Godzilla Minus One (2023) Film Thoughts

Confession: Since his earliest works in the form of Juvenile(2000), and RETURNER(2002), director Takashi Yamazaki hasn't been one I could easily connect with as he has steadily advanced his visual effects craft intermingled with almost relentlessly bland popcorn sensibilities (emphasis on the corn). So when I say that Godzilla Minus Zero might very well be his commercial and artistic magnum opus, it comes from a very mileage-may-vary personal bar.

And as cool as it is to see his take on Big G find itself taking place earlier than in the 1954 classic, it becomes especially suspect when it seeks to whole hog function as a stark counterpoint to Hideaki Anno's more nationalistic bent in his grand scale Tokyo stomper from a few years back. By allowing the calamity to play out in the wake of the fresh end of WWII allows the veterans of that conflict another chance to litigate the ending of it, the film takes on a strange, occasionally side-eye inducing air that seems to imply that it might be more prudent to allow citizens to determine the end of the war, as well as pave the path toward a future, which on the surface feels well-intentioned. But having a 1946 without much to any physical sign of US occupation makes for a strange erasing of history along with the events of the original Honda film.

In its bold new choice of time period, the film posits the promise of food for thought, though I'm not sure every needle is threaded outside of the need for the everyperson to have a say in charting new courses.

Making average people the focus this time, is certainly welcome enough. The cast tends to be more than game in this genre that the seasoned blockbuster director has established for just over two decades now. Even as Yamazaki refuses to draw outside the lines of this particular brand of Japanese genre silliness complete with requisite stagey overacting, and attempts at rousing moments of collaboration and improvisation against a virtually unstoppable force, there is enough detail and charm here to make up for what he never seems to be up for doing. - which is to allow the film’s humanity to genuinely breathe in the temerity of this new, horrifying, and ultimately devastating tragedy. And while this may sound harsh, it simply is his brand that has never been something to fully connect with me beyond simple entertainment. In an era of almost uncanny levels of visual wizardry it would just be nice if he allowed his films to possess more emotional backbone beyond the occasional visual grace note. (Of which one at the halfway point left me unable to catch my breath for several seconds. It’s a truly powerful visual gut punch that must be seen on a large screen.)

Which is to say that the action is probably as great as it could possibly be for a project of this scale. And on that level, Minus One excels. What we get here may not rival the original for sheer, real world invading pathos, but it does offer up plenty of jaw-dropping fun with thrills to spare.

There's much to enjoy here, but I might need that much more raw heft and unfettered sincerity to push it over the top. As it is, it's a fascinating diversion as the kaiju genre experiences something of a global surge.

Starfish (2018) Film Thoughts

There have been many times in recent years where a friend sees a piece of work, only to point it in my direction because of their impressions of my personal tastes. It’s one of those occasionally bumpy phenomenons where your expressions of interest engrave themselves upon others. It’s a fascinating opportunity for us to better understand the ways we perceive one another. So when an old pal recommended rookie filmmaker, A.T. White’s wildly original STARFISH, I went in with a combination of warmth, and trepidation. And now that I’ve come to the other side of the piece, it can readily be said that I’m happily still processing White’s singular accomplishment here. STARFISH, is a stirringly gorgeous and often confounding voyage through some truly personal wreckage. Like the terrific indie music that wallpapers the film, it is a colorful and strange analog exploration through some clearly difficult human vulnerability.

In the wake of the loss of her closest friend, Aubrey(Virginia Gardner of The Runaways) walks away from a post-funeral gathering, only to walk across her small Colorado-esque community where she breaks into said friend’s apartment where she decides to stay. That is until come morning, she awakens to see her entire mountain town covered in snow, bereft of humans, surrounded by deadly creatures all while seeking ways to stay alive on her own. As for what happened since she slept, the best clues she gets comes in the form of a radio transmission where a male voice informs her of a signal that caused the planet to snow over, ushering in these vicious looking beasts stalking the streets. Following enough clues seemingly left behind by her deceased friend, Grace who seemingly left personal messages for Aubrey via a cassette tape labeled, “THIS MIXTAPE WILL SAVE THE WORLD”, comes to the realization that by seeking out seven separate recordings, a completed signal could be amplified, thereby hopefully reversing this apocalypse. That is, if her feelings are correct.

