself. 

As with so many elements and full genres that have fallen by the wayside in current era of modern cinema, the art of the action sequence almost feels like something from a bygone period. Increasingly since the end of the 1990's and throughout the 00's, audiences have been subjected to have varied between Michael Bay mega excess and CGI bombast, where either a series of cameras are present to film the action from all manner of angles gathering information only to be "fixed" within editing without rhyme or reason, making for an experience where audiences are bludgeoned rather than exhilarated, and left with no real understanding of what makes an action sequence really pop. Yet, when the good ones come along, audiences just know the difference. 

Earlier this year, Chad Stahelski's "John Wick: Chapter 4," raised the bar so tremendously high for his own series as the action film genre itself so exceedingly high that he not only helmed the finest entry in the series by a wide mile, as well as one of the best films of 2023, this film is in a rarefied league of recent movie experiences where it can sit more than comfortably with the likes of George Miller's "Mad Max: Fury Road" (2015), Edgar Wright's "Baby Driver" (2017) and it is definitely a cloze cousin with Quentin Tarantino's "Kill Bill Volume 1" (2003).  

Christopher McQuarrie's "Mission: Impossible-Dead Reckoning Part One" exists in the exact same rarefied cinematic air as McQuarrie understands how to imagine and then stage, choreograph and execute his action sequences to ensure that we in the audience understand exactly why and where everything and everyone is in relation to each other in a physical space, while also dazzling us with the sheer physicality presented and how people and objects move through the frame. What we know about the characters and what is at stake regarding the story infuses the action sequences with purpose and not just noise and that, at its best, congeals into a visceral, white knuckle experience which McQuarrie delivers in spades! 

In doing so, I loved how McQuarrie and Cruise clearly looked backwards in film history for inspiration as the set pieces are clearly modern 21st century updates of what the likes of Buster Keaton originated. A ticking time bomb needs to be diffused through the series of agonizing riddles and psychological tests. A car chase in which two principals are oddly hand cuffed to each other. Spectacular fist fights and foot chases--again, no one in the film business runs like Tom Cruise! And then, there's the film's electrifying climax, which echoes the first film's ending set piece, is set aboard a speeding train, and that entire gravity defying section is worth the price of admission!!!

Christopher McQuarrie's "Mission: Impossible-Dead Reckoning Part One" is a veritable master class in the action film/spy thriller genre and I deeply applaud is and Tom Cruise's unwavering commitment to delivering the absolute BEST that they could conceive of, especially in this time of over extended franchises, sequels, prequels, reboots and re-imaginings. The sheer effort is all over the screen and we respond in kind and should they continue to try and therefore, produce at this level, there is no reason for them to cease.

But then...Mr. Cruise, it's ok to call in a stunt man! 

ONE LAST TIME: a review of "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny"

"INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY"
Based upon characters created by George Lucas
Screenplay Written by Jez Butterworth & John-Henry Butterworth and David Koepp and James Mangold
Executive Producers Steven Spielberg and George Lucas
Directed by James Mangold
*** (three stars)
RATED PG 13

I have always loved how George Lucas played with the concept of time within his stories. 

From the groundbreaking and now commonplace fractured multi-narrative, which took place over one night in his seminal "American Graffiti" (1973), to beginning his "Star Wars" saga with the middle trilogy of Episodes 4, 5, and 6 (1977/1980/1983), to even the "Indiana Jones" series, in which the first three films--all directed by Steven Spielberg-- performed their own bit of time hopping.

If you recall, the first film, "Raiders Of The Lost Ark" (1981) took place in 1936, while the second film "Indiana Jones and the Temple Of Doom" (1984) took place one year earlier in 1935, while the third film, "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" (1989), served as a direct sequel to the first, setting its story in 1938. To that end, this series jumped backwards to Indiana Jones' origins through George Lucas' television series "The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles" (1992-1993), in which we followed our hero via a dual narrative as a child and as a teenager. 

With this hopscotch narrative, Lucas, Spielberg and their collaborators were able to allow each adventure to inform what we had already learned and foreshadow what was to come without the constraints of a linear structure, which only added to the overall fun and deliberate mystery of piecing together the life of our favorite fictional swashbuckling archeologist.

By the arrival of Steven Spielberg's "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" (2008), we, and the good Dr. Jones, made a time jump to the late 1950's, affording all of us a chance to begin a time of reflection over all of the adventures and escapades once had and how those adventures shaped us while we wonder just how many more remain. 

With "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny," we have essentially reached the end as this fifth and final entry in the series has arrived, with our hero nearing the age of 80! As directed by James Mangold, taking over for Spielberg, he brings the series to a robust close, filled with much the whiplash excitement that is the trademark, But, even better, Mangold brings a more than appropriate gravitas to the proceedings as Indiana Jones is indeed facing down his mortality, certainly and also his sense of relevance in the advancing age of world history, often leaving him feeling displaced in time. That being said, Mangold takes some huge conceptual swings that are not quite successful as they do feel to fly in the face of what the series has always been to a degree. In that respect, we have a finale that is strong but alas, not strong enough or the kind of triumphant ending a hero like Indiana Jones so richly deserves.

As with all of the previous entries, James Mangold's "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny" begins at the climax of yet another perilous episode. Beginning in 1944 at the end of World War II, Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford) is again battling the Nazis as he comes across one half of the Archimedes' Dial, an Antikythera mechanism believed to have been created by the ancient Syracusan mathematician Archimedes, which is further believed to locate fissures in time itself. Also in pursuit of the Dial is Nazi astrophysicist Jurgen Voller (Mads Mikkelsen), who believes that if he obtains the archeological treasure, that he will be able to manipulate time and alter the course of history. 

