The Fourteenth Hour Of Twin Peaks The Return Is A Welcome, Fiery Comeback

"We've come to the end of a long walk, Pete." 

Like a long held breath, the fourteenth hour of Lynch's 18 hour event is a most delicious of exhales.

Burning rubber with Albert at long last explaining the origin of the Blue Rose, and dropping the names of those involved, this is an episode that is both an incredible wealth of core Peaks mythology, but also the most propulsive storytelling the show has displayed since the start thirteen hours prior. And the bombs continue by way of the connections between Diane and Dougie Jones laid out for all to hear. And the concept of a tulpa, or rather the means of creating someone seemingly out of nowhere for the purposes of manipulation upon our plane of existence. Beings like those who came about during the Blue Rose case, like Dougie, like Bob. 

Meanwhile, the law at last catches up with Chad.(Thank Science), and also begins its trek deep into the woods as Bobby leads them toward "Jackrabbit's Palace". Easily for me, one of the defining series of dramatic images this incredible series has been generous enough to grant us. Lynch, understands the gravity of this entire sequence, as Bobby, Frank, Hawk, and Andy at last are confronted by forces none of them are prepared to comprehend. Both wondrous and suspenseful, the scene surprises by both who encounters these otherworldly beings, and who they leave with. It's a set of choices that once seen, make perfect sense to the overall story, and is satisfying in ways unexpected. The post script to the sequence being that the town, and everyone in it are at last dead in the center of something major that is just around the bend..

And can we give a huge shout out to Andy Brennan with this episode? Once again, like Bobby, we are at last seeing the good rise regardless of the dark that surrounds the cast. It too also feels perfectly organic to the Andy we've known since 1990. Our heroes are truly lucky to have such innocence in their corner. It's an earnest bit of climactic narrative that could continue to surprise. 

Then there's Freddie(Jake Wardle)'s strange tale of the whys of his journey from cartooniest Britain to Twin Peaks, Washington. A tale of destiny that comes hot on the heels of learning the name of the Giant; The Fireman. A scene that is both welcome in its patience, and charming enough to make viewers become James, listening intently to this bloke's wild story. It's pretty clear, Freddie's gloved hand of justice will be making a crucial appearance later. It's such a fun little scene that we almost forget that these guys are in fact doing security work for the Great Northern. Where that strange sound continues to emit from deep within the bowels of the hotel. 

And ending this incredible comeback of a segment by giving us both one of the most overtly horror-esque moments in Lynch history, and potentially important reveals regarding Sarah Palmer, is what makes this one of the strongest hours of the entire series' run. Juxtaposed with how we saw Laura in the lodge hours before, Sarah seems to be another shade of the exact same color. It also drives home Lynch's own feelings regarding toxic masculinity in public places. It helps close things on an anticipatory high.

But let's get back to our friends of the Blue Rose Society, where Gordon further fills the others in on further goings on, including recalling apparently one of many Monica Belluci dreams. And in it, she imparts to him a passage that is possibly at the deepest heart of The Return, and possibly Twin Peaks as a whole,

 "We're like the dreamer..

Who dreams, and then lives inside the dream.. "

But who is the dreamer?

Circles are almost complete. It's near time for summation. Beyond mere economic concerns, the episode seems more about preparing for a final wind-up. The end is coming fast. And despite a few bumpy parts along the way, this journey has been endlessly rewarding. It remains such a shock that this exists. Nothing in theaters this summer has quite come close to being this heartfelt, courageous, insane, frightening or exciting. Every hour has been a gift. And like my love for much of the original, I'm perfectly happy with closing this book soon..

Parts Twelve & Thirteen of Twin Peaks The Return, A Needed Rest Stop?

Are there enough words to properly describe what a gift Lynch and Frost have granted this world with Twin Peaks? Even when this new rendition finds itself grinding gears in the name of a few supplemental plot points, there's always that feeling that despite its problems, you'll still never guess where they'll take us next. This also applies to the very nature of time itself. The more closely one looks at the events unfolding, there's little here happening in any fashion that remotely resembles earth time. The world of the show, and its characters seem to exist outside of traditional time and space, and as such it is hard to get a handle on whether or not this is all intentional. In any case, the tales both intertwining and happening parallel sink into an almost placid mode with these two hours, making them among the least propulsive, and possibly most frustrating episodes yet.

From Tammy's (And later, Diane's) induction into the Blue Rose Society, which was founded in the 1970s after a mystery involving one of our agents here, to the startling, and ultimately stymie-worthy reveal of a fan favorite. They are a collection of moments that feel less like the current series, and more a supplemental heavy rendition of some of the more seemingly aimless latter episodes of Season Two. Which isn't to say that they are bereft of astonishing moments. Beginning with a stretch of minutes, catching up with Sarah Palmer(the ever terrific, Grace Zabriskie), who's stressful trip to the market is followed by a visit by Hawk, in a series of scenes that heavily evoke Fire Walk With Me. Moment of pure, distended unease and crippling terror. What is established here, is a series of scenes that take an unusually prolonged amount of time to get occasionally nowhere. But these scenes with Sarah, underlie something potentially central to the finale of the story. 

We also gather more Ben Horne in the aftermath of the latest wrath of his now confirmed grandson, Richard. What begins as an assessment of the damage left in his wake, becomes a classically Ben tangent regarding his treasured childhood bicycle. Perhaps reinforcing that a previous generation's values often were whittled down to items they possessed. A remnant of a world quite alien from the youth of not only those with less, but of even those with more today. Meanwhile, Brother Jerry remains out in another dimension out in those woods.

But episode twelve's most startling section heralds the return of Sherilyn Fenn's Audrey Horne, who now seems inexplicably trapped in a situation, and in turn, so is the audience. Near frantic in the search for her lover, the once before mentioned Billy, the once plucky and mischievous Audrey is locked in a quandary with a little man who claims to be her ineffectual husband, Charlie (Clark Middleton). His unwillingness to take her seriously, let alone help her find Billy, is both one of the most demanding and ultimately frustrating moments of the series to date. Demanding in that it isn't readily apparent what seems to actually be taking place, and frustrating in just how protracted the scene becomes. It perhaps is only made more painful when considering this beloved character, seemingly in an emotional prison of sorts as Charlie opts to make a phone call to a mysterious, unseen Tina (whom we will soon come to realize is another invisible player, ala Billy). The scene, like many in hour twelve, seem to exist in a space firmly planted between functional plot, and individual shorts built on absurdist foundations. After a while it becomes hard to tell whether it's mere padding, or outright trolling. But where the scene's most compelling notion is that dreams are again regarded as a window into a larger reality. Which could also inform the larger implications of Peaks as a whole; a world shattered in the days following the death of one young girl. There will always be mysteries, but the scene, like Eraserhead alone seems closest in tone to that film in the way that conversations have a specific cadence and air that recalls some of our most baffling dreams as they seem to loop endlessly. 

Or Lynch, is simply parodying the very nature of this elusive narrative event. Maybe there is no carrot. 

Let us also consider the awaited hit on Warden Murphy, a seeming complete repeat of Doc Jacoby's show and sales pitch. Framing the heart of the show as something wholly concerned with America as a nation on an economic precipice. It's a refrain that has grown louder and louder since the series began. With history being made in the real America at this very moment, the show can also be seen as a somewhat more innocent summation of what led to this specific moment in time. Either way, all signs continue to point toward northern Washington for a final culmination. 

The meetings at the Roadhouse, continue to offer up clues as to who these unseen characters in the periphery of the story are, and how they may very well play into the finale. Clark, Angela, and now Trick, all continuing on like a cast of characters we will never truly meet. Never truly know. Like real life, and it's many transient conversations that might even involve something tangential to our own lives. Perhaps a reminder that we all share the same seemingly endless story.

Part Thirteen, continues in this placid realm where we are granted further shades of what is building up on all sides. We have the next big moment in the Vegas story with the Mitchum boys, conga lining with "Dougie", and the girls thanking Mr. Bushnell Mullins at Lucky Seven Insurance in lieu of Part eleven's charming twist of fortune. Not to mention, the glow on Janey E's face at the revelation that this little victory also included a new car, and an absurd beyond absurd backyard gym set for little Sonny Jim! Such the turnaround for the wife who was ready to lay down laws with Batman-like deal but a few hours ago. "Dougie's" license become a cheery mirror to every encroaching darkness at the corners of the story, and he isn't even wholly there. What Frost and Lynch are saying here, should lead to some interesting debate for some time..

Meanwhile, what serves for me as the reason this episode truly exists, is the scene that follows, where Evil Coop at Las arrives in Montana to catch up with Ray who left him for dead back in Part Eight. Only, he has to get through this compound of pure wickedness and it's imposing leader to get to him. Which mounts to an arm wrestling match that not only displays just how out of their depth this criminal organization is in dealing with this man, but in just how in control of the situation he truly is. It's easily the most compelling section of the hour, only made better by the presence of Frank Collison, as the kingpin's right hand(sic) man. The confrontations here remain as surreal as anything else in this world, but the outcome grants a seething amount of dread for what's come. Evil Coop, is in control. Evil Coop, will get the information he needs. He is now aware of Philip Jeffries, and the conspiracy against him. This includes the ring that was supposed to be put on him post his "murder". He also is in possession of those much wanted coordinates.

Now, Evil Coop has an army.  

Worse? Our suspicions as to the identity of Richard Horne's true father might just be on the money. 

Meanwhile, back in Vegas where police make one dollar bets on paper baskets while utter horrors adorn the halls of the station, rattled cheat, Anthony Sinclair caves in after being pressured to take care of the Dougie problem once and for all, leading to a charming and again impressively funny "confession" at the insistence of both Dougie and Mr. Mullins. With Dougie Coop, so easily mapped via his predilection for coffee, again evades death by merely being a silent comedy protagonist. 

Never underestimate the power of coffee and cherry pie. 

And speaking of coffee and cherry pie, the revelations that love in the Peaks universe seems reserved for the wholly innocent, the reveal of what became of Norma and Ed, is further bruised by another appearance of that dreaded refrain. Couple this with the moment Nadine meets her idol in Jacoby, and the melancholy heart at the center of this grand opus remains inescapable. Not at all unlike Sarah Palmer, seemingly trapped in an endless loop of the same conflict time and again, and not unlike Audrey, still unable to leave to search for Billy. Fearing that she is someone else. That she, like each and every one these characters are trapped. Endlessly bond by an inexplicable gravity. Spiraling ever closer toward each other yet irrevocably apart.

 "What story is that, Charlie?"

Then there's James.

 -Wait, what?

-Oh, and the less we talk about the French woman with a mother who has a turnip farm, the better. And those last moments, while beautiful in their own right, make me worry for good ol' Ed.

Atomic Blonde(2017). Fortitude. Betrayal. Death Of Sentiment.

This weekend, I went ahead and experimented with a micro-review of sorts for David Leitch's post Wick spy adaptation. And while my initial thoughts leaned toward the lavishly stylized, yet occasionally overcooked final product, I'm about to perform the improbable, and state here that Atomic Blonde, is a film that demands more than one sitting for proper digestion. I can only speak for myself, in that the presentation might be something of a hurdle to get past that initial viewing. But come the second time, so much began to hit the pleasure and inspiration centers of my mind. And knowing how it ends, actually helped me better understand who was who, the whys, as well as the often distant demeanor that the film encompasses throughout its running time. So yes. Stating here and now, that I actually admire the film now for what it's attempting to do, and often succeeds at; presenting us with a vision of post-modern romance with 1980s europhila, coupled with an often cutting deconstruction of the spy film genre.

It's a film that is equally in love with a generation's pop art vision of latter Cold War intrigue, but isn't willing to lean either way into its politics. In fact, the film is openly exploring just how broken and desolate the lives of spies can really be, even as the world suggests that their larger goals are beginning to shift. History is in the making along the periphery of the narrative, as the Berlin Wall seems ever closer to falling in November 1989. And despite fiercely capable agent Lorraine Broughton (Charlize Theron)'s mission to recapture a watch containing a sensitive list of hidden agents(Yes, it's that cliche again.), machinations are at play beyond the fact that the KGB, is very much in the know of her presence in Berlin. And once she meets her local contact in David Percival(James McAvoy), it becomes quite evident that not only is she being treated like a hunted wolf, she's also bent on more than mere duty or revenge for the death of former colleague, and lover, James Gascoine. Her seemingly unflappable cold gaze, is betrayed by an often telling look, or slip of the tongue. Bathing in tubs filled with ice, enshrouded in an unearthly blue, Broughton is both searingly cold on the surface, but has a quiet simmer just brimming beneath the seemingly hard surface.

While the spy genre has indeed experienced attempts at deconstruction. One could argue that Daniel Craig's entire run as James Bond, has been a process of both deconstruction and apotheosis regarding our prolonged affection for both masculine ideals, coupled with an almost voyeuristic lust for the visage of the untethered spy. But what Atomic Blonde, posits, is that to be a successful spy, one must numb, no let's rephrase. We have to kill sentiment. Any semblance of humanity in order to get the job done. As displayed by endless baths in ice. Frigid looking hotel rooms. And an absolute use of humanness as little more than a mask to deceive and procure. Nothing less. The Spy world is cruel, paranoid, and unforgiving. Those without these qualities are little more than incidental. And those pretending to understand the spy game, can only eventually find themselves decomposing in some dank Berlin alleyway. 

