Thursday, October 24, 2019

Review: Jupiter Ascending (2015) - Dir. The Wachowskis

Image result for jupiter ascending
Pictured: Eddie Redmayne - Dir. Lilly & Lana Wachowski - Director of Photography: Bill Pope, ASC - Production Designer: Hugh Bateup - Costume Designer: Kym Barrett - Senior Visual Effects Supervisor: Dan Glass

The Wachowski Starship, as Lana & Lilly Wachowski once jokingly referred to themselves as, have been a source of disappointment for many after their stratospheric sophomore picture, The Matrix, was released; so many expected them to attain status among the cinematic greats after the sheer brilliance of the film, so many expected more classic works from the two. But... things did not go that way.

After two major let-downs in the form of two sequels to the original film (The Matrix Revolutions and The Matrix Reloaded), they released the anime-come-to-life, Speed Racer, which confounded audiences through its absolute audacity and overwhelming visuals, mixing highly stylized production design by Owen Paterson and eye-bleedingly colorful digital effects supervised by Dan Glass. 

After that came Cloud Atlas (2012), a film I've not seen, co-directed by the sisters and Lola Rennt (Run Lola Run)'s Tom Tykwer, an equally confounding epic adapted from David Mitchell's novel, stretching over 3 hours and spanning thousands of years. 

For many, the Wachowski Starship never truly lived up to their incredible second film. After Cloud Atlas, the two decided to turn some of the conventions they'd popularized on their heads. "It’s fine to have a male narrative told with females--" said Lana Wachowski in an interview with Toronto Sun. "--but we were, like, ‘Can we bring a different kind of female character like Dorothy or Alice? Characters who negotiate conflict and complex situations with intelligence and empathy'?"

When talking about Cloud Atlas, she remarked; "When we think of the movie we imagine we’ll be remembered for, I think it’s going to be Cloud Atlas because it touches people in a way most movies don’t. And that kind of impact endures whereas the coolness factor of Matrix will eventually wear off." 

It's very clear how much the sisters' perception changed over time. It's not hard to see where the drive to invert the ideas behind The Matrix came from. In fact, Jupiter Ascending is what one could call a sort of counter to The Matrix. Its tone is less cool and more operatic, its color is less monochromatic and more saturated. Its protagonist is awkward in less of a quiet, shut-in sort of way and more of a near-constant "why did I say that?" embarrassment. She's small, unfit to fight, and consistently terrified. 

She uses her mind rather than force to solve problems. She is a Chosen One in a sense, yes, but the Wachowskis show consistently that it is a title and nothing more. Her willpower does not grant her power greater than the other characters. It simply allows her to find ways out of terrible situations. It is, in some ways, a more mature film than The Matrix, showcasing, as Lana put it, a character who negotiates conflict and complex situations with intelligence and empathy. 

Now, Jupiter Ascending has problems. In fact, despite being in a few ways more mature than their most iconic of films, it is also more childish in some, with a screenplay burdened by often underwhelming dialogue and even more underwhelming characters. 

Whereas The Matrix's cool and steely demeanor supported its thinly drawn figures of stoicism, Jupiter Ascending's characters find themselves struggling under the bombastic tone it sets for itself, appearing much more bland than they should be (and possibly more than they really are) in such a colorful world.

And yet... the saving grace of film is really its honest-to-god, do-or-die, absolutely bananas sense of chaotic camp. 

From the quite mad performance of Eddie Redmayne as Balem Abrasax, which sounds like something to the effect of Richard Harris playing Don Vito Corleone, to the opulent production design by Hugh Bateup, the world around the characters is dialed up to eleven, the mustache-twirling, sneering, smirking antagonists, the over-the-top, incredibly operatic score by Michael Giacchino (written before principal photography!), the utter ridiculousness of some of the film's points (bees can recognize royalty...?), the use of the classic "grey alien" and "winged reptilian" designs, the special effects prosthesis of Channing Tatum's Caine, the massive and beautifully ludicrous first act-ending setpiece named during production as "Fifty-two Part," it is totally unashamed in what it is and sets out to be, wearing its heart on its chest to deliver an incredibly genuine and sincere blockbuster the likes of which we'll probably never see again, to the delight of many who saw it and to the disappointment of some. 