The chase continues as the story moves to 1969 and we find Dr. Jones upon his retirement from academia as well as caught within a state of despondency and alcoholism. He is surprisingly visited by his estranged goddaughter Helena Shaw (Phoebe Waller-Bridge), also an archeologist and in pursuit of the Dial, who enlists Jones into helping her find the artifact. Soon, they run afoul of Nazi turned NASA scientist Voller, now under the alias of "Dr. Schmidt," who is determined to find the Dial in order to alter history and change the outcome of World War II!!

Remembering back to the point when I saw "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull," and the unbridled anticipation I felt with being able to see a new Indiana Jones adventure 19 years after the previous installment, let alone one which I never figured would ever happen, I knew that I needed to slow down, breathe and lower any sense of expectations. For there was no way that any new film would perfectly echo the out of body sensation that was indeed "Raiders Of The Lost Ark." And for that matter, nothing would match the ferocious intensity of "Indiana Jones and the Temple Of  Doom" Essentially, whatever elements were at work that very first time were not in existence in the exact same way anymore. Anything made would be different, so just sit back and try to enjoy it for what it is...which I did, despite the vitriol surrounding the fourth installment since its release. 

I bring attention to this memory and self advice because entering James Mangold's "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny," I had to temper any sense of expectations considerably. Truth be told, I was skeptical about the entire enterprise as this is the first Indiana Jones film to not be directed by Steven Spielberg or conceived by George Lucas (even though they both retain the Executive Producer screen credit). It, frankly, didn't seem to feel right to have anew film without either of the creators, in addition to knowing that whomever directed the film cold never make anything exactly like the first film again.

All of that being mulled over, James Mangold had indeed delivered a strong film overall, with an especially terrific first third, which finds a tonality the closest we have seen to the original film rather than the lighter, sillier third and fourth episodes. 

"Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny" has a grittier, more grounded cinematic footing, especially in that first third. Yes, the cliffhangers and escapes are as wild as ever but there feels to be truly something at stake rather than an experience that slides more to the cartoonish. There is a visceral force and speed to the action sequences, that also feel tangible towards Indy's advanced age and in doing so, Mangold has wisely made a film that is often as much about closing chapters and individual mortality as his excellent and brutally elegiac "Logan" (2017), which ended the saga of The Uncanny X-Men's Wolverine (that is until next year's "Deadpool 3"...but I digress).

Harrison Ford, who has obviously spent a portion within this late period of his career, revisiting his signature characters and seeing them to their conclusions, utilizes his specialized gravitas to tremendous effect. As always, there is no other individual who could ever don the fedora and the whip as masterfully as Ford and once again, he delivers the goods and then some, making for a character would follow to the ends of the earth as long as Ford portrayed him. It is a rich, fully realized performance that showcases the melancholy of aging and knowing explicitly that there is more life behind you than in front of you. I thoroughly loved the references given to all four previous films, some just momentary, others more seismic but each one places a spotlight on the amount and depth of life the character has experienced thus far as he engages in one more globetrotting escapade and Harrison Ford meets every moment beautifully, especially in the film's lovely final scenes. 

Another element I appreciated that makes "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny" relevant rather than a relic is again having the Nazi party remain as antagonists. If our real world were any different than it is today in 2023, perhaps I would feel that the filmmakers were resting on their laurels with providing Indiana Jones with a worthy adversary but we are living in our increasingly uncertain times in which 21st century Nazis are openly marching, White supremacists are topical political figures and we are indeed still haggling with a sector of society unwilling to accept the empirical true outcome of the last Presidential election. This makes Jurgen Voller an up to the minute villain as his disciplined fury and relentless diligence with obtaining the Dial to rewrite history itself speaks to current threat merged with national anxiety. 

Even so, "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny" is far from a home run. For the praise of the Jurgen Voller character as well as Mads Mikkelsen's performance, it does arrive with the caveat that it is also a decidedly underwritten character that places poor Mikkelsen within a film in which he has very little to actually do. Mads Mikkelsen is an intense figure who exudes screen presence and yet, over and again, I feel that he is shuffled off to the fringes rather than be allowed to take center stage. I just imagine what a filmmaker like Quentin Tarantino would provide with this character as well as an actor, for you know Tarantino would jump at the chance to get Mikkelsen to be an adversary that we would actually worry if Indy would come out alive against.

Additionally, and while he definitely tries, James Mangold is not quite the master of pacing that Steven Spielberg is. It felt as if Mangold front loaded his film without thinking of how to spread the energy around and find spots to deliver that crucial ebb and flow that allows the film as a whole to ascend rather than tread water. While not bloated, the pacing just begins to feel sluggish just when it should be accelerating, and that did temper the film as a whole.

And then, there's the climax...

Now, I do not think that after over 30 years, it would necessarily be a spoiler to announce that I was actually not a fan of the climax contained within "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" in which Indy comes face to face with an over 700 year old flesh and blood King Richard. To me, that was more than too much for me to suspend my sense of disbelief. It just felt too over the line into the fantastical when the Ark of The Covenant and mystical voodoo felt to tread that tenuous line between archeological truths and the supernatural exceedingly well. To that end, even the interstellar reveals in the fourth film felt to be more tangible to me. 

While the titular object in "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny" is a compelling one, it was the whole execution that just left me shaking my head. Trust me, I appreciate the huge swing for the fences and that Mangold and his team were unafraid to take their ideas to the wall. But, believe me, the climax is absolutely bonkers and felt to edge everything into something more akin to Taika Waititi's' "Thor: Ragnarok" (2017) than anything witnessed before in an Indiana Jones adventure. 