And the further we explore Aubrey’s endlessly isolated journey, we are granted clues that this film is in no real way any science fiction horror film, but rather a hallucinatory vision of disassociation. Everything we are witnessing from the film’s fetishistic love for analog and pre-digital tech to the IT FOLLOWS-esque erasing of particular time period, helps paint White’s vision as purely internal space. Aubrey’s story seems to have stemmed from the kind of very real place that most films tend to merely simulate, which is what makes STARFISH such an unusual clear translation from script to screen. The indie cinema of today, is often the mid-tier programming of the large studio past. And yet this never feels less than millimeters from someone’s truth. Which is further punctuated by the use of numerous experimental effects, editing, music tinkering, and even animation (by Tezuka Pro no less!)

And even as Aubrey’s truth that she vehemently attempts to avoid on her adventure, it is via the handful of short exchanges she has with either herself, the voice on the other end of the radio, or her friend’s pet turtle, this is where her fight to continue avoiding the world or rejoin unfolds in ways unexpected, and refuses to hand over revelations in easy to grasp bites. As personal as the film is set up, it is equally so come the striking denouement where her mission may or may not have doomed everyone. It’s a pretty bold way to climax such an effects heavy piece that impresses me the longer I think about it.

And despite all the incredible audio visual on display here, the real special effect here is in the performance of Gardner, who gives Aubrey a quiet richness that delivers what it is to never properly say goodbye, or to right past wrongs. And since the film is largely dialogue free, it all has to be done with her eyes which must have been a welcome challenge. Even as she opts to finally leave the confines of the apartment and into the dangerous, snowy streets, her mission to recollect herself by way of shared memories is conveyed with significant weight. The movie lives or dies with a role like this, and she comes out the other end leaving a startling impression.

And cheers to White and his crew for giving us a film that successfully gives us a sense of place with every stop Aubrey makes. There is a dedication to the tactile that is consistently potent throughout that supports the larger concepts of memory, guilt, and grief. Everything on screen feels like we’ve touched these places and objects before. As psychological as this space is, these are real feelings, and we’re being invited to share in them. If anything, we are made witness to cinematic voices we are guaranteed to see again. And I for one am thrilled at the prospect.

Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Everything In Its Earnest Place

There’s really no good reason to treat this coming onslaught of words in the manner of any traditional review. But let’s just get this out of the way before anything else; I absolutely adore Rian Johnson’s initial foray into the world of Star Wars. Meaning, since the moment the announcement of his directorial duties for the follow up to JJ Abrams’ 2015 revival, instantly I began to glow with anticipation. A cinema classicist with a penchant for novel twists, and unexpected human drama seemed an inspired fit for everyone’s favorite galaxy far, far away. Thankfully, as I write these words out, there is a spring in my step and so much John Williams music in my heart as it has more than delivered for this one-time toddler of Star Wars.

Let’s be wholly clear;

Star Wars: The Last Jedi, is for me the first genuine, to the bones SW adventure in nearly thirty seven years, and is a perfect reclamation of the property after years of collective misunderstanding, and fetishization.

For once, it isn’t a film about SW’s place in pop culture. It isn’t merely two and a half hours of mindless service, or marketing for toys that will no doubt be strewn across the floor at your local Target. From start to finish, it is a film strictly about people and their choices, and what those choices mean for the future of their kind. Even more importantly, this is a story of one generation’s mishandling of history, and the future’s need to reconcile with that history in order to create a new one. (Even if it means acknowledging the mistakes made along the way) Gone, is the simple reliance upon lightsabers, abuse of Force power, and blood lineage to sell a story. When the film begins with the Resistance already in a dire escape situation as the First Order closes in with legions behind them, we are given a vision of the rebellion with greater focus on the small sacrifices that are made in order for General Leia Organa(Carrie Fisher), and friends could live to see another day. It is in these moments peppered with moments of simple mortal valor, that we are again reminded of both the stakes and costs of this ongoing struggle. More than sheer spectacle, we are made privy of what it took to get out by a hair. Best represented by a lone bombadier’s last act of bravery.