This is further evidenced by Lorraine's encounters throughout the film, from her superiors back at MI6, her contacts, and even those she is tasked with helping along the way. Her demeanor is well-honed, reluctant as each new wrinkle is brought to her attention, and with a resolve that is both alluring, and clearly dangerous. But the real juice of this deceptively cold film, comes from the reality that her world is perpetually attempting to allow something her job simply has no room for warmth. Her survival, and success depends on that ever present danger for any person who lives like a human chess piece, our own need to be defined. We see it from the very start with her ice bath days after the action has already taken place. Despite her still being alive, there is a hint of loss. And it's in many ways one of the only time we get to see this outside of a bedside admission, and perhaps even waking from a dream. 

And this is where the film's biggest tell behind it's seemingly detached aura. Like many three strip Technicolor films of the past, Atomic Blonde's largest contribution beyond the screenplay, and eurowave of classic 80s radio hits, is it's color coding scheme. Something that should not only grant the film a singular look that almost apes the prints of one Patrick Nagel, but also gives away the film's biggest secret; Lorraine, in order to complete her mission- No. The only way she could become who she has to be, is to kill sentiment. Hence the ice bath. Her visage throughout the film is almost constantly in snow white combinations of clothing. Her colors most vibrant during her testimony with her superiors, and guest from the CIA. She is walking ice that requires a "recharge" every so often to keep matters sharp. So the key toward understanding her, and the film as a whole?

It's simple. 

Follow the Red.

Red, is the color of not only passion, but of truth. And in the film, red represents the vitality and inspiration often missing from her life. Which is why so much of Delphine LaSalle(Sofia Boutella)'s scenes are part, or wholly washed in red. These are the moments where we are allowed something of a more intimate side to Lorraine's inner self, desires, hopes, and ultimately reality. We even get a truly on the nose tell with her hotel room, awash in the expected cold hues, broken by a red door, with Delphine knocking behind it. There's another life hoping to come in, but for the sake of the larger mission, it's merely a distraction. This takes on an even crueler thematic dimension when one considers the characters who die throughout. It's no accident that red plays a part in the film's more climactic moments. Sentiment simply has no place in Lorraine's world. There is nothing but the mission. Even as Berlin is united, trust remains an almost impossible dream for many, especially those in the spy business. And this includes those who have tried their hand at it, not aware of the cost to one's soul. The color scheme, and the story seek to convey a terrible reality behind those who would live a litany of deception in the name of national security. Not everyone can be one. And those that adhere to the fantasy remain merely that, on the sidelines, bit players, or as random casualties in an endless war of shadows. Characters die, because they aren't a part of the fabric of the game beyond either a tool, or a clay pigeon. And in this film, love dies, identity dies, conscience dies, because this world is a spiritual vacuum from which passion is never allowed space to breathe.

This is further explored with the story of Percival, who's motivations become increasingly blurred, ostensibly dooming him to become a permanent totem of a Berlin now on the way out.

Deception to others. To comrades. To the self. It's a way of life.

In the world of this film, it's a warning to all of what processes led to the world we currently share. Not the most charming or warm message to impart.

So the film does run into problems by working not unlike a clinical examination. Warmth, is a luxury that the film, and its characters in no way are granted, save for another vodka, or a late night, half drunken tryst. It functions like a teenage daydream of a music video cum video game piece of art house without a human anchor to hold it down. And this is pretty much intentional. As to whether or not this was a good idea will remain in the eye of the beholder.For better or worse, Atomic Blonde, is a vision of human betrayal as daily reality, and that isn't something everyone is very willing to accept.  

There's Fire Where You Are Going: Some Words About Twin Peaks Part Eleven

Looking back to the start of this new chapter in Lynch's increasingly monumental work, it's coming quite clear that none of what we ever imagined will come to pass in Twin Peaks. At almost every turn, the eighteen hour event has presented us with near collisions with expectation, only to dash them time and again with an assured hands. It's almost become something of a game for me to discern where the swerves will appear as the story becomes more linear. And yes, since part eight's stunning artistic and thematic mic drop, the larger narrative has opted for a more traditional format, and has been settling in with ease ever since. And what a difference a broadening of the scope with exteriors, varying locations, and a tapestry of new characters makes in lieu of a show once restricted by simple sets and budgets. More and more, Peaks feels like a full fledged novel of deep horrors, absurdist musings, and pointed personal commentary.

And through his characters, boy have he and Frost brought to the proceedings some serious ammunition, and in some of the most unexpected ways imaginable. From Becky's vengeful run against her junked out  guy, Stephen (who by the way, is also spending time with GERSTEN HAYWARD? - Alicia Witt, from a memorable moment in the original series, and little sis to the long lost Donna Hayward.), to the heart crushing aftermath, continuing the Ballad Of Bobby Briggs. In what amounted to an emotional rollercoaster of a first half, we not only discover that the now dutiful lawman with a troubled past, indeed fathered Becky with Shelly(Madchen Amick) of the RR. But we also learn definitively, that Becky indeed takes after a mother, who truly hasn't learned the lessons of the past. For those unfamiliar with Bobby, as the often insufferable little jerk who was hopelessly smitten with Laura Palmer, despite his own affairs, not to mention his own hand at a murder that only she knew about, it is helpful to know just how much of a 180 his life has truly undergone. Coming through the tunnel of restless youth, and back to the man his father always knew he'd be, it's incredibly tragic to witness the revelation that Shelly, has indeed run from him during this transformation, and is apparently now very much in love with Red(Balthazar Getty), the clearly dangerous criminal magician who Richard Horne seems to frighteningly admire. Let's also keep in mind, such an ardent fan of a psychopath, hasn't done much for his own ability to tie up loose ends.

Then there are Gordon, Albert, and the rest following up on Hasting's directions to Sycamore street out in Buckhorn, where matters further manifest into the deep weird. With Gordon, almost being taken by a spontaneous vortex in the sky during broad daylight, and another appearance of The Woodsman, which Albert calls, "it". Followed by the sudden, horrific death of Hastings, seemingly at the hands of the dark specter itself. A vision shared by Diane, who never mentions it, soon to the suspicious gaze of Albert. Her role, ever more unclear as an outsider to the group. A reality further displayed by her seating in the aftermath with everyone as they recap these events over a reliable pot of coffee. The coding of the moment, couldn't be more glaring; she isn't a part of them, and has aims of her own, further bolstered by her need to smoke.

But the real hard left of the segment comes in the form of Good Coop's adventure with the at one point murderous Mitchum Brothers. With a sequence that plays like a comedic riff on Mulholland Drive's "Dream Of Winky's" scene, a dream undoes all tension, returning Coop's life to the almost loveable cinematic clown tale that it has largely been from the start. It's almost as if Vegas, has become something of a reminder of the possibility of redemption in even some of the most dire situations. It borders on a Buster Keaton, or Chaplin film where happenstance, and luck conjure up unexpected friendships in a world so often misunderstood. At this point, Cooper's life has become a refreshing antidote to much of the show's displays of humanity in America, as stretched beyond it's ability to hold life together without animosity, duplicity, or avarice. While women scream about their own ability to get across town, and children dress like their survivalist dads, further bolstering both Lynch's penchant for doppelgangers, and notion that we are inextricable from our parents in both our best and worst ways, here are a pair of powerful crooks, who somehow find it in themselves to communicate well enough to not murder, and in turn welcome a once sworn enemy into their circle of trusted friends. In a scene that qualifies among some of the most disarming of the series, the boys play a game of "what's in the box", only to defuse that particular bomb due to a dream. And the body language of one James Belushi, as Bradley, is among the most surprising in not only this show, but in the man's thirty year career. It's like a spark awoke within the man, and it's a moment of palpable joy that is so well rewarded, that everything that follows, is rife with an awkward charm, and reminder that planted information may be no match for a well-considered pause. 

Further rewarded by a reappearance by the once homeless woman our Mr. Jackpots once helped. It's a deeply affecting moment, which again reaffirms that this is indeed our Cooper. He's definitely in there, reaching out ever gradually. Nodding to Rodney's celebration of good drinks and astonishing cherry pie.

"Damn good."

Back with Hawk & Truman, make no mistake, something huge is on the horizon. But it could come at great cost. Where all of this will come to a head, no one can truly say. And that remains the most singularly exciting thing about this. But on the other hand, the reality that we only really have seven hours of this remaining, is nothing less than a little depressing.

Besson's love letter to childhood, VALERIAN(2017) is hopelessly cult

Time is limited, so things will be brief here today.

As mentioned recently in previous reviews regarding dream projects, they are often a truly dicey proposition. They are often large scale labors of love, that either exposes parts of an artist that at times can reveal less than flattering aspects of taste, or somehow elevate something that could very easily been a misfire. And while I'm tempted to play hard into what keeps Valerian And The City Of A Thousand Planets from being either, let's just keep things at an even keel and say that despite all the problems that dog this film, it for the most part doesn't offend personal sensibilities, nor does it deserve the virtual dogpile it has experienced over the last few weeks. At its very worst, Valerian is the kind of top heavy labor of love that one either runs with from the start, or begins bolting from the theater ten minutes in. It's a wholly french comics sort of experience where passions run high, design is all over the map, and sense is hardly the order of the day. Considering that it has been twenty years since The Fifth Element, one would hope that was enough of a warning.

Based on comics that I only leafed through during the mid 1990s created by Christin and Mezieres, Valerian & Laureline tells of the exploits of a pair of interstellar agents/life partners, as they seek to right wrongs throughout deepest space. And in this one, they are called upon to initially protect Alpha, a hulking space colony, legendary for uniting hundreds of worlds that is now exploring well beyond Earth. Also tasked with protecting a high ranking military official(Clive Owen), the pair soon realize that the danger threatening Alpha from deep within might not be as clear cut as they imagines. This, all while the cocky Major Valerian (Dane Dehaan) struggles with commitment to his far more educated, and emotionally engaged Laureline(Cara Delevingne). Right off the bat, from the use of Space Oddity to accompany the origin of Alpha, to a bit of a row on Big Market, it is very clear that we're no longer in the kind of space faring pulp that's as interested in wanton infodumping, and far more in just allowing these characters to exist in this colorful, and mostly wacky universe. 

The presentation is pretty much why this film exists. It's the kind of post-AVATAR project that hews closer to that of a theme park attraction than a solid narrative. Characters run into action, trip into an alien, or stumble deep into a space station's catacombs, and there's another ten minutes of another environment for Besson and company to revel in bringing to life. The central plot is simple enough, regarding colonialism, and the ignorance of indigenous life in regards to energy, and thereby a struggle between life, and commerce. It's ultimately pat material, but far less insulting than James Cameron's cracks at such themes. That's right. For all it's problems, this for me is a far more acceptable ride than that of AVATAR's deeply disingenuous attempts at environmental activism. At least here, we grow to understand the whys, and the impulse to hand wave something so complex, even when the decisions are horrible. The presentation of the world, its people, cultures, and even its themes don't weigh so heavily, and is far more about the unbridled joy of immersion.

It would certainly have helped if the script were more interested in pumping up the drama where it's most needed, but at the tone and cadence on hand, far too much of it is in neutral. This sort of confines our heroes into constant bicker mode, which would be great if there were more meat on that bone. Unfortunately, we only get a general idea of our central couple as they traverse dangers from all sides. We could criticize the performances all we want, but in the end, it's the script that largely fails them. The final product, for better or worse, is an amalgam of years of wishing upon wishing. And sometimes, it means items in the project become too precious, and yet don't work with the final whole. A great deal of Valerian, is bottomlessly indulgent, and it isn't very shy about being so.

And yet, I can't fault the film for wanting to be this grand scale bastion of weirdness and beauty. It isn't hard on the mind, it suffers from a bit of the preciousness I mentioned, especially during the end of the second act. But what it lacks in control, it makes up for in sheer lack of self-consciousness. It is a shameless piece of work that one will either like or loathe. As for love, the core theme behind the entire film, it remains as innocent as it once was back in 1997. And considering that this is now the most expensive independent production to date, one could certainly have done a great deal worse. Valerian, is an at times unrelentingly goofy experience. But seriously, how often do we get stuff like this?

If you check it out at all, 3D is the ticket. Settle for nothing less.

With DUNKIRK(2017), Christopher Nolan comes of cinematic age..

May, 1940.

Germans move in toward France. English troops on the ground, awash in a rain of leaflets detailing just how surrounded they all are. Gunfire commences, and a lone soldier makes it to the beach, where thousands upon thousands of troops await ocean rescue. Huddled together in tight formations, the day's calm often broken by the metal vultures overhead, more than eager to destroy all on the ground. The men grow tired, frazzled, fearful as their compatriots die, military vessels are downed, and only Navy commissioned civilian transports from tugs, to yachts, and trawlers inch ever closer to the embattled beach. Meanwhile, air support is minimal, and time is rapidly running out.

It is no bit of hyperbole here for me to say that over the last two decades, Christopher Nolan has become something of a mainstream favorite. So often blurring the line between auteur, and purveyor of high caliber commercial work. Always brimming with a unique eye for story, and often innovative use of story structure, that almost always raises the bar for literate filmmaking, if not of the entirely cinematic. To expound, his films, for all their visual sheen and love of noir elements, a majority of his stories tend to work like a puzzle, or a magic trick. The elements of a game under the constraints of an ever present clock has until now presented us with this nonlinear tendency, that while is thematically cogent, is rarely clockwork in the final analysis. Getting away with the kernel of truth at the center of his narratives has until now been one of his defining traits as a director.

Until now.

With his first major dive into the purely historic, Nolan and crew have synthesized everything that has been made until this moment, into a triumphantly immersive experience that evokes an era of period drama we haven't seen in a generation; the wholly absorbent dream of history.