Still, I was entertained and often quite touched with witnessing the end of a cinematic journey that began when I was 12 years old in 1981. Time truly is an illusion as I remember that feeling of seeing Indiana Jones for the very first time so vividly and viscerally. Yet, maybe James Mangold's "Indiana Jones and the Dial Of Destiny" is precisely what it needed to be because time marches on and none of us are getting any younger. 

DARE TO DREAM: a review of "Asteroid City"

"ASTEROID CITY"
Story by Wes Anderson and Roman Coppola
Screenplay Written by Wes Anderson
Directed by Wes Anderson
**** (four stars)
RATED PG 13

I have often expressed upon this blogsite that the actual creation of a motion picture of any quality  amounts to existing as a minor miracle. But, to truly create a movie that represents one's personal, singular vision over and again, and to such a repeatedly high standard and individualistic aesthetic, it is a feat that more then deserves to be cherished...whether it happens to be one's cinematic cup of tea or not.  

In the case of Writer/Director Wes Anderson, it is extremely rare to find a filmmaker of his longevity and status who has amassed a cinematic body of work whose overall quality remains uncommonly high. For nearly 30 years and now 11 films, Anderson's filmography contains not one clunker in the entire bunch. Certainly, there may be entries that I an enraptured by more than others but in totality, and like his cinematic contemporary Writer/Director Quentin Tarantino, who has amassed 9 films in roughly the same amount of time, Wes Anderson has created a true cinematic universe fueled by an uncompromising vision that is proudly idiosyncratic and wholly unique to any other filmmaker. His signature style of artificial environments that are unquestionably emotionally true to the human experience have kept me enthralled since "Rushmore" (1999), making every new film an event for me.

With our increasingly precarious film landscape, it remains a miracle even still that a filmmaker like Wes Anderson is a figure and artist able to continue to be able to create films on his own terms but to also have them released in theaters, no less and to critical and box office acclaim. With movies succumbing to homogenous franchises, Anderson's confections always arrive as the perfect blast of fresh cinematic air at the right time, and I am thrilled to announce that "Asteroid City," his latest, is not only no exception in the least, it is possibly his furthest reaching film to date.   

Set in the 1950's, Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" centers itself within the titular location, a desert town which contains a massive crater created by a fallen meteorite years earlier, and is also on the far outskirts of an army base performing atomic bomb tests.

As our story begins, the city is welcoming a group of Scientifically inclined teenagers for the Junior Stargazers awards ceremony. We meet awards recipient Woodrow Steenbeck (Jake Ryan), his three younger sisters and his Father, Augie (Jason Schwartzman), a war photojournalist mourning the death of his wife and who has been unable to tell the news to his children. Additionally, we meet awards recipient Dinah Campbell (Grace Edwards) and her Mother, Midge Campbell (Scarlett Johansson), a wearying and famous Hollywood actress, and throughout, both teenagers and adults will gradually fall in love. 

A local motel provides lodgings for our cast who further incudes three more teenage honorees Ricky Cho (Ethan Josh Lee), Clifford Kellogg (Aristou Meehan), Shelley Bordon (Sophia Lillis) and their families; five star General Grif Gibson (Jeffrey Wright), astronomer Dr. Hickenlooper (Tilda Swinton), a busload of school children chaperoned by their teacher, June Douglas (Maya Hawke), a country western singing group led by Montana (Rupert Friend) and Stanley Zak (Tom Hanks), Augie's Father-In-Law and Woodrow's Grandfather who arrives in town to retrieve the Steenbeck sisters after the family car breaks down.

On the night during which the teenagers are scheduled to receive awards for their Scientific inventions, events unfold that ultimately threaten to upend the everyone's individualistic world views forever. 

Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City," as with all of his films, serves itself up to all of us as a sumptuous gift to be opened and savored. For my personal cinematic sensibilities, and especially so since "The Grand Budapest Hotel" (2014), Anderson's films have truly become an even greater pleasure to view and to even listen to as the motion picture landscape has become more homogenized, and his latest is no exception. In fact, there were points where I felt that I had to keep up with the luxurious dialogue which is presented with a clipped alacrity that invites you to lean in so as to not miss a word. Is this what years of Marvel/DC movies and CGI bombast have done to us as film viewers? Have we been conditioned to not hearing dialogue and monologues that are so clearly and beautifully composed? To seeing films where so much of the action is decidedly and defiantly in the performances and the language? Anderson delivers a story, filled with rich characters and dialogue that feels as if it was as equally meant to exist within novel form as much as the cinematic.

Speaking of the cinematic, Wes Anderson's visual aesthetic remains as peerless s ever and no matter how many of you feel that an AI program can replicate his style, trust me, there's nothing like the real thing and the legitimate human thought and attention that went into every single visual composition that could be suspended in a freeze frame to be studied due to its meticulous, luscious detail and care.

Anderson and his team, including Cinematographer Robert Yeoman and Composer Alexandre Desplat, have concocted another multi-layered audio/visual spectacle that celebrates the playful and pathos in equal delectable doses, making a true feast for the eyes that fills us with surprise, awe and wonder in ways that, once again, the Marvel/DC movies have all but bludgeoned out of the movies and our experiences with them, through sheer ubiquity. If you truly wish to see cinematic world building at a peak form, what Wes Anderson has conceived with "Asteroid City" is a true universe to lose yourself within,    

For his admirers and detractors, Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" firmly announces itself as the most Wes Anderson-ian entry in his entire oeuvre to date. While filled end to end with his trademark blend of whimsy, laugh out loud moments combined with honest existential angst, it is also a work that finds Anderson at his most inscrutable as he delivers a series of puzzle boxes or better yet, the experience is the cinematic equivalent of a Matryoshka doll. 