This thread of sacrifice over self-aggrandized power fantasy continues the moment we return to TFA’s final moment on the island, where Rey is seen handing an aged, hermitic Luke Skywalker his long lost lightsaber. What happens in response to Abrams’ in many ways bizarrely staged branch moment, is an appropriate one ending in Skywalker unwilling to help Rey as she pleads for the once legendary Jedi master’s help in turning the tide against the First Order. As the somewhat haggard look on Luke’s face indicates, this is the face of a man long haunted by things he could not avoid, nor properly stop. The young would-be student, in utter confusion, also finds herself inexplicably linked to a still recovering Kylo Ren(Adam Driver), which further tinkers with past ideas of destiny, as well as sets us up for some much needed course-correction for the saga.

And when I mean course-correction, let me again clarify. It is no real secret that Abrams’ entire filmography, no matter how in the moment entertaining it could be, often is so because there is little reason for a lot of what is happening. As much good mileage as he tends to get by casting amazing talent, and creating memorable moments of sensory panache, there is often an emptiness to a lot of it. And a lot of this tends to be by design. It’s a methodology largely popular with commercials. As long as there is a hook, there is the potential for drama. What, of course tends to happen when this is the only focus, we tend to be distracted to another complication before any of us have time to clock that nothing of any true consequence has truly happened. Not so with Johnson, who if anything believes wholeheartedly in setup and payoff.  Even the opening scene, with its resistance heroism and sacrifice, sets us up for both the coming leadership changes for the fleet, but in the introduction of maintenance crewmember, Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran), who’s fresh addition to the heroic ensemble again emphasizes the Resistance as an entity comprised of everyday beings without benefit of unreasonable amounts of power.

Through the adventure of Finn(John Boyega), and Rose, we are not only taken on what is some of the new saga’s more lighthearted adventure material, but we are also granted a window into the Star Wars saga’s truest unsung bastions of hope; the young and downtrodden on the ground, longing for a better life. Children whose only hope of change lie in stories of bravery and pluck. Much like those kids, I myself can thoroughly resonate with this illustration as a child of the late 1970s and early 80s, yearning for a life beyond a region most well known for Cesar Chavez, and the migrant movement. While conditions may not have been as severe as that of the kids we see here, there is such a clarity of understanding on Johnson’s part regarding the original generation who grew up on these films. What it meant to them, even as the parents at the time felt they were doing everything they could to help make things better for us. As such, Finn, and Rose, become something of a window into that world, while both grow into becoming players in a conflict that is so much larger than the two of them.  This window also extends to those just outside the conflict, which evokes our current era where divisions have become so sharp, that the pull to see onesself as above or beyond the conflict at your doorstep.

The film’s ultimate concerns with efficient expectations of the future versus the handmade rigor of those willing to grant their all to an uncertain one, are made explicit when Rey, is at last brought by Kylo to the First Order’s Supreme Leader Snoke(Andy Serkis). And it is where the audience is at last ready to face two years’ worth of internet riddling questions and debates, only to have it all handily obliterated in what is both a fun remix of the finale of ROTJ, and a powerful statement on the nature of fandom at its most dogmatic. As exciting as it may be to wield a laser sword to face down upon your enemies, it is far more engrossing when we face our fears and acknowledge places we’re eager to go, as well as won’t. Every exchange between the former Ben Solo, and unexpected element, Rey, has led to a moment where all that remains is fire, and a surprisingly satisfying reply to an occasionally unwelcome myriad of fan bait.threads. It doesn’t matter what those answers were. What matters, is what these two intend to do with what each other knows. What are they truly about?

