“You People” is Made by and for the Wrong People.

I had been here before. I knew the road well. “Coming to America 2” as a viewing experience bordered on trauma. It was like someone bringing a loved one back to life just to get me to watch them wither and crumble away for two hours in front of my eyes. Pound for pound one of the absolute funniest movies of all time was drained of every bit of its essence, of its physicality, of its variety of personalities, and of its own personality. I had watched “Black-ish” and grown tired and weary of it because its commentary was flat when it wasn't shallow and most times it was both. I've never been a big fan of Jonah Hill's brand of comedy and interracial romance as portrayed in film and television today is the bane of my existence, and Barris is the King of that domain, so I really should have known not to believe that Eddie Murphy, nor Nia Long could save this movie from it's creator, because while his actors may have the range, Kenya Barris does not.

The plot of Barris’s latest “You People” is cut and dry. Jonah Hill's character Ezra is looking for love but can't seem to find it. Lauren London plays Amira, an up and coming costume designer whose most recent relationship was broken off because she felt as though her ex wasn't really seeing her and only said things that “he thought she wanted to hear”. Ezra's close black friend, (his ONLY black friend in the movie) makes the observation that she's “Never seen a man that desperate to be in a relationship, but what that could mean or say about Ezra is never addressed in his budding relationship with Amira. Neither is his relationship with Hip Hop housed within any sort of meaningful critique of the history of cultural appropriation within the culture. A white male with exactly one black friend, two well intentioned but still racist parents and a couple racist friends is never questioned within the context of the movie about his bonafides, or whether or not his own blindspots play a role in the couples future troubles. If “You People” had positioned itself as a light but raunchy romp that only seeks to have fun with the subject I would question why, but still deal with it on these terms, but if there is any doubt this movie wants to say something to you its finale -from London’s checking of Julia Louise Dreyfus, to Eddie Murphy’s mea culpa- cements that it is indeed. The fact that Ezra spends the entire movie repeating the exact same sin as Amira’s ex is also never brought into play, despite the fact that he takes it a step further by way of hyperbolic obvious lies because he doesn't just want to say he doesn't know about a subject or that he's never done or experienced it, many of which he does because he thinks its what they want to hear and wants to please both Amira and her father Akbar (Murphy). In this movie arcs become dead ends, commentary becomes a cul-de-sac. I don't think “You People” is aiming for Oscars so this is not about having them aim for a comedy the likes of “Doctor Strangelove”. I'm not even asking for Mel Brooks “Blazing Saddles” even though that movie too is hilarious and has some scathing commentary for white people. I'm asking for “Meet the Fockers”, or “Welcome Home Roscoe Jenkins”. My biggest issue with “You People” is not just the fact that it's commentary is as basic and wrong headed as it can get, it is also that nothing he’s saying here is at all new or fresh, in fact its very very stale. It is that what could be an insightful, incisive, hilarious but honest look at what it means to date interracially in 2023 is ditched for a farce that illustrates the limitations of Barris’s mind and black representation. A farce in which its main joke is the 2023 equivalent of Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney’s Ebony and Ivory lyric “We all know that people are the same wherever you go there is good and bad in ev'ryone”. Arguably worse still its just not executed well. The characters are not characters they're just props for the punchlines, it could be argued they are the punchlines. Jonah Hill and Lauren London aren't characters, their pawns in Barris’s Green Book version of romance. Eddie Murphy’s Akbar (despite a laudable effort from Murphy to create one) doesn't have characteristics he is a caricature, there is nothing really there outside of the fact that he is a member of the Nation of Islam and all the jokes extend forth from the fact that he is a member of the Nation of Islam. Nia Long’s character (in a completely thankless role) can only be described as “Wife of a member of the nation of Islam. Barris pits those extremely vague characterizations against the other in Duchovny’s and Dreyfus’s Jewish “White People” and we get some comedy fireworks, but a struck match of a romance and dumb racial commentary.

By comparison 2004's “Meet the Fockers” is a far superior example of how to employ this type of familial comedy in writing and how important drawing out believable people helps reinforce all the other aspects of the film. Bernie and Rozalin Cohen (Dustin Hoffman and Barbara Streisand) are exaggerations of real people grounded in a specificity that contains all kinds of details. The fact that the Fockers referred to their home as “Focker Isle” on a sign posted outside their home is an example of one of those tiny but informative details. That Bernie erected a small shrine to all of his sons small victories is another. That shrine represents an important and very endearing detail of Bernie's form of love towards his son which is in direct contrast to the very rigid, literal, authoritative, pass/fail style of DeNiro's Jack Byrnes. The laugh that later comes from Jack Burns line “I've never seen such a celebration of mediocrity” comes from the specificity of Jack Burns worldview, and subsequently so too does any commentary that one might derive from this particular character. There's none of this kind of character building or world building in “You people”. Eddie Murphy’s Akbar Mohammed doesn't want his daughter with Ezra because he's not black, why does that matter to Akbar? ..the only thing I can derive from the movie is because Akbar is a member of NOI. All the real reasons black people have to be leery of interracial dating are left unexplored which ultimately leaves the viewer with only one real summation; that it is as hard for white people in black spaces as it is us in white spaces. Which may be the aspect of the film that grated on me the most because it's by and large not true. Black people do not make it anywhere near as tough for white people to be in our spaces as they do us, and that includes our familial settings. We are far more likely to to be incredibly gracious in front of white folks even if on the inside we have something more to say. That is in no way to suggest that we are docile or anything of the sort, but that is to say that the kind of situations that are created in “You People” where black people like Akbar are the instigators of issues with white folks is mostly a fantasy and one I don't see the point of engaging in even for comedy. This is one of the rare occasions I found myself asking that ever-present online question “Who is this for?”

Following the lead of a film that is so reductive in its wisdom about just about anything from character, to romance, to racial commentary I'd like to give some reductive wisdom of my own. If no one can imagine or even desire to see you're two leads fu****g in your romantic comedy it's already in trouble. Jonah Hill is to put it kindly nobody's romantic lead. It's not about aesthetics, it's about energy and he just doesn't have it. Jonah Hill is not a particularly introspective actor, I don't mean he's not an introspective person he's just not an introspective actor. There's very little he gives to us that comes from the inside. Like alot of funny people, his comedy acts as a buffer to letting you know anything real about him, unlike many of the people that came before him (like Eddie Murphy) Hill’s dramatic turns have been largely uneffecting, this effects the people that he plays, so most of the time when he's played great characters it's been the writing/direction that put him in the position to use the traits and skills that he does have in a way that works around the circuitry and blockages that he has in the way of giving any insight to what he's doing and why he's doing it (think what the Winter/ Scorsese combination does for him in WOWS). To fall in love with men on screen you have to give us the keys to who that person might be and you got to give us the keys a little bit to who you are, true TRUE vulnerability is key. Barris is not the kind of writer or director to illustrate what the actor cant see, and he also doesn't seem to understand romance or how it works at all, save through banter and hijinks. In the meet-cute of the movie Ezra meets Amira when he mistakenly believes she's an Uber driver. Magically through Kenya's writing it just happens to be that Ezra wasn't making an unconsciously biased decision based on expectations, but was himself the victim of an absolutely magical set of circumstances because there was a woman who looked exactly like her, who drove her exact car, who was due to pick him up at this exact time as she was parked out there to get directions. When the issue is seen for what it is and Ezra says that he can show Amira where she needs to go as a way to make up for this incident, Barris cuts the scene right there. Its a head scratching choice, because in actuality that would be the place to introduce us to the beginning inklings of what Amira may see in Ezra. Left as is are we to assume that an almost “racism” was so cute that she decided a date was next?… Because there was nothing there to suggest ANY connection and yet the very next scene she announces to her brother they’re meeting for lunch . When they meet there is again little in the way of any real connection between these two. A few words are exchanged and there’s a montage that shows their connection not any actual exchanges.

Everything that makes James L Brooks 1997 hit “As Good As it Gets” memorable “You make me want to be a better man” line so grand extends out from the very real work put into showing how these people connected in the first place, and that from building very real, three dimensional characters to fill out the world of the movie from Ivan Reitman’s charming doctor to Skeet Ulrich’s sketchy hustler. We collectively as an audience connect to Nicholson's statement because we've seen it throughout the movie. We've watched his evolution so it means something. We also know what it means to Helen in the context of how unpredictable it is to determine what might come out of this man's mouth and and how surprising it must have been to hear something this genuinely sweet and endearing even if in a certain context its a little bit problematic. To be fair, “You people” is not without its charms; the David Duchovny piano scene will fold anyone into hearty belly laughter. Lauren London's monologue to Julia Louise-Dreyfus is a potent commentary, (its also the only good one) Mike Epps and others are funny as hell in their cameo like roles, and Eddie Murphy, Nia Long, Julia Louise-Dreyfus, and David Duchovny are a delight the entire movie, but the movie-goer shouldn't be asked to survive by the breadcrumbs of talented actors trying to scratch together a meal on their skill and one good monologue alone. Worst of all it's quite jolting and telling to see a movie written and directed by a black man that feels so easily figures to be one written and directed by a white man. “The white boy who deeply understands black culture, but rejected by a form of reverse racism”, the “funny black gay friend”, the “good white people and the bad white people”, the “I don't see color I just see a human being” bow on top. It's 2023 we shouldn't be accepting these kinds of films from White creators and it doesn't make it any different for me that this one happens to be black with a white friend on tow. It's just further representation of the fact that all representation isn't good representation. Exemplified by the fact that Kenya Barris’s shows and films don't really get us, and mostly exist to give white people palatable content about black people for a profit.

"Prey": We Didn't Need Another One Until We Did.

If you were to ask me whether or not we needed to have any more “Predator” movies out there on general principle and based off of what we already have right now I would say no, but when you have an idea this interesting this unique that it almost flips the old property into an original idea then now you've got something and that “something” is what director Dan Trachtenberg found in “Prey”. Movies like this are exactly why I maintain the philosophy that there is a very tiny community of movies that I actually believe you can't do anymore of, or you shouldn't do anymore of. I simply ask if you're going to do them make sure you have an interesting way in...

The problem for instance with the latest iterations of other legacy films like the Star Wars films and the Terminator movies, If you look at them closely is anything that was changed for the most part in the new films is superficial, and aesthetic in the most surface way possible. Characters have new identities on the surface, but the core traits, arcs, and even the beats are still almost exactly the same. Rey in The Force Awakens is just a stand in for Luke, Poe is very much like Han and so on and so on. Very little is done to change what those movies were and more importantly what they can BE. The problem with the Terminator movies was much the same, an ardent refusal to go off the rails, to see what lies beyond the tracks already laid by the predecessor. This amounts to storytelling vampirism and much like vampires you can't feed off the dead, but with a movie like “Prey” what you have is that in almost every way that matters, This movie feels like an entirely different moving while maintaining the actual spirit and soul of what makes a predator movie a Predator MOVIE.

There is something more important than the “what” here and it is the “how” this movie “Prey” finds its way into telling a rich fun unique story that compliments and treasures the lore, but decidedly forges it's own path - That “how” is identity and culture. Much has been made of both the importance and the complications around identity and representation. As we argue for it we also reckon with the fact that representation alone is not enough. Throwing Amber Midthunder as “Naru” into this with the currency or cache still being around nothing but men telling a “man's” story with her as an inanimate prop would not have the power or profundity that this movie has. The “freshness” in Prey is in Midthunder herself and in the culture that surrounds and punctuates her choices as well as the films. The combination of a woman at the forefront of your movie and a woman of a particular identity in addition to her culture revitalizes and refreshes every possible angle and approach that we have. The Predator movies that have always mostly been about the triumph of individual man over beast and good ol’ American exceptionalism over everything now become a movie about the triumph of community over invading threat.

Near the beginning of the movie there is a scene where a member of the tribe is it is taken off by a lion, once Midthunder's character is alerted to the problem Midthunder's facial expression (pictured above ) elegantly folds into a distinctive portrayal of desperation, ambition, and hope. Midthunder as a performer has a sense of resolution that makes her perfect for a role like this. Her presence, her assuredness- effortless and well crafted- makes meals of scenes where she must take a stand or move past her fears. Its her moment and she knows it, but it's also just outside her reach thus the intensity of focus. Its representative of the kind of power that Midthunder has at her fingertips (especially of quiet expression) that this one look is so immersive and consequential that it acts as a setup of all of the stakes and all of the power of her eventual triumph. It was a high point for me but it was also just a part of a tapestry of performance from eyes to physicality that changes the entire energy of this film. What Midthunder brings as an actor to this role as the main protagonist of a “predator” movie is so different from anything we've seen in the lead role of a predator movie, then backing that you have what women bring that is always so distinctive from what happens when a man is in the role, and then her ethnic identity and her culture which is again so different from anything we've ever seen in these movies. Take for instance the fact that unlike all of the other “Predator” films and for that matter even “Alien” films that the tribe is not being picked off one by one in individual standoffs. Every time that we see the tribe being attacked by the predator they are together, it is always a communal experience, everything about this movie is rooted in a communal experience. From her relationship with her mother - to her relationship with her brother - to her relationship with the rest of the tribe, even while having a very charismatic lead whose POV we can funnel the movie through. In previous iterations the power of the movies were in each man going off to fight the predator alone seeking either personal glory in triumph or a Warrior's death, here the power is in the collective power of Naru and her tribes dedication to each other over all. Her final triumph is not merely an individual one, it is shown on screen to be the product of sacrifices by other tribesman, her mother Sumu’s (Stefany Mathias) medicinal teachings, and her brother Taabe’s (Dakota Beavers) instruction. I found it interesting to note the similarities in the role and Naru and the role of Emerald Haywood as played by KeKe Palmer in Jordan Peele’s “Nope”. Both young women who felt left out of their fathers legacy, both with deep connections to their brothers who do support them, both who triumph in major ways at the end.