For all of the action and activity set inside of the film's titular city, it is all indeed a fabrication. Building greatly upon the Anderson conceit of presenting his story within the context of either a play as in the aforementioned "Rushmore," a novel as in "The Royal Tenenbaums" (2001) or a series of magazine articles as depicted in "The French Dispatch" (2021), "Asteroid City" is a movie of a fictional television production presented by a nameless host (Bryan Cranston) of a famous fictional play written by famed and fictional playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton) and directed by the controversial and still fictional Schubert Green (Adrian Brody). 

Nothing is real and yet, we still feel. Isn't that what the movies are all about? Movies as an art form are all confections and constructions, pieced together with all manner of tools, from the mechanical to the actors themselves and all originated from the ephemeral reaches of inspiration and dreams, to deliver an experience for you and I to hopefully have an emotional and intellectual response--essentially the mining of truth through the act of artifice.    

In essence, Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" is a story about storytelling, a movie about movies or furthermore, a Wes Anderson movie about Wes Anderson movies and why he makes his movies in the way that he chooses. In its own proudly unorthodox fashion, Wes Anderson has conceived of an experience that could be a cinematic cousin of works like Quentin Tarantino's "Once Upon A Time...In Hollywood" (2019) or Steven Spielberg's fabulous "The Fabelmans" (2022). Yet, to me, this film felt akin to Martin Scorsese's deeply undervalued, gloriously magnificent "Hugo" (2011), a cornucopia of a fantasia that ultimately brought the viewer upon a journey into the vibrantly beating heart of hearts of Scorsese's life as a filmmaker, as far as I am concerned.  While Wes Anderson may never fully express the depth of his views and inspirations to us explicitly, "Asteroid City" gave me what I felt was the closest glimpse yet into what the movies and the creative act of movie making just may actually mean to him. 

There is a quotation from playwright/poet Bertold Brecht (1898-1956) that I have loved ever since I became acquainted with it: "Art is not a mirror held up to reality but a hammer with which to shape it." Somehow, as I think of "Asteroid City," that quotation feels more than fitting. 

For all of the dollhouse designs of his films, Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" presents a catalyst in its story that sends essentially every character into some level of existential crisis, therefore, threatening to break apart the entire proceedings directly in front of our eyes. This film possesses Anderson's key themes of fractured families, precociously gifted children who become sad adults, emotional stagnation and arrested developments, loss, endings, mortality, grief and mourning, all congealing into his specialized brand of gentle yet potent melancholia. The trio of Steenbeck sisters parallel the three adult brothers of "The Darjeeling Limited" (2007). The teenage romance echoes the campground love of "Moonrise Kingdom" (2012). Every conceptual piece fits into its place perfectly within this film and therefore, this film with all of Anderson's past work. 

Furthermore, it is the film's sense of pristine order and how it is threatened that I felt revealed something about the possible purpose of Wes Anderson's films as a whole and how it is all illustrated within "Asteroid City": the theme of creating a world of such painstakingly diligent order within an unforgiving universe that by its very nature is chaotic...essentially to enact control when truthfully, none of us really possess it. And in that, there is the delicate balance and dichotomy that sits within the heart of Wes Anderson's existential comedy and crises throughout all of his films and especially within "Asteroid City."

We witness it over and again. The Scientific teenagers play intricate and endless memory games in which none of them could ever lose, thus illustrating the utter futility of the exercise. The quiet, genteel nature of the city itself juxtaposed with mushroom clouds looming with heavy menace in the background. The sense of inner tragedy with Augie capturing photographs of key moments to hold onto forever even as he mourns his wife. And then, of course, there is the film's main conceit of being a story within a story, a play within a television show, characters housed inside of actors being portrayed by real actors in a Wes Anderson movie. And like that Bertold Brecht quotation, the metaphorical hammer arrives and fully disrupts everyone's sense of purpose where the film's narrative is shaken up to an almost irreconcilable degree. 

In a sequence that doesn't feel to far removed from Writer/Director Charlie Kaufman's "Synecdoche, N.Y.(2008), Margot Robbie appears late in the film and delivers a beautiful monologue that cuts straight through all of the mechanisms, weaving everything together w hie simultaneously breaking the word apart and the ultimate effect is stirring and undeniably moving as I felt it spoke directly to the nature of grief and loss. To that end, the characters all begin to chant the mantra of "You can't wake up if you don't go to sleep." And dear readers...what happens when we sleep?

If the movies are dreams or the product of dreams or both, then what we have with Wes Anderson is a front row seat into his idiosyncratic visions. I wrote in my review of "The Grand Budapest Hotel" that even after already having created films as wholly unique as "The Royal Tenenbaums," "The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou" (2004) and the stop motion animated "Fantastic Mr. Fox" (2009) to name a few, all of those films now feel to have been warm up exercises for what Wes Anderson could really do if he let his imagination run wild. From "The Grand Budapest Hotel" onwards, it feels as if we have been receiving Anderson's imagination completely unfiltered! 

Without Wes Anderson's ability to dream, we would not have his films at all--a sentiment that works for any artist of any type or any person of any vocation in life. His films are the result of his dream state in action. And when chaos inevitably occurs, threatening to unravel everything in its path, what to do?: Just keep placing one foot in front of the other and keep telling the story. Keep creating in order to just maybe make sense of what is ultimately impossible to make sense of. And we watch and respond for the same reasons, to try and understand what it means to be human, to be alive, to exist.

Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City," while maybe not his finest film to date, it is unquestionably a terrific one and after all of this time, I applaud him further for his unwavering desire to keep dreaming and reaching further as that train of life continues rolling along its tracks. It is a film I am excited to revisit as well as it makes me dream about what Wes Anderson could possibly create next.