And what most energizes me about these questions? The realization that so much of what goes haywire in the lives of these characters, is due to either flying off the handle without proper information. Or long enough hesitation, that someone else takes the shot for you. This is perhaps TLJ’s biggest secret weapon. Even characters we empathize or wish to win, find themselves making hasty decisions that often mean costly repercussions. This includes dashing Resistance ace pilot, Poe Dameron(Oscar Isaacs), who’s antics occasionally save the day, at times run headlong into unnecessary pain and sacrifice. Much like generations past, there is a spectre of guilt that hovers over the proceedings, as if to remind us that a good deal of such emotions is precisely what led to the rise of the First Order in the first place. Hindsight, at long last coming home to roost.

Most importantly on the topic of Luke’s one time teaching of a young Ben Solo. A boy with an innate gift, but nowhere near the necessary amount of guidance. It turns out that yet another case of not properly considering the situation is what led to Skywalker’s failure. It is only in confiding this to Rey, as well as a surprise meeting with an old friend long gone, that he at last begins to better understand the role of the elder in the face of such great change. Is he truly the last Jedi? Is this the end of the Resistance? Does it matter? What is capable of growing out from all this?

This is a film largely about the past coming to terms with its role in the fragmentation of their world, and what it means to help the future shoulder the struggles ahead. The Baby Boomers, have had their shot. And the Xers, have long been swerving in wayward directions. Generations afterward, are now assuming roles we once took for granted, and are now seeing possibilities we never imagined possible. And a great deal of The Last Jedi, is nothing if not about the reclamation of Star Wars from the oblivion of birthright myths, close gates, racial and gender bias.  If The Force Awakens, was a hint of what was now possible with a rebellion of all backgrounds and beliefs, The Last Jedi triples down, settling in no uncertain terms that this Star Wars, is the world’s Star Wars. And that we are stronger by way of our differences. And that The Force, is always within reach. Just as long as we breathe. Let it in. Trust that all is capable of balance. The Last Jedi, at last takes a longview of our struggles of the past, and posits that it takes more than legends to move galaxies. It takes plurality, action, and unwavering heart. Greater still, Johnson doesn't stop at pithy platitudes, and illustrates how none of this comes terribly easy for any of us. On top of all of this, it is the women of the piece who rise to the occasion with the reminder that brashness is far from enough.

This is the real deal. A Star Wars movie about finding peace and purpose with respect to the past, and a reverence for those out there yearning for a voice. An emotional culmination decades in the making, and one of the most satisfying pieces of franchise filmmaking ever constructed. And make no mistake, this is a film for 2017 as a whole. It is a call to attention while the world stands on a precipice of falling over a cliff due to a deep seated inability to let go. The Last Jedi, exists as a reminder that the future requires the ears, hearts, and hands of all in order to ensure that the far more colorful world we now see, becomes a beacon beyond the confines of our one galaxy.

It's now, or never.

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.  

John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017) Film Thoughts

Do we even need a John Wick 2?

A most unnecessary of questions. It is no stretch to say that no sequel can ever truly be considered as such. By their very fiscal nature, the exploitation of brand has long become the prime practice for studios, and with bringing back 2014's action dark horse, the one question that rang most loudly for me was, "What else could there possibly be left to say?" Well masterminds Derek Kolstad, Leitch and Stehalski, have found an intriguing answer in what is easily one of the bolder, more rough-and-tumble follow-ups in recent memory. With Chapter 2, Keanu reaches deep into his cinematic past & present, coming out light years beyond fellow contestants for aging badasses on film.  