Uninterested in your classic central characters, turns, or blunt proclamations via the cast, DUNKIRK, is by all accounts closer to a tension drenched docu-drama of the lives that were for a moment united by crisis;

Via the troops on the ground (Fionn Whitehead & Harry Styles), scrambling to get aboard a vessel- any vessel, to get them home. Home, which is so readily visible to those of both the Navy and Army(James D'Arcy & Kenneth Branagh), being told that there are to be no destroyers to come save them. Patience versus the escalating fear of the men. 

Their ordeal: One Week

Via civilians answering the call from Churchill; a father(Mark Rylance), and his two young teenage sons Peter & George(Tom Glynn-Carney & Barry Keoghan), heading out without the Navy acquiring his boat, stocked with life preservers to recover as many soldiers as possible. Without weapons, and driven by a deep need to do something-anything to help, are countered by a shivering soldier a few miles out to sea(Cillian Murphy), who would do anything never to head back to the beach.

Their Journey: One Day

Via the men of the Royal Air Force, particularly of fighter pilot, Farrier(Tom Hardy), who's one hour of fuel time is only dedicated to protect vessels on the ground. Take out enemy aircraft that might pose an imminent threat. With fellow pilot, Collins(Jack Lowden), the airspace near Dunkirk is fraught with danger, has nowhere near enough air support.

His Mission: One Hour

All three corners of the conflict from ground, sea, and air comprise of the entire film's runtime, as the Germans veer ever closer to wiping out the English presence with incessant bombs, torpedoes, and gunfire. An enemy as abstraction rather than a character. We weave almost seamlessly between these corners as docked boats are sunk, tensions run high on the rescue front, and morale wavers between low and distrustful. Troops find shelter in a beached vessel on an intertidal, not knowing it is well away from English perimeter, and that snipers might be near. Meanwhile, enemy aircraft are few, but seem to emerge like ghosts as fuel and artillery begin to dwindle. With a hazy sky, the entire area between Dunkirk and home, seems uncertain. Every sense of calm, deceptive. Every hair breadth turn, an invitation to a new form of terror.

The central aim for all - survive.  

All while German forces continue to enforce what resembles a vise-grip over everyone within several kilometers.

Nolan, crew, and cast help create an atmosphere of tension from frame one. We aren't informed of the politics of the situation. There is no one character with whom we are designated to see the entire story through. Nor, are we provided speeches designed to fully justify who being where and why. Part documentary, part horror film, and part all-analog, virtual reality re-enactment, Dunkirk offers us a chance to fill in the blanks by becoming every character onscreen. When matters have become this dire, and the world seems on the verge of total collapse, sometimes the only true choice is to save lives.

And this is at the heart of Dunkirk. It isn't about victory over a phantom enemy. It isn't about who is right. It isn't about pumping fists over a moral superior at odds with unfathomable evil. It's about what we do when faced with helping those who are surrounded on all sides, unsure of what the future might hold. We see it in Syria, not to mention so many other parts of the world where there are so many displaced human beings. Closer to an elemental drama of human survival, Dunkirk also has the distinction of evoking memorable siege narratives of the past, and we're talking beyond the war film. From Das Boot to Jaws, to even Antarctica, and even Last Of The Mohicans, there is a thread of the God's Eye, ever mindful of the events unfolding. And with Nolan being the digital luddite he can be, the film further reaches levels of suspense with a tactile nature that is refreshingly old hat, yet grand. Human beings submerged after vessels capsize, emergency landings, fire on the ocean, and the sudden shock of the sound of battered metal from airborne rounds. The film is a testament to taking the hard road toward replaying history. It's enormous as an experience. And yet, it never forgets that such grandeur, doesn't work without the quiet human moments to punctuate everything that happens. The film doesn't skimp on the most necessary notes.

Lastly, binding the whole together, are the cinematography by second-timer, Hoyte van Hoytema (Let The Right One In, and Interstellar), which is an extraordinary combination of handheld, and haunting IMAX imagery, often stunning nonlinear editing by Lee Smith, which occasionally grants us more than one perspective of a major event from multiple perspectives, and of course, an incredible minimal score by Hans Zimmer. Easily one of his most experimental accompaniments to date, the score is a spectral, ominous ocean of bending drones, bulkhead impacts, and endless ticking courtesy of Nolan's own pocket watch. Been playing it endlessly since I saw the film, and it is easily up there with one of his very best. Especially as it later evokes the films I mentioned with an almost VANGELIS level of synth etherealism. 

All elements combine to present us with a Nolan we have never truly seen before; a purely cinematic one. Dialogue, for once is pure texture of the era and of military speak functionality. And the actions of every performer speaks volumes in ways that his films have admittedly rarely done. It's the kind of filmmaking that takes a great deal more precision and faith in one's cast to deliver. And as such, it feels like a long time coming. There are so few filmmakers left to possess this level of clout, yet are willing to invite us in quite like this outside of the independent world. And for a summer offering, we certainly lucked out. While for now, it may rank among my favorites of his entire filmography, something tells me Dunkirk is bound to have a long, and significant shelf-life with many. The kind that can only increase in importance over time.

It's that good.

Bound by a shared desire for simple survival.  

"Laura Is The One" - Peaks Nine and Ten Tighten The Screws

In what could only be called a deliberate speed bump for the series, the last two episodes following the heels of one of Lynch's finest, most bewildering career moments, ease down with enough supplemental plot and character information to fill several episodes. We of course, catch up with the left for dead Evil Coop, who meets cohorts, Hutch and Chantal at a remote farmhouse. Eventually having his wounds taken care of, and with new phone and firearm, sets off to finish the job, possibly up north. Meanwhile, activity brews in earnest as Gordon, Tammy, Albert, and an ever crabby Diane, surprise land in Buckhorne, to see the alleged body of the late Garland Briggs. Soon brought up to date with the headless corpse, and the utterly baffling questions that come with it, not to mention being informed about the escape of "Cooper"from prison, matters at last seem to be pointing toward Vegas. But not before even more complications stall matters for Cooper/Dougie, still recovering from the incident with Ike The Spike.

As episodes, the duo feel very much like a much needed rest stop after the mind melting experience of Part 8, and to reinforce this, they are among the funnier episodes thus far. While it may feel strange to head in this direction after such unrelenting darkness, one must remember the original series, and it's occasional tendency to camp it up. Thankfully, the jokey nature of these installments never overshadow, nor undedcut the tension that has been steadily building since Part 1. But experiencing more of Diane, her powerful pantsuit, and dwindling patience with the whole affair leads to some standout laughs, and later deep suspicion, as it could be possible that our friends have been taken for a ride. Never one to avoid a risky curveball, Lynch keeps us guessing, and seems patiently hellbent on doing so. 

And speaking of Vegas, pieces are now undoutedly moving. The orders coming down from Evil Coop, eager to tie up all loose ends, have grown accelerated. The targets on the backs of both Dougie Jones, and Warden Murphy, have grown large, all while the still quite adrift Good Coop remains only slightly lucid. A car accident, is apparently the real reason his bosses and wife seem to be so nonplussed by his bizarre behavior.  "Answers" that only seem to arrive in mere nuggets of familiarity. Wilder still, is the revelation that nothing on Jones predates the late 1990s! Which does stand to reason that Dougie as decoy countermeasure has been in motion long enough for matters to slip. The notion that Dougie, was a plant that somehow became a lowly insurance salesman with a bit of a gambling problem, among others remains both funny and tragic. An empty vessel in a mostly empty town. Possibly quite strategic of Evil Coop. And let's not forget Janey E, and her newly rediscovered lust for this new improved husband of hers. 

Oh boy. 

But the true revelatory moments between these episodes  involves what at last feels like a long gestating full arc for a character. The very idea that Bobby Briggs, of all the original cast, would be one who would go a near full 180 from the punk kid we knew decades ago, to the dutiful boy scout he is now, cannot help but redeem him. The very moment his mother imparts him and our friends with his dad's secrets, it's like a moment of complete exaltation. His attempts to open what would contain a cryptic message for everyone is hard one for me, an old series fan to shake. The kind of redemptive moment that has been quite rare throughout these mostly foggier chapters. 

Jack Rabbit's Palace. Dirt. Two Dates.

Two Coopers.

Couple this with Tammy's questioning of Bill Hastings, who at last reveals his and Ruth's encounter with another plane of existence. Possibly even seeing Major Briggs at the time of his death. Further weaving together the show's more fringy world building with it's larger American vision. Something Frost has been the core vault master of since the original. With a scene that is equal parts sad, hysterical, and compulsively eerie. 

Scooba-diving.  

What follows with Ben Horne, possibly too freaked out by the combination of his brothers, Jerry's chemically induced adventures, or the accident suffered by his long ignored son, Johnny, is surprisingly not as eager to fall into Beverly's arms. But for how long? And then there's the pair at the Roadhouse, and one of the most disconcerting bits of dermatological discomfort ever filmed. Fragments, ever falling slowly into place.

That tone again. Anything like the tone of the metal tube that Bobby opened? Perhaps music is key toward opening the gateway? Is there truly some form of time travel at work? 

And..then there's this Richard Horne problem. 

I was merely speculating about what he/who he is, and Part 10 makes some very blunt moves toward clarifying my fears. Not only do we at last see him in action beyond his already detestable acts of violence against strangers. This time, it's upon people he knows, and there seems to be no end to his monstrosity, even if he is but a wannabe. Going out of his way to kill an informant, intercept information from within the sheriff's station, and later perpetrating something so heinous to me, it almost feels like some form of extreme ritual. The ferryman asks a pretty penny these days. A compulsion to find oneself so hateful, that only demons will welcome you. But the greatest tragedy, is perhaps his origin. I still don't want to believe who he really is. But if true, it's the kind of seismic attack that could fracture the Peaks many of us have known and loved. 

Strangely, the themes of family pervade as far as the infamous Mitchum Brothers, who's connections to so much of what has been transpiring in Vegas and beyond, is at last explored. Primarily through the perpetually aloof, Candie. One of the previously featured casino girls, with her often hopeless tendency to be distracted, and life increasingly on a thread, is also strangely cared about by these men who seem to grant an air of classic Vegas mob menace. Now being maneuvered to take out Dougie once and for all, the boys seem to further embrace the show's notion of such a town as the center of American culture; strangely caring, yet brutal, gaudy, and almost all bluster. 

And what a note to end this pair on; Magaret's message. Could it be that the teens of Twin Peaks past may indeed be the heroes we have long waited for? There is a truly romantic notion at work should James at last find his footing in this series. "Laura is the one.." As if hinting at her being the ultimate anti-BOB.

All signs leading in the same direction. 

And with the return of Rebekah Del Rio, the rest stop is complete. It might be time to buckle up again.

No Hay Estrella.

War For The Planet Of The Apes (2017) Film Thoughts

It's been twenty-four hours since my personal screening of this third chapter, and that endless saw continues to haunt my mind; trilogies rarely land with any kind of grace. No matter how fondly we may look back, there's always something not quite three-legged table functional about a trifecta of chapters that perhaps underlies the often fatal flaw of film franchises; familiarity. As studios place increasing burdens upon filmmakers to outdo what has come before, some stories find themselves far more effective when the tension reaches a feverish point, often leaving the audience breathless. As obsessed as many of us may be about resolution, there may be an unspoken within regarding the unanswered question. The edge of the ramp. The moment where the floor drops out of existence, leaving us to grasp endlessly for our own answers. 

Which is a long way of saying that despite this initial paragraph, and what it seems to imply, Matt Reeves' second go-round at telling of the Caesar legend reaches its conclusion with grand emotional power, and a dire warning for contemporary humanity.

Several years have passed since the actions of Koba, a lone dissenter ape chose to wage war against humans in an act that dragged the once revolutionary leader, Caesar and his fellow simians into a brutal, neverending conflict. As the feared ape leader and his followers learn of a sanctuary further east, into a desert rich in resources, matters suddenly begin to look hopeful despite revelation of a rogue military clan hot on their heels. Hopes go triple tragic, when their home is ambushed late in the night, leaving Caesar's wife, Cordelia and his eldest son, Blue Eyes dead, and a near broken leader suddenly thirsting for the kind of vengeance he fought so hard to avoid. With only his youngest son, Cornelius at his side, Caesar decides to mobilize his apes to leave for the desert, while he himself seeks out the mysterious Colonel who murdered his family. Suddenly splintered from being the leader his people require, echoes of Koba haunt him, as he may never be able to escape a similar fate. Unwilling to let him go it alone, old friends, Maurice, Rocket, and Luca, choose to stay by his side to ensure that Cornelius still has a father when it is all over.

Soon into their path away from the rest, Caesar and companions meet both an escaped Zoo ape, and a mute young girl. Unsure of where these meetings will take them, fates ultimately lead everyone to the lair of the Alpha Omega, the Colonel's almost cult-like faction of extremists, seemingly bent on not only destroying Caesar and his kind once and for all, but anyone exhibiting a new wrinkle in the evolution of the Simian Virus that decimated the majority of the world. It is in this journey, it is also discovered that there are several apes who have turned their back on their kind in some faint hope that they may be spared. And upon further meeting with the hopelessly wayward Colonel, there is an air that even the remaining real military forces retain hope that a cure could be found, and that one day, they will descend upon him and his soldiers in an apocalyptic final showdown.

Matters have never been more dire for both ape and human.  

There simply aren't enough ways to properly express how shocking the dramatic success of this series has become. Taking familiar elements from the classic science fiction series of the past, and repurposing it for something far more sober, and perhaps even biblical, sounds like wishful thinking for film lovers who would love to revisit familiar wells, only to come back parched. But Reeves', since his incorporation into the series, has brought with him an almost God's eye approach to the material, often allowing these films to launch well beyond the almost cynical idea of making Rise, back in 2011. Not unlike Nolan, taking full rein of Warners' intentions of bringing Batman back from almost certain franchise death, and injecting an auteur's blood to the proceedings. Further proof lies in both the performances of all the talent involved, from motion capture, to live actor, to technical genius. What transpires as a result of every corner of the production, is a seamless case of mythmaking that will likely reward long after its theatrical run.