MARVEL'S MESSY, MANUPULATIVE MASQUERADE : a review of "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3"

"GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY VOL. 3"
Based upon the Marvel Comics series
Written and Directed by James Gunn
* (one star)
RATED PG 13

With full admission, I have seen enough to just announce that whatever aesthetic Writer/Director James Gunn possesses, it does not appeal to me in any way. That being said, I do not believe for a moment that Gunn is remotely as clever as he maybe thinks he is and he is definitely not a cinematic visionary.

I have been notoriously soft upon the first two exceedingly popular to beloved volumes of James Gunn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy" series (2014/2017), plus the inconsequential "Holiday Special" (2022), which I felt each had their moments but were overall bland, sluggish and overstuffed with easy, pedestrian sentiments masquerading as anarchistic glee. 

To that end, I was also no fan of his initial move to DC Comics films division with his reboot of "The Suicide Squad" (2021), which to me, played like a "Guardians..." film with more profanity and gore. And so, I gave his HBO television spin off "Peacemaker"(2022) no attention. Oddly enough, and truthfully, with no intended disrespect to what James Gunn originated, I enjoyed the interstellar rat tag team of the Guardians the most in Joe and Anthony Russo's "Avengers: Infinity War" (2018) and "Avengers: Endgame" (2019). 

So, certainly as the third volume and intended grand finale of the series as we know it was upon us, and even with my lackluster interest, I would concede that neither past installment existed as a "bad film." This, plus the fact that by now, I am a bit of a Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) completist, again despite my fatigue with the superhero genre overall. 

As I have stated many times upon this blogsite, there has been a certain quality control over much of the MCU's output since its inception with Jon Favreau's "Iron Man" (2008). Yet, recently, with the increase into serialized television programs which tie directly into the feature films and vice versa, the sheer assembly line aspect has so clearly taken its toll upon its feature films as recent installments starring Doctor Strange, Thor and Ant-Man have all stumbled to varying degrees. 

With James Gunn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3," I do believe that he made the film that he fully intended to make. But to me, I will raise what is sure to be a very unpopular opinion. For my cinematic sensibilities, James Gunn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol 3" is a disingenuous, mercenary and egregiously manipulative experience to witness as Gunn seemed to be all too willing to allow corporate interests dictate the end result, which often felt like like a ploy constructed to ensure high box office tallies in the overseas market and for God's sakes, there's that soundtrack album this side of K-Tel to sell to the masses. This is the weakest entry in the series by a wide margin, the weakest Marvel film to date and truth be told, it is the kind of film to which Martin Scorsese's criticisms of the superhero movie genre overall are more than proven to be correct. 

Frankly and simply, I hated it.

James Gunn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" opens upon the team's new headquarters of Knowhere, with leader Peter Quill (Chris Pratt) lost in a drunken stupor while mourning the loss of Gamora (Zoe Saldana), who was killed during the battle against Thanos. 

The Guardians, who still include Drax The Destroyer (Dave Bautista), the tree/humanoid Groot (voiced by Vin Deisel), empath and Quill's half-sister Mantis (Pom Klementieff), the volatile Nebula (Karen Gillan), space pirate Kraglin (Sean Gunn) and his cosmonaut dog, Cosmo (voiced by Maria Bakalova) are soon surprisingly attacked by Adam Warlock (Will Poulter), decimating Knowhere and fatally wounding the acerbic Rocket Raccoon (voiced by Bradley Cooper).   

In order to save Rocket's life, the Guardians are plunged into the tragic origin story of Rocket and are forced to face down The High Evolutionary (Chukwudi Iwuji), an interstellar eugenicist, vivisectionist and zealot bent upon inventing a superior race of beings to rule the galaxy and who holds the key to Rocket's existence and survival.

First things first, I have no issue whatsoever with the storyline of "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" as I did appreciate how Gunn devised a plot that would take this too jokey series into darker territories and a more operatic sheen, due to what is intended as a closing chapter and the bonds created between the characters over past films. That said and typically, this portion of my posting would inform you of certain admirable qualities about the film from production values and the overall aesthetic presentation. Yet, in the case of James Gunn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol 3," any such statements would be nothing more than faint praise. We know that the Marvel feature films showcase the top of the line regarding its production values but crucially, production values do not make a movie. The basics of strong storytelling, writing, acting and directions are always and forever the key ingredients and without those, all of the production values in the world cannot rescue a film..."Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" being no exception.

For those of you who perhaps do not enjoy the superhero film genre as it currently exists, feeling, just as Martin Scorsese has expressed, that what we are witnessing are more akin to being "theme park rides" than actual movies, what James Gunn has delivered will certainly not deter you from your opinions. In fact, Gunn's film may even enhance your opinions. Overlong, excessively loud and narratively chaotic to the point of incoherence, Gunn's film is sloppily told and whose overall tonality is disastrous. It is simultaneously histrionic and sluggish as its frenetic editing, CGI overload, and nausea inducing camera work (can someone please tell Gunn to cease swirling his camera). I felt more assaulted than enthralled and when all was said ad done, Gunn's morass of throwing just everything at me only felt to slow the film's 2 and a half hour running time to the point where I could feel every minute tick by. 

Characters appear and disappear from the film for no other reason than Gunn's script says so. I was as confused as the characters themselves when wondering who is rescuing whom from whomever and which ship are they on, or have escaped from or need to get to and destroy. The non stop pyrotechnics and bombastic cataclysm ensured that there is not one moment of nuance, shading or subtlety whatsoever, especially as the essentially the entire cast is full throttle SCREAMING every bit of their inanely written dialogue in which everyone speaks in the patois of overly glib, middle school level PG 13 insults and colloquialisms (save for one legitimately funny F bomb). Honestly, we are supposed to be within the far and furthest reaches of outer space and everyone sounds like rejects from the 1930's "Dead End Kids" series?!