Opening shortly after the events of Chapter One, Wick is still roaring on a warpath for his stolen vehicle after avenging the death of Daisy the dog. Read that again, those unfamiliar with the first film's occasionally misunderstood inciting incident. Soon after dispensing the son of a fellow underworld kingpin for the canine murder, the second part of his mission against the underworld who stole his time to grieve the loss of his wife continues with a furious combination hand-to-hand-meets-car fight that must simply be seen to be believed (and heard). It is in the finale of this battle, that it is again made abundantly clear that the car itself wasn't the core focus of his fury, but rather the gravitational pull his life as a legendary hitman has prevented him from any semblance of peace. Retirement has found itself to be in utter ruins with the losses in such succession. And the quiet aftermath is broken almost immediately with the introduction of the one most responsible for his four years away from "that life",  Santino D'Antonio (Riccardo Scamarcio) once made a "mark" with Wick, binding him for a favor in exchange for freedom. And as the embers of his renewed action have only begun to cool, D'Antonio comes to Wick to pay the check by asking him to assassinate his sister, who is to be granted high ranking powers in Rome. With peace seemingly achieved at last, Wick refuses. And in doing so, invites near total destruction.

Trapped between his will to be done with both dealing death, and the ties that bind the clandestine society that seems to own him body and soul take center stage. The canvas broadens when Wick travels to Rome, encouraged to follow these detailed and arch rules in hopes of finally being released. Naturally, the rules are far from enough as matters begin to complicate, leaving Wick with virtually nowhere to hide. Much like what Viggo promised in the original film, "we are cursed", Wick must delve deeper into the world that embraced him, face his greatest gift/curse, and come out of hell alive. But not without some incredible handiwork and hardware. The life of a titan was never a guarantee of salvation.

From frame one, we are re-introduced to the world of the character as this paean to action cinema of generations past. We even see projected upon a building wall, a silent film featuring an incredible stunt. Pretty telling about what we're about to witness. A celebration of unfiltered kinetics, coupled with galling daring. Whether it be with vehicles as swinging lefts and rights against human bodies, or complicated judo and jiu-jitsu moves ending in scary precise headshots, the love and care for real on-set stuntwork is at the forefront. Stahelsky and Leitch, being stunt doubles and second unit directors over the years has culminated in the Wick world, creating a netherworld of pure danger with pure physicality. Somehow, they have merged their passions with a longing for the modern and ancient. Art museums, ornate light displays, and ancient statues of mythological beings watching over the proceedings as if this were a rock performance of Dante's Inferno. John Wick's world is a slick, yet hard boiled universe all its own, juxtaposed with our daily goings on just feet away from the absurd bloodshed. It's a paradox that perhaps even The Matrix so badly wanted to evoke. That's right. I'm saying it. John Wick Chapter 2, is what I wanted Matrix Reloaded to be. Unerring in its adoring its influences, while creating a concrete visual language that tells more about a character than any dialogue could deliver. Bursting at the edges with stunning action sequences coupled with dazzlingly surreal imagery.

Which isn't to say that there aren't great exchanges. With writer Kolstad back in the game, the enigmatic rules of the previous film have only expanded toward the sheer scope of Wick's underworld, the Continental, and its well-dressed creatures, all looking toward keeping up decorum. Everyone Wick encounters know the score of the game they're playing, all wondering where their part in all of this is going to land. As inertia begins to center around the legendary killer's return, D'Antonio is eager to close the loop he has started by forcing Wick into this situation. And in doing so, it's more than this shadowy syndicate of criminality that stands to change, but Wick's home of New York City as well. Ian McShane, John Leguizamo, and Lance Reddick return to provide welcome familiarity, as well as some new dimension to a world that is ready for upending. New faces include Claudia Gerrini, Common, and Lawrence Fishburne, that further open up the mythology to surprisingly funny and effective places. This syndicate is global, resembling a journey between not only nations, but realms of belief from the ancient to the personal. Make no mistake, John Wick transcends heaven and hell with every person he meets through this installment. Not only are we voyaging through the Point Blanks, and Le Samourais of the cinema pantheon, but of centuries of belief.