It's been six years since the original Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes presented us with technical wonders that merely scratched the surface of what was to come. And by Dawn, it was pretty clear that massive changes in cinema tech were in the works. But the achievements of War, are above and beyond some of the most awe inspiring I've ever witnessed on a large screen. Never for a moment is there a moment of being disconnected or pulled away. All that prevails, are the various ape characters, their expressions, and forms of communication with each other. It's the closest we've come to a near complete film without simple human speech. There are stretches here that are so bold, lingering with apes, pensive in the dark, gesturing to one another, changing allegiances, that it feels almost like a film made in a world of simians. 

But the real lasting legacy of these films will unsurprisingly lie with Andy Serkis, who further makes film history by taking Caesar into even more internal and complex territory by playing a classic revolutionary, now at odds with his own role in the tragedy that is transpiring. Having learned to communicate in a number of ways since he was young, and having possessed the know-how, charisma, and wisdom to bring his kind this far, is at last coming to terms with the reality that he may be no different than the rebellious ape who lit the fatal match. We see it all over his facial expressions and body language as he mulls staying with his people, or seek a personal vendetta. Not to mention his reactions to meeting the Colonel, and at last hearing of his plans, and reasons for them. It is sheer hubris in his eyes and brow that deliver that sense of revelation and understanding. Cesar, is both tragic figure, and classic hero in that he too is mired in the same moral fog that has infected much of humanity.

And representing humanity, are the Alpha Omega, a terrifying vision of humanity in its last breaths. Incapable of seeing the potential in cooperation. Fully aware of what fate awaits them, yet ready to lash out screaming at the world one last time before going out. Harrelson's Colonel, is a chiseled, hollow mold of a human, ready to destroy apes as well as his own kind in the name of what he deems his historical imperative. Unable to process that all sides are suffering, and that they'd likely have a better chance of survival with cooperation. However, with humans now slowly reverting to primitives, there seems to be no real way out but through to the bloody end. He and his troops are on a death ride, and while they're at it, choose to build an absurd wall to protect them from..what exactly? All while subjugating Caesar and his apes to treatment that evokes the slave era. It is a punishing vision of an America bereft of ideas, and death as savior. The deepest, darkest pit in a series that has long been famous for a lack of illumination. The kind of allegorical punch that only today could produce. This is the America we see more and more with each passing day. And it shouldn't be much of a surprise to see how this all transpires.

And while I contend that the dramatic momentum of this installment lacks the pivotal dramatic tension of the previous, there is a sense of natural finality that allows the drama to work like an almost spiritual magic trick. Classic science fiction provokes with visions of our world through a critical lens, and this film is no exception. But what War achieves over everything else in its powerful arsenal, is it allows us to carefully consider this disturbing time in our history, consider pause, and perhaps better understand how ideological purity is merely a human construct - a lapse of judgment.

And that together, we are truly strong. 

More San Fran Than I'm Used To..

Dub it a bug. A sudden addiction. Call it what you will, but the impulse to step beyond the confines of my usual surroundings has been a powerful force over the last few months. Chock it up to a combination of the internet, friends from all over, and an unrelenting eagerness to find myself a little lost on a budget. Last weekend's little voyage up north was in many ways something that has been brewing in my mind for over a year now. And to at last be on the ground, surrounded by souls both superficial and radical so closely merged, the memories of those three-plus days continue to reverberate like the seemingly endless end chorus of a favorite song.

Upon arrival, it became readily apparent that taking a Lyft from my bus stop to the hotel I had reservations for, was a lesser option to walking. Considering that the temperature in town was near twenty degrees lower than that of home, it would have been the perfect way to discover the heart of the city without many barriers. And despite not doing nearly as much research as I probably should have, The Mosser turned out to be just the right kind of home base for my journey into the great bay city. Sure, I was surrounded by the likes of Old Navy, Walgreens, every other major capitalistic name under the sun, lauded by armies of the hopelessly safe, but despite that, there remains a wildness, just waiting to tear from the seams of such an illusory paint job. And the hotel itself offered a tactile retro air, complete with built-in music studio to add to that all so hip air. (No, I never used it.) 

Needless to say, I was kind of bowled over. Not sure about the basin over carpet, but..

Before heading into town for the evening, it took me at least two hours to properly gather my bearings by attempting meditation. In the core center of San Francisco. Yes, I'm aware that this is a ridiculous notion. Either way, it seemed to have worked, because I was good and refreshed enough to meet my guide in The Mission. 

Of course, this meant boarding either the notorious BART or Muni public transit services in order to get there. I had long heard tale from friends and acquaintances. And since most of my past journeys to the bay, took place in the passenger's seat of someone else's car, this was for a moment, a pretty daunting footnote. Their kiosks aren't that intuitive, and require a few more leaps than I'm used to in regards to operating them. Sure, I could have asked someone. BUT IT's POWELL STATION. Ahem. Sorry. As much progress as I may have made as an L.A. resident, I will likely always be a small town boy at heart, and there are just some things a guy simply must figure out for himself. (Okay, next time I'll take the time to ask. It shouldn't be to tough.)Ten minutes later, it all suddenly made sense, and I was at last a few short stops away from the Mission district, where a meetup with a friend who knew the area, even as it grew dark made for a sweet evening of veggie-centric Japanese food and conversation. And we could hear each other well considering that so many restaurants seemed to be doubling up in tables for patrons that evening.

Cha-Ya, was a happy, surprisingly quiet diversion from all the bustle of The Mission.

That evening, was in no way a portent to what was to become of Saturday. Beginning with some surprise water/phone drama, leading to my using talk-to-text options for email and such while my screen is occasionally going berserk. And yet despite this, venturing out to Mission and partaking of what I had never tried before; a San Francisco take on the vegetarian burrito, followed by a spirited journey into Golden Gate Park. Sadly, we were unable to take a deeper look into the park's Conservatory Of Flowers, but the sheer breadth of the park, and the impressive mass of humans inhabiting it was impressive enough. After walking through what only felt like a fifth of the park, it wasn't hard to feel intimidated by it. But considering that my home hundreds of miles away was suffering one of its hottest days on record, the registered 69 degrees with a breeze all around us, was a welcome contrast. 

Hours into this, my guide then chose to lead us to a favorite haunt. I had long heard of the fabled, Green Apple Books down on Clement. But it was no preparation for the mountain of literary treasure the store continues to offer. Seeing as how my guide is an established local poet and published writer, we spent a majority of our time at Green Apple, poring over the poetry section, which is impressive to say the least. Discovering new voices, as well as rediscovering ones long neglected were a major part of my visit. But among the more fun highlights, the one that stood out the most came while attempting to read aloud some works. Three short poems in, and a neighboring veteran goth came over to me with a book. Centered on one woman's voyage in the wake of numerous lovers via her motorcycle traveler's life. Wishing I made note of the author, the prose was rife with fresh anger, and even a tinge of sadness that the men who would embrace such a romantic lifestyle, wouldn't see past their own expectations this one person's wish to be more than an adornment. The book was both flirting with rage and probably could only be seen as camp fodder at this point. But it was a fun, eye-opening moment from a complete stranger all the same.

Soon after, we hopped a Muni to get us back toward Nob Hill, where I had a chance to experience the Gothic Revival awe of Grace Cathedral, which is not only known for its astonishing architecture and relief works upon it's huge doors, but also two truly haunting and revered labyrinths. The well-regarded Doors of Paradise, further grant this structure a knowing sense of the tales that bind so many together. Featuring almost frighteningly detailed recreations of Cain and Abel, and of course Adam & Eve. These doors which are replicas of Lorenzo Ghibteri's work that continues to adorn the doors of the Baptistry of Florence Cathedral, Italy. 

The Doors Of Paradise..

The celebrated labyrinths, depicting humankind's endless journey to ascension is an interactive, and in many ways meditative series of circular, one way mazes that eloquently symbolize our collective journeys, experiencing and gathering experience, whilst meeting new faces along the way. (reinforced by the design of the mazes, as it becomes increasingly tricky not to walk face to face almost toward fellow maze walkers) The paths are in a way so intricate, that it almost forces one to pace themselves. There are no speed walks through these walkways, and it is by design. I have heard that once a month, there are evening candlelight walks of the mazes, as well as weekly Peace walks. A part of me is very curious about such events. As of this visit though, the final time for my initial journey was roughly sixteen minutes to get from one end to the other.

Grace Cathedral's labyrinths, are a truly fascinating, relaxing journey to behold.

  Largely pooped from all this running about town, it was drinks and dinner back in downtown. Something I may never try again knowing full well more warm and humble options exist elsewhere. Nice dark beer though.

Sunday, while beginning a little later than previous, wound up becoming what continues to replay endlessly a week later in my mind. Journeying via the BART, through the notoriously loud Transbay Tube, is an unforgettable first experience. Witnessing decibels only rivaled by local construction, a frightening accident, or a Merzbow concert, the train journey between the San Francisco Peninsula and Yerba Linda, is one to be fully experienced to be properly understood.

Upon arriving in Oakland, it was quite apparent that the overall vibe of what I have known to be San Francisco, kind of ends the moment we take that train underwater. Coming out the other end, we are in an environment much more pointed, stark, and strangely L.A.-like in some respects. A refreshing warts-and-all counterpoint to what has become closer to a neglected theme park. A few blocks of walking away from our stop, emerged something I had only heard about, seen a few images online, and wondered how this even existed...

That's right..We entered the Oakland community's one and only New Parkway.

The New Parkway: a movie theater experience unlike I have ever witnessed.

One guess as to what we watched..

A truly astonishing oasis in the seemingly endless deserts of film houses across this great nation; The New Parkway, is an independent pizza joint/movie house/DIY rumpus room where we could see a movie, have a meal served to our seats, and watch something I never thought I could for a dirt cheap ticket. Not only was I taken aback by all the amazing repurposed seating, the oddball as hell pre-show shorts, and the totally laid back attitude of everyone around us, but the fact that we could watch the latest Twin Peaks on a large screen was a moviegoing experience on par with the best screening experiences I have ever been fortunate enough to remember. (Btw- I will be sharing thoughts on last week's installment, promise.)

Simply unreal.

I could go here for the rest of my life..

We could also recall further adventures in Mission, spending time just absorbing the effervescent vibe of Dolores Park, overlooking the city. Or how about the other cafes and food joints we hit along the way. But a part of me feels like the biggest impressions I walked away by staying in the Bay Area for an entire weekend, were that of a greater cross-section of California life, complete with every contrast under the sun, all vying for the same headspace. It's perhaps a little too easy with that amount of dwindling space to understand just how important it is for dialogue to persist. And yes, this includes actually listening to the other party. Sometimes, the rowdy spirit of a nation can at times find itself drowning out its own message. And as of right now, it to me feels more important than ever that we not only raise visibility levels upon those with less, but on thoughts that otherwise might get missed while the sky above finds itself littered with rocks and shit hurling back and forth at dozens of miles per hour. Like any place of ideas, there is always a danger of calcifying in your own ideals. And while I do see a great city, bound together by a sense of impending freedom and liberty, I also see potential for every generation to recoil when things grow too heated. 

As americans, we require the wiggle room, the ears, and the patience that becomes an endless resolve. And that means keeping the muscles tender, no matter where we go. I'm just hoping that in potential future visits, there is more to learn beyond the myth of San Francisco. I wish to better befriend San Francisco, the place, and its people in it.

Baby Driver (2017) Film Thoughts

Dream projects, have long been a point of discussion between intense film fans. Very often, someone will mention how Streets Of Fire, was something that had gestated for years before Walter Hill was ever given a green light. Same goes for Inception's decades long writing process, or the need to direct two successful Batman features before this could ever remotely be considered by a major studio. But for as long as I've known the name, Edgar Wright, I had long been aware of his struggle to have a music loving, ace driving kid running jobs as escape rides for criminals film produced. Even as his and Simon Pegg's Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy, became the vastly beloved series it is now, and Scott Pilgrim, the cult favorite that it continues to grow into, there remained these blurbs and soundbites about this one little project that for a brief moment had life as a Mint Royale music video. And never one to let a good idea go to waste, in the ether it waited.

That is until Marvel decided not to go with him on Ant-Man(2015).

Almost immediately after that controversial event, talks began to rumble about his project to a louder degree than ever before. Needless to say, I've been an ardent lover of his works since Shaun Of The Dead, helped solidify Wright's experiential stamp upon comedy cinema, with its wishes to be more than a referential work. It remains an document of what is possible when director, cast, and crew find themselves in the ultimate sandbox, and find themselves having the time of their lives. Watch it today, and that feeling is pretty hard to dispute. It remains astonishing in just how incredibly an action/horror/personal drama about at last facing responsibility could work so well without losing a single grasp of its pulse. And this kinetic, almost balletic approach to filmmaking has continued to be refined ever since. So that by the time of Scott Pilgrim, and World's End, it has come clear that Wright's specific brand of obsessive choreographed sight, sound, motion and wit has been honed into a language all its own.