The landscape in Prey as compared to the other films too is markedly different. In the other movies it felt more closed-in, more hot, darker even while taking place in the light of day. The jungle that always was a site for white tensions around fears they had about the peoples, became synonymous with “darkness” and “barbarity” and in that setting it only made sense that as much take place there. In “Prey” it is now the vast open plains and the “barbarians” are the civilized. It cannot be missed that this is one of what might be less than a handful of films told distinctly and ONLY from an indigenous POV. The value of this cannot be understated. It's why this movie feels so new even while revisiting the extremely familiar, but beyond that it's a reclamation of storytelling with the good being that it exists and the only one hope is that it opens doors for future indigenous to tell even more stories from their pov AND from behind the camera as well. As is Trachtenberg and co have done with privilege exactly what should be done while it exists, which is share decidedly in amplifying different stories, adventures, tales, with the added bonus being they almost inherently come with a refreshing coat of paint on past and future myths re-upholstering at the every least and reconstructing at the most the way we view and see other communities and the construction of America and what heroism looks like.

Misery: “This is So Good, Now Keep it Away”

Misery is a movie I love to death and yet I find myself somewhat avoiding it, actually a lot avoiding it, just because when I think about it I can automatically recall the tension that comes in my body during the viewing of it, it’s absolutely fantastically miserable. There's the great performances in the movie that ultimately takes place in one setting for the most part and really between mostly two actors, and the way that the two work off of each other is almost a whole another piece I could write about in the “Actors POV” section of my blog. But this portion here is just to talk about the scenes I feel this movie does so well, and the way these scenes conjure up tension by giving us a protagonist who actually has what is commonly referred to as a brain, an antagonist who has the unflappable will of a terminator, and a closed setting that settles and unsettles. Also I want to kind of set up with some of my favorite and some of the worst things I see in horror. For example, I'm not as keen as I used to be on downing or judging characters in horror films for making bad decisions under what has to be considerable duress. You know that thing where a character keeps walking towards some strange sound in the night, and you yell “DON'T GO IN THERE!” and in your frustration begin to give up on the movie, because f*** this..Oh that’s just me? New me, I understand or try to understand that many of us on an occasion of meeting with things that do not jive with what we understand to be reality, would act as if that's not what's happening. In other words I’ve never seen anything resembling Freddy Krueger and/or Jason Voorhies and they would be the last things on my mind if things started seeming out of place in a real setting, whereas the audience in a movie is automatically in on the fact that this is a ghost story or story featuring a monster or some other terrible thing or terrible person, and additionally that even being in a movie theater is an agreement upon a break with reality. I have limits though as to how far I'm willing to deal with certain characters shenanigans and stupidity in film and this expresses itself in a very William Hurt “how could you f*** that up way. There's only so many times I can watch a person trip over s*** that ain't there, or put down a weapon after only stunning a person whose seemed nigh unstoppable and immovable in their desire to kill me, or reveal to an antagonist who obviously wants the worst for you and is already in a fragile place that you know what they're up to and you're going to get them when you don't so much as have a piece of broccoli in your hand to fight them with. Something else, (especially as I’ve gotten older I) I think about is the settings, the people, the environment. I like when films take place during the day instead of in the dark. I like when the antagonist is someone who seems charming or wonderful instead of instantly threatening and dastardly, and when the home it may be placed in is warm and inviting rather than dilapidated and rude. It does not mean that it automatically makes a horror films better that these things are there, but that when executed well it heightens the tension and fear to know that the places we normally deem as safe are not as safe as we have previously thought.

The Conjuring Rosemary's Baby The Shining and alien are examples of films that were sent in settings that weren't inherently scary or indicative of the whores that lighting either the places people or things. Shaking up our expectations that evil things are housed only in what looks evil.

In Misery writer William Goldman basically includes all of the above. The movie takes place mostly during the day and in an inviting town under the care of what initially seems like an inviting caring “Good Samaritan”. Much like that morphine Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates) has hooked up to writer Paul Sheldon (James Caan) we slowly start getting drips of clues that reveal Annie is not what she seems until boom the whole thing is open, the artery is spouting blood, and we now know that she's a full-on demon. The town Annie Occupies is small, scenic, You watch a lot of other horror movies you'll see some form of a foreboding entry into a foreboding town in the movie. It might come by way of a gas station attendant who's leering, or a strange sky, or townsfolk like the family and the gas station member we met in Tobe Hooper's “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” ( Drew Goddard's Cabin in the Woods is also a great example of a movie that understands trope exists and then plays on it). These are the kind of sign post alerts that set the tone and put the audience in a mood so that by the time the scares are coming the audience is pretty much already set to jump, shudder, and holler, but in Misery they work harder to make us feel like he’s saved, not doomed, this despite the existence of trailers that told us who Annie was. This is proof that fear and all of its cousins are less about what we see, and more about how we feel. We're introduced to Annie Wilkes as a warm sensitive caring woman who happens to be one of his fans.. Little strange, little lonely, but nothing more, so despite me having seen this movie a million times even I am still somewhat drawn in by Annie original and unique charms, Bates does an uncanny job of playing a character whose evil takes on the same shape as her good. Later we are also introduced to Buster and his wife Virginia who qualify for me as one of the most charming couples in the history of movies besides maybe “Nick and Nora” in the Thin Man. The fact that the captor is sweet and the so too is the town she occupies recalibrates our thinking about the suggestions of where evil lives. That it's not necessarily in the midst of impoverished scenery or amongst disfigured or disabled people, that it can be amongst those who seem absolutely loving, the able bodied, and the status quo, all of whom in fact have a great deal of rage and evil hiding inside them.

There are two types of protagonist in horror movies I abhor on opposite sides of a spectrum, type A. is the type of protagonist in horror films who as far as I’m concerned lives or find themselves alive at the end almost completely by will of the pen, they win despite themselves, as if basically they had no business living if it were any truth to the matter but a deal was struck that guaranteed them life as a protagonist, so the bumbling idiot who has been warned by the house and seen various incarnations of the ghost or the monster doesn't die even though they continually go walking into the closet after they saw the little doll hop up off the shelf and “Jesse Owens” their way into the closet cackling and whispering to them “Come here I want to play” (clearly I’m not over this particular trauma). The other type is the person who either through forms of intelligence, feats of athleticism (pulling the martial arts out of their ass) or things that just don't click with everything that we've been told about them, survive damage that would irreparably harm them, or do things that just cant even be explained. So that character X who appeared in the last scene being stabbed into a human cheese grating block will now appear to save the day, even though they should’ve bled out in five minutes. As it were Paul in Misery is my favorite type of protagonist, dead center of the spectrum. Resourceful , witty, but fallible. Every single bit of tension in this movie, every time we are held in suspense or clenching our seat it is due to the obstacles that Paul as a normal human being has to try and overcome. The film thoughtfully considers that he is foreign to his surroundings and on top of that temporarily disabled. Annie Wilkes is a great foil opposite Paul because she is an unmovable force, and though the movie suggest Annie may not be the most intelligent in a “classic” sense many of us have been typically raised to view it, she is clearly intelligent, intelligent enough to think of a number of variations on how Paul might escape and to deceive others quite adeptly. Paul too is a thinker, but not one that seems unbelievable. He wants out, but is also not so drunk with the idea of getting out of there that he starts stumbling and tripping over himself to get to his destination, alerting Annie to exactly what it is he wants. I love every scene (and the way James Caan expresses this) where Paul attempts to appease Annie Wilkes and to be friendly and on board with all of her mess, it feels spot on as to how you might overdo it a little in order to cover immense hate or dislike for a person who is your captor. Once he sees what Annie is about, or notes her triggers, he tries to sidestep or become avoidant, rather than to keep marching through them, but he's a perfectly imperfect at this and because Annie is imperfectly unbalanced (as obviously played to the absolute hilt by Kathy Bates) even when he's not trying he still accidentally lands on a mine which makes it believable. Around the third act Paul begins to hide away the pills that he suspects that she is drugging him, smart but not too “No Way” smart. He later sends her off on an errand to get the exact type of paper he loves, ( I’m still not sure whether this was a lie or thinking on his feet because it all fits in with what we have previously been told about Paul's very detail-oriented routine ) Annie has been so eager to please as it concerns his writing process this seems brilliant and infallible, and yet it it sets off one of Annie’s mines leaving an unsuspecting Paul with one of those “Necronomicon”thick books dropped on his still very tender legs. This is another vital aspect of the tension set up. Annie’s hair trigger emotional status. It is setup very early, that things that set Annie off don’t have to be connected to any theme. Its not the horror or thriller protagonist where if you tell them you’re not scared, or talk shit about their mama you’re going to get a reaction. Annie might get mad about cursing, or the appropriate name for trailers, it’s very much like being in an abusive relationship. All of this sets up maybe the most tension oriented scene in the film where a bobby pin that Caan's Paul has stowed away (again thinking on his feet) is now used to open the door so that he can somewhat explore the house and see if he can find himself some sort of defense against this woman or call out for help. The lengths that Annie has gone to make sure that no one can interfere with her plans, become even more evident here and we see how well thought out this was. As Paul's options are lessened so are ours. Then we are also introduced to a sort of “ticking clock” scenario where we know that Paul has a limited time do this, by way of cuts to show us exactly where Annie is at on her trip. The fact that he is disabled is not merely for effect, but it does have an effect as an obstacle to help intensify the tension in our minds due to the fact that we know any place he goes into this house its going to be hard for him to get back to that room in time if Annie shows up, (especially if he doesn't hear her) that is intensified to yet another level when his wheelchair can no longer fit through the door and we see that he now has to get up out of his chair and crawl over to pick himself up a knife, and at the exact time, the moment he secures it, we hear a car pull up and I wish I would have been in the theater to see this because I would have gathered that there might have been a collective gasp in the theater the moment those wheels were tracking up and we come to see Annie now getting out of the car knowing that this man has to get back in that chair and move all the way back to that room. I've seen that movie a million times and it still causes my heart the climb ladder 49 straight up into my throat every time I see it.

The power of Misery, the part of that dances up and down all over my nerves as a horror movie as well as a thriller, is the way it narrows the walls, gates, roads until the only way out is through. Paul being a clever protagonist who tries to outsmart Annie and eventually realizes he just has to play through her game, makes it so we don’t get to feel safe by knowing we have the answer to his freedom. Most things we might’ve thought of or considered he did, and beyond. We are left with only the face off. Who will come out? We don’t know til the end, and it’s an end that comes by way of a lot of suffering, that comes by way of nothing else but what some may refer too as just plain bad luck. If there was an insurance claim on Misery's type of horror almost none of us are covered, it’s an “Act of God”, and I always hate those. It’s why avoid this movie, and fall in love every time I watch it, it’s that horrifying to me, and its that good.

FORGOTTEN GEMS: 1995’s “BAD COMPANY”

Three things come to mind watching Bad Company Laurence Fishburne, Ellen Barkin, and style. In many other cases , for other films this would not be a good sign, it would be a weakness, here it most certainly meant as a compliment. Bad Company carries itself through its less than two hour run time on the near visible steam wafting off its two leads, its warm summer cool, and rapid fire dialogue delivered with the kind of sterilized precision one might see in an operating room..a very stylised, and well decorated operated room, where the doctor plays Jazz to set the proper mood for his work. The movie introduces us to Nelson Crowe (Fishburne) a CIA man disavowed by the agency under a cloud of suspicion. It s precisely what got him ousted from that agency that interest Vic Grimes the creator of a corrupt firm that offers it's services in corporate espionage to the highest bidder. Grimes number two is Margaret Wells (Barkin) who instantly takes to Grimes and has other machinations of her own. What ensues is a deadly game of Cat, Mouse, and Bigger Cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The movie in some regard is a bit too detached, disavowing any real vulnerable emotion in a vacuum tight seal of unflappability, but man is it fun to watch it's two stars skulk, slither, circle, and screw each other. Denzel got all the press, attention, and adulation during the 90's , but while Washington is and was certainly his own category, so too was one Laurence Fishburne. For a guy who had carved out iconic roles in films like “Boyz n the Hood”, “Deep Cover”, and eventually What's Love Got to do with it, and “The Matrix”, Fishburne does not seem to conjure the same sort of magical recognition that Denzel's name does. Watching this movie, I was reminded of the sheer heights and depths of Fishburne’s sexiness, his charisma, his singular ability to give you a whole mood with a very simple non-descript action. Watch Laurence Fishburne sit on a couch..

Stand in an Elevator…

Admire Ellen Barkin 's leg..

Doesn't matter what it is Fishburne is doing, he is oozing self contained composure. His dialogue is terse and concise, and he imbues it with exactly the kind of direct efficacy and command needed. His enunciation is as close to perfect as one might get, and it is not simply for his own benefit as an actor. He performs the task of aiding in the creation of this near inscrutable character. It's tempting to say Fishburne carries the film alone, he's magnetic and charming enough to have been able to, but fortunately for all of us Ellen Barkin is also in this movie, and she is also quite able to carry the film. This is the equivalent of having LeBron James, and Anthony Davis, or better yet the big three in Boston seeing as though Frank Langella and a host of natural character actors like Michael Beach, Gia Carides, Spalding Gray, and Daniel Hugh Kelly fill out the rest of the cast wonderfully.

Barkin is a sneering, smirking, glaring force of nature. She is like pretty much everyone in the film ruthless, calculating and acting wise she is divine. She is both threatening, and supremely attractive, not just attractive in the sense that she looks good (tho she does) but as in the pure quality of attracting others, it’s easy to believe that despite what she is, people want to be in love with her, and around her. When she's not a cat, she's , snake, when not a snake, she's a lion. There's always something brewing under her eyes. Something deadly, but undeniably distant, and yet close, and there is a confidence and swagger that is the perfect compliment to Fishburne. Her character Margaret Wells never says as much , but it is clear from what Barkin gives us, Wells feels cheated, passed over, and deserving of all the things men around her have denied her, or refused to acknowledge on a full level in her. She walks around like she owns the place because she fully believes she can and should, and nothing the audience is shown nothing that proves otherwise. Barkin provides maybe the film's two best acting moments in the movie with neither featuring a single word. The first when the reality of a misdeed comes crashing down on her. We know this because Barkins face tells us in a muted, layered, complex, and compelling reaction that ends with a crooked smile that hints at both her devastation, and her determination.