And oh boy, there is the often celebrated soundtrack and needle drops, which I have had a problem with since the first film. While you and I can quibble about how creative James Gunn's music choices actually are or aren't, I will express that this third time around, the songs remain being AM radio level uninspired. Dear readers, this is not saying anything about my personal connections to these songs or whether I like them or not. On the contrary, I love so very many of the songs used over the three films. My criticism over James Gunn's choices have always been as follows: For me, I still contend his selections are nowhere near as forward thinking as they could be in a series that continues to promote itself as being the more anarchistic side of the MCU because in a film that will actually name check the likes of the ahead of the curve avant garde music of Adrian Belew and King Crimson, you will absolutely never hear either one in any of these movies for fear of alienating mass audiences and having diminishing soundtrack album sales. In the case of "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol 3," what was most egregious to me was that the songs stunningly were intrusive, ill placed, distracting, disruptive and felt placed to perform any narrative heavy lifting while also ensuring the jukebox musical aspect remained intact. Remember, there's still a sound track album to sell!

As top of the line as the visual aesthetics, I found myself having the same issues that I had with Peyton Reed's "Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania," which is a Marvel films problem and does not fully rest at the feet of James Gunn. There is a continuing sameness to to the appearances of these otherworldly locations be it within the sub atomic levels of existence or throughout the vastness of the universe and all throughout this whole multiversal experience the characters are floating in and of. Yes, there is a visual base all Marvel films and shows need to adhere to attain consistency. But, even so, why will they not stretch themselves outside of their creative boxes and try to engage and therefore, enthrall audiences anymore? When the titular galaxy doesn't look any different than sights seen in the Quantum Realm, then what's the point of going anywhere else--it is all the same green screen graveyard that we've been subjected to for decades.    

As previously stated, I have no issue with James Gunn's storyline for this third film. Yet, and once more with feeling, as the late, great Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert so eloquently expressed, a film is not about what it is about. It is about HOW it is about what it is about. In that case, that quality is what exactly made "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" a failure. 

By now, any fan or even casual viewer of this series already knows that the Guardians Of The Galaxy    are made up of emotionally and psychologically damaged individuals who all are all struggling with their respective traumas of broken or destroyed families, coming together to formulate their own family. While established in the first film, it is as if James Gunn apparently thinks that audiences have either not understood or have forgotten his primary theme and therefore, sledgehammers the same maudlin, mawkish beats from the first two films over and over and over again. 

To be fair, James Gunn's affection for these characters has not waned. And again, I do appreciate how this film is easily the series' darkest chapter, as the origin story of Rocket is appropriately heartbreaking and earnest in its intentions. That said, I what I hated was how Gunn either had nowhere else to go with his characters as well as not trusting in the inherent drama and pathos of his own material to allow it to exist upon its own terms without feeling the excessive need to accentuate absolutely every moment to beyond its breaking points out of nothing else but sheer manipulation. 

Chris Pratt and Zoe Saldana are sadly one note, as Pratt's Peter Quill is dim and sad, while Saldana, who returns as an alternate time line variant of Gamora, and one who has no emotional connection to Pratt's Peter Quill or the Guardians, is just angry. Additionally, Karen Gillan's perpetually irate Nebula is also frustratingly one note and despite both Dave Baustista and Pom Klementieff clearly coming off the very best out of the entire cast, there is nothing that we haven't already seen from them or their characters, no new shades to discover, no greater purpose than what we have already experienced. 

But, even so, I will give credit where credit is due and that is to the actual storyline arc of Rocket. We have seen over these three films and how he is it in fact the central figure of the series, which James Gunn deftly set up in his unquestionably graceful final moments of the second film, which ends upon the surprisingly wistful face of the otherwise embittered raccoon staring pensively into the cosmos. For this third installment, Gunn and Bradley Cooper combined with the CGI wizards allowed this character to live and breathe as if it were actual flesh and blood, again showcasing the artistry that can exist when delivered with purpose, skill and heart. Unfortunately, Rocket deserved better.

I am not questioning the earnestness of James Gunn's clear opposition to animal cruelty and I did appreciate his passion. What I didn't enjoy is that he relinquished any sense of artful storytelling to depict Rocket's origin as the entire proceedings simply shoved our faces in CGI animal torture and vivisection with the tenor of any animal cruelty advertisements one can see nightly upon c able television. Essentially, where mere suggestion or implication could work, we see over and again, The High Evolutionary's grotesque subjugation and mutilation with those CGI watery eyes begging for mercy filling the screen. 

Yes, movies are manipulative for that is what movies are. Filmmakers use the tools of their art and trade to manipulate images to inspire emotional responses from audiences. Even so, and in all of your guts, you just know when you are not being trusted enough to make your own connections and arrive at your emotions on your own. 

With "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol 3," James Gunn felt the need to almost physically wrestle the tears from our eyes and that storytelling dishonesty made for a deep turn off. Face it, and in addition to all of the animal torture, we have a film where Gunn subjects us to not one, not two, but three prank deaths of major characters, demonstrating that Gunn did not have the courage of his convictions to really be honest and take his film to the wall if need be for fear, again, of alienating audiences. And in a larger Marvel scale, this is the second MCU film in a year to feature a collective of imprisoned children. It's easy, it's cheap, it's cynical. It's mean spirited.   