Enter the world of Baby, a kid of few words, headphones ever in his ears, and one hell of a battery of driving skills. Orphaned at a young age, Baby has been surviving running a series of Atlanta bank jobs as driver for the mysterious, Doc(A loveable/hateable Kevin Spacey). An apparently powerful, and connected criminal entrepreneur who mixes and matches heist teams regularly. Owing Doc plenty after being found attempting to jack one of his own vehicles as a child, Baby has been accumulating stacks of cash, and hiding them beneath a floorboard at home, to the chagrin of his mute foster father, Joseph. Promising him that this upcoming hit is to be his last, Baby also finds time to fall almost instantly in love with Debora(Lily James), a waitress at a local diner. But his wishes for a new life, run brick wall into the cold reality that such talent becomes an addiction for some. Making matters worse, is a job that rapidly goes haywire, leaving Baby desperate to not only get out of the life, but save the lives of those he loves in the process. All while, depending on his valued iPod music mixes to assist his navigation through the furious action around him.

It's a plot that could very easily have stayed contained in a roughly five minute music clip. But what Wright again brings to the plate, is an intoxicating blend of choreographed car, as well as human mayhem, alongside his signature appreciation for music of the analog age. He grants Baby, a quiet, still innocent yet resolved demeanor despite the often despicable characters he is tasked with driving around. Not only do the tunes keep his driving sharp, it seems to work as a barrier against  the often bitter, wounded creatures he is surrounded by. It's an innocence that is both appreciated and challenged by those around him. Baby, may have been working for some pretty bad people over the years, but his heart remains untouched. We see his humanity through his caring for old Joe, his instant rapport with Deborah, dancing with her in laundromats, and even attempting to help the innocent when things go really wrong on the job. Wright and company, grant Baby's world a well-rounded moral landscape for his to grow through as we gather more clues about his days with a family, before driving even became the defining characteristic of his life.

Meanwhile, Doc's swapping and switching of job personnel, isn't going so hot as regulars Buddy(Jon Hamm), and Darling(Eiza Gonzalez) have begun to lose faith in impulsive new teammate, Bats(Jamie Foxx) as a new job looms. Tension mounts as it becomes clear that this new batch, isn't quite so easy to strike a workable rapport. And just as Baby is beginning to see an end to the rainbow, the genre screws of the entire film begin to tighten, allowing the story to shift from your classic Wright formula, into something altogether new. And while it took a few moments to gather proper bearings as to what was being attempted, in comes a lurching feeling that as a film, Baby Driver, comes off as sort of a gateway to a new era of the director's output. The humor remains, albeit with perhaps a darker tone sans the emotional wrecking ball of World's End. The stakes reach a point to where the comedy takes a backseat to Baby, with the help of Deb, improvising a path removed from the safety of all previous comforts.

It is ultimately a coming of age story, with cars, guns, and an assured sense of play against genre expectation, which makes it work despite some minor tone and pace hiccups. It's easily one of Wright's more emotionally slight works, which is a little of a whiff. But with so many riches coming out from every other conceivable pore, it's hard to fault it. The man's films are an often meticulous celebration of analog possibility, overstuffed with easter eggs, and technical wizardry that is near impossible to witness anywhere else. Even when it doesn't tug at the heart as previous efforts go, it remains a great example of what could happen with a simple idea borne out of something so personal. After 22 years of dreaming, it's perhaps the best possible time for Baby Driver. Now to find out where his busy, inventive mind seems to be charting new course.

Children Of The Atom: More Musings On Twin Peaks The Return, Part Eight

It has already been several nights since David Lynch, blew the roof off of expectations, yet I continue to sift deep into the very back of my mind as to what else was delivered through some of his purest instincts, and Frost's layering of story foundation. Without much dialogue, so much was allowed to at last spill out after what has seemed a lifetime of anticipation. It's no exaggeration to say that much of Sunday night's hour, i have been waiting to experience since early summer 1991.

So, upon watching this again moments after writing about it, the details begin to paint one interesting tapestry of story expansion. Starting with the reunion of Evil Coop, and Ray, which blindsided me long enough to realize how this was going to end. At the side of a dirt road, and with a double cross. Ray, believing he had the drop, scampering understandably from a horrific and bizarre scene. What's more, is that he notifies Phillip Jeffries(David Bowie, in FWWM), that the deed was done, yet he anticipates a possible form of retaliation. Saying he witnessed something that may explain some gaps in their story about this otherworldly Cooper. Meaning, that for the longest time, the presence of the unknown has been at the edge of the lips of a select few, and that at last, even for them, things are coming together. As to how deep this goes, and what the Bureau, actually knows remains to be seen. 

Evil Coop's seeming resurrection, even seems like a foregone conclusion. There's no way we could eradicate evil with a simple volley of bullets. The scene much more about exposing these existential elements to the human world, makes it am exciting hint that everything that happens after, will be crucial not only to the entire Twin Peaks mythology, but to our heroes at last seeking ways to contain this invasion decades in the making. Which makes the rest of the segment not unlike a nonlinear novel of pure, Kafkaesque dread. Taking us back to the moment when our culture not only found itself out of the seeming endless moral more of conflict, with a deceptively simple technological solution. A solution that not only provided a sudden ending to war, but ushered an era of imagined prosperity for all, without ever considering the spiritual cost. In Lynch's vision , such imagery of uniformity beneath a justification of white bread Americana as a beacon for the just and fair, often brings with it hidden suffering and inevitably a bubbling underworld, just waiting to consume all innocence. If one thinks of it as a less crass, and more melancholic take on the Nightmare On Elm Street themes of the "sins of the parents", it all comes into sharper focus. 

It has long been an ongoing theme with his works. Only now, does it take on a grander scope than ever before. 

1945. White Sands, NM

Impact. Fury. Trinity.  

From the vomiting maw of what resembled the creature from the glass box. Contents liquescent, viscous, containing what appears to be Bob, himself. This along with the appearance of the soot beings corralling around perhaps the one and only Convenience Store. The one Jeffries, once spoke of before vanishing before Cole, Cooper, and Albert days before the murder of Laura. Sound magnified, stretched, and helplessly warped as the fabric of reality is torn open just long enough for evil to amass in ways unprecedented (Or perhaps flared beyond the days of slavery, and the mass slaughter of native peoples.) . And entire moment granting viewers the chance to at last absorb the truth beyond a simple, and all too familiar infodump.

Continuing this method, we are brought into a familiar art deco-esque tower overlooking vast oceans. (The White Lodge?) Where we are granted a crucial moment with the Giant, and "The Mother", as they are both alerted to the events unfolding on Earth. Possible that their roles in the overall scheme of the planet, are those of virtue, innocence, and light. Their world, adorned with lavish early 20th century design, coupled with the power of mythical machines resembling woodwinds. Music, the power of light. Sphere. Laura, in origin form. Kissed, and sent out into a now gravely troubled planet. Parents, bringing a child into it in hopes of inspiring humanity to rise beyond an impending abyss.

On to a decade later, and a lone egg the size of a small mammal lands deep in the desert. It isn't long before the egg is hatched, revealing what seems to be borne out of Lynch's own personal memories; what he has called a frog moth. Unable to fly, the creature in an infant stage awkwardly crawls toward an unknown future. Bringing us to a young pair, walking along a lone series of dirt roads after a night's meeting. Clearly a first for these children, it becomes an ache in my side to want to declare one of these children a young version of someone we know good and well from Twin Peaks. Only, no name is dropped, even as they bid their goodnights as the young girl waves from her family porch. I'm almost positive, I was far from the only one thinking, "Say Leland, please", but oh that would be too pat. As of tonight, a big guess persists, but wait for it. 

Meanwhile, the arrival of the soot men has become something akin to a zombie invasion just outside town limits, leaving several witnesses petrified of what shambles along in the dark. No mere vagrants, these ash covered beings may not move very fast, but one lanky fellow among them dubbed, "The Woodsman", comes ever forward to the unsuspecting with the simple words, "Gotta light?" A seemingly innocuous question that quickly gathers menace with each iteration. The terror only magnifies when The Woodsman takes over the local radio station, ending in several deaths by bare hands, and the broadcast of his passage regarding the water and the well. Shrouded creatures with a message of a most dangerous slumber. As to whether or not this was to facilitate the frog moth's entry into the sleeping young girl's mouth, remains to be seen. But what if the race between light and shadow merely appeared in town simultaneously a decade after their respective appearances? What if the frog moth, is no mere invader, but rather the protector? 

And by that logic, would this make the young girl a teenage Sarah Palmer? Which would go to great lengths to explain one of the mythos' great questions; what kind of link does Sarah have with the Black Lodge, and in turn, Bob? It was something that occurred more than a few times in the original series, but hardly addressed. This could be it. Laura, being something of an ephemeral being, brought to our world via forces beyond our understanding, while in itself something more akin to your classic hero myths than of other genre, offers up an even more unusual canvas than has ever been hinted at. Then again, this is the same show where we witnessed the leaving of a child's soul towards electricity- the vessel of choice for many of these interdimensional beings.

Technology, for all its abilities to save us from the darkness, offers up its own world of toil and danger. Children of the atom, grown from tract home realities, and TV dinner education, never knowing what was sacrificed in order for them to inherit reality. Ever yearning, but never illuminated beyond convenience. With Blue Velvet, this universe seemed to side with overt innocence. But with Twin Peaks The Return, that innocence would serve to be but one vital element within a larger family. We can't have one without the other. And this is perhaps the ultimate condemnation of Bob Cooper, and America's neglected heart.

And maybe a sign that hope, isn't too far away.

She's Gone Away: Twin Peaks The Return Part 8, Dives Into Deepest Lynch For Revelation

"This is the water. And this is the well; Drink full, and descend. The horse is the white of the eyes, and dark within."

-The Woodsman

And descend, do we all. Social media echoed sentiment by many involved with the series that Part 8, would present to us something we've yet to experience. This in no way, was an exaggeration. Uncompromising to the end, this long form extension of a series known for flirting with the outright uncanny and frightening has opted to go full dark dream, offering little relief throughout most of its hour running time. A segment centered largely on the dark forces that have been floating about the larger story all this time, starting with the ride between Evil Cooper, and his erstwhile accomplice, Ray (George Griffith). A drawn out drive into the middle of nowhere leads to an altercation that reveals a little more about BobCoop, as well as ushers in the return of the soot covered men we've had hints of over the last several episodes. These foreboding creatures are seen in one moment dancing jubilantly, only to have them descend into what resembles a bloody mangling, which features the appearance of none other than Bob himself. The first ten minutes of this segment alone offers us little but the promise that we are at last going to have a greater taste of these otherwordly beings.

Then Lynch lets us have it.

In one of the most eloquently personal, and utterly baffling hours of television since that final thirty minutes of the original. So without going into too much detail that is better experienced than written about, here is where I currently am with it.

This, along with Cooper's journey between worlds in episode 3, feel very much like two major components of why this series not only exists, but what made the doubling of episodes something worth celebrating. Not only are we at last back in the ultimate sandbox of early Lynch, we are also in a sense living up to the visual text that the entire series has been binding together with all of his previous film, and art work. His choices here intimate that whether it be a painting, an installation, a music piece, stage show, or television series, that they are part of a whole. An examination of both his middle american childhood in the 1950s, but his own concerns about what led to his own incarnations of overt light and dark. The realms we explore in the wake of the atomic bombing tests in White Sands, is explored as origin point. That within that particular deal with unknowable evil, America's fate was sealed beyond any injustice that one culture has perpetrated on others for generations. It was an act of scientific checkmating that allowed for the proliferation of seeds that have now spread toward every corner of the nation. 

Most impressive, are the visions of within a mushroom cloud, visualizing the deployment of Bob into the world, further examining the denizens of the ocean tower we has seen Cooper escape before, natural elements erupting within and without a rural gas station. And perhaps even the birth of Laura's goodness into Earth as some form of counter against encroaching darkness. However, the pervasive evil somehow caught wind of such power, and sought it wherever possible in order to claim it. (Not unlike how Leland himself was claimed as a young man.) And as abstract as this all is, again such care for the emotional texture of the entire hour, carrying with it the sense that this has been the kind of work the director hadn't been able to indulge in for well over twenty years due to studios and cold feet, and perhaps a need of some soul searching. We haven't seen sets, costume design, color grade, and homebrew effects work of this caliber since perhaps even the ill-fated, DUNE. There is even a great amount more ERASERHEAD and The Elephant Man, in here for measure. And while not laser direct about it, the reverberations are there without sense of irony or humor. We are at the nucleus of the trouble in Twin Peaks, and it is both alluring and deeply terrifying. 

This is advanced level, hard left Peaks that opts for pure cinema. I can't think of any television event this willing to go here. This begs to be on a large theatrical screen with the soundtrack blaring.

Oh, and having Nine Inch Nails stop by was pretty rad too..

He Was Like A Cobra: Twin Peaks The Return Part Seven, delivers on years of build-up

"Has anyone seen Billy?"

In a feat of near-impossible grace after so many years of anticipation, Part 7 of Lynch's singular voyage back to our favorite northwestern town is the kind of achievement that will reward for years to come. Friends have remarked that this above every segment thus far, is a Mark Frost special. And while this at first glance seems about right; so many mythological threads at last beginning to gather central steam, and greater emphasis on world building, there is an equal power at play through Lynch's passionate eyes. He seems to be relishing at last beginning to use the gravity of all we've absorbed up until now, delivering what is for me the most satisfying hour to date. And yet, I am struggling with exactly how the hell they've both pulled it off with such deceptive ease. 