Its tone is unseen in today's landscape of bathos-laden superhero blockbusters. And while there is always room for those kinds of films, I cannot help but feel we're missing something in our big-budget fare not having the space for such over-the-top work like Jupiter Ascending. Perhaps the script is not the tightest, the characterization is not the most vivid, or the casting is not the sharpest all around (Mila Kunis gives off find everyman/everywoman vibes but does not gel as a leading lady). But make no mistake, this is a blockbuster with its tongue pulled away from its cheek, its boots planted firmly in the ground of sincerity and a true love and passion for its universe. It understands itself better than most blockbusters released these days.

Perhaps we don't need more of Jupiter Ascending, per say. But in the end, tonal variety is absolutely a good thing. If our film culture is going to be dominated by blockbusters, who's to say we don't need a little camp, a little chaos, a little cheesy goodness?

The film is not great in the traditional sense, no. But a film can be great in less obvious ways as well. Taken mechanically, the film doesn't work very well. But as an ambitious adventure with the spirit of a Saturday morning serial and some interesting ideas about consumerism, bureaucracy, and monarchism, its at least memorable in its intentions. 

It has a beating heart unfound in the modern blockbuster landscape. It is truly sincere and deeply personal. How often do we get something like Jupiter Ascending?

The Wachowski Starship does indeed deserve to soar… even when their films do not always take off with the most grace.

- The Songbird

Wednesday, October 23, 2019

Poetry: We Left Ourselves to Die

We flew as children. Soaring through the beginning.

Young. New.


We were alive once.


But we slowly died.


We bled ourselves to bones,


Leaving nothing but vacant, heartless husks.


Further still, leaving them to turn to ash.


And as all that we were faded,
and our innocence melted as wax...


As our anger flourished as a black, thorny garden,
and we lost ourselves in the labyrinthine woods of our minds...

As everything in this life grew ever more distant,

And we abandoned our souls,
leaving them to die...

We lost ourselves.



And so the end walks closer.


Slow as clouds, bringing us storms.


And trust in the incontestable truth that,
a storm is coming.


And that as it thunders closer still,
banging and crackling with such ferocity


The veil shall be lifted,
the young shall be taken,


And this life,
this suffering,
shall draw to a permanent end.

- Evelyn Raczynski


Poetry: Blood of Wolves

What life must we live?


Wherein must be condemned to fear.


Fear of suffering through change.


Fear of losing all our dearly beloved.


Fear of losing all that is innocent and pure of heart and of soul.


Fear of losing all that is truly ourselves.


Why must we be forced to hide from these beasts of night?


That pervade our every shadowy corner.


That were once our true friends, in mind and body.


Though we live,

why must we die?


Why must we drown?


In the blood of wolves?


- Evelyn Raczynski

Drabble: Siren's Lament

Salt burns the lungs that howl into the cold.

Darkness consumes, a feverish toxin.


A symphony of the seas starts.


Never to end.


A young lady stows away, enamored with the pirate's life.


The ship rocks uneasily, unsteadily. How could a child without her sea legs cope? Why would one such as her need them? How much more could she be worth than bad luck?


Her nausea wins out, a loud mess made. She is heard. She is found.


All she wants us to know the pirate's life. But it isn't a life she is meant to have. There is only one life left for the filthy stowaway.


"Walk the plank! Walk the plank!" Held at gunpoint, she is worth only misfortune. Each step forward is a step towards the end of this life.


She refuses to simply resign. She refuses to end her own life.


The bullet to her broken heart does so in her stead.