Easy, cheap, cynical, and mean spirited sums up James Gunn's "Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3" overall as pedestrian sentiments as fueled by constantly bombastic sound and fury masquerades as a motion picture experience. In fact, the worst thing that I can say about it is this: once it was all mercifully over, I felt as if I had endured yet another Zack Snyder directed DC film due to its utter and endless joylessness.

Making James Gunn just perfect to lead the new batch of DC movies. 

BODY AND SOUL: a review of "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret"

 

"ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT'S ME, MARGARET"
Based upon the novel by Judy Blume
Produced by James L. Brooks
Written For The Screen and Directed by Kelly Fremon Craig
RATED PG 13
***1/2 (three and a half stars)

By the time I read Judy Blume's seminal Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, I had already devoured Blume's Tales Of A Fourth Grade Nothing and it's sequel/spin off Otherwise Known As Sheila The Great multiple times. In doing so, I completely embraced Judy Blume as one of my first heroes. While Judy Blume possessed an inexplicable gift of insight and empathy into the inner world of children, she also clearly enhanced my life as her books inspired a love of reading, stories and storytelling and in my future, my love of writing. In short, I would have read anything if she had written it. 

Yet, Margaret was different.

For some context, when I was introduced to the literary world of Judy Blume, I was eight years old. I entered the 3rd grade in an new school and I was then forced to gradually finding my footing in a classroom of highly sophisticated kids who visibly possessed tight bonds with each other due to the longevity of their time together as classmates since nursery school as well as living together within the Hyde Park/University Of Chicago campus community and neighborhoods--an area where I did not live and had previously been foreign to me. 

While George Lucas' "Star Wars" (1977)--then, only in the world for a few life changing months--provided me with a way in, the just as seismic lightning strike of Judy Blume (as delivered by a classroom visit by a school librarian) afforded me somewhat of an anchor in this brand new setting as my love of her books allowed me to slowly begin to establish an identity with my new classmates. I read her books constantly. And each time I was able to obtain a new title, as with Iggie's House and the dark, gut punch of Blubber plus the aforementioned titles, I became more and more devoted to Judy Blume as if she was the kind voice in my ear entertaining me with stories but even greater, assuring me that I was going to be ok and somehow understood my feelings, as confused and conflicted as they were.

But again, Margaret was different. 

While of course, the book was not lacking in Blume's trademark wit, honesty, and empathy, for the first time, there was something that felt to be a little out of reach for me. I was gently chided once by some of the boys in my classroom as I read intensely ("That's a girl's book," they said. "It's not a 'girl's' book," I retorted. "It's a good book!" Nothing else was said to me afterwards about it.) but, my classmates quickly realized that Judy Blume and I were inseparable. And still, with Margaret, I wasn't connecting as I previously had with Blume's stories. Frankly, I just didn't get it. 

As an adult, I look back and realize that, just as simply, I wasn't ready for it. It wasn't time. And quite possibly, perhaps that book was not necessarily written for me.

As Judy Blume's Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret is a story partially about a girl on the edge of reaching puberty, it is ultimately a deeply perceptive and unapologetically female take about finding one's place in the world, and decidedly without the imaginary male audience reading it. This was Blume speaking directly to every girl who chose to read and through that level of deep communication and understanding, the book clearly reached its intended audience with a passion and devotion that has lasted over 50 years, while dumbfoundedly also being the center of book censorship for the same amount of time. 

Clearly, Blume herself knew that there was something different about this book compared to her other works as she resisted selling the rights for any film adaptations for over 40 years since the book's publications before ultimately selling to Producer James L. Brooks and Writer/Director Kelly Fremon Craig, who herself had previously made the outstanding "The Edge Of Seventeen" (2016). Well, Judy Blume and her generations of fans can not only breathe easily, they, and all of us, can rejoice as Craig's film adaptation is a winner, one that fully honors the beloved source material as well as emerging as a sublime and graceful work of cinematic storytelling in its own right. 

As with the novel, Kelly Fremon Craig's "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret" is set in 1970 and chronicles a year in the life of 11 year old Margaret Simon (richly played by Abby Ryder Forston), whose life is upended upon her return from summer camp as her parents Barbara and Herb (played by Rachel McAdams and Benny Safdie) have decided to move from their New York City apartment to the suburbs of New Jersey in the face of Herb's recent job promotion. 

In addition to suddenly having to leave behind all she knows and loves, including an especially powerful friendship with her eccentric Grandmother Sylvia (Kathy Bates), Margaret's new life finds her on the cusp of puberty, a profoundly and simultaneously private and universal experience, as shared between herself and a new clique of friends led by know-it-all Nancy Wheeler (a perfectly cast Elle Graham) who hilariously guides the group through her now iconic chest growing chants while competitively taunting about who will receive their period first, thus triggering Margaret's anxiety about the natural progression of her growth and development. 

On top of that, plus a budding crush upon neighbor/classmate Moose Freed (Aidan Wojtak-Hissong), and enduring hormone fueled class parties with her new classmates, Margaret begins to navigate precisely what her place in the world actually is and can be, which incudes the world of religion. While she speaks and prays to God as a means of conveying her worries and fears to someone, anyone who just might understand, Margaret Simon, has been raised without religion due to the familial prejudices faced by her parents' interfaith marriage, as Dad is Jewish and Mom is Christian, and therefore, Margaret feels untethered at her core.

Meanwhile, Barbara, a former Art teacher, is struggling to find her own footing in her new life in New Jersey while Sylvie, struggling with loneliness, also attempts to discover where this next life chapter may take her, thus making the film an intergenerational coming of age story of three women all attempting to define life for themselves, each upon their own terms. 