From Deputy Hawk's discovery of three of the four long lost pages from Laura Palmer's diary(a moment I've been awaiting since 1992), detailing the fate of our favorite special agent, to the incredible face-off with Ike The Spike, to the long awaited revelation on the face of Diane upon meeting "Cooper" in a South Dakota cell, to the eventual conclusion of that prison arc, therein lies a strangely intimate feeling between all events that is only capable through careful concentration on emotional elements, rather than intellectual ones. We are, after all, digesting yet another one of Lynch's waking dreams. A place where truths come from often illogical places, yet feelings are justifiably amplified. Almost beckoning the viewer to easily accept it. It's the kind of magic trick that only film can deliver, and Lynch remains a master of misdirection. Letting us marinate in a mood, rather than explaining away the cause of our distress. This includes the morgue encounter with what's supposed to be the long dead body of Major Garland Briggs-sans head, made all the more upsetting by the presence of a soot-darkened stranger in the background we've yet to fully comprehend. And, the terrible reminder that the Renault family bloodline remains morally broken to the bitter end.

I've made remark before that this new Peaks, seems to be a straight razor reflection to the America we seem to be occupying today. Almost like the crew of Twin Peaks, couldn't help but ingest what exactly has been haunting the heart of everyday people on the small patches of civilization across the nation. Sometimes, even suggesting that perhaps Evil Cooper, is at the heart of every displaced worker of a now defunct energy industry, every debt ridden ball of angst, ready for a swipe against a world that seems to have slighted them. Every person feeling left behind after spending their whole lives chasing a vision of their country that was never more than illusory. Through the show's establishment of character and predicament, there's this sense that there are those looking to either pass the buck of responsibility, only to be pushed back by citizens eager to uphold their end, or others ready to blacken the eyes of this betrayed bargain.  It's a travelogue of 2016, before darkness fully took hold, perhaps existing as artifact warning arrived too late to stop an apocalyptic alien infestation.

But for me, the biggest, most powerful weapon in seven's arsenal was the numerous levels brilliant casting of Laura Dern in the role of Diane, as a woman understandably hurt by time. Without explicit details, we are made very clear that the FBI (more specifically Gordon and Albert) remain prime on her shit list. There is little love throughout their initial meeting, but it is nothing compared to her realization that the source of all twenty five years of pain, might be something completely otherworldly. Her crumbling to Gordon after the meeting, was especially powerful as it elicits Lynch fans' familiarity with his entire filmography. This is a truly meta fiction moment, where Sandy at last comes to discover that Jeffrey, may have at last succumbed to the darkness. It's a moment that exploits our love for her presence in these works, yet it all works. It's a family distressed at the possibility that one of their own may be truly lost.  And the way the entire scene is captured is in the very best tradition of his works. Painterly, overt, and hopelessly raw. Reaffirming us that Peaks, belongs right up there with 1986's Blue Velvet as another dream in the same mind.

Sure, we can certainly highlight Dougie Coop's encounter with his would be assassin. And we should. But to even best explain why that moment is so well earned, we need remember how many were at first off put by the arc. Playing with our collective patience. Leaving us to wonder if we would ever get the old Dale Cooper back. This moment, more than any other is a promise that he will indeed be back. Albeit, through one barnburner of an arc that seems truly deliberate at this point. Both MacLachlan and Watts, continue to shine here, only making me increasingly sad that he may have to leave her and child soon.  

And what of Beverly's odd sound at the Great Northern with Ben, and the recovery of the key Jade sent their way from Vegas? Old habits truly die hard as we also may be getting acquainted with our own generation's Catherine Martell. But who is Tom, really? Sure, we could speculate. But again, since this is a feature film of rare length, these just the type of bread crumbs that are best examined once they play out a little longer. Sure, the end wound up being a playful bit of padding in between segments, but even they had a bit of atmospheric fun to them that didn't diminish the effects of the almost overwhelming first half. Something tells me, this episode will be getting the most replay from me for a while. But as the credits roll, it's pretty clear, something truly terrible is on the way. It's time to lean in closer, with headphones perhaps.

Things are about to take a huge turn.

Rest In Peace, Warren Frost. ("Thanks, Doc.")

Dougie Jones' Strangely Charmed Life: Twin Peaks The Return (Episodes 5-6)

 "When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first. And the wind rises. And then, all goodness is in jeopardy."

  -The Log Lady

As we delve further into the bottomless Chinese box Lynch and company have been devising for us, it again grows ever clearer that the boughs of innocence extended far beyond the youthful visage of whitebread American goodness in Laura Palmer, but in everything we grew to know as familiar within Twin Peaks' particular town limits. For sure, the weird has always been a pervasive element. But never before has it been captured with such an ominous set of oils. On the surface, it may look like classic Peaks. But gone is the bonkers humor or reaches for sheer camp. On top of this, these last two episodes seem ready to keep us at bay for any real answers for quite some time. 

Six hours in, and the story continues to spread across the country, yet seems ready to ease itself defiantly in Vegas as long as Lynch and Frost feel comfortable challenging the average viewer with extended and crushingly awkward moments of Dougie/Cooper, continuing his voyage back to total selfhood. And why not? So much of his reactions to the world around him, and the in turn utter confusion and exasperation from everyone else seems to be playing hard against the very gawking audience that pushed the original series into an early grave. But what such viewers may be missing , is both the cackling humor of it all, coupled with some truly touching moments as Kyle MacLachlan patiently and often brilliantly delivers hints that things are coming together. Whether it's his fascination with a classic statue of a dutiful lawman, or uttering terms like "case file", pieces seem to be coming back for our favorite G-man. It's a singular and affecting performance that a television show, let alone a feature film could rarely deliver. 

He's in a dazed. Probably not too different from how Lynch himself views the contemporary landscape. Like anticipating a return to an almost infant state as age takes hold. It's both a distressing and hilarious feeling that almost renders parts of the series hard to watch. 

But. Take heart.  

Just going to up and say it, Dougie Jones is one lucky guy. Yeah, sure he seems to have a gambling problem.  The mob seems to be hot on his tail. He has extramarital concerns. He doesn't even seem to exist anymore. But through the eyes of a dazed, half alive Special Agent Dale Cooper, we are host to the man's world, a host of both the hyper-ordinary, coupled with extraordinary circumstance. He's no simple Las Vegas insurance salesman. Heck, just take one good extended look at his family life, and take in the fact that despite all the drama surrounding him, he's just damned lucky to have run across a morally upright, understanding firebrand like Janey E. She'll meet with potentially deadly thugs out in a public park, talk shop, and end a threat with some common sense based on current percentage figures as per her job at the bank, and end it with a solid counter offer. The kind with the kind of rare authority, that even said thugs have to step back and admire it. This together with their amazing child, Sonny Jim, it almost seems terribly tragic that very soon, they may come to realize that Dougie, is indeed gone. 

I bring this all up at the very beginning, because It seems important to highlight the complications that are mounting in lieu of the events that are now swirling well beyond the town limits of the show's titular community. Even as Evil Coop has been in a cell in South Dakota, pieces are moving about wildly, ever glacially drawing events closer to where it all began. Unfinished business is at the heart of Twin Peaks: The Return, and it seems ready to tease matters out as far as possible. Not at all unlike a novel. With the author savoring every opportunity to bask in these moments with characters one clearly has affection for. 

Hawk, after some dogged investigating, has stumbled upon what could be a nuclear revelation connected to the events of twenty five years past. And it wasn't among the mountain of case documents and articles left behind during the Laura Palmer case. Wilder yet, it may very well have been hinted at in a dream she had days before her murder. 

Albert, has at last found who he and Gordon were speaking of a few episodes back. Red herring edit to the Bang Bang Bar aside, we are at last somewhere in New York where we meet the never before seen Diane(Laura Dern!) before cutting away. 

Meanwhile, we at last have who will likely become a central figure in this 18 hour saga. And we get it within the most familiar of Twin Peaks locations, the Double R with Shelley Johnson revealed to still be working for Norma, being approached for money by her teenaged daughter, Becky(Amanda Seyfried). This is not long after being introduced to Becky's loser boyfriend,  Steven (Caleb Landry Jones) who has been struggling to get work in between hits of coke. The stage seems to be assembling for a repeat of history, while events thousands of miles away seem to be ever gravitating closer to the origin point. 

Couple this with the fact that some of Dougie's Vegas pursuers have been killed by another party by mistake. The ensuing chain reaction, has activated what has become one of the series' most utterly baffling characters. Ike the Spike, who's diminutive stature and accompanying hip-hop theme music have done in three minutes what takes most horror films 90 minutes to make frightening. This is no joke when I unpack just how genuinely scary and milk spitting hilarious this guy is. It seems to come completely out of nowhere, and will be a character worth watching out for. Especially since Dougie seems to be next on his hit list! One can only hope that Cooper wakes up soon enough to put his long neglected boxing abilities to the test. Because in his current state, we'd be lucky to get a sprint out of our hero. 

And let's not wind down without considering Peaks' next generation of pure sociopaths in Richard(Who may very well be a Horne), who's allegiance to the clearly psychotic magical gangster Red(Balthazar Getty, doing a mean Frank Booth) is being tested by being endlessly called "kid". Richard, also in record time, has gone from being wholly detestable to outright pathetic monster as his mission to traffic a Chinese designer drug hits a speedbump in the form of a child in the street. A scene that again melds sheer horror with over the top cackle fuel. Thankfully, Fat Trout manager, Carl (Harry Dean Stanton) witnesses the whole awful event with what seems to be a reassuring epiphany. 

And all of this as we have yet to find out just who Linda is from the Giant's message at the very beginning. "Two birds, one stone", he said. Whether this means incarceration for the duo, or a straight up hit list, remains to be seen. 

Which brings us to what seems to be gnawing at the corners of the entire series for me this far. Not unlike Margaret's troubling words in Fire Walk With Me, the bugs had only begin to infect the community of Twin Peaks during the days of the Palmer investigation. While the powerful were feuding over the fate of the Packard sawmill, and Ghostwood, these were elements that invited small time thuggery as extension. In the past, elements like th3 Renault brothers, were but a fixture on the outskirts of town. But what seems to be bubbling up now in lieu of economic uncertainty, is both an arms race of entropy and apathy. This is exhibited by a deputy, who's not only an openly cruel human being, but a man on the take. Janey E's impassioned retort to the gangsters, and ultimately the former Doctor Jacoby's nutbar InfoWars conspiracy/marketing scheme show. Let's also consider the show equating the gangsters with the bank Janey works for, not to mention Dougie's job at an insurance company rife with the adulterous, and venal side by side during group meeting. The world of Peaks, has gone full opportunist vampire. The show seeming to suggest that in the years since the disappearance of Dale Cooper, and the emergence of Bob/Coop, the ensuing moral chasm that appeared in the wake of these events threatens not only some of our beloved friends in the north, but of America as a whole. It's a vision of a society aimlessly longing for an illusory past, despite considering the world so vibrantly passing them by. Too many find themselves in planted denial. Unyielding. Thereby inviting the classic Lynchian bugs that once thrived beneath Lumberton, North Carolina. And while we really should be pacing ourselves with any semiotic reading since this is much closer in form to a feature film than a series, it could be way too early to hone in on what exactly Frost and Lynch have in mind for the series thematically. But even at six hours, its ambitions cannot be underestimated. Here's hoping a long neglected slumber is about to come to a well-earned end. 

A Return To Dreamland: Impressions Of Twin Peaks: The Return (1-4)

"My dream is a code, waiting to be broken. Crack the code, solve the crime."

-Special FBI Agent Dale Cooper

Fewer words were more inviting of the authors than this piece of dialogue from David Lynch & Mark Frost's almost legendary crack in the fabric of broadcast network time and space back in 1990. It's suggestion that none of what we see will be as it seems, and that normalcy is but a petty illusion we grant ourselves is at the dark, somber heart of Twin Peaks. A television event so singular in execution, generations of longform storytellers have been sampling Promethean fire from it ever since. The quirky, occasionally disturbing revelations beneath the veneer of a quiet northwestern American community in the wake of the brutal murder of the town's misunderstood high school sweetheart, became the kind of lore that inspired ceaseless discussion and debate. Also inspired many a Twin Peaks party as far down as my own small desert community just south of Palm Springs, California. Coffee and Pie, as simple price of admission to becoming part of what became one of the briefest, yet intense pop culture phenomenons I have ever had the good fortune to be a part of.

And to think, that this largely came from the mind behind one of the most jarring cinematic experiences of my youth, Blue Velvet(1986).

The demise of Twin Peaks, was as aggressively swift as the show's overnight success. The kind of network meddling that once made many a filmmaker steer clear, and more discerning viewers avoid broadcast television for years. Being forced to reveal that ever present, driving core question of, "Who killed Laura Palmer?" became one of the great crippling decisions that render creative teams rudderless, and as such the show was never quite the same again. That is, until a harrowing season finale signaling the return of Lynch to help rescue the show after a several months absence. History, naturally borne that more than a little late as time slots went from barely manageable to outright impossible, thereby quashing much hope of the show being saved via life support. Thankfully, the season finale, which became the show's original death march, went into history as one of the most indelibly bizarre, nightmarish, and utterly frustrating endings ever made. I vividly remember gasping in utter astonishment as the credits for Frost & Lynch came up on the screen as our central hero suddenly reveals himself to be overtaken by the evil forces behind some of the stranger goings on up in those mountains. Special Agent Dale Cooper, is trapped in the Black Lodge, while his evil doppelganger walks the world we live in..triumphant.

The finale left me angry, befuddled, even depressed. The show had so clearly drawn the moral cartography with such clarity with this character, and here we were, ending with goodness. possibly in a fate worse than death. In many ways a good analogy for the show itself. An almost magical confluence of elements that could easily be manipulated into a cage of its own destruction.