The other comes when just as Wells seems to have gotten what she wanted, but before she can even settle into achievement of her life long pursuit, she is hit with the news she is in fact under the thumb of yet another man. Barkin’s reaction is indicative of everything she set up from the beginning. She grates underneath her skin, her chin goes down, she inhales deeply, and her eyes nearly burn a hole in the table. A beat…She then composes herself, and looks forward. Barely containing her anger, but containing it nonetheless, she swallows the ash, and then.

Barkin and Fishburne's chemistry and skill permeate, and elevate this movie, but they or the rest it's top-notch cast are far from its sole delight. Director Damian Harris (son of actor Richard Harris) punctuates his actors performances with the films stylized aesthetic, pace, and imagery. The movie is dark, and it settles but is rarely still. It broods, but the color palette, lighting and pacing make it pop. The mood and tone is cynical and straight forward but delightfully off color and funny . The movie is the rare 90’s political thriller that doesn't feature a good guy, or slink away from its own amoral world building. It's has a bevy of wonderful characterizations, and is wonderfully diverse without being heavy handed or forced. There's a black man, and a white woman, who while the movie never overtly speaks to the precarious nature of their identities within that world, it is nonetheless present and implied especially in the case of Barkin. Two gay males (one Black one White) in Hugh Kelly's Les, and Michael Beach's Tod Stapp. The parts are not thorough explorations of the interiority of their lives, but truthfully no one in this movie is. Though Michael Beach’s Stapp is especially derided and berated based purely on his sexual orientation by homophobic superiors, (and Im on the fence as to whether thats realistic or unnecessary and also realistic) the movie itself does nothing to support the characterization, and gives him a full voice. It doesn't sanctify of martyr him or Les, nor does it condense them. They are as amoral, conniving, and detached as almost anyone else in the movie, and they are definitely as cool. They survive the entire film, and Beach gets the last word over his former employers. Gia Carides's “Julie Ames” would in another film be a banal trope about gold diggers, but here though obviously no saint, (sleeping with a married man) she is what comes closest to the movies morality. She doesn't want the bribe offered to her lover, and her relationship with him isn't downplayed to justify the actions of our antagonists in protagonists clothing. it's a real and flawed relationship in a movie about a spectrum of people that goes from deeply flawed to detestable. This is what l love most about Bad Company. It lives up unapologetically to its title. The movie is as detached from emotion as its characters are from morality, but with its moral compass still attached. It is a moral film that isn't righteous. This den of immorality is cool, and sexy, and slick, but it is never once enviable or desirable in the sense that you want to be around these people for any prolonged amount of time. These are death dealers, cruel nasty, and despicable folk that use sex, charm, and deceit as currency. The film isn't interested in whether they deserve their fates as much as it is the natural progression towards them. It's exactly what you expect out of a political thriller, and some of what you don't. Sexy, smart, twisty, and sharp, and revolting at the same time. A showcase for the talents of its ensemble, and the best of political noir that deserves a revisiting.

"Gotta Be Who You Are in This World: The One Scene in "The Irishman" that REALLY Struck Me

Martin Scorcese’s “The Irishman” feels like a movie whose full value won’t be able to be ascertained until a few years from its actual release. Maybe one of those films in a directors catalogue which may grow a following, or lose it, after the years allow revisitation from fresh eyes, and new minds by a new generation. Upon my first viewing it felt about 45 mins too long, and nowhere near as memorable as past efforts by the famed director. The dialogue didn’t have the crackle that former films did, the direction didn’t have the fury, and the roles though still quite skillfully acted felt all too familiar. As a meditation on growing old, and the passage of time and death, it felt tepid, and lacking in revelation. Ive heard about these people before, I’ve seen notes on the fragility of life, and the whisper of death, and without saying anything I could cling to that provides a fresh perspective beyond Scorcese’s own catalogue, I was only moved in starts and fits. Nevertheless as an actor, and as an audience member, there were a couple of scenes really hit me in Scorcese's latest, some involved the still lacking storyline with Sheeran’s (Robert DeNiro) daughter (Ana Paquin), the other was a punch in the gut scene involving Pesci asking Sheeran to commit a crushing betrayal, but but no scene more-so than one that took place about three quarters of the way through the film. At this point Pacino’s Hoffa is beginning to come undone. In a fascinating combination of righteous indignation, unflappable principality, and enormous ego, he refuses to heed the man-made winds of change. Told time and time again he’s walking upon very thin ice under which murderous intent lies, he refuses to walk even a shade lighter. It’s the kind of behavior that infuriates audience members, and characters alike, (though we rarely ask why?). For me it was partly because of my affinity for the character. Recognizing Hoffa’s stubborn resistance as not only the preamble of death , or the most glaring flaw of the character to someone who in fact now wants him to live despite his egregious sins, but also as the inevitability of time and the futility of resistance to its grip that applies to us all. It is a bit of Spinoza’s determinism, where the necessity of our nature brings about the self actualization, or in this case manifestation of our our own fate. what was going to happen was always going to happen by way of our own distinctive nature. The scene in question takes place in a commemorative event for Robert DeNiro’s Frank Sheeran. He invites Hoffa (Pacino) there out of sincere love and fealty for a man he feels mentored him in some way, but as tensions build between Hoffa and the Mafia - Sheeran (himself involved in organized crime) along with Russell Bufalino (Joe Pesci as good as ever) are left to play peacemakers. When Bufalino’s attempt to corral Hoffa fails miserably, Sheeran attempts one last time to get Hoffa to fall in line. When innuendo doesn’t work Sheeran makes it clear that Hoffa’s life itself will be the price… Pacino's reaction is the ultimate encapsulation of Spinoza’s determinism .

When Pacino looks into another direction its almost as if he looks into the abyss and peers into his fate as he says “They wouldn’t dare”. There's a bit of recognition there. Pacino’s eyes betray a profound sense of conflict. A small battle that lasts all of a few milliseconds before the skirmish is concluded and one side is declared the winner. The side that was always going to win, the side of him that knows him best, his nature. In that one moment is a bit of fear, doubt and then a realization "I know , but what can you do?" There's sadness, and a tragic resolve, and as frustrated as it may have made me, it was principled, and subsequently it is both honorable , and foolhardy. The intersection of frustration, inevitability, and rebellion, and recklessness in Pacino’s reaction is transmitted from actor the scene to viewer like a cold. Where our planes meet is in our own inescapable slavery to our compunctions, wills, and ultimate make -up, with respect to very specific deviations, we are who we are, and the mutual realization of that is the power of the scene and of Pacino’s deeply stratified performance. It is one of the few moments for me, where actors, writer, director, even lighting converge and intertwine conspiring to elevate the film to the peak of its lofty intentions, and it’s also a heartbreaking portrayal of how the best of ourselves is often also our worst even as a audience members.

Donnie Brasco: The Gangster Film You Needed.

If you were to ask me to make a list of the all time greatest gangster films I'd run off The Godfather pt II, Goodfellas, The Public Enemy, and Donnie Brasco. Mike Newell's film - based on the true story of FBI agent Joe Pistone's infiltration of the Bonnano mafia family , under the alias of Donnie Brasco - doubles as one of the great undercover films largely because of its nuanced look at what the work would do to anyone, and because it features one of Johnny Depps finest performances as said undercover agent. But while I think what it has to say about that particular work has been said or done before in films like The Departed, and Deep Cover. What it has to say about life in organized crime, how it depicts that life, is something we hadn't really seen before, and not much after. I may actually watch other films of the genre more ( Scarface, White Heat, Casino, and of course two of the three Godfather's) but while I don't watch it as much as those films, I feel very passionately that what Brasco manages to do that almost no other gangster film has done this well, is make these people, this life seem completely unattractive (which is saying a lot considering how handsome Johnny Depp is in it). It doesn't normalize the racism, violence, and paranoia, it makes it look very normie, cumbersome, mediocre. It doesn't have any of the feel of a winning formula (even if for a time) one can siphon off from other films in the genre. This not to say its the mission of those films to do so, but rather there is something to say in talking about the place characters like Vito, Michael, Sam Rothstein, Tony Montana, and Tommy DeVito have occupied in hyper-masculine circles ( such as Hip Hop). If the gangster film (intentionally or not) made the environment and people look like a 300 dollar pair of slacks, Donnie Brasco puts them in “Dad” jeans. Crews and bosses seem petty, tacky and cheap. Prone to bouts of furious delusions of grandeur they stomp about town carrying out heinous acts for no other reason than percieved disrespect. This about actual disparaging, or defamatory remarks made over a shoe shine job when one was a kid. In one scene Donnie, (Johnny Depp) Sonny Black, (Michael Madsen) and his gang viciously beat up an Asian restaurant employee merely doing his job in a bathroom and it's not the cooled honorific hate in other gangster movies where they say things like “Give the drugs to the niggers their animals anyway” which is more distant, and less visceral, and mostly about them and their staunch belief in their own supposedly superior ethics than their hatred, - it's a messy, cruel, up close hot blooded bit of nasty raw racism that a cop uses to get out of being found out because even though he doesn't know to what degree, he knows it's the button to press to get the desired effect.

The violence and the politics are made to look messy, to look like hard work, to look like stress, because, (along with the also underrated Road to Perdition), Donnie Brasco is a gangster film for and about the working class, that remains about the working class. While it's counterparts are significantly about an expressway out of the blue collar life. It is not the cops and robbers film that is The Untouchables. Pistone is not Elliot Ness, a straight laced do- gooder dedicated to his job out of a moral superiority (for that matter neither was the actual Ness). Director Mike Newell’s film is neither a total indictment of the path, nor a rousing accidental exaltation of gangsterdom, merely a stern, gripping, stare into the bare face of that life, and it all starts with it's penetrative look at it's central character Lefty Ruggiero.

Ruggiero is a bit of everything to this film. He is it's conscious. It's reckoning, it's soul. Lefty is not only undercover Detective Joe Pistone’s way into the heart of the mafia, but our way into the heart of the movies central themes. Understanding what makes Lefty different from anything else we've seen from a crime syndicate figure on film is key to understanding why the film is different from anything we've seen in crime syndicate films. Up until this movie, the American gangster on film is one of the purest of white American male fantasies on screen. Although they were usually anti-establishment, anti- authority figures, the gangster would still none-the-less be the flip side of a mirror image of the establishment hard-working American who rises to the top by way of ethics, attitude, ingenuity, and talent. That they functioned outside the purview of the law did little to disrupt the institutional philosophy, it just made them a whole lot more interesting, and desirable. Up until Donnie Brasco these men we're presented largely as reliable narrators of their own rise to power. How they saw themselves was exactly in essence how we were going to see them. They were men of indomitable wills, they were tough, intelligent, and ladies men. They lived lavishly from goon to kingpin and along their rise to power came to enjoy the best of things. Though all of the great films of the genre would also interrogate the underside of the fantasy, they would also engage in portions of it. The Scarface movies showcased their lust for power, Godfather romanticized their codes of honor, Goodfellas the brotherhood. They were all tragic figures, but the tragedy was the fall of the empire, or that none of it was ever real in the first place. Then comes Lefty Ruggiero, and Brasco where the tragedy is futility, of these men's lives, of Donnie Brasco's work. All of this to get out of a lifestyle (working class) that for the most part they are still in. There is no rise to power for Lefty, his gang, or his protege in Brasco. No honor or true sense of brotherhood amongst these theives. They are all willing to berate, betray or kill one another for a dream which will never be realized for any of them. Their lust for power is not attractive, or ambitious, but ugly and small. It is not a story of rise and fall by way of strength and weakness, but simply an ongoing tale of mediocrity and ruin, and Lefty is at the center of all of it. There are no tailored three piece suits, and gorgeous lapels and colors as in Casino, but hideous track suits, and mismatch outerwear. There are no palatial villas, stately mansions, or even quaint track homes, merely small cramped apartments with tacky furniture. Lefty is not an avatar for white alpha male potency and supremacy, but the sad sack reality of an average moe scraping and scratching for a seat at the table. He is a hypochondriac, and a liar, not particularly smart or ingenous, and prone to overstating his importance. He is also a loving father, an at least a decent husband, and a loyal friend, not as an act but as a character trait. It's maybe Pacino's most sympathetic and pathetic role since Panic in Needle Park and Dog Day Afternoon. There's his patent sadness round the eyes, less posture, but always posturing. There is a scene maybe Midway through the film that exemplifies all of this where Lefty is in the hospital anxiously awaiting word on the condition of his son, an addict who has OD'd. As Lefty begins to emote just a little over his son, he begins to show sincere signs of guilt, of recognition, of vulnerability, and you can tell his son is a source of deep pain for Lefty but you don't know exactly how much until suddenly, Pacino lets out this gut wrenching whimper. It’s not long and he immediately composes himself, but it's a level of being right there in that exact place, in that exact emotion that has a degree of difficulty for an actor on the same level as Denzel's single tear in Glory, and it's indicative of the kind of lived in acting Pacino commits to the entire movie.

Pacino plays Lefty as a small man, with a bigger heart than he lets on. A character with traits that resemble a loyal dog with a mixture of bite and bark, who chooses to bark more than bite. One who doesn't have much heft, but likes to throw his weight around, and Pacino makes it a literal part of physicality. He tosses weight from one side of his body to the other while walking, and talking. His constant anxiety is transmitted into Pacino's many repetitions. Chain smoking cigarettes, appearing ready to ash a cigarette, but returning to his mouth as if by compulsion. Repeating words and sentences, rhetorical questions repeated at least twice. A quarter turn in the hospital hallway directly followed by another. A longing look to the boss for some form of acknowledgement, directly followed by another, like someone checking the mailbox twice for that important piece of mail they've been waiting on...