From vicious close quarters combat ending in a quiet shared drink, to honoring debts with calculated violence, we again see the seams beginning to rip between generations to high tables of influence. Keanu Reeves, again granting Wick a tired, weary but undeterred gravity that works as well between shared glances, and body shots. His entire physicality is on hand for Chapter 2, and in ways that defy description for a star of his caliber. The dedication alone for this character remains a singular feat as he is seen driving, shooting, grappling, and ultimately ever lurching forward toward destiny. Ever the bad ass, but not the kind of bad ass of the past that pushes ever on seemingly unscathed. The life of a creature this haunted, is the kind with so much cruelty and resolve that it becomes (as frightening as it may sound) hard not to identify. Being the Babayaga, is not for the faint of heart. 

 Which brings us back to the beginning. What is there left to be said with John Wick? Looking back at the first film now, and seeing how that surprisingly elegant piece of work was merely the beginning of the end of Wick's journey toward personal illumination. That the life of the baddest of the bad can not simply find solace playing by the rules set to him by deities beyond his reach. He is inextricably linked by the blood he has shed. And as such, can never be truly free from the demon that he so comfortably rested upon his shoulder for so many years. While he was indeed away for four years, they were always on borrowed time no matter how much he loved his late wife, Helen. And for him to ever be fully purged of this accursed shell, he may have to embrace the life of a mortal wholeheartedly. And to do that, John Wick's journey outside the realm of the gods, may just be one for the ages. 

ARRIVAL (2016) Film Thoughts

                    It seems like every generation gets at least one grand scale production dealing with the human response to an alien visitation on Earth. Going as far to takes of first contact such as Forbidden Planet, or The Day The Earth Stood Still, films like this have often carried with them a sense of global scale, coupled with character arcs more personal and often fearful. Enter Denis Villeneuve's ARRIVAL. The French Canadian auteur tries his hand at something so huge, and yet it pulls off what could only be interpreted as miraculous. A work so willing to get intimate with it's central characters, that it at almost effortlessly becomes a story of..well, frankly us. Few films have almost supernaturally captured a specific cultural moment in time quite like ARRIVAL, and not a moment too soon. With all that is happening throughout the world as markets recoil, and authoritarianism surges, it's deeply heartening to see how an alien contact film can be so willing to embrace something so hippy-dippy, and yet so dramatically crucial.

 Skilled linguist and professor, Louise Banks(Amy Adams), is still recovering from the passing of her daughter when she is summoned by the U.S. government to participate in a global scale event. The event being the arrival of twelve large extraterrestrial shells that have suddenly begun to hover ominously over the Earth. One such shell has been floating over the plains of Montana. And with the military brass desperate to know the alien visitors' intentions, Banks, along with theoretical physicist, Ian Donnelly(Jeremy Renner) have been handpicked to help initiate contact, and to help decipher the alien language. All of this as tensions mount among not only the world, but among those within the compound who are eager for answers. And time is running short before fears of an impending confrontation begin to mount.

Having only recently gathering steam with genre outside of the surreal and outright dramatic, Villeneuve, again steers expectations into a glacial and often enigmatic realm. Not unlike his work on last year's SICARIO, he takes what could very easily fall into standard fare, and elevates matters into this looking glass dimension where the audience views the entirety of the experience though specifically feminine eyes. (In this case, Adams') From minute one, we are with Banks, as she is whisked from quiet emotional reverberation to tension to wonder. The film does all in its power to allow the viewer to feel as she does from the call to action to terror, to wonder, and back several ways to Sunday. Not merely interested in spectacle, the film invites us to absorb Banks' journey as our own, while disconnect could not feel more dense, to the detriment to human sense of security. We are constantly reminded of the global news, and information landscape that often obfuscates even the simplest piece of news. And how this feeds into a sometimes impossibly navigable community narrative. Allowing the larger themes of communication, and self-illumination to coalesce into a singular take on what has become something of a science fiction hallmark.