Thankfully, in the decades plus since the demise of the series, and the subsequent and inexplicable booing at Cannes for Lynch's film prequel, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, it seemed that despite all signs to Peaks being among the many casualties of myths that burnt out far too soon, here we are where creators, fans, and artists prevailed, granting David Lynch the utmost freedom to come back to a creation, and characters he so clearly still loves. The Showtime release of Twin Peaks: The Return, is not only another return to the success pool that so many filmmaking legends have. Rather, it is the kind of singular form of artistic revenge that only lands once or twice in our laps in a single lifetime. Much like a certain George Miller, what I've seen so far is reminiscent of his own vision unleashed. It is a wildly strange, unflinchingly Lynchian,  caustically funny, and occasionally terrifying opus of ideas that must have been percolating since 1991. Gone is the often screwball nature of the original series, but also not as tonally grim as the 1992 feature. What we have here, is the natural extension of all of Lynch's art spanning from as far back as his experimental films, not to mention ERASERHEAD(1974). 

 Opening within an enigmatic space of pure monochrome, a slightly aged Dale Cooper has now been within realms beyond the feared Black Lodge, and has been informed by The Giant, that the time to leave is nigh. Speech remains in eerie reverse, but the color has been completely bled out, perhaps implying that the show we had previously watched over the years had indeed entered the world of classic vintage television. We are also introduced to various characters from New York City to even Buckhorn, South Dakota, where matters have undertaken less the episodic, and often goofy feel of the original, and taken an almost novel-like structure. A school principal dreams of murdering a co-worker, only to awaken and be arrested for a similar crime. A woman with faulty memory, helps the police discover a murder victim with the wrong head on its shoulders. A young man, is tasked with watching a glass box in a city skyscraper that may or may not be a transportation device for alternate dimensions. Meanwhile, a man in black leather who bears a bizarre resemblance to Cooper is on a mission to obtain information, and kill a few along the way as his help might very well be in the process of betraying him. As new revelations that seemingly come from other Lynch worlds expand themselves into the larger story, it rapidly becomes clear that the tale of Peaks has bled out across the country.

All of this, as Sheriff Tommy "Hawk" Hill(Michael Horse) is given a call by Margaret (The Log Lady, played by the late, wonderful Catherine Coulson) that some new puzzle pieces have suddenly come to light. Little by little, it is indeed happening again. And whether or not anyone is ready, it seems like The Return, is not only a sober, more adult Peaks, but it's also something of a liberation from the confines of network broadcast. An existence that ultimately sunk the original show. Frost, makes good use of the lore he has helped hone over the years, helping Lynch further ground his series in a way that we had only been hinted at with Fire Walk With Me. The range is certainly lighter than that excursion into the bleak, but it is no less unsettling when Lynch goes full horror show. And not unlike 2001's Mulholland Drive, the tonal shifts somehow find even keel weaving an endlessly fascinating new life for a show that at one time captured the minds of many in its vision of a Rockwell dream gone malignant. Oh, for sure, innocence remains strong within Peaks, but it has begun to waver with the loss of Cooper, and Major Garland Briggs. Andy and Lucy(Harry Goaz & Kimmy Robertson), are good and well as they could ever be as fixtures in the Twin Peaks Sheriff's Office. And while we do not have Harry Truman who's apparently ill, we have his brother in Frank (Robert Forster!) taking care of the law enforcement family alongside Hawk. 

And as hours three and four have unveiled themselves, it rings louder than ever that Lynch has a fire within that even I though had long been diminished. It's the kind of creative fury that only the right producers and supportive entities could have allowed. In hindsight, this so easily could have flown completely off the rails, and yet somehow, even the most bizarre events of these two episodes seem perfectly in keeping with the world presented. No matter how insane things get, it's always in support of Cooper's journey toward not only the home of his beloved deep black joe, and pie, but himself. Playing at this point, three roles is easily the best work Kyle MacLachlan has ever executed on film. Years of describing him as something of Lynch's visual analog couldn't be more fitting as he traverses between worlds and personalities with the precision and trust only collaborating friends could ever conjure. And this is but one blip among a wealth of performances that further offer a depth that the show had only hinted at in the past. Sure, there are a few that hit those strange notes (Chrysta Bell, instantly comes to mind), but considering the universe of Peaks as something that exists in a plane not quite ours, it never milks the camp factor beyond tolerance levels.

But the real surprising juice comes in the form of elder Gordon Cole(Lynch himself), and fellow agent, Albert Rosenfeld(The late, great Miguel Ferrer) who upon receiving cryptic information about the long lost Cooper, venture out to meet a captured man, only to wonder who exactly they have behind bars. It's a truly mesmerizing final few minutes in this series of episodes that both sells the utter eerie nature of old events returning to haunt old friends, as well as their loyalty to their fellow agents. The final scene hued in a deep shade of blue, brings to the forefront revelations that harken to both the original series as well as FWWM, hinting at something both men had been troubled by for years. No, none of this feels normal at all. But maybe there is someone we know who can help. It's a bang-up way to leave us hanging. Needless to say, I am probably just as hooked now as I was back in 1990. Perhaps even moreso. Like Albert and Gordon, a part of me had lied dormant. Ever resigned to the idea that these forces would forever be ignored, leaving threads eternally neglected. And despite knowing of this project for over a year now, I never expected it to be rekindled with such energy and sincerity. It's the kind of return we rarely to never receive. At last, we have Twin Peaks as a complete story. Whether or not this is truly Lynch's great goodbye to narrative filmmaking, I'll be there with many others, savoring every delicious moment.  

14 hours remain..

Alien: Covenant (2017) Film Thoughts

Never let it be said that Ridley Scott, and company weren't strident in their ambitions with PROMETHEUS. A film that both galvanized me with a certain slackjawed awe at its unique perspective, and attempts at heady themes, and also infused me with inescapable rage at how jumbled the final product unspooled. When the subject of ALIEN: COVENANT came into a discussion with friends, up came a shared belief; that an artist should never apologize for the past. Even if we, the audience may not agree with it, there was a concerted effort to expose something new to us. And that this alone should be commended in a medium so often submerged in sameness, and repetition.

Enter: ALIEN: COVENANT. A sequel/"course corrected" vehicle for what ever kneejerk impulse director Scott has in mind for his universe of face raping parasites, psychotic androids, and hapless blue collar saps.

Here, we begin with a little flashback to what seems to be the incept day of PROMETHEUS' David(the always excellent Michael Fassbender), receiving his first lessons in recognizing life and creation by way of his father, Peter Weyland(Guy Pearce, sans scary Goldmember makeup). And it is at the order of tea do we begin to at least scratch the surface of David's future indifference to human life before flashing forward ten years after the events of PROMETHEUS, with the multi-year colonization mission, the COVENANT. A ship carrying within it over two thousand souls, helmed by a group of married coupled in hypersleep, and scores of frozen human embryos to be used on their destination, the distant star known as Origae-6. Awakened suddenly by a freak stellar phenomenon ending in the death of several crewmembers, including Captain Jacob Branson(the only really seen in YouTube marketing, James Franco), the husband of terraforming specialist, Daniels Branson now left to help pick up the pieces with the help of what remains of the crew. Assisted by the advanced synthetic Walter(Fassbender again), who while looks exactly like a certain other, seems to sport an american accent, and a much more stable temperament. Their repairs are cut short when they receive what seems to be a distress signal of seeming human origin just a short jaunt away on a planet much closer than the anticipated seven years they still had to go.

So yeah, despite the relationship dynamics, which weren't of Scott's concern in the 1979 original, this all begins to sound rather familiar to the initiated. Which is where the film begins to take steps both familiar and unfamiliar. In the absence of their original captain, the duties fall to the less than up to the task, Christopher Oram(Billy Crudup), a man of often questionable spine to lead an expedition while ship pilot, Tennessee(Danny McBride), and others remain in orbit. Problems? An ion storm that can last up to months is brewing, and while the surface looks peaceful, what lurks beyond the woods is both familiar, and none too friendly.

With all that out there, it's easy to see how much we've already seen compared to what writers, John Logan & Dante Harper were saddled with considering the sprawling disarray that PROMETHEUS ended up being. This problem is exacerbated by the David/Walter scenes, as they come off as if they belong in an entirely different film. While the ground team explores this mysterious, almost Earthlike planet, we are host to not only what happened to what remained of the PROMETHEUS crew, but of new forms of parasitic monsters that have no trouble decimating the team's numbers in a sequence that echoes some of the best in the series. The problems again being that there is a clear tug-of-war at play between the new, more exotic ideas of the previous films, and some studio need to hew so close to familiarity that it becomes shackles on the story. I can go so far as to even suggest that the voice to express this hidden tension throughout belongs to David himself. Created to BOTH serve and create, he finds humans far too limited to grasp the world of possibilities he sees. And as such, is unfazed about the lives he destroys in the process of seeking them. He is a classic mad scientist with a warm composure, but a sly grin. With COVENANT, we experience a film that both wants to be a follow-up to Elizabeth Shaw(The much missed Noomi Rapace) & David's journey to the planet of engineers, as well as a standard ALIEN feature. And as such, we get well visualized ideas wrapped around a spine with an ingrained curvature. 

The return of the classic xenomorph, as a result, ends up being the film's most banal element. It's a film that eagerly wants to explore new territory, but is hobbled by the past. Deep within the confines of ALIEN: COVENANT, there is an exasperated legend, embittered that his wish to repurpose the universe he created into a canvas for his own love of classical literature and art is being held back by market forces that expect him to not be so "creative" so open, so..odd. It isn't hard to see David as an analogue for Scott in that he sees himself as a romantic, eager to paint new worlds that echo scripture and poetry of the past, as we endlessly cycle through between the cold machinery of capitalism, and passionate overtures of art. In COVENANT, as in PROMETHEUS, creativity is both herald of beauty, and an act of brutality. There is no safety to be had in discovering new corners of experience. 

How in the world did we get here? It's almost as if Scott is asking us, no demanding that we expect more from our tales. To understand why the classics are what they are. This deep seated need, however is later exposed in all too blunt terms when the final twenty five minutes plays like a speed run of the original film, complete with slasher movie kill. It's a moment so crass and jarring, it's hard to believe that this is the same man who brought us the quiet elegance of the original derelict spacecraft, the wrath of the facehugger, and the unrelenting slow build of the fate of the commercial starship Nostromo. It's a final raspberry by a man who's made a career of some of the most beautiful imagery in film. COVENANT, indeed feels like that moment friends and I have commented on for years coming to light.

Maybe David's right. Maybe we don't deserve the grace. 

Manufacturing New Cycles: 14th Factory

Leave it to a certain someone to fill me in on the existence of yet another hidden oasis of art happening on the fringes of the L.A. area. Her forwarded email promised a unique installation experience happening somewhere near Cypress Park, among the carcasses of closed pastry facilities, and voc-tech schools. True to form, the enigmatic 14th Factory, is a long in the planning, transporting, occasionally absorbing journey into worlds both outward and inward. British artist Simon Birch, and a host of fellow explorers transformed a long in disuse factory into an occasionally pitch-black labyrinth of sculptural, photographic, filmic, and found artworks, all seemingly centered on realms of the transformative. Inspired by eighteenth century China, and its "thirteen districts", the repurposed factory serves as a mythic continuation where expression of seemingly disparate disciplines, styles, and worldviews find themselves ready to collide, and in turn open forum toward completely fresh, utterly new shapes and languages.

Upon entering the facility, we are invited toward deceptively foreboding tunnels and paths, and into several captivating displays of innovative works that no simple museum could contain. Each work leaving impressions of years toiling under diverse conditions. Presentations on par with extended film shooting, often involving travel and collaboration. Within these corridors, are a glimpse into work that is the antithesis of the cliche of a lone creator. 

For example, this incredible environment comprised of what resembles shattered obsidian, like the remnants of a mysterious meteor impact. Or a most foreboding alien mountain pass. Conceived by Birch, and co-designed by Taylor Philips Hungerford, the several hundred square foot room cleverly hides what soon sets my inner cinema nerd mind ablaze..

That's right. Within the core of the impact lies The Barmecide Feast. An environment that almost wholly resembles the Louis XVI room from Kubrick's 2001. Guests are encouraged to remove their footwear, and are allowed to explore the room within four minute intervals. It's a truly captivating moment. As you can see here, even E was impressed. I found myself agape at just how close they were able to replicate the opulent and utterly mysterious ream David Bowman slipped into during those classic final moments.  

Many more enchantments awaited us upon our visit. Was soon welcomes by this hill laden park at the center of the factory. A shame we are unable to use the swings. Surrounded by images of China's hidden tribes, as well as intense close ups of seeds borne out of the region's agrarian culture adorn the surrounding walls. Themes of levitation and joy permeate the sunlit courtyard, not to mention several open chambers to other works in several directions. 

A room that both entranced and disturbed, The Inhumane, by Wing Shya, and Birch, is a striking multi-screen tale of collaboration and collision. A factory full of workers both states of togetherness, and utter chaos in a slow motion ballet of violence. The imagery being unsettling, but no less beautiful. The ability to walk between and around each screen capturing different angles of the event further bolstering the participation of the visitor. We are one with the struggle. A struggle that could at times seems ready to consume all who enter, or transform them. 

Which seems to be at the heart of 14th Factory. Works beginning in enclosed circles, inviting new eyes and minds into a collaborative effort. An effort that promises metamorphosis for the inclined. Celebrating cycles, only to invite their ultimate dissolution and recreation. Circles, like the piece above, innocuous at first, but soon granting endless possibilities with nary a change of position, change of light, gender, belief, perspective, humor, baggage. Birch and company have fashioned a documentary in progress centered on not only the role of the work, but of the public's. Cameras follow us into the labyrinth, inviting us to openly discuss, capture photos, comment, intermingle. We become an extended part of a larger whole. Witnesses to the end of one economic ideology, and into a wholly new era. 