Ultimately what becomes vital to understanding Pacino's Ruggiero is nothing other than existing in the current state of perpetual unease in the American economy. Lefty is not a trumped up , souped up Lamborghini version of a champagne drenched masculine fairy tale. He's the Toyota Camry and stale beer reality. He's a hump, who all his life carried other peoples water in hopes that one day he'd be swimming in his own pool, looking into his own mansion filled with people that respect and revere him as the top dawg. He blinked and it was twilight, and there he was relatively in the same place he began. All the death all the lies, the hard, herd work, and the indoctrination for what? There is a scene later in the movie where he and Donnie are in the car discussing the death of Nicky (Bruno Kirby) a former associate and friend whom Lefty murdered with the okay of his boss over a completely unconfirmed suspicion. In yet another bit of astoundingly layered acting by Pacino we watch the doubt, realization, creep into his conscious, break down his defenses, and set the timer for implosion of his whole life, plunging into chaos, right before he cuts the blue wire and returns to his ordered world.

The tragedy of Donnie Brasco and Lefty Ruggiero, is that they are both acutely aware that they are just spokes on a wheel, and that both of them want out , but are held prisoner by their own convictions, and belief in the systems they perform from within. They believe them because they can't afford not to. In a physical sense, but even moreso a psychological. If the fantasy, the dream of each of their piece of America isn't real , then what is it all for? The alternative is far too depressing, far too morose, and it's both part of the films power, and what makes it a hard watch. The film credits roll, and though Donnie Brasco isn't beguiling us, it isn't selling us, it ain't even preaching to us, it feels punishing merely existing in its “too close for comfort” realm of plainness. A somber meditation on loyalty, code, and the illusory nature of the American dream , where it's protagonist is no hero, and it's antagonist no villain, nor the reverse. They're merely humps carrying the load of other people's success to and from them on their way to their own fates, much like the rest of us. What this makes Donnie Brasco in effect is almost repellent. The movie bucks a long-standing understanding of what audiences are supposed to expect from the genre by creating a film that is less a movie about ascension, than detention. The movie is not the realization of potential, but the holding back of by various external forces and self impediment. Lefty Ruggiero is not a manifestation of a particular desire in us for affirmation of our mobility in the increasingly narrow margins of society, but a confirmation of our worst fears, that it may all be for naught. The movie is in a state of flux, of anxiety, and unease about it's characters, their relationships, and ultimately the ending. What is Pistone doing this for? Putting himself through this for? Lefty's lies, cause Pistone to consider his own. Lefty's sins his own. Pistone's minor rebellions and revolts against upper management are not merely a matter of the undercover work wearing on him, but the image of himself and his job becoming more and more visible for what it is. Lefty and Joe are both on the same journey of existential, saddening self discovery, and it makes their friendship one of poetic melancholy , and the movie an ice cold slap of water to the face in the midst of a deep sleep. It is an enjoyable, quotable, and sometimes even funny movie, but also the sobering reality of what it feels like to be a gangster in a world where missteps very likely mean death, and in that light is not the gangster film we wanted, but the gangster film we needed.

Joker: "The Killing Joke"

I went into Joker admittedly wary of the entire “controversy” around Todd Phillip's film. The whole thing seemed sensationalized as a ploy to create a weighty buzz around the film that would make it as close as possible to can’t miss box office. To a great extent I still believe that, but before I actually watched the film I genuinely had no idea what to expect going in. Did any of what I had read have any validity? Was the movie a rallying cry for incels? Or was it a brilliant misunderstood movie, with a message too unsettling to be heard just yet? Having now seen it, I have been converted (somewhat) to the group of critics who find the movies messaging to be problematic, though I’m still not sure future viewings might unveil the latter. I had to let the movie sit with me awhile, talk it over with family members before I discovered what it was that made the movie it so hard for me to just give the movie the unencumbered praise I was clearly ready to give Joaquin Phoenix’s performance. Ultimately I was reminded of a Dave Chapelle sketch, and something he said during the intro. Just before he begins the wildly outrageous "Dave Chapelle Story” I remember Chapelle remarking he would be afraid to write his own story because in essence he would be an unreliable narrator, and the temptation to embellish would be too great, and I found exactly in that moment what had been bothering me. In essence this was the almost inevitable folly of telling a story almost completely from the Joker's point of view. The movie wasn’t just unsettling because it took on the hard task of asking us to empathize with, and weigh the contributing factors to a murderous malcontent, it was unsettling because there was an invaluable piece missing from the execution of said task that invited an audience to not only empathize with the facts of what and who society marginalizes, or the nature of loneliness and outsidership, but to empathize with the fabrications and extremities of the Joker's behavior. What the movie did well was forcefully connect us to a person none of us wishes to be connected to through the universally recognizable devastation and frustration of being unseen, unheard, and unable to connect. What the movie omits is the line between us and him, by way of a nebulous, muddy line between what is real in the movie , and what is in the Joker's head. One could claim that many of the events that happen in the movie (it being told from the Joker’s own violently delusional point of view) are delusions, one major storyline is clearly revealed as just that, but therein lies the rub. You can make a movie like Inception and be unclear in the end about whether the whole thing is just a continuous dream , because at the end whether or not Cobb is choosing to live within his own self delusion really only effects Cobb. Being willfully ambiguous about the Joker's delusions effects the world around him and subsequently invites the audience to endear itself to a character who in no way is a hero or a reliable narrator. If you show people lionizing the Joker at the end of a movie, and the audience is left unsure as to whether he was really carted straight to the station or whether the city turned upside down as the result of a revolution started by a psychopath, (and especially if you’re saying that it happened exactly that way as a result of the superficial connection between the Joker and the rest of functioning society) you're (in the strictest sense of these words) not doing it right.

I could go on illustrating what struck me as problematic about the framing, and what I think they got wrong, but I always prefer the approach of illustrating a misstep by showing what it looks like when it’s done right. Another memorable cinematic character The Joker has a lot in common with is Anton Chigur from the Cohen brothers masterpiece "No Country for Old Men". These are two men who metaphorically represent a sort of apocalypse, an end to things as we know it. They are chilling, intimidating and unnerving precisely because they have psychopathic tendencies that can't be reigned in or anticipated by any consensus on logic or reason, because they live in a world so far outside the constraints and constructs of society, they function a lot more as a force rather than an being. They have their own sense of rules and extremely unique coding, and they're only predictability is that they are unpredictable. If you listen to other characters discuss them, you can see the bridge in the similar way in which they are described, and the complimentary construction in the similar way in which they discuss their disdain for "rules" in these two scenes. First the description of each by ancillary characters ...

Uploaded by W&H on 2018-08-18.

One, out of many, great lines from The Dark Knight. Alfred Pennyworth: [...] with respect Master Wayne, perhaps this is a man you don't fully understand either. A long time ago, I was in Burma, my friends and I were working for the local government.

And then in their own voice on rules...

Anton follows Carson to his hotel room.

The Dark Knight Blu-ray 2008

Though the Joker in the Dark Knight is clearly a different approach, it’s not entirely different, just more removed than this film, and the point I'm setting up is that though these characters are clearly very similar, one movie (Two if you include the Dark Knight) understands it's character (Chigur) and lives in the truth of the character, so that it is impossible to associate in any way Anton with righteousness, or justice. Anton makes his decisions in a way that cannot be found appealing, or imaginable, the discomfort we feel when he is around is from the injection of chaos that the film continuously honors. The Joker on the other hand, has very little integrity regarding the chaotic frequency the Joker lives on. Phoenix’s performance provides the consistent element of surprise, but for all intensive purposes the movie functions with the straightforward A to B arc of a superhero movie. A linear set of happenings congregate and aggregate to help form and create what we will come to know as the Joker. The film plays fast and loose with the reality of what someone of that disposition would act like to make a more sympathetic character under the ideologically fair stance that these people aren't just born they are also made, but without confronting the things that bring about the extremes in their behavior. Forget his glaring whiteness in this very multicultural world, what about his narcissism? The movie makes out as if DeNiro’s late night host is an unnecessarily cruel dream crusher because it never disengages us from the Joker’s perspective. It never confronts in any meaningful way the facts that Arthur is in fact adamant about his ability to do something he is clearly not talented in, that he skips steps, and more importantly doesn’t even like it. This is not Tommy Wiseau, this is (as the movie’s own creators told us time and time again) Travis Bickle. His stalking of a woman is not played for it’s terrifying truth, we get none of the existential dread we got watching Chigur stalk victims because we see it only from the Jokers perspective. Zazie Beetz is never truly allowed to be a full being, to challenge for reasons that also have to do with plot device. The movie (Intentionally or not) continues on this way, skipping, dancing, laughing well past the line of superficial connection between the audience, society at large in the film, and the Joker, to one that would have us believe this is just a broken men just like one of us, just pushed a little further. It is disingenuous, and a dismal fabrication, indeed typical of someone like the Joker, but one that should have been better addressed during the actual film. Many of us believe we have been shoved to the margins to the point we might break, many of us fight back. Many of us deal with mental health, and those that deal with the deeper more difficult forms also know how society at large seems to care very little about listening to those who do, but most people dealing with either or both don’t go off and commit a trail of heinous crimes. There is a difference between the Joker and marginalized people, the movie (in the name of telling a story true to the nature of the Joker’s identity) just isn’t interested in drawing any. The danger of this position is not that it would invite or incite others to commit similar crimes under the guise of victimhood, but that it backs their claims without any formidable counterbalance. This is why I'm not sure of the efficacy of, and find myself baffled by the somewhat new trend of telling stories completely from the villains point of view. On it's face it's an absurd approach , and if it's not approached in the spirit of that absurdity, with other characters with some version of significant roles to bounce the signal off and echo back the true essence sound and meaning of their reprehensible actions then it becomes too easy to mistake their spoiled fruit as food for thought.

I think it's okay and even important to sympathize with the social incongruities that make or mold the Joker, or any terrible human being fictional or otherwise, maybe even his/their rage, but when his actions can at all be taken for righteous retribution?

As a vehicle for an actor (especially one of Joaquins talents) Joker is once in a lifetime. It's an intriguing idea that maybe works better as a one man show on Broadway, but as a film? It's far too isolated, and to make things worse, the better the performance the more likely it is that the audience is going to empathize, and sympathize with the narrative that drives him. Villains need heroes as a counterbalance to call them on their bullshit as much if not much more than heroes need villains to reflect on theirs. If not heroes in the sense of meta humans, or insanely rich but complex men or women, then in the type of heroism, and courage exhibited in a humble but straight-talking and intelligent wife like Kelly MacDonald's Karla Jean in “No Country for Old Men”. Or in long suffering sons like Russell Harvard's grown up H.W. Plainview in "There Will Be Blood", hell even another villain like Paul Dano's Eli Sunday can be a potent mirror from which evil can reflect and be reflected upon by the audience. But Phillip's Joker has none of these . None of which could be reliable because the movie is told so singularly from his perspective. So that if he says he let a person go because "They were always nice to him", or that he didn't murder his next door neighbor, or that a black woman rather unnecessarily and more to the point unbelievably told him to stop playing with her child on the bus , we are at the very least asked to believe it's plausible that these things actually happened, because there is no one to challenge any of it who doesn't have their own challenge rebuffed by their own membership in the very system the movie has compelled the audience to take umbrage with. This is not moral complexity it's negligence. If one were looking for what moral complexity should look like on film as well as the need for counterbalances, this scene from David Fincher's "Seven". would be a fine example..

SEVEN : http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114369 (© Warner Bros) SPOILER AHEAD! This 8 minute scene of mostly dialogue has three main functions. At this point in the movie, in the beginning of act three, after the previous story twists, our expectations of what is to come are already well set up.

The scene begins with the question "Who are you really?" setting up the psychological impetus of the scene as a complex unraveling of who John Doe is. The scene is full of moral complexity, but John Doe is not going to get to tell his story unchallenged. While we may sympathize with some things John says, and even a few of his attitudes, the counterbalance of both Pitt' straightforward assessment and especially Morgan Freeman's acute observations ensure it's impossible to leave that theater feeling anything but that this guy is the absolute worst. He's impotent, fragile, weak, and pathetic, a tragic figure in some sense yes , but nonetheless gross. Thinking of the difference in these films and their effect , or rather the effectiveness of their portrayals I'm reminded of one of Sommerset's observations in Seven...

“If you were chosen, that is by a higher power. If your hand was forced, seems strange to me that you would get such enjoyment out of it. You enjoyed torturing those people, this doesn’t seem in keeping with martyrdom” - Sommerset (Morgan Freeman) in Seven”

Within the context of the film this is the actual unmasking of John Doe, and of Phillip’s film. It's the equivalent of the Scooby Doo teens pulling the the hood off of the episodes perpetrator. From that point on all illusions are put aside and the villain explains exactly who he is, and the audience sees him for exactly what he is, not what he wishes us to see. Sommerset in that way has also provides us with a revelation that we never really get to see or hear in the Joker which is that this is not some martyr who kills only out of furious passion those who have wronged him. His targets conveniently all disagreeable, and unsympathetic bullies, this is a killer, a megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, and that should've been the the ultimate resolution of Joker . It should've ended with him confronting that reality, and maybe then evading it as in Nolan's Memento - not with him being lionized in the midst of a revolution followed by him running through the Halls of an asylum after an allusion to him possibly killing a worker in an interview. I for one absolutely believe you can make movies about psychopaths, and killers, and all sorts of villainy. Mary Harron made one of the best ever in American Psycho with it's unabashedly scornful portrait of materialism, and greed as psychopathy, that embraces the very absurdity of its position as aforementioned, BUT you can't make movies ABOUT psychopaths if you catch my drift. If you don't make clear the actual motivations behind this kind of extreme behavior beyond Mental health, and victimization, then your setting up the stigmatizing of one group , and the validation of bullies and tyrants. Though I don’t know this makes The Joker a bad film, - despite my feelings about it's messaging I actually think driven by Joaquin's performance, and a long overdue interrogation of our framework around Batman and his family it's a pretty damn good movie, - but it does make the controversy and the debate around this film real , and deserved. The Joker gets to tell his own deranged story without interruption, or opposition to an audience willing and ready to listen, and while movies don't make us do anything , they do often color, inform, and help crystallize our philosophies, or ideological views. Given that realization it makes clear the responsibility of the filmmaker to tell stories that don't back ideologies that will help convince already lost, confused, and possibly deranged audience members of their own righteousness, and even if Joker doesn't necessarily defend a skewered perspective, it doesn't upend it either. Subjectivity is a killing joke in the context of heinous criminality, not in any corporeal sense as it relates to film, but in the essence of the moral drive of your film. You can make Bad Lieutenant, but not subjectively contemptible Bad Lieutenant, there is no place for subjectivity, or a lack of clarity in contempt around heinous acts of wanton violence, not in real life or on film.