What voice does the salt forge? What sort of red would burn into the eyes of the unfortunate soul?

The sea cradles the souls of the damned and raises them as its own. It teaches them to sing, to seduce as revenge wrought against the so-called kings of the waters.


In truth, it is the kingdom of the wronged, the damned. With alluring songs and beckoning gazes, skin glistening from the healing waters, their eyes vast pools of shimmering aquatic light.


Together, they end those who ended them.


Hearts are drowned, halted entirely.


Packed and weighted with salt and fear.


The symphony of the seas plays on,

and the shores remain never the wiser its sins.


- Evelyn Raczynski

Drabble: To Find A Home

Johannes is a very strange bird. Damn it, I just had to fall in love with the guy.

────────

I dream of mom. I dream of how she held me and sung to me. How she loved me. I dream of how dad took her away. I dream of pain. Of fear. Of the screaming and the bruises and and the panic. My panic. My suffering.

I dream of my life. I dream of my misery. I am content in my misery.

────────

"Miranda," he says, shaking me gently, his weird sense of stately grace evident even in waking me up before my alarm goes off. I should have decked him right then and there. But I couldn't do that to him. I blink to clear my vision, cleaning the cobwebs from my mind. "Johannes? What's up?"

"I can finally open a portal to my homeland," he whispers urgently. "You have five minutes to get ready."

I don't quite register at first. Maybe I'm still asleep. "Say again?," I slur.

"I'm going home, Miranda. I know you've always wanted to come," he says tenderly. "So come. There is so much more than this mundane plane. Get ready."

Silence passes over 4 seconds. "...Johannes, what the fuck?"

"I kid you not, Miranda. All of your dreams will flourish where I am from. Everything you ever wanted, every beautiful daydream. Everything is possible," he explains softly yet with passion, his smile beaming with excitement.

I can't stay pissed at him with a smile like that. "Johannes... how far is this joke gonna go?"

"It is no joke," he says, his eyes deadly serious. I sigh quietly; I don't know what he'll show me. Maybe this is his way of telling me we're going on a road trip? "Johannes," I start gently, not wanting to hurt him. "I got work tomorrow. I don't wanna get fired."

"You'll never have to work a day again. You'll be treated as a princess."

Is... is he telling me he likes me? I sputter for a little, trying to get my words together as I sit up. "Look, Johannes, didn't you say you were banished?," I ask, playing along.

"Unfairly!," he exclaims, edging into a shout. "I was not banished by my parents! It was my sister--!"

"Johannes, quiet down..." He sighs, visibly pissed. "I apologize," he then says, straightening up. "But the terms of my banishment are of no relevance. Now, will you come or not?"

"Dude, how far is this 'kingdom'?"

"Tis only a step through a door."

Shit, he probably made his room up to look like some sort of kingdom. Or made up a model of some sort. He woke me up for this? Fine. Whatever. I get up out of bed and follow him to his room. He opens the door.

What the fuck?

Hole in wall. Wait. Portal. Wait. Fuck. Fucking. Portal. What? I... what? You fucking-- what?! I...

Impossible.

"...J-Johannes..."

"Are you ready?"

"H-how...?"

"Miranda, we must go!," he shouts over the loud grating sound of a hole in space.

"Johannes, will we be able to come back?!"

"I... I'm unsure!"

God fucking damn it.

"Johannes!" He takes a step towards me, placing his soft hands on my shoulders. "Miranda! I know how unhappy you are here! I know how alone you feel! You are all I have!," he screams over the forceful wind shooting at us from the portal. "Please! I cannot leave you behind!"

All this time, he meant all he said. The realm, kingdom, the castle... it was true... holy shit.

He's royalty. And... he wants me with him.

"J-Johannes! Why me?!"

"Why you?! Why not?!"

"I'm... I'm a fucking mess! I'm certainly not royalty!"