The 14th Factory, runs through April 30th. 

Still Thinking Your Name

Caught it on Sunday, and I'm still of a scrambled brain about Makoto Shinkai's latest. And I've gone ahead and written a few words about it for good ol' Anime Diet. I'm still pretty surprised at the film's now immense status, as it doesn't speak to me quite as much as high ranking anime titles of the past. But I wonder if it's because time has surely passed me by. Or that the priorities for anime viewers in the years 2016-2017 have harshly shifted. Or, I'm completely wrong, and that these have been the priorities of fans since the 1990s, and they've finally found a piece that best encapsulates certain dreams, wishes, and ideals of many.

Whatever the case, for me it's an occasionally endearing jumble at best. And for what it's worth, I'm grateful it's here.   

Ghost In The Shell (2017) Film Thoughts

And as the lights go up, and the crowds exit the theater, my chlorine vision saturated eyes, heavy they hang, underlying a distended sense of relief. Not that Rupert Sanders' fool's errand had indeed exceeded all expectations. But rather that years of speculation and debate could at last be put to rest knowing that it was all valid noise. His adaptation of Shiroh's influential creation bears little resemblance to the source, unless one believes that random, occasionally slavish visual callbacks implies synchronicity. The end product being something far less interested in the world it is painting, and far more victim of its own marketing potential. Another film pitted against itself so early in the game, that the afterthought of merely choosing a straight procedural story must be echoing between many lips at this very moment. But as it is, Ghost In The Shell, succumbs dead on arrival as a story of stolen pasts and identities at odds with a reality that all but Hollywood has seemingly surpassed. 

In this rendition of the universe, Mira, aka The Major (Scarlett Johansson), is seen awakening for the first time after being told she was just rescued from near drowning after a terrorist attack. Dr. Ouélet (an oddly cast Juliette Binoche), informs her and in turn, the audience that Mira is indeed granted a new cyborg body in what would become a bold new standard for HANKA Robotics' and the world's increasingly cyberized population. Behind closed doors, Dr. Ouélete, is informed by the company's chief, Cutter(Peter Ferdinando), that Mira is to be stationed as a government operative for the anti-terrorist strike force, Section Nine as an imposed demonstration of Mira's intended function: as a weapon. Flash forward to one year later, and suppressed memories come calling as The Major and her cadre of cybercops run up against renegade cyborg, Kuze(Michael Pitt), who has begun to infiltrate minds of machine and human alike in a plot to expose HANKA, and break this new world down to its foundations.

You read correctly, 2017's Ghost In The Shell, cops that age old crutch, the origin story, and undermines the entire mythology in the process. One of the great delights of Masamune Shirow's original work, and most of the subsequent media that followed tossed the reader/viewer forehead deep into an increasingly blurred world of cyborgs, political intrigue, and morphing philosophical concepts. We were suddenly privy to the obsessive minds behind each incarnation. With each new exchange rendering us occadionally scrambling to keep up. Much like the way I used to have to re-read to better digest the early works of William Gibson, there is a tactile nature to the world of Ghost that is dense, and simply thrilling because of said density. It's a universe that rarely to never did apologizes for what it was, nor was terribly interested in longform explanations about who our characters. They simply were. 

With Sanders'  film, this simply won't do. And as such, the entire piece seems hell bent on undermining any potential question regarding who Mira is, and what she represents to those who value her. By laying out virtually everything in expository dialogue early on, we are granted little to no mystery for the characters,  let alone us to discover. A mother/daughter subplot that again undermines a huge amount of what makes the franchise so inviting. A choice that in a way kneecaps a lot of what makes The Major, such a unique being who is an expert at what she does, but rarely reveals a vulnerable side to anyone but squadmate Batou (an adequate, yet equally undermined Pilou Asbaek) It almost seems to be written under the sexist assumption that a woman cannot be this vulnerable to a male lead without it dovetailing into love interest territory. To compound problems further, Mira is rarely given much evidence to even prove her worth as a team leader, and is more spoken about by others. Her actions are often undone by others, and occasionally rendered ineffectual. It's a superhero film where the superhero simply doesn't do very much that emphasizes the super. Johansson, does what she can with the role, but the page and direction simply have no weight to encourage more than a furrowed brow, or a dropped weapon. This Major, is simply useless.

Worse yet, are the choices that follow, especially pertaining to Cutter, and his intentions for Mira behind the scenes. The greater conspiracy that has created her never culminates toward anything beyond a raised eyebrow, and one has to ask why would a major robotics corporation pawn off one of their most advanced creations to a government unit that is deeply entrenched in such complex cyber terrorism, and intelligence gathering. The plots would have no problem intersecting over time. At least with RoboCop's Murphy, his ignorance in an increasingly blue collar style police force supports this notion of information walls that border on some form of full proof protection. But with Section Nine being who they are (here, a largely faceless group of ragtag police, granted little to no real screen time) it just feels like granting Mira a timed gimme. The ultimate revelations tend to fall into our protagonists' hands with each dive, not to mention a scene near act three that seems to have been completely edited out. (Pay close attention, or one may miss it.) The film simply opts for an on-wheels experience, punctuated by the occasional uncanny image. 

Which brings us to the presentation, which ultimately comes up short. For all that Sanders attempts to inject into the presentation, there is a strange, almost limited scope that seems to run out within the first half hour. Almost as if the film seems ready to give up on presenting much new to the world save for an almost early 1990s Mind's Eye era techno poster sheen. A lot of style, but little in the way of optical protein that Ghost is often known for. After a while, the look of the city, the people, and the animated ad campaigns looming over the proceedings become less than impressive. There are plenty of visual shout-outs to Oshii's two films (especially INNOCENCE) throughout, but even so, it becomes distracting when so very little is actually occurring on screen. It's definitely a handsome production, but certainly one that leaves a limited impression. 

Then there's the issue of casting none other than Takeshi Kitano in the role of Section Nine head, Aramaki, who comes off as expected; as a J-cinema legend collecting a paycheck. 

So in all, the western Ghost In The Shell finds itself through the looking Glass of controversy and speculation, and now on the other side perhaps worse for the wear. A project that so easily could have sidestepped certain issues of racial identity and economic choices, opts to lean head on into them, only rendering the entire project as something of a troubled message come the denouement. Without spoiling the film, the story does go full bore with the origin story in such a way that implies that this is just how things are, and that it's perfectly fine. Forget the past, understand its role, and think nothing of the implications. It's a quietly toxic choice that simply didn't have to be. There is great potential within the universe of Ghost to at least imply a wholly new regional continuity. A fresh take on an increasingly dense, politically charged creative playground of digital intrigue. The choices we get here pretty much quashes much hope of progress. Not that the mother-daughter element didn't help, but talk about a rosary of needless suffering on a slab of shallow posturing. No reverent, loving bouquet. More a burger, medium Coke, along with a basket of cold, unsalted fries.

Once again, the road to adapting Japanese media into the global mainstream finds itself at odds with the tentacles of moneyed interests, cultural hegemony, and ultimately an indifferent attitude to story. If this is the best a major studio can do with something like this, then it's no wonder Japan stays away. About the only positive here is that for a more palatable take on such occasionally challenging material,  Stand Alone Complex exists. At long last the debates can proceed with actual ammunition. 

Thank goodness.  

Reawakened Whisper: Ghost In The Shell (1995)

After years plus of hearing about it, then finally seeing the footage, it felt like time to go ahead and look back at a personal favorite. Masamune Shirow's seminal cyberpunk manga, Ghost In The Shell (Koukaku Kidotai) has become something of a huge recurrent presence in my life as a multimedia franchise that seems primed to become a comics creation destined to have a shelf life long beyond its own origins. Starting as an ultra-nerdy, often silly, obsessively detailed vision of future Japan, Ghost quickly became noteworthy for both its incredible visuals, and outright daunting text covering everything from the nature of life as a cyborg, terrorism, political intrigue, state indifference, and the pliability of reality in the realm of global networks. It's almost satirical nature, only rivaled by its own ravenous need for sharing virtually every nugget of Shirow's love for exploring dense materials. 

It seems that turning to a similarly obsessed mind in the anime world, might just be a marriage made in the stars.

Enter anime author, Mamoru Oshii, who's films had since the 1980s become an artful tug of war between blockbuster necessity and his own personal need to dive beyond the events on screen. His most recent piece being the politicallly daunting and sober PATLABOR 2, Oshii seemed ready to at last let go of his origins as a helmer of occasionally personal and quirky animated comedies once and for all. When word came out that he would be undertaking bringing Ghost to cartoon life, there certainly was a buzz throughout news net circles. This is also soon after his endeavors had led him closer and closer into working between animated and live action, which include the films Red Spectacles, and Talking Head. Both films which blur the line between narrative storytelling, and his own curiosity about the nature of his work. Increasingly introspective,  Oshii's works were becoming reknowned for being equally as visually enticing, and ponderous. So it seemed like a merging of authors with diverging forms of obsession might make for a fascinating combination. But could this make for a successful film?

What we expected, was pretty much exactly what we got when Ghost In The Shell was finally let out of the box. An 80 plus minute voyage through a far more grounded rendition of Shirow's world, coupled with the director's penchant for feminine proxies for himself, created something of a global event, not only for fans of Japanese animation, but cinema as well. The secret? Possibly the use of then increasingly popular use of virtual reality, dystopian atmosphere, and a near elegaic tone that filmed science fiction of that decade certainly found itself lacking. By taking what was in many ways dense, yet borderline sarcastic, and turning it into a haunted piece of thoughtful worldbuilding, Ghost became something of a companion piece to Ridley Scott's Blade Runner. A deeply layered, yet muted examination of free will in a universe where the body no longer has a definitive role. 

Told through the eyes of Public Security Section 9's ultra advanced leader, Motoko Kusanagi(known to her unit colleagues as "Major"), the film version of Ghost begins as a procedural, but quickly becomes a poem on sentience and purpose. 

Juggling between procedural technothriller, and introspective dream concerning individual agency in a world where our lives are increasingly tethered to our technology, Oshii's adaptation is as commercial as the increasingly exploratory auteur was going to be post-Patlabor 2. Action scenes give way to existential debates on personally owned boats after a scuba dive. The nature of cybercrime has undertaken frightening new dimensions when it becomes clear that anyone with an augmented brain is susceptible to being "ghost hacked". Meaning entire memories can be fabricated in the name of manipulating others to commit crimes against their will. The revelations of the film ebb closer to intimate when it is later explained that the central perpetrator of these crimes is but a gambit designed to be controlled by corporate and government interests, now sentient, and eager for release from its limited digital form. It is here that the possibility of transcendence beyond form is introduced, and the film version of Ghost takes on a more melancholy, spiritual tone. As Kusanagi's dilemma of self reaches a crescendo by her meeting face to face with her quarry, the onus is on that of the audience to question why it is they do what they do, and what one can do to better define themselves through virtue of action. Years of doing the state's morally grey work isn't even touched upon. There is little to no judgment to be had regarding the Major's life. But it is clear that her crisis of self is a palpable one. One that could so easily be shared with that of the film's director.

Still a leap away from Masamune Shirow's more comedic and passive anarchy, the film raises the gravitas without a single wink. The rainsoaked streets of Hong Kong, the sad eyes of what would become an ever present avatar in Oshii's films, a Bassett Hound, and the glare of high powered light off of weathered walls and wet concrete. The feel of the film as a whole borders on the funereal. Which is further complimented by Kenji Kawaii's absolutely haunting score. Echoing an ancient east where the borders between the tangible and spiritual worlds seemed so much thinner, Oshii's Ghost films imply a renewed bond by way of humanity's almost instinctive need to mimic this fabric. We may not get a pulse pounding action drama regarding life in an ever treacherous technological landscape, but what we do get is a somber, thoughtful meditation on what it means to maintain one's humanity when our will to detach overrides a will to connect.

If anything, the legacy of Ghost In The Shell, in the west is fraught with the occasional misunderstanding. Not to mention some lingering orientalism that was ever present in the 1990s. Embers of a past still obsessed with the image of a tech monolith known as Japan. The world of Kusanagi and Section 9, is that of a nation recovering from great international calamity, only rendered more dangerous due to the ever blurring line between sentient humans and machines. Treated as matter of fact, the post-singularity world of the film is one that never feels to far removed from possibility. In many ways, transcending that of Scott's vision twenty-three years prior. It feels both lived in, and frighteningly possible. Especially in how we are granted a window often with a cold sense of the mundane. Yet there is a liveliness through Hiromasa Ogura's incredible background paintings, and tangible weight through Hiroyuki Okiura's realistic character designs. Made at the beginning of a style that was just beginning to take hold; a concerted effort to portray animation as live action film. And as such, there's a magnetic pull within the film, allowing the viewer to not merely sit passively, but to absorb themselves into the world Oshii and company have fashioned. 

Twenty two years later, the power of what remains Oshii's most popular film overseas lingers in so many films that have come in its wake. Maybe not to the level that Otomo's AKIRA casts a huge shadow, but still creeping in the background like a specter ever reminding us how easily two mediums can indeed trade places. When stacked alongside the ever-commonly used flag post in the Wachowski's Matrix, Ghost remains the more transformative of the two. My relationship with that film has morphed greatly, and is more indicative of all things that most enraptured me in 1990s pop culture. While Ghost, continues to grant new perspectives and questions with each viewing. It's a testament to both the vision of a reclusive visionary, and a perpetually pensive filmmaker with more on his mind that pretty women with firearms. There is a haunted soul behind every frame of Ghost In The Shell, and its one that continues to infer that even blockbusters are capable of demanding more of their audience. Still a future worth fighting for.