The Disappearance of Diahann Carroll

Its crazy because when I heard, or rather read and then heard, because the words became so deafeningly loud in my head - “Diahann Carroll has died” , My mind began instantly searching for something beyond the obligatory “Oh My God” you'd think..I'd think that as my mind turned over all my retrospective files on this woman’s career, I would immediately envision her sturdy brilliance in "Claudine" or maybe her part in one of my favorite dance numbers ever in Carmen Jones ( and that one eyebrow), let me not forget her role as Whitley’s mother Marion (in which she she basically played a version of Lynn Whitfield’s Matriarch that added her own unique flavor ) or her extremely memorable work in Robert Townsend's The Five Heartbeats playing a version of herself so committed she nearly tears through the silver screen in every scene…

Funeral scene

But it wasn’t any of those roles that came to mind, in fact Diahann almost ceased to exist, and when I called for her in their stead, in her stead, the first image in my mind was of Elzora - Carroll’s small, but immensely effective and affective role in Kasi Lemmons " Eve's Bayou". Upon reflecting about it further it becomes easier for me to see why this stood out to me first. It’s soulful, its complex, its involves the best elements of transformation which are neither cheap or exploitive. Contextually Carroll's Witch is the underside of this black Haven. The embodied ghost of still disenfranchised members of families left behind or rolled over by privileged racist whites, and ambitious African-Americans who had the right amount of color, resolve, ruthlessness, or all of the above to climb out of their social dungeons. Physically Diahann Carroll brings revelation outside the margins of the scene, just as much as she does in scene. On one side she is Diahann Carroll Queen of elegance, unrivaled put togetherness, and “You Tried it” energy. On the netherside of that she is almost completely hidden by white make-up, strands of unkempt silver hair, and a mask of concrete surliness. Eve’s Bayou allows her to slink back into a side of her that largely went unexplored before it. She moves differently, as if each appendage has to cut though weighted space to get to where it's going. When you watch closely you see she has moments where she seems to have spells where she's lost herself, her bearings, her thoughts, and then she just returns. In this scene as well as later with Jurnee Smollet’s Eve, she is callous, but also warm, and Carroll turns it on and off in screen with such intuitive and adept understanding of when the one energy is needed over the other she creates an integral bit of mortar that glues the various bricks of southern life that form the gothic and loving house of memory and loss Lemmons built. Every choice she made in that film supported a comprehensive whole….

Eve's Bayou movie clips: http://j.mp/1e6PYl0 BUY THE MOVIE: http://j.mp/1e6PYkS Don't miss the HOTTEST NEW TRAILERS: http://bit.ly/1u2y6pr CLIP DESCRIPTION: Elzora (Diahann Carroll) upsets Mozelle (Debbi Morgan) when she reads her fortune and predicts more death. FILM DESCRIPTION: A young girl learns some difficult lessons about truth, love, and fidelity in this critically-acclaimed Southern gothic drama.

It’s a link to a forgotten figure in black communes, the wise woman or witch. Elzora is a tie to pre- christian practices of black peoples, and to the strength, power, and position these women held within those communities. What Carroll gives her is her sense of gravitas, and a regality, that belies a sense of past ancestral grandeur. What she sacrifices in the embers of this visually striking portrayal is the grandiosity that served as the inertia for so may of her other roles. It is this exact sacrifice of what powers your mega wattage as a star to the gods of thespians, that makes you more than just a star. Once you can make your Clark Kent every bit as powerful and resonant as your superman, well you’re in the most elite company of actors. This is why I love this role so much, it was so much in so little. It was an underdog role for an underdog character whom was made powerful both by the implicit nature of the script and by the explicit nature of Carroll’s performance. It was representative of all Carroll was capable of, of all she could do, of all many black women could do, but especially those with her raw and exceptional talents. She did just about everything you could do in an industry where so many do so little, if anything at all. She had an impact that couldn’t be argued, through it was sufficiently less than she deserved. In a way Carroll was the Queen that is both clearly in power, and yet under duress, and under-served, who is gone now resting in that very power. Extending her roots, raising the ground for future actors, (and black actresses especially) to stand toe to toe with their rightful peers.

Revisit: 1990's Close-Up, "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

What is performance without cultivation, and curation of environment? What is life without the cultivation, and curation of environment? Can an actor be an actor without the help of an audience willing to go along with our minor deception? Abbas Kiarostami's “Close -Up” is exactly that, a minor deception, and a close up on a subject that seems small from a distance as was oft repeated and alluded to throughout the film, but a subject that when the focus was lessened and tightened revealed a great well of emotional depth, societal angst, and the very heart of filmmaking. Ali Sabzian is amongst the most interesting subjects ever placed in front of a camera. A seemingly simple character with seemingly simple motivations , who opens a wide range of philosophical questions about identity, and identification. A poetic soul who exemplifies a potent, and urgent truth about ability, and opportunity. Listening to him talk about the dilemma and difficulty he faced playing his idol Mohsen Makhmalbaf not in the abstract, but in crushing detail of his abject poverty I am reminded of the quote from "The Streisand Effect" episode of "Atlanta" where Donald Glover’s “Earn” poignantly says "Poor people don't have time for investments, because poor people are too busy trying not to be poor".

Uploaded by ThaiMurphys on 2016-09-23.

Alongside its stirring illustration of socio economic impediments, and disenfranchisement, it is what Ali Sabzian reveals about the nature of acting, as it relates to the cultivation of experience that permeates the relationship between actor and audience - that underscores the brilliance of this film. In the court scene which functions as the beating heart of this film, Ali points out that the family he deceived, helped provide the tools by which he, his performance, (and indeed the confidence in it) was developed, and encouraged. In essence, he points out that the more they believed, the more he too believed, demonstrating with humble but almost divine clarity the co-dependant relationship between audience and player, artist and patron, failure and success. Sabzian's words and story are also representative of both the reality and the over-simplified myth of meritocracy as a pure by-product of preparation and opportunity, when the truth belies a much more complex relationship. As Ali seizes his opportunity, his audience becomes vital to the success of his role and his scheme. Their belief is swelled by his passion, his dedication, his knowledge, and so Ali begins to leave the ground on the wind they provide beneath his wings, BUT as he does, the odds of successfully negotiating , and shirking all the well constructed social and aesthetic weights (appearance, finances, shame) that pave the way out of poverty weigh him back down, swallow him up, and spit him back out to where he began. Watching Ali’s story, it’s not hard to come by the conclusion that success (like a good caper) comes by way of a mutual deception similar to the premise put forth by the film “The Prestige” ( an audience willing to be deceived) , a confidence in that deception, and some well timed breaks . Ali fakes it, and he does it well because in a way he had been preparing for this his whole life. When an opportunity does present itself through happenstance, Ali didn't hesitate, he lept, almost involuntarily to take advantage, but it was only a matter of time considering all he didn't have. Ali’s lack of resources, and the limiting will of the players to provide a genuine opportunity. Once they discover what amounts to merely a label, a construct of Ali's identity, the play morphs from daring story of an ingenous, but desperate scheme to realize ones dream, to a ticking clock story set to eventually alarm the audience to deflate a promising balloon filled with human will and passion. After all disingenuous scheme that it was, as the director points out in court for all intensive purposes, Ali is an actor, if not a director. The only ingredients missing from a fully realized reality of his art are those out of Ali's control, the belief, of others, the finance. Every single production of art done through distribution is the result of a community of believers, and fellow role players who believe. Without them what your left with is what society might deem delusion, or even worse and more stigmatizing, poor mental health. What close-up reveals with it's penetrative gaze is the limitations of passion, ingenuity, hustle, and potential in society for any man or woman. The frustration of the impoverished artist is both the nearness and the distance of opportunity. It is the mirage of the oasis always just out of grasp. Sabzian can only have his dream for so long as the audience is willing to uphold his fantasy. He is a have -not, and while a few very fortunate players may "play" their way to success, it is largely inaccessible due to the constant molestation of chance, class, and in other situations sex, and race. In this is the tragedy of the play . The dreamers whose dreams are deferred, as much by his or their own failings as the many of society. The members of the Ahankhah family , who themselves struggle with the chasm between passion and opportunity (The Older brother is an engineer who ends up running a bread factory ) cannot abide his deception, nor believe his passions because they're pride is hurt by the fact that they ever believed in this man. He is a hustler to them, by their own estimation this is somehow vastly different from how a a “real director” would behave. There was a physical identity theft here, and yet it can be argued this is part of Ali's identity. Ali is both who he says he is and not who he says he is. No one including maybe even Kiarostami is willing to engage on any real level with the artist, to indulge him in his “play” a brechtian meta tragedy on identity and desire. In the end Ali is given some flowers, a bike ride, and a memory of just how close he came to realizing his potential. Close up, goes in to go out, and what it captures at the point of convergence is a paradox that breaks down the convenient conventions of unfettered access by way of will, and determination, for all his desire, his ingenuity, and willingness, Sabzian would end up hawking dvd’s in a subway station. And one has to find themselves asking why did no one give this man one opportunity, one chance to prove his worth. A production assistant, a tiny role, or even a scholarship? How far might he have have flown? Would he have crashed? I’m reminded of the great Rolling Stones song, You can’t always get what you want, but if you try SOMETIMES, you MIGHT find, you get what you need.

If I was to a curate of cinematic double feature of the themes at play I'd play Close -Up alongside Trading Places, a brilliant comedy that consecrates the philosophy that for a falsification of identity to become a reality, the advantaged must play along. Because the Dukes create and endorse the fantasy of Billy Ray Valentine it becomes reality, and once they decide to disengage the parameters and circumstances that affirm Billy Ray's natural talents , the play ceases until another fabrication and deception unseats them from their position. Ultimately Trading Places broadcasts a similar paradox, the fragility of identity, or identification. Both Valentine and the Duke's are in essence criminals, but the willingness of society to play along determines the difference in outcomes. These films through different lenses and focus, illuminate the illusory distance and proximity of success and accomplishment. Simply put these films masterfully remind us of the crucial aspect of all theater, a play is not a play without the willingness of both players, and audience to go along with the fantasy as described by those who have the means to create.

The enigma of 1993's "The Fugitive"

What is the fugitive? It's not purely a thriller, though it’s not purely an action piece either. It’s not what you would typically label an intentional blockbuster, (though it did in fact become one) and despite its greatness it hasn’t procured the same kind of indelibility, or credibility amongst cinephiles the prestige of the sum of its parts (Like Tommy Lee Jones’s performance, or the presence of a great score from James Newton Howard ) might otherwise demand. ..

After arriving at the scene of the crash, Deputy Gerard (Tommy Lee Jones) and the other Marshals take over the local operations. 'The Fugitive'; A film by Andrew Davis. Starring: Harrison Ford, Tommy Lee Jones, Sela Ward, Joe Pantoliano, Julianne Moore, Jeroen Krabbe & Andreas Katsulas.

The Fugitive was accidentally ingeniously released in August of 1993. I say that because it’s release date, as well as its chosen director say alot about what the studios saw for this movie considering. August, that last month of summer usually carved out as a make shift parking lot for Hollywood clunkers and ne’er do well vehicles, gave it more than enough time to be free of the megaton fallout of Jurassic Park. Most viewers having sufficiently punched the ticket on somewhere between their third and fortieth viewings. Director Andrew Davis was a safe choice to lead such a film.. talented, but not TOO talented, tested but not yet cynical, the kind with ideas, but not ones so big they may potentially ruin your studios year. Having mastered the art of the slightly over mid-budgeted action film, in movies like Above the Law and Under Siege, Davis showed a soft touch with actors, a deft understanding of story, and a workman like precision. High expectations for this movie would’ve been in the 150 mil range, as mostly it was meant to be the kind of movie it came out with and would end up spawning ( a sort of middle tier thriller)…

1993 was somewhat of a beginning of the decade long obsession with mid budgeted thrillers with mega movie stars, of which The Fugitive is arguably the best of. 93’ saw Sidney Lumet’s stylish ode to Hitchock “Guilty as Sin”, Sydney Pollack’s The Firm, and “Malice” one of Aaron Sorkin’s earliest works on film.

The Fugitive’s ( and to be the fair The Firm also) influence on on the marketplace could be felt not only by the career paths of Jones and Ford in the 90’s (which seemed to be a decade long extension of these same two characters), but by the repetition of the formula - journeyman director, big stars, extremely similar budget around the thirty to forty million range. Some of these exact attributes function as contributors to what may have made The Fugitive disinteresting as a consistent topic of cinema. The film in certain ways wants to be a working class depiction of a city, an under the radar punch the clock film. One that celebrates it’s hard working denizen’s as well as its well-to-do. It features some explicit, and implicit commentary on corporate greed, and it has a diverse its cast, but this is all mostly superficial, as is any attempt at style or signature. The commentary is obvious, and lacks any teeth, never mind it being in short supply, the diversity is only in existence, (the characters of color have very little to say, and don’t particularly add anything to the movie besides background), and the final act of the this film doesn’t say much, doesn’t commit to much, and isn’t much to look at. Take for instance “Heat” Michael Mann’s cops and robbers masterpiece. There are similarities here…A dogged cop after his man, a final act that consists of the cop locating his man because he goes after the man who wronged him. They take place in very different cities , yet the goal is the same; that the city itself be a character in the film. And yet these two final scenes are worlds apart as it concerns truth, style, and power…

The ending of the film Heat.