Dear readers, in a pivotal time of movie going where the franchises have fully taken over, especially in the wake of the rise of streaming platforms and the decimation of movie theaters during the Covid-19 pandemic, it is a miracle that Kelly Fremon Craig's "Are You There God? It's Me Margaret" was even made let alone received a full, theatrical release. Moves like this one not only are deserving of our support just due to the kind of film that it is. It is deserving of our support and embrace because it is an exceedingly strong, warm, genuine, delightful and wisely honest film that is enormously breezy in its entertainment and "slice-of-life" presentation but also possesses a depth of existential pathos that is true to the life experience and our roles within that experience. 

Kelly Fremon Craig has succulently created a film that works as a perfect bookend to "The Edge Of Seventeen" as well as serving as a terrific companion piece to Writer/Director Bo Burnham's masterful "Eighth Grade" (2018) as well as Director Domee Shi's "Turning Red" (2022) for Pixar. While "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret" smartly keeps the narrative staged in 1970, Craig deftly weaves the nostalgia of her film with the contemporary eras of the three aforementioned films into a timeless narrative, which then creates a conversation with everyone in the audience. Much like the events and trajectory of the characters within the 12 year odyssey of Writer/ Director Richard Linklater's beautiful "Boyhood" (2012), this specific stage of Margaret's life will undoubtedly reflect the exact same section of the girls in the audience, while adult women will remember. 

Kelly Fremon Craig not only and brilliantly keeps the emotional honesty of Blume's novel wholly intact but also the biological honesty, which itself serves the characters, and only continues to make the controversy surrounding this story inexcusable as this stage of life is being experienced or has been experienced by over half of the world's population for all of human history. This particular element of societal shame remains intact in the narrative as the mystery and primal embarrassment surrounding the human female body and the natural bodily process and metamorphosis is reflected in many sequences between Margaret and her friends, both humorously and painfully, playing out through moments of peer pressure, public humiliation and even Margaret's misguided cruelty towards another classmate who is taller, bustier and more outwardly "womanly" than her peers. 

As Margaret Simon, Abby Ryder Forster is superbly engaging through her matter of fact presence which is as natural as if we were just watching this real actress live her real daily life away from the cameras. She never once strikes a false note, and to that end, neither does Craig who directs the film with a sure, clean creative hand, always knowing the inherent drama within Blume's original story is enough just as it is. Nether she nor Forster needlessly jazz up the proceedings with histrionics and prefabricated emotions and contrivances. They allow Judy Blume's story to exist and breathe on its own terms and they inhabit it wonderfully, with patience and tenderness. 

As much as this story focuses upon Margaret's emerging menstruation, Kelly Fremon Craig's handling of Margaret's relationship with religion is also quietly daring, especially within a genre that often wishes to proselytize and weigh in on the side of simply having a strict belief and adherence to faith. Judy Blume's novel and now Craig's film are thankfully and crucially much wiser than that, knowing all too well that one's relationship with religion and spirituality is not that simple, especially, in this case  for Margret as her relationship is forged through religious bigotry and a parental rejection of all religions until Margaret makes a decision for herself when she becomes as adult. 

Here is where, Craig widens her scope as the film could have easily centered upon Margaret, leaving all of the other characters upon the sidelines. "Are You There God? Its Me, Margaret," is also the story of a marriage and parenthood, with still young parents attempting to make their way in this new era of the 1970s by refusing to make the same closed minded mistakes made upon them by their own parents. Even so, and as well intentioned as they are, both Herb and Barbara are not infallible and their own closed minded decision to raise Margaret without any sense of religious awareness could be viewed as a mistake in and of itself. In doing so, Margaret is indeed left to her own devices, and bravely goes it alone to figure religion out for herself and is ultimately criticized by her parents when she does. 

As for her prayers, well...with no real foundation or context as to what the concept of God could be, it does bring to question just exactly who does Margaret feel that she is speaking to in her private moments? Is it a deity or is it herself? Both? Neither? Regardless, it is through Margaret's sense of aloneness that she turns inward and outward, trying to see if anything fits, trying to determine just what is exactly her place in the world and the universe. 

And Kelly Fremon Craig's scope widens even further...

While Margaret is appropriately center stage throughout, I loved how Kelly Fremon gave equal conceptual weight to both Barbara and Sylvia. Rachael McAdams give a performance of such ease and grace as she is having a stretch of time that is as equally awkward and as painful as her daughter. Yet, instead of Margaret who is facing so much of the unknown, Barbara, is confronting her own sense of self based upon who she was, the events that shaped her and does any of that fit into this new world of suburbia with all manner of parent school committees to join being thrust at her. I enjoyed how Craig showcased Barbara's difficulties with establishing a new life as a homemaker, with the running theme of their home not having furniture long after moving. The unsettled nature of the living space perfectly reflects the unsettled nature within Barbara as who she was is not lining up with who she could be or rather, who she is wondering she should be in this new environment. 

Perhaps, most unsettled of all is Grandmother Sylvie who is not only confronted with life in New York City without family but also without any close friendships with people of her own age group. What does life now represent for her? The gradual realization that her best friend is an 11 year old girl gives the film a deep existential ache, I was thankful Kelly Fremon Craig did not ignore or brush aside and as you would expect, Kathy Bates is equal to every moment given to her, as she elicits the outward humor and the sorrow underneath.

Kelly Fremon Craig's "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret" is a rare, understated jewel of a film designed and delivered to a youthful audience yet never for one moment, treats young people as commodities undeserving of an entertaining and artful narrative that treats their lives seriously. To that end, Craig has created an earnest and honest slice of life film that houses no villains and refuses to tie up every narrative thread into a too pristine bow. We are gifted the presence of being with a collective of characters all trying to understand what life on Earth means, and that makes for a another cinematic rarity these days as this is a film of gracious humanity.

Just like the novels of Judy Blume.