Across the board, the film does wonders with its presentation and performances which is in itself becoming a trademark of Villeneuve's work. From the often phenomenal cinematography by Bradford Young, who's work elicits shades of Roger Deakins' beautiful work in Villeneuve's previous film, to Jóhann Jóhannsson's effective, otherworldly score. Through all the trappings, and oddness that the director's touch can deliver, there remains the source material's notion of language and time being at the center of all existence. And while it is a concept that on the surface looks like more time travel claptrap, there is indeed something to the ideas presented as something we ourselves can also consider as communicative beings. Couple everything, and what is weaved is at times both heavy in sentiment, but wholly necessary as we find ourselves more and more mired in powers at odds with shared language.

As such, ARRIVAL is just the kind of art piece in blockbuster clothing we may have most needed.

                       It seems like every generation gets at least one grand scale production dealing with the human response to an alien visitation on Earth. Going as far to takes of first contact such as Forbidden Planet, or The Day The Earth Stood Still, films like this have often carried with them a sense of global scale, coupled with character arcs more personal and often fearful. Enter Denis Villeneuve's ARRIVAL. The French Canadian auteur tries his hand at something so huge, and yet it pulls off what could only be interpreted as miraculous. A work so willing to get intimate with it's central characters, that it at almost effortlessly becomes a story of..well, frankly us. Few films have almost supernaturally captured a specific cultural moment in time quite like ARRIVAL, and not a moment too soon. With all that is happening throughout the world as markets recoil, and authoritarianism surges, it's deeply heartening to see how an alien contact film can be so willing to embrace something so hippy-dippy, and yet so dramatically crucial.

 Skilled linguist and professor, Louise Banks(Amy Adams), is still recovering from the passing of her daughter when she is summoned by the U.S. government to participate in a global scale event. The event being the arrival of twelve large extraterrestrial shells that have suddenly begun to hover ominously over the Earth. One such shell has been floating over the plains of Montana. And with the military brass desperate to know the alien visitors' intentions, Banks, along with theoretical physicist, Ian Donnelly(Jeremy Renner) have been handpicked to help initiate contact, and to help decipher the alien language. All of this as tensions mount among not only the world, but among those within the compound who are eager for answers. And time is running short before fears of an impending confrontation begin to mount.

Having only recently gathering steam with genre outside of the surreal and outright dramatic, Villeneuve, again steers expectations into a glacial and often enigmatic realm. Not unlike his work on last year's SICARIO, he takes what could very easily fall into standard fare, and elevates matters into this looking glass dimension where the audience views the entirety of the experience though specifically feminine eyes. (In this case, Adams') From minute one, we are with Banks, as she is whisked from quiet emotional reverberation to tension to wonder. The film does all in its power to allow the viewer to feel as she does from the call to action to terror, to wonder, and back several ways to Sunday. Not merely interested in spectacle, the film invites us to absorb Banks' journey as our own, while disconnect could not feel more dense, to the detriment to human sense of security. We are constantly reminded of the global news, and information landscape that often obfuscates even the simplest piece of news. And how this feeds into a sometimes impossibly navigable community narrative. Allowing the larger themes of communication, and self-illumination to coalesce into a singular take on what has become something of a science fiction hallmark.

Across the board, the film does wonders with its presentation and performances which is in itself becoming a trademark of Villeneuve's work. From the often phenomenal cinematography by Bradford Young, who's work elicits shades of Roger Deakins' beautiful work in Villeneuve's previous film, to Jóhann Jóhannsson's effective, otherworldly score. Through all the trappings, and oddness that the director's touch can deliver, there remains the source material's notion of language and time being at the center of all existence. And while it is a concept that on the surface looks like more time travel claptrap, there is indeed something to the ideas presented as something we ourselves can also consider as communicative beings. Couple everything, and what is weaved is at times both heavy in sentiment, but wholly necessary as we find ourselves more and more mired in powers at odds with shared language.

As such, ARRIVAL is just the kind of art piece in blockbuster clothing we may have most needed.