The Clarity of purpose, the lack of sound, save for the deafening screech of the planes, light and shadow, we are not telegraphed the ending, the playing field is even, the elements around the conceptualization of the scene see to that. Then there are choices, speeding up DeNiro’s death, the cuts, the close ups, the wide shots, and they all play integral parts to creating the tension. …

Director: Andrew Davis Cast: Harrison Ford, Tommy Lee Jones, Sela Ward, Joe Pantoliano, Andreas Katsulas, Jeroen Krabbé

Here Davis telegraphs the ending as does the script, the placement and chosen order lets us no who is where. When you’re in a wide open field and some how it feels more precarious than a cramped laundry room its a problem of vision and execution. It not the location, its the choices that hamper the effectiveness of the scene. Nothing fits narratively, including why Jones character would go on like that knowing that the other guy is in the same room. It gives away his location,and puts him in unnecessary danger. It’s meant for us the audience to feel relief, which is the exact opposite of what we should be feeling , and its filmed the same way. The laundry scene would be infinitely more impactful, and nerve racking if each player moved in silence, letting the sound, and the feel of the laundry room be a background player, maybe even allowing Ford’s character who in actuality would be most likely to make such a mistake given how desperate he is to prove himself, give away his position by one way or another. The removal of the cuffs scene could be so much more powerful if it was the first time we find out Jones knows.

His role in the 1993 film- The Fugitive

Nevertheless while its cinematic aspirations, and ambition, may be up for debate, and hard to pin down, that’s kind of part of its lasting charm. The Fugitive is almost artful in its ability to avoid any kind of conceit or big idea about itself. Its willingness to just let us the audience go on this noir-ish emotional thrill ride, with nothing other than the emotion tied to our collective insistence that this man be given justice as our propulsion is what gives it such power.. If it had any high concept as its bedding, it is of the power of pitting any one person(s) pushed to the brink will up against the will of the people, the city. The will of one man to make a profit, and another to bring about his own straightforward idea of justice. Unlike Heat in which the audience can almost feel an almost existential dread bound to the disappointment of knowing both these men can’t win, so that one of these extremely well liked characters faces inevitable doom, the Fugitive has no shame in its game about fan service. It wants to give us what we want, the satisfaction of seeing neither of these men “lose”, and thus the impetus of the cuffs scene. Jones’s Gerard got his man, and his justice, Ford’s Kimble his freedom and respect. I mean his wife is still dead but , one thing at a time here.

The film features two of the best performances by both of these actors. Ford the quintessential every man, the perfect guy to root for in any movie. Appropriately vulnerable, but not a leaky faucet. Believable as both a man of action, and a patsy, because he’s bone deep sincere. There’s a scene in which a then unknown Jane Lynch gives Ford the clue that breaks the case for him. The realization in his eyes, the limited amount of time he dwells on it, and the re-committal afterwards are all examples of Fords unique skill set, and why its so singularly his role. ..Alec Baldwin, Michael Douglas (both incredible actors, and both whom were considered) reek of upper class, and would have been a turn off to the necessary interchangeability needed, because in essence this is a stripping down of superficial reminders of Kimble as a symbol of his class, you need someone who believably looks like he can comfortably do and play to the artifice of both…

Tommy Lee Jones as Gerard is one of the great grumps in movie history. Ornery , moody, and deadpan, he defines himself by his job as his job defines him, and while Ford’s character has to strip down his class, Jones’s Gerard is already dressed as a symbol of the white working class anti hero. Dedicated, plain speaking, honest to a fault, over worked, and probably a bit resentful. What Jones does so well throughout the film is cut straight through every scene. Gerard never has to think long, or very hard. He knows he’s right ( a dangerous trait ) and he values time so he will cut through to the objective. If I were to summarize him I would use the words of Harvey Kietel's Winston Wolfe “If he's curt with you ,it’s because time is a factor, he talks fast and he thinks fast, and he needs you to act fast”. He's a pit bull, loyal, loving and attentive when they want to be, but if they lock their teeth into something or someone…God help you. What Lee brings to Gerard is his erratic speeding train whizzing by you style of acting, typical in his 90's run and evident in films like Blown Away , Batman Forever, and Under Siege, backed by a consistency of intention very few actors have. With many actors time is central to getting to the heart of the moment, usually though that means more time, Jones is the rare actor that can find you a genuinely authentic moment, almost seemingly in the moment…

"Where'd he go??!!" "Guy did a Peter Pan right off of this Dam! Right here!! ... BOOM! POW!" So crazy! lol Welcome to JustTheClips and thank you for watching! This is my passion and so I hope you enjoy and want to come back. If you choose to support me, I thank you very much!

At around 2:38 seconds we find one of those exact moments, and you can pair that reaction to packing it in and going home that incredibly sincere “No…no" with many of the reactions in his intro (the very first video above) which he finds some incredibly honest, impactful moment right then and right there. Whether they were improvised or well thought out Jones makes them feel as if the words were Frankenstein's monster imbued with life from a charge that came from the frantic mind of some mad scientist of association. Tommy Lee plays Gerard as a great white hunter charging through the brush of a concrete jungle, cutting through bullshit , ( and many times nuance) to get to his lost city of black and white, right and wrong, and as ugly as this character would be in real life Jones gifts him with an intelligence, warmth, and plainness that feels refreshing enough that despite all his “I don’t cares’ and nearly shootings of friends and innocent men, somehow he comes off as a guy you’d love to have a drink with after this was all over.

The opposing energy of these two, one already a star, the other about to be. The cadre of other identifiably talented character actors and young actors who soon would see their own days in the sun. The pulsating, charging, but patient score from James Newton Howard, three fantastically staged action sequences, David Twohy and Jeb Stuarts cracking script (with it's non-ornate one liners, and superb pacing), are the sum total of an almost perfect summer blockbuster that doesn't feel like blockbuster fare, because the blockbuster elements only have a superficial kinship with its predecessors and antecedents. There are no Ferrari's or fighter jets, no martial arts , no dinosaurs or spaceships. There is shooting, and violence, but very little death. It's two major stars are not young, impossibly in shape, and full of vitality, but middle aged, and in Jones’s case world weary. They don't run very well, or move very fast, and though Ford is actually pretty got damn sexy in the movie, the film is not particularly interested in exploiting his sexual potential. Simultaneously it’s not exactly Oscar fare either. Big, boisterous and loud when it wants to be, it doesn’t carry the self important weight of best picture winners. It lacks a truly great villain and its arguable that the villain is in fact a bad villain due precisely to the scripts unwillingness to bring Dr Charles Nichols out of the darkness until the end in the name of a twist, and then refuse to provide any more meaningful exploration of the motivations behind such a horrid betrayal of a friend. The movie’s lack of the previously mentioned stylistic and authoritative flourishes, and refusal to sit or contemplate its meaning, or a central thesis, made it a minor miracle it was nominated at all. The enigma of The Fugitive is that it's a truly great movie that defies the bourgeois artistic aesthetics of a classic film. No pomp, some pulp, very little style, and very little authority. It knows what it is, and yet its still kind of hard to pin down what it is. It is clearly flawed, and yet almost perfect , it doesn't lend itself to a plethora of think pieces , or revisitation that redefines what it means now. It exist in it's own space, it's own time it's own genre as “The Fugitive”.

Blackening Film History: Friday The Great American Comedy Classic.

I remember it like it was yesterday or maybe a good month ago. The details around it aren't so clear except for one phenomenally inept lapse in judgement and taste. I went to see a double feature of two movies I hadn't seen (now in their second run because we at that time could rarely afford to see a movie in its initial run as a family of nine). The theater was small, cramped, and dingy. The kind where you can smell the breath of the last patron in your seat still hanging in the air because there is no ventilation. The double feature was Sylvester Stallone's “Judge Dredd”, and “Friday”. Understand that by this time Friday was already a cultural phenomenon where it mattered...amongst black people. Whether at work, play, or school you couldn’t go anywhere with out someone quoting a line,with or without context. Amongst black folk at the time, Friday was the kind of movie that would’ve caused a tectonic shift on Black Twitter had it existed. In every and all sense of the word, Friday was an event movie for us, one you had to see it, or be banished to the realm of the obsolete, of the woefully out of the loop, an ignorant 411 leper. But there was me blissful in my ignorance, hardened in my tastes, saying to myself without saying to myself.. “It didn’t matter”. My feeling was “Friday” might turn out alright, but Judge Dredd though!” it was disgraceful, borderline unforgivable, one of my most regrettable moments of poor judgement, and I am not proud of this. I have no clue what white people were doing thinking , or saying about Friday at the time. All my education about their collective input on Friday comes in retrospect, and I still care very little for it- I’ll come back to this later. Amongst the non movie-goer and movie-goer alike in my community Friday only a few months into its birth into the American cinematic lexicon was already knee deep into its journey to ubiquitousness . Then and now the film was in many ways incomparable, while in others it shares distinguishing traits with a great deal of other classic American comedies. Thing is though, I wanted to see Judge Dredd more. Yes I said it, let that sink in for a moment.. I’ll wait , because it's still hasn't sunk in for me yet. I not only wanted to see Judge f***ing Dredd more than Friday, I sincerely thought it would be the better movie….

This the inside of my brain every time I think back to the fact that I would’ve rather watched “Judge Dredd”, than anything really, much less “Friday.”

I remember so acutely the feeling in the pit of my stomach as trailers went on that I wanted this appetizer of Friday to be over as soon as possible so I could get the main course Dredd. A wonky, ridiculous, uneven, over-the-top, if not fun comic book movie about a criminally bad cop in a “distant” future where the police functioned as branches of government . A few minutes later I would legit forget there was a double feature at all. From "You half dead motherf***er" to "And you know this man" Friday was not only quakingly funny, but smart, well directed, and ingeniously played by almost all of its actors. It was a welcome interruption to the trend of hood dramas that portrayed the agonizing and tragic aspects of living in the inner city, the importance of which cannot be overstated not only because of the way it reupholstered, and reconstructed tropes about growing up in the hood, but for its impact on the future of comedy in Hollywood. The 1995 comedy came out on the heels of an explosion of films about the hood, and the scourge of the crack cocaine drug epidemic. From one of my favorite films “New Jack City” to Boyz in the Hood”, “South Central” and “Menace to Society”, these films announced the coming of several important black filmmakers, actors, and actresses, provided scathing and insightful political commentary, and served the important task of informing a country blinded to the violence, suffering, and activism by blacks without aide of whites going on in the hoods of America. Nevertheless these films also had the unintended impact of dehumanizing the more unsavory aspects and role players in our neighborhoods, and reducing them to archetypes of evil. These tropes and characters helped assure racist foreign white eyes (that had no context) of our animalistic nature. Whites (misinterpreting either obliviously or intentionally) were encouraged and emboldened to interfere the only way they seemed to understand, (state sanctioned violence) and those whites who found sympathy would condescendingly paternalize that sympathy, which could be seen in a cinematic call and response that created movies like “Dangerous Minds”. Friday was different, crude, endearing and refreshing, and according to many of the major players involved in its making , this was by design. While previous films had turned crack heads into mortifying zombies, hated, sometimes feared, living in the crevices of the neighborhood on the outskirts of the humanity bereft of any will to eat, converse, connect, Friday gave us “Eazel”, who jokes, hustles, “works” and who is ultimately apart of the patchwork of personality that is any neighborhood. Rather than make him a stain on the neighborhood, the focus on Eazel was in fact on his personality, not his addiction, and other than maybe Bubbles (Andre Royo) from the Wire it is the most humanized version of a homeless addict we’ve seen, and representative of the reality of who these people were to us, in our hoods. In the other films drug dealers were ruthless, and only ruthless. Servants to nihilism, hawks of capitalism, they could care less about their own lives so even less for yours. In the pursuit of money, they were almost entirely lacking of any empathy. They were America’s worst nightmare in Menace to Society, willing to shoot a rising football star with no affiliations over an exchange of words in Boyz in the Hood, or use a small child as a shield in a failed attempt on their life in New Jack City. In Friday “Big Worm” was these things for sure but also a big personality, farcical even. Learning into the need for such folk to be seen and heard, Worm wore his hair relaxed, with rollers, and drove around in a 60 something dreamscicle orange Chevy Impala, and an ice cream truck on daytons. He is a ruthless business man, but he is also a character. He wants smokey to “apply himself,” “doesn’t want to have fuck smokey up” but he will…

Playin' with my money is like playin' with my emotions...