He goes silent a moment. "Miranda... you are strong," he speaks firmly. "You have lost so much! You have been abused at the hands of those with power over you your entire life! All this time, I've seen you and known you deserved greater! Far greater!"

"What?!"

"Miranda, I love you! I am deeply and madly in love with you! I want you by my side!"

It's hard to describe this feeling. This feels like a dream, I guess? The man of my dreams seeking to whisk me off to a magical kingdom. Maybe I'm still asleep. Maybe I've been asleep the whole time I've known him. I don't know. But I know what I want.

I take one thing; the picture of my mom and I on my nightstand. Would she want this for me? I look up into Johannes's eyes. His eyes that promise I'll finally be happy.

Yeah. She'd want this.

I take his hand, tears welling up in my eyes. He pulls me through. The portal closes just as we pass through.

────────

The songbirds sing. The sun shines like it wouldn't in the city. Blue sky. Peace. I hold mom's photo close to my chest, my heart pounding. It's been so dark... but I made it, mom.

I made it.

- Evelyn Racynski

Saturday, October 19, 2019

Lovesick Raiders

Hello nieces, nephews, and starshines in between! Today, I've a video to show you!

Do you know when sometimes, a piece of music fits a clip from a film so well it seemed almost meant to be? This was one such occasion!

A musician by the name of Frank Ifield covered Hank Williams' Lovesick Blues--quite terribly, I might add--in the mid 1960's. When I heard the song, I felt it would be, oddly enough, suited towards a fight or shootout scene in a film.

I promptly thought of the Fight for the Medallion from Steven Spielberg's (perfect) film, Raiders of the Lost ark!

After some fudging about and finding the right timing, I put this together! I present to you; Lovesick Raiders!



- The Songbird

Friday, October 11, 2019

Picture Prompt: Steorra (Art: Immortal Hecate by Vetyr)


Between all of the cursed powers of Hell and true cosmic divinity was Steorra, balanced blissfully in a truly unique position. Once upon a time, not long ago, young Steorra felt displaced, as though she did not belong anywhere in the world of human beings. Not that she did not care for them. In fact, quite the contrary. She cared deeply for people, for animals, for nature. She was a kind soul, truly. Wounded, yes, but kind nonetheless. Yet despite her close love of the world around her, she still found herself several degrees separated from that which she wished to partake in. Something was wrong. And as she got older, that feeling only grew worse. Something grew deeply, truly wrong. She took the initiative for herself and sought balance. 

On the day of her 14th birthday, this balance was partly attained through a sort of celestial witchcraft. She was drawn to it, fascinated by it. Nobody believed in it, of course, but she cared not. It helped her greatly. She was amazed by the power it granted her over herself, the connection it finally gave her with the world she'd been separate from for so long. However, within her, a door was opened wide, wide enough to let something else in. Something dark. Upon her 16th birthday, she found a demon stood above her as she lay in bed. She knew he was that which was wrong within her all her life.  She realized the shape of the shadow cast over her whole life. This demon wanted her, wanted the power she had in her long before she explored her unique form of witchcraft. 


He told her he would return to her upon the full moon, in one week. She realized that she was not given her power. She realized its dark mirror resided within her, waiting to bloom forth and wreak havoc upon humans. She would not let this happen. It was here she realized that she would have to fight for her soul. She studied the darkness, studied deeply the damnation before her as she continued to practice her salvation. Once more, balance became her priority, balance between eternity and infinity. She learned both sides of herself, the luminance and the black alike, learned them well enough to resist the temptation. She was finally at peace with herself; no demon nor unholy spirit would wrest her contentment from her grasp. Nothing in this world would bring her back to such a poor state. 