The point being Friday didn’t defend or upend the earned negativity around gang violence or drug dealers, or crack addiction, but it did provide a fuller picture of the black and brown neighborhood, and the role these people play in it. The good and the bad times. The individual, and the community, the dark, and the light hearted. Its authenticity is inextricable from both its success, as well as any of its strengths and weaknesses. Black people understood it all too well. White folk (sometimes imprecisely alluded to as the “mainstream”) I don’t think still quite get Friday. There is no point of reference for them, and if you have no point of reference , no historical or familial context for the brilliance of these characters, the purposeful lack of focus so aptly depicted in what it feels like to just want to get to high, and free your mind in the inner city, you run the risk of mistaking them for some brechtian accumulation of caricatures with no real connection as did Gene Siskel in this small review of Friday…

“For all of the shouting, mugging and rap music, a surprisingly dull comic yarn about a young man (Ice Cube) trying to survive in the ‘hood. Colorful characters abound, but nothing ties them together. I knew the picture was in trouble when its first gag involved an old lady spewing obscenities. ”

— Gene Siskel writing for the Chicago Tribune

Yet Siskel’s words reveal something more problematic about the expectations of black filmmakers, black people, and suffering. Friday is and was not merely a stoner comedy although that is most definitely part of its charm, but it was also not about “surviving in the hood”. Most importantly, why is/was there no space for a movie about black people taking a day off from “surviving”, from preaching, and self important messages to be great? Why can’t/couldn’t we be as “Dazed and Confused” as whites on film? Friday didn’t and doesn’t have to be some meditation on black frustrations in the hood, it was a thoroughly entertaining “day in the life” film featuring top notch characters, (not to be confused with caricatures) a legendary comedic debut, (Chris Tucker) sure direction from a first timer, and brilliant humor. The humor or as my comedic acting teacher called it “The Funny” (Like in the bathroom scene with John Witherspoon’s “Pops” and Ice Cube) is not merely found in the toilet, it was found in the familiar and singularly recognizable way black parents of a certain generation have no respect for boundaries, doors, or space. Embarrassment and time are luxuries for rich people with jobs, and no children. The very specific way many of our parents saw their off-spring (no matter how grown) as children, and as owing them a debt in this world…”I smelt your shit for Twenty Two years, you can smell mines for five minutes”. The joke or gag Siskel references is not simply that an “old lady is spewing obscenities” it is the hypocrisy of the church, and its members, and the sass, seniority and verve of older black women in the community. Beyond the authenticity of its father figures, or matriarchs, and even bullies, Friday is incredibly well put together, and succinct in what by all accounts was a gargantuan undertaking by a first time feature filmmaker. F. Gary Gray managed to reign this plethora of personalities into one film in a way that never felt like it let any actor get too carried away, and take the movie away with them. It is a comedy that through fantastic editing had a crystal clear idea of what it wanted to be and confidently expressed itself as intentionally irreverent, and it was many of Gray’s directorial flourishes that enhanced, and cultivated the viewing experience, and subsequently the indelibility of Friday…

This bottom up view of Smokey’s face after witnessing Redd get knocked out is integral to what makes “You got knocked the fuck out!” so memorable. The joke as a conjured memory itself is seen from an impossible point of view considering the storyteller is Smokey himself, because it is meant for us, as told to us, and upon recollection the punchline is always accompanied by Gary’s distinct manipulation of Tuckers face.

Gray’s choice to speed the scene up as Smokey trips out on PCP laced weed in post is another simple but perceptive instinct that gives insight to what is funny, but also what gives the audience an empathetic sense of what the character is going through.

The approaching of the character Deebo, from the bottom nothing but his feet on the bike bears some resemblance to the sharks fin in Jaws, and with accompanying music is a wonderful bit of parody intentional or not on the Jaws theme as well as the “Imperial march”

Additionally, Gray, Kimberly Hardin, and casting Legend Jaki Brown (in a very particular and acute bit of genius born of necessity, knowledge, and perception) brought together one of the greatest casts in history. I say that with no hyperbole. You’d be hard pressed to name one cast member who isn’t at the very least a perfect fit, if not in the throws of an astoundingly instinctive, intelligent comedic performance, especially the women. It is almost spiritual to watch Anna Marie Horseford embody both a very general and specific kind of black mother. Loving, warm, no nonsense, and direct without being combative. That smooth transition from “She oughta be ashamed of herself looking like that” to Hey Girl!” The ability to communicate what one feels without necessarily communicating what one feels was not only the work of a natural actor, but one who drawed as deeply from from the well of ancestry and tradition of black motherhood, as Denzel did black suffering in his single tear scene in “ Glory. When you hear Horseford yell “Okay” from across the street. It’s the truth in the look she gives in concert with the way the word “okay” trails and shrills itself into befuddled sarcasm, and inaffection that spews comedy gold from about 1:26 to 1:40 mins in…

http://www.taranets.net/movies/friday-1995.html http://www.taranets.net/movies/best-ice-cube-movies.html http://www.taranets.net/movies/best-chris-tucker-movies.html http://www.taranets.net/movies/best-bernie-mac-movies.html a clip from Friday with Kathleen Bradley as Mrs Parker

Of maybe all the great performances in Friday, Angela Means work maybe the most noteworthy. Her interpretation of another character in the arms of addiction, who is yet still a full human being, features the most transferable traits, intelligence, and instincts from the world of comedy to drama. The fact is that Felica has become an icon of comedic cinema, and her entry into the slang lexicon of american pop culture is a representation of that by way of extension from the character Means so finely molded. The “Felicia” Means created, connected to the “Bye” in the popular phrase is inextricable from the terms pejorative nature. It conjures both its mean spirited punch, and its relevance from the memorable nature of the character Means created. Means instincts as an actor are on full display, it's in Felicia's walk - wide, and sloppy, lacking in any grace whatsoever. A subversive walk, it is not meant for the male gaze, and Felicia doesn’t care. Means chosen gait and stride is both psychological, and physical in its intention, it implies not only her lack of desire to perform for men, but also that Felicia has no respect for space....

Felisha asking to borrow smokeys car.

This quote from the actress solidifies both Means’s talent, and intention..

“During the scene where Craig says “Bye, Felisha,” Gary was going to break down the set and do a reverse shot of me. I was supposed to walk up to the porch where Chris and Cube were and face the camera when I spoke to them, like everyone else did. I was like, no. If Felisha is going to invade people’s space, then she is going to invade people’s space. She’s oblivious to personal space and boundaries. I told Gary, “Why don’t we just save a whole hour and let Felisha’s ass just sit down in between them?” Neither Cube or Chris knew I was going to sit down, and when I did Chris wasn’t even acting, he was like, “DAMN!” He was pissed at me. [Laughs.] It made the scene better, and broke up the monotony of everyone coming to the porch. Her sitting down was a moment that we found together. Not that it was that big a deal, but it did save like a good hour, and it created that scene, the three sitting on the porch like that.”

— Angela Means from the "Oral History of Friday"

There is also a clear eyed sincerity in Means creation of Angela that sets it apart from the darty eyed contemptibility of Halle Berry’s “Vivian” in Spike Lee’s “Jungle Fever”. Felicia earnestly sees nothing abnormal about her frequent requests despite their absurdity. In every scene she asks for something more ridiculous than the last, and the cluelessness as to the size and uncouth of her requests is so deeply genuine it becomes part of her charm and as well as her repulsion. Means like all great comedians doesn’t play Felicia for jokes, she plays her for truth even when the set up itself is ridiculous or over the top, and especially when it’s not true…

Neighbors always wanting to borrow stuff.

Paula Jai Parker’s Joi is equally memorable, and equally representative of Jai's dedication to her character. In contrast to Means, Parker went for the large and overt. Both Joi and Felicia take up considerable amounts of space, but whereas the jewel of Mean’s performance is in the subtle details, Parker’s Joi is a great deal more over the top with intention. Partly owing to the traditions of camp, Joi is meant to be not only grandiose , but exaggerated, and hails from the imaginative spectrum of creation as well as the inspired…

“I’d lived in Washington D.C. when I was going to college and I had seen girls that reminded me of Joi. The blonde dookie braids became popular and, Lord, those nails. I did the nails, I created those and put those on. I don’t know where I got that from. I was just young and inspired.”

— Paula Jai Parker from the "Oral History of Friday"

There is deliberateness in her cadence, and in the walk. She means to get where she’s going and she means what she’s saying. Quick to get from point A. to B. whether that’s walking from her car to the porch, or changing moods from sweetness to anger..

What Paula Jai and the rest of the cast are committed to, what they created along with Ice Cube, DJ Pooh, and F. Gary Gray is too big for just the label Cult Classic ( fitting though it is). The label does not encompass this movies impact on American culture at large or American comedy. Friday is the unrecognized but rather obvious antecedent of Judd Apatow films and all their offspring in structure, outlandish characters, and raunch. It is an African American film that captures the rebellious spirit of John Hughes films like “The Breakfast Club, and “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”, the aimless youthfulness of “Clerks” or “Slacker” , and the crassness of Animal House or Caddyshack. The only thing that keeps it from being mentioned alongside these films ..whiteness. The weird obsession with finding comparable films that feature black people for black films, white people for white films. This is propelled forth from a “pretty good for a black film” attitude adapted by many connoisseurs, and gatekeepers of film academia and cinephelia, and white people’s disinterest ( and in certain aspects inability) to truly understand the material, the frame of reference, and thusly the craft, and art of what was created. Nevertheless we dont need white folk to validate the indelible nature of this film. The intent of deliberately obtuse people is unimportant here, the legacy of Friday is unimpeachable. Endlessly quotable, fondly remembered, independently created, massively popular with several characters whose names have published quotes in the comedic almanac of american cinema. It is without exception one of the great American comedies, and I will do my part to see it continue its legacy as it should be - a classic worthy of the criterion collection, if not for any other reason than to pay penance for the fact I thought Judge Dredd would be a better f***ing movie.

What the Hell did I just Watch? : Showdown in LIttle Tokyo

I should’ve packed it in when Dolph Lundgren (Seargent Chris Kenner) after running out of bullets to miss people with, “Liu Kanged” over a whole ass Oldsmobile.

Nothing good could come from continuing on this venture. This movie had either peaked, or hit rock bottom, (I’m still unsure of which) and any further exploration was sure to unearth some long forgotten horror…But continue I did. “Little Shop of Horrors” ahem, excuse me, “Showdown in LIttle Tokyo” was a part of the 2nd wave of the Martial arts craze that included Jean Claude Van Damme, and Steven Seagal, and the beginning of Brandon Lee’s career (that thankfully got better from here) it starred Dolph Lundgren when it should’ve starred Lee, and based on my love for all things martial arts, and Lee’s namesake alone I bought this movie on tape when I was a teen.

I should go back in time and whoop my ass.

Nostalgia is a helluva drug, and having not seen this movie since my teens, I was excited to press play on the DVR once I recorded it. I was um….See what I would say is…..What’s really interesting here is…Sometimes…You know?…Look, the movie is a steroid induced fever-dream where Dolph Lundgren is a one man yakuza task force with complete autonomy to do just about anything he wants because? His partner Johnny Murata (Brandon Lee) is ..well..um…see what I would say is…What’s really interesting here is…Sometimes…You know?…Look, he’s now Japanese instead of Chinese (Lee’s actual heritage) so that he can learn about his own culture from Sensei Sergeant Chris Kenner (Lundgren). It’s a buddy cop film , but its on speed so they initially don’t like each other for about t-minus five seconds until orientalist cliche’s bond them together in a relationship built on condescension, repressed homoeroticism, misogyny, paternalism and jokes from the inside of a laffy taffy wrapper.

A quote from the movie "Showdown in Little Tokyo". Brandon Lee changes his opinion about raw fish

If this movie was about black gangs instead of the Yakuza mob I have no doubt this scene would consist of N****’s eating fried chicken around a stripper pole. Thats’ how they understood culture in movies like this. Then there’s the Dolph Lundgren’s Rising Sun jacket that he wears every where because it was obviously half of the movie’s budget, and because the movie never wants you to forget Chris Kenner is in fact Japan. Like he is the country of Japan all by himself. If you want to visit Japan just go hang out with Chris, you’re there. Besides culture master Kenner, there is Seppuku, and Yubitsume (the cutting off of fingers as atonement), and beheadings, (always used prominently as a way of othering other cultures as savage) as well as Kenner’s custom built house of dojoness (an expensive undertaking whose affordability on a cops salary is never explained like most things involving everything in this epic white male fantasy movie). Lee for all of his martial art skill and inherent charm is drained of almost any of it here. The grossly sexist script, sees to it his charm is turned into douchery , and the scripts racist, and condescending white supremacy made it so I’m not sure one couldn’t prove it’s entirely plausible that Lee’s “Murata” is in actuality a figment of Kenner’s imagination, meant to massage his own ego by telling him things like “You have the biggest d**k I’ve ever seen on a man”. Yes that really happens…

From the cult classic "Showdown In Little Tokyo." Brilliantly odd.

We have no idea what Lee does when Lundgren’s Kenner is not around, though judging by the way he talks that might be for the best. No idea what he truly stands for, or of what his identity is outside of being a cop or an accomplished martial-artist. As proof of the writers former jobs as unheralded Hade’s minions Oblivious, and Obscene, they have the line in the script where Murata explains that his Japanese mother made him take martial arts so that he could identify with some aspect of his culture…

When Showdown wasn’t happily travailing in orientalism, and misogyny, it was just being flat out right ridiculous. This film would have worked significantly better as a comedy satire of the excess of american exceptionalism in film. Instead it takes serious scenes where people break their own necks, and where Dolph Lundgren picks up whole cars to use as shields, and backs himself out of a window with the same effort he’d put into walking into a room with an open door…

Showdown in Little Tokyo - A Fully Loaded Savior: Sgt. Kenner (Dolph Lundgren) fights his way into crime lord Yoshida's home to stop Minako Okeya (Tia Carrere) from commiting suicide. BUY THE MOVIE: https://www.fandangonow.com/details/movie/showdown-in-little-tokyo-1991/1MVe02ce3af44069603e6aca68e585764ea?cmp=Movieclips_YT_Description Watch the best Showdown in Little Tokyo scenes & clips: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZbXA4lyCtqobR57g5MPDe9Fns7HCtXbD FILM DESCRIPTION: An American with a Japanese upbringing, Chris Kenner (Dolph Lundgren) is a police officer assigned to the Little Tokyo section of Los Angeles.

I guess even glass was like “My guy that’s Dolph Lundgren, do yourself a favor and BREAK!!”

Showdown in Little Tokyo serves as a wonderful/exacerbating ( I still can’t decide because again..Nostalgia is a helluva drug) tasteless reminder of the fact that no film is apolitical. They are always at the behest of some master(s) and are subject to the master(s) worldview. Even for action movies of the time, this movie is out of pocket, and pumped up on its own drugs of choice, making one narratively irrational choice after another, forgetting plot points, and practically yelling racial epitaphs while claiming it’s actually in love with Japanese culture, but that’s not to say it was alone in this. It’s one of many great examples of just how in love over time whiteness has been with itself, and how long movies served as propaganda in lieu of proof of white superiority. You want to know why people were so incensed at a white man teaching a black man how to eat fried chicken in that “The Coloring book” movie, (a stereotype whites themselves created, because just about everyone loves fried chicken) watch Showdown have its white lead explain the most basic “back of a cereal box” aspects of Japanese culture to a cartoonishly ignorant Johnny Murata, and then at the end of it all have Galactus Drago climb all the way into full on Japanese garb to kick Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa’s ass, cheered on by new girlfriend Tia Carere playing “new girlfriend Tia Carrere”. Okay she has a name but it might as well have been “new girlfriend Tia Carrere”. After getting baby oil all over the very talented, and very much so wasted Tagawa in the midst of their Mortal Kombat (baby oil was the other half of this budget , everyone else was clearly working for coupons from the local Safeway) Lundgren turns to the camera where it is revealed we are now in He-man the movie, and it all makes sense. End credits read…”Now who’s the master?!” ….or at least they might as well have.