She worked almost ceaselessly, every chance she would get. She studied to the last moment, consequences for the outside world be damned. Soon, the time came. The week had passed. The clouds revealed the beaming moonlight, a portent of demonic fate. Not far from Steorra's front door was the demon. Steorra crossed her arms, clenching her fists, and stepped towards the demon, who attempted to pull her toward him, toward damnation. She repelled this magnetic force violently, pushing him down. He stood back up, attempting to do the same once more. And once more did she retaliate similarly. He stood again, conjuring flame, hurling it her way to knock her down. Her ability to repulse what he'd cast grew only stronger as the conflict pushed on. He snarled, summoning true hellfire, a deep blue flame. She shouted violently, holding it at bay. She took deep breaths, shuddering as she glared upward at the foul thing hoping to claim her soul.


Closing her eyes, Steorra gathered the purest of energies from within her spirit, the flame he spat out at her glowing brighter from within, slowly turning white, along with her now-glowing eyes. The flame grew highlighted by a veritable rainbow of colors, focusing the world's energy from around her into this formerly demonic fire. She grinned broadly; she'd earned her contentment. She forced the flame back at him into a widespread field, leaving the demon no room to escape. He made naught a sound as he blew apart into ash, gliding away on the forceful winds gathered by this brief encounter. Steorra sighed; for the first time in her life, she felt some form of genuine stability. Something was finally right. Her power would only grow from then on. And so would her happiness.


- Evelyn Raczynski

Picture Prompt: The Return of a Traitor (Art: Desert Dragon: Take by VRSK1)


Sasha gazed upon the television, a rare sight; only on occasion did she ever partake in even glancing towards the news. 

Not to be rude, but she cared very little for the human political climate and held no interest in occupying mental space with the madness of the modern world. There were two circumstances that would pull her eye; global war and exposure. It seemed the two were dawning hand in hand. She witnessed the scene; a dragon as large as her own natural state, black as a starless, hopeless night. 

A dragon barreling through trucks, shot at with large mounted guns. She knew they'd do nothing. She recognized this beast. The former leader of her royal guard; she who manipulated her beloved husband into believing that Sasha was to betray the kingdom. She who claimed the throne and exiled Sasha to Earth. 

The Great Exposure had already spiraled the world into chaos. And here she was, without her own royal guard, without the citizens of Sasha's once-great kingdom by her side. Why was she here? Was she too exiled by another who had betrayed her? It wasn't out of the field of imagination. Now, Sasha needed answers. "I am going out," she told Nancy. "I've business to attend to." 

- Evelyn Raczynski

Picture Prompt: In Need of a Friend (Art by: Unknown)


Liz was lonely in her youth, isolated from people for most of her life, deemed a sort of threat to most others by her disastrous figure of a mother, who did not understand her in any meaningful way. The young lady was a genius, apart from all others. Through an intricate understanding of both magic and science, she was capable of anything and everything, it seemed. More than anything, though, she wanted a friend. So she decided to make one. It took no small amount of stolen material from the attic to start work on her new companion. It took no small amount of time, over a year and a half to construct him. It took no small amount of blood, sweat, and back-breaking work, for tears were of no use in Liz's world. 

After all of this time and all of this struggle, she found herself with a quite sleek new buddy with a sort of bulb-shaped screen for a head. Finding him unfinished in this naked form, she dressed him up in an  Halloween outfit she'd made for herself last year, when she'd hoped she would be let out of her smallish corner of this dusty old house she could by no means call a home. She held up a remote she'd made out of a old broken light switch from the basement that had been replaced for some time, pinching the toggle between her fingers. 

Flipping it to "on," the screen-for-a-face flickered on, an impression of a simple, smiling face lighting up across it. "Hello," he said warmly. "Are you my creator?" 

Liz nodded excitedly. "Yes! Yes, I am!" 

"What is your name?" he asked, tilting his head. 

"I'm Lizzie. Lizzie Sanders."

- Evelyn Raczynski




Drabble: Jenny Everywhere - Dumpster Diving

Megan Garcia looked up to see Jenny's head--goggles fastened and cigarette dangling out of the side of her mouth--darting up out of the large dumpster. She couldn't see Jenny's eyes but she knew the wild glint in her stare shining from behind her eye-wear. "What exactly do you get out of this, Jen?"