The Rider: Chloé Zhao's film Reinvigorates the Western with Curiosity and Heart

“I hope they don’t forget about this film come Oscar season.” They’re going to forget about this film come Oscar season.” These were my thoughts only moments after watching Director Chloe Zhao’s “The Rider.” I thought these things because I genuinely felt the impact of this film that strongly, and I genuinely felt that way. I felt that way, because Zhao’s film is the kind that always gets ignored come Oscar season. It is too under seen a film, with too early a release date. It possesses the kind of beauty and craft that that hangs on to you but never stifles ( in my opinion the academy likes being stifled). Zhao’s film is patient in every possible way. It wants its story of a Rider permanently impaired by brain damage stemming from an accident dialogue, its picturesque landscapes, its characters to soak, to permeate the deeper portions of your memory…and it does.

One of the more interesting aspects of Chloé Zhao’s film is the way it mines common preconceptions of the almost folkloric type of masculinity associated with the Midwest (more specifically Cowboys) for something more flexible, something more inviting to the audience. All the typical sign posts are still there, the emotional restraint, the use of aggression as a tool, the isolation, the unsaid regulation of behaviors not in keeping with “being a man”. They are all there, but they are each of them softer, subtler, and more endearing. It can be noted in the interactions between Brady and his compadres, the attention - and care given to Lane Scott ( - another rodeo great impaired by a tragic injury), or to his beloved real life sister Lily. I would venture to say that quite possibly the most beautiful, interesting and engaging proof of this lies in relationship between Brady and his horses. Unlike in other films where this is used a s a prop to show the cowboy’s skill or to impose upon us his level of attractiveness (especially as it may pertain to an object of his affections) this is just about their relationship. I don’t need to hear how Brady does it. For me, it holds no pertinence beyond informing the rest of us how much he knows. Zhao is interested in the love, the feeling , the patience Brady possesses. The attraction she desires is more more natural and less forced through dialogue meant to “ooh” and “aw” the rest of us. Zhao is almost as interested in the horses as she is Brady, because she wants us to see how the horses react. That is how she informs the audience he knows what he is doing. It’s how she conveys to us the relationship, and the love within. Various close-ups on the eyes, - cuts to various body parts, and intimate shots affirm this. There is a scene where Brady has to put down a horse who escapes its paddock and seriously maims itself. There is a deep sadness to the scene that goes beyond Brady’s pain, because Zhao is not content to merely center Brady’s emotion. Whether its anthropomorphic or not we are given cues to empathize in a distinctive manner with this animal. To be made to feel as though this animal senses its end. That the horse is afraid and unsure of what to do. We find it just standing there, but it’s not laying down, it hasn’t given up, but it also is not running, because he’s too badly hurt. The horse wants to go on doing what it is meant to do, what it wants to do, but can’t. In providing this parallel between horse and rider , it humanizes the horse allowing for a deeper empathy than normal. It is romance in the most classical sense, and it’s one of the better displays of the relationship between horse and rider, man and beast, I’ve seen on film.

Zhao’s work is deliberately paced, has an arc, but its subtle. You’re not always aware of just where you’re going because much like the characters in the work of Director Asghar Farhadi, they seem to be figuring it out as we are. I would gather by conjecture that Zhao is the type of director that doesn’t necessarily map out the entire stories, and that she sort of allows them to tell their own story from inside her head. I don’t know that this is actually the case, but the magic of Zhao’s film is that it gives the appearance of such. Like Fahardi films, it has the feel of a documentary without taking a documentary’s actual form. It never once feels like a sprint upon a well paved track, but rather a walk along an unpaved road. At first it’s cold, you’re unsure and you wonder where it is you’re going. Sometimes you interrupt the conversation wondering how long you’ve walked thus far, but once you’ve arrived there is this intense emotionality tied to you, lingering about your person. You’ve been on this quiet, staggered, picturesque walk and you’ve learned something about everyone involved. You’ve learned about Zhao, Jandreau, and cinematographerJoshua James Richards. You’ve rediscovered through their eyes an aspect of Americana that has almost been reduced to myth and legend, here redeemed and reinvigorated by newfound curiosity , and an outside perspective .

MANDY IS JUST MY KIND OF MOVIE

Couple of things you should know about me and movie going.  A.  That I tend to grade on a curve whenever I feel someone who is trying to deliver something truly (keyword truly) unique.  And I'm not talking about that kind of person that seeks to be smarter than their audience or surpass their colleagues with something way more clever than they believe their peers ever could have dreamed of. And definitely not that person that seeks to only arrive to us with merely a unique concept and clearly no follow through on that great concept (and Yes, I'm talking to you hotel Artemis) .  No, I'm talking about that person, with whom while watching their film you can almost feel that childlike energy,  that kinetic,  furious,  passionate,  barely contained fire, - if at all - that drives every one of us whenever we stumble upon an idea that will not loosen its grip upon our imagination. The kind that makes me imagine the writer director of this film being possessed sitting there at their desk, eyes jittering from side to side, just scribbling away incessantly,  unable to stop themselves from leaping from word to word,  sentence to sentence,  page to page,  action to action - whether or not that's what actually happens.  B.  I'm an experience type of reviewer and movie goer I'm big on my experience, I'm not necessarily a technical movie goer.   I understand film theory, I understand the importance of structure,  and often times I can see the lacking of it in a film in which my experience is already a poor one.  But as I said before, if I am already immensely enjoying my film experience in your movie I am a teacher grading on an immense curve.  All of a sudden willing to toss aside how believable your film might be,  how riddled with plot holes your film might be, how detestable your characters might be, how lacking in technical proficiency your film might be. Because ultimately I was too enamored with how beautiful your film was,  how much your film wooed me, how much it made overtures to my various senses, how much it enchanted me.  How your actors mesmerized me, how scared I was, how much I may have laughed,  how much I may have cried. If my experience feels more like a positive one than a negative one, I can forgive cardinal sins in structure, and I can somewhat put to the side - let's be honest maybe “a lot of what” put to the side - film theory for a second and just bathe in the glow of being thoroughly entertained for a couple hours or more. Mandy was such a movie.

Panos Cosmotos's wild blend of nostalgia,  video games,  fantasy,  and rock and roll,  with a committed Nicholas Cage front and center.  Cosmotos movie does not nail it for me politically. In fact, in many other cases, I probably be sitting here writing about how it's just another woman in the fridge type story using its woman, the namesake infact of the movie as a convenient excuse to take us on a journey of male aggression, gratuitous violence,  and anarchy.  But I'm not writing about that because the story was too wild, the colors too gorgeous,  Nicholas cage's performance too balls to the wall insane and committed and vainglorious. All of this in a two hour heap of dismembered bodies, exaggerated over the top monologues,  and primal screams.  Cosmotos brings us both something we've seen before, or at least know of  and yet something wholly original. A movie where I ultimately knew what was going to happen within the first thirty minutes of the film and yet I also was made to feel like I had no clue as to what would happen next from one sequence to the next through the entire duration of the film, right up until the ending,  it's typical and yet wholly unique.

It reminded me of so many of those books I used to love as a kid. Books inspired,  and clearly influenced by and from authors like Tolkien,  or Herbert,  or Robert E Howard's Conan pulp.  But nowhere near as good in the execution. They usually grabbed me with a well illustrated cover,  and an eye catching title (Im making all of these up) like ; The Gates of Baldermoor,  The Dragons of Huron,  Time and Shadows volume one.  I also gleamed portions of the film as being inspired by Ralph Bashki's underrated animation film heavy metal or at that least aesthetically influenced by it.  It harkened me back to a time of cult leaders and a time when devil worshipers were the worst of us.  And while it had me on an IV drip of nostalgia,  it fed me on a, steady diet of arresting visuals,  outstanding camera work,  and a manic,  unpredictable,  rabid performance by Nicholas Cage, and Linus Roache, that kept circling two words around my head, tigers blood and dragon juice. Because that's how bat shit crazy and amazing it was. 

I'm writing more about the experience than the technical aspects of this movie, because I believe that that ultimately is what Mandy is...the movie going experience.   Rather than a movie you go into toting your experience.  I really couldn't tell you how technically proficient, it may or may not be because somewhere along the road I just got lost in the proverbial sauce.  It was fun, it was outrageous. It was visually poetic. It was nostalgia based,  without using the nostalgia as a crutch.  There were some pacing troubles near the end there, and Mandy, the movie's namesake was unfortunately not truly apart of this film in any meaningful way beyond being a prop for Nicolas Cage's unhinged rage fest.  That was maybe the only real disappointment and I don't want to minimize it.  Mandy did a lot of things really really well and while I thoroughly enjoyed myself watching it. I felt like this movie could have moved beyond a cult classic to an actual masterpiece had it featured more about Mandy and rooted her to the story in more than name.   Not only would it have begotten more interesting narrative choices,  but considering her condition,  I think you would have had a movie with some very interesting, even if accidental commentary. And something, ultimately, that I think would have moved beyond its sort of superficial in all the best ways, cult feel, and right into pantheon of Film making. 

As it stands Cosmotos film is a movie that raises an eyebrow and makes you sit up and forward in your seat. I think if he builds upon this, this may be a director to watch in the future, and although I can't recommend Mandy for everyone those of you who like me, like it when you stumble upon something so interesting and so one of its kind, that you tend to grade the movie on a curve and never mind the devil in the details,  then this is also definitely your movie.

Check out the new trailer for Mandy starring Nicolas Cage & Andrea Riseborough! Let us know what you think in the comments below. ► Watch Mandy on FandangoNOW: https://www.fandangonow.com/details/movie/mandy-2018/MMV495A8D3D5C42B5ED2888FF3743C0852D2?cmp=Indie_YouTube_Desc US Release Date: September 2018 International Release Date: October 2018 Starring: Nicolas Cage, Andrea Riseborough, Linus Roache Directed By: Panos Cosmatos Music Composed By: Jóhann Jóhannsson Synopsis: Pacific Northwest.

APOSTLE: NETFLIX'S LATEST REALLY HOLDS THE DARK.

You ever just know a movie is for you?  You watch a few images flash before your eyes and all but know for a scientific fact you're gonna love this film or television show?  This was pretty much the case from the first trailer for Netflix's "Apostle".   I was sold that this movie was going to be one that would engrave itself into my psyche, and it didn't disappoint.  An unnerving, spellbinding, violent,  knot turning in your stomach kind of suspense horror thriller,  that doesn't let go once it gas you in its grip - the film is as unforgiving as it is visually arresting.  Our story begins with the troubled Richardson family and more specifically a brother Thomas (Dan Stevens)  sent off to rescue and bring back his kidnapped  sister from a cult holding her for ransom.  What ensues from there on is the tale of a man who will slowly become reinvigorated with the idea of connecting back with the one tie he has to this world,  and thusly back to the world and eventually his faith but only after confronting the darkness corroding the town from within.  Though the film comes off at first as an attack on faith and religion on the whole rather than fanaticism it is not.  There are very clear signs that this is in fact a film about faith, and maintaining it when surrounded by men and women who have either forgotten, or perverted it's central tenets.  But those are not central to the experience of Apostle as much as they are subtext.   What anyone going into this movie needs to know is that it taxes the hell out of the  senses - through imagery, gore and suspense.  Medieval torture devices,  camera angles,  and brutal depictions of torture and murder are deployed to maximum effect for mood and tone corroborating with the greater themes of the film.  And it can be exhausting though never gratuitous,  and plenty exhilarating while also grating the nerves.

 What tells me that I love this movie is not the fact that I ignored many of its possible flaws, but that I just didn't notice them at all, at least not in this first viewing.  One thing I don't want to lose as a movie viewer, and even as a critic, is that ability to want to enjoy a movie and not necessarily to approach the experience from a sort of clinical position where I am simply looking for what it isn't doing, or how well it adheres to film theory.  I want to first just enjoy it on the level of being a person that enjoys movies,  as a patron who just wants to be taken on a ride.  For me, that is exactly what I got from Gareth Evans dark grisly fable.  I was thrilled,  put on the edge of my seat,  treated to white knuckle tension, gifted characters that I could relate to on some level, but more importantly, characters driven by marvelously committed actors that I didn't have to like to want them to win, or to root for them or hate them.   By the end, when the final events started to unfold, I noticed my shoulders dropping,  the air leaving my chest, the tension held for what seemed like nearly the entirety of the film being relieved, and I noticed how invested I was in the action unfolding before me because of the way my legs shifted,  fidgeting about.  The way my heart dropped in certain parts of the movie where it seemed that the cruelty was unrelenting informed me, I was immersed,  told me I was being engrossed,  and enthralled.

In these dark times I'm not one of these people that wants to be treated to something that makes me feel better, that assures me of my safety, and reminds me of good, I think I naturally have that buffer within.  I like being reminded of just how bad it can get, just how unjust the world can be, how unflinching.   A movie like the apostle is a great reminder, because it keeps a person with my natural temperament  vigilant,  sharp.   I don't think I have to recommend it for everybody but I do recommend it for those that always leaned a bit towards the dark side of themselves, who enjoy the tension and release horror gives maybe even on some masochistic level,  if only but to keep the guard there and keep the dark at bay.

The promise of the divine is but an illusion. From Gareth Evans, writer and director of The Raid franchise, comes Apostle. A Netflix film starring Dan Stevens and Michael Sheen - premieres October 12.