"I get stuff, duh," she said. Again, Megan just knew how Jenny's eyes rolled behind those dark goggles of hers. 

Jenny saw beauty and brilliance alike in all the things left behind by the world. Every day was a new adventure, every day was some new story yet untold. She wasn't one to sit still for very long, if at all. Between her insatiable curiosity and her unstoppable drive for exploration, she'd earned a name around town, a name of simultaneous praise and derision; Jenny Everywhere. 

In true Jenny fashion, she loved the name and embraced it wholly.

"And what, exactly, will you be doing with this stuff?"

"I'll keep it! The stuff I snatch up... it's all worth something!"

"What, you hope to sell this stuff?"

Jenny smirked like a hoarding goblin, deeply in love with their belongings. "No, I'm not talking about dollar value, Megan! I'm talking about another kind of worth. It's not just junk! It's like me... forgotten."

"You're not forgotten."

Her smirk faltered in the space of a split-second, reinforced in even less time. She giggled quietly. "Well... either way, it's all worth so much more than people seem to believe." She held up a twist pen, twisting the nib up. "See that? I love these kinds of pens. Way more refined than those little click-clicks!" 

Jenny shoved the pen away in her satchel, giggling once more. 

Megan knew quite well her friend was slightly mad. In fact "slightly" may very well have been an understatement, not that she could know the difference. Jenny kept a cool enough head, able to maintain conversation, as well as her inhibitions. Megan could over look some of her stronger... quirks. 

"Ooh! Someone dropped a 20 in here!" She bent down into the trash receptacle and stood back up, holding the 20 dollar bill in the air triumphantly. She pulled up her goggled, her big brown enthusiastic eyes gazing up at it as a dog would a treat. "Let's get ice cream!"

Jenny saw beauty and brilliance in all things. And Megan saw all beauty and brilliance in Jenny. 

- Evelyn Raczynski

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The character of Jenny Everywhere is available for use by anyone, with only one condition: This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Everywhere, that others might use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.


Film Review: Captain Marvel (2019) - Dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

Pictured: Brie Larson as Carol Danvers/Captain Marvel - Dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck - Director of Photography: Ben Davis, BSC - Production Designer: Charles Wood - Costume Designer: Sanja Hays
"My name is Carol Danvers."

Memory and identity are fascinating things to explore in the medium of film. Through inventive use of subjective chronology in editing, one can explore the very processes of memory which help to make us whole in ways that are really impossible to do on stage or in literature. And I will grant that the Elliot Graham (Academy Award nominee for 'Milk) and Debbie Berman, under Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck's direction, do make interesting editorial decisions in capturing the disorientation of rediscovering oneself, particularly in a brilliantly constructed sequence where Talos and his crew scour Carol Danvers' memories in search of what they're looking for. 

But this is surface-level exploration of the themes the movie seems to be intrigued by but never excited about. There's a strong potential for an inner struggle the likes of which the Marvel Cinematic universe hasn't seen before, one that ultimately gets into the core of what I find fascinating about superhero mythology; the idea of the alter ego.

There is Carol Danvers, there is Vers, and there is Captain Marvel. There is potential here to explore the death of the old self to make way for the new. Carol Danvers is a spunky, rather cocky pilot who forced her way through a system that didn't want her. There is Vers, a confident Starforce soldier who is told to suppress who she is, suppress her emotion (which we're really told about rather than shown; she acts... about the same as she did as Carol, which hurts the film's central idea surrounding identity/agency), suppress the things that made her Carol Danvers, who is presumed dead. There is Captain Marvel, the hero she becomes in the end, a combination of all she lost as Carol and all she gained as Vers. "On Hala, you were reborn," The Supreme Intelligence says in an attempt to control Vers. "I want you to be the best version of yourself," says her mentor Yon-Rogg, the best version of herself being one that isn't "so emotional".

I grew up bearing witness to emotional abuse, the abuse of an insecure individual, broken down to being "content in misery", living in quiet suffering, meant to suppress all feelings and doubts about said abuse. Said individual grew up insecure, hit bottom. Said individual is currently working towards confidence, towards strength, towards resolution after what I'd call emotional oppression.

Now, this oppression is told to us in the film rather than shown. Vers is not punished for proving "overemotional", she is not shamed for her humanity, she is not disregarded for her reactions to anything. She is not belittled in ways I recognize. Midsommar, though not a film necessarily centered around sexism, understands the quietly toxic behaviors that chip away at one's self-confidence and esteem. 

Carol never seems that bothered either. She takes it in stride, she never faces the sorts of lapses in confidence one might face after years of being pushed down. Yes, her resilience is admirable, to quote Kelly Sue DeConnick, Captain America gets back up because it's the right thing to do while Captain Marvel gets back up because "fuck you." 

But one key aspect that would help bring her closer to relatability is that doubt, when you're struggling with who you are and working your way back towards confidence and you're unsure if you can do it. It's a doubt I've seen firsthand. It's a doubt that hurts to witness. And to push past that doubt and that fear would make a truly empowering fantasy.

This is where the use of the alter ego comes back into play. Carol, Vers, Captain Marvel. The struggle to know who you are is universal. It is one I experience, it is one those I love and care for experience. And to bring that to life through the narrative, using the loss of her past as metaphor for finding oneself emotionally, would have been a brilliant idea, at least personally. 

The abused individual mentioned, they are not who they were before their abuse. But they are working towards a healthy balance of who they were and who they will be. And it has been a sight to see. It has been a slow, difficult change but it has been and is taking place. And as much as I enjoyed the adventure of the film, its messages of feminist empowerment ring hollow to me, because they're ultimately lightweight. Catharsis is unfounded, for the reclamation of identity comes without much struggle and the oppression of Carol Danvers is not communicated well enough. 

Carol, Vers, Marvel. What a fascinating struggle it could have been to see her struggle with who she is on a level deeper than horrified confusion. To find her alienated from both her human and Kree lives. To struggle to say goodbye to the life and familiarity of Starforce in favor of a better life. To see her come to terms with Carol and with Vers to become Captain Marvel, to then become the best version of herself. 

Perhaps I'm not seeing something essential and these ideas are already found within the movie. But for my tastes, they aren't explored enough or explored satisfactorily. Perhaps I'm asking too much from a Marvel Studios film. But Endgame showed us a Thor allowed to struggle with his confidence after years of a self-assured God of Thunder so perhaps I'm not asking for too much. 

Regardless, I do want to have faith in Carol Danvers as a character. Brie Larson's performance is badass, enthusiastic, sassy, and frankly quite cool. Her chemistry with Samuel L. Jackson is very clear from the moment they meet. I believe in Marvel Studios' abilty to do better by their characters and give them quite strong starting arcs, such as Tony in the first Iron Man film and Thor in his first outing. Carol Danvers, for all of her cockiness, her standoffishness, her attitude, deserves better. And I truly hope she receives it. Until then, I'll simply wait and hope that this series next entry goes higher, further, and faster than its predecessor. 

- The Songbird

Film Review: Weird Science (1985) - Dir. John Hughes

Image result for weird science

"Why are you messing with the fantasy? We know about the reality. Don't ruin the fantasy, okay?"

Weird Science is about as genuinely weird as it gets. It, like the film's Lisa, is comprised of a variety of pieces; a bit of Pygmalion, James Whale's Bride of Frankenstein, Howard Hawks' "too hot to handle" chaotic screwball (cranked to 11), Mary Poppins, Cinderella, Chuck Jones, Tex Avery Animal House-style frat comedy, and the film's namesake; EC Comics' Weird Science, with inspiration from Al Feldstein's story, Made of the Future. It is clearly a film of many inspirations. 

And how they gel together is one of the film's strengths; in another exhibition of John Hughes' steadfast tonal control, Weird Science's high-wire acts do not overwhelm the movie, instead steadily working its way to the cartoon-like escapades of Lisa (a name meaning "God's Promise," which I can't help but feel is relevant to the story arc) and her time with Gary Wallace and Wyatt Donnelly throughout the narrative. 


And make no mistake, it is Lisa's film. To quote Gary, "Lisa could have a good time at an insurance seminar, Wyatt." From the moment she shows up, in spite of her male gaze-driven introduction, it's she who holds power over our horny adolescent leads. Yes, they created her, yes, she is loyal to them and only them, "belonging to them". These things are quite true. But over the course of the film, the power dynamic shifts from a place of possession to a place of mutual caring; she starts to serve as--as Alexandra Heller-Nichols put it in her essay "Electric Venus; or, How I Learned to Stop Caring and Love Weird Science"--a Fairy Godmother of sorts to two immature teens and teaches them to become men, not only sexually but emotionally. 


This is not to take away from the performances of Anthony Michael Hall (in his third and final performance in a Hughes picture) and Ilan Douglas-Smith, who work off of each other with nervous, displaced energy as ostracized dorks who yearn to fuck when what they need most is tender, honest love. Something which Lisa ultimately grants them, allowing them the strength and courage to give said love to themselves and other women, defying the form of toxic masculinity found in the forms of Ian & Max (Robert Downey Jr. in an early role and Robert Rusler, respectively), and Wyatt's older brother, Chet; characters who objectify women both as bodies of desire and as less-than-equals. 


Of course, it's not as though the film is the most socially conscious, nor did it ever intend to be. To quote a friend, "it's an 80s boob comedy", featuring a then-25 year old woman having sex (off-screen) with a couple of 15 year olds, a gag featuring a young woman being stripped totally naked and hurled into a lake by the vortex of creation spurred by Wyatt's computer that created Lisa, and a scene where, while working up the nerve to talk to the girls they like, they peek out to find that two portly young ladies have taken their place, framed as undesirable. It is, as expected from Hughes, ever sympathetic to young middle-class American youth, quite sophomoric and intentionally so. Which is lovely, in a sense, for a young, horny audience but leaves some sour tastes post-film.


In the end though, in spite of some of the film's genuinely problematic lapses of bad judgement (Anthony Michael Hall speaking jive is... memorable, to say the very least), John Hughes' Weird Science is a fun, good-hearted coming-of-age screwball picture, serving as a subversion (albeit, a slight one) of 80's frat house films that were popular at the time, underscored by a genuinely fantastical air of imagination that pushes the film past others like it at the time. 


- The Songbird

Film Review - Vice (2018) - Dir. Adam McKay

Image result for vice movie

"The following is a true story. Or true as it can be given that Dick Cheney is known as one of the most secretive leaders in history. But we did our fucking best."

These words written in yellow text preface the film, informing us that this is hardly cinematic journalism. 

This is not inherently an issue. Liberties must be taken in every narrative feature, either because names must be changed or because not all the facts could be verified or because simply for dramatic flourish. This is all quite valid, this is narrative cinema, intended to engage, not lecture. 

However, therein lies the problem. In spite of its quite unusual editorial aesthetic, intended to evoke laughter towards the absurdity of the proceedings, it feels very much like a lecture. And not a lecture given by one who wishes to teach but a mean-spirited lecture given by one who looks down upon their students, chiding them for not already having all the facts and beating them over the head with said facts in a desperate flaunting of intelligence. 

"And with people working longer and longer hours," the film's narration says over footage of the working class, "for less and less, when we do have free time, the last thing we want is complicated analysis of our government, lobbying, international trade agreements, and tax bills," which is then spoken over footage of two young ladies at some sort of rave or concert, dancing madly, shaking and bobbing their heads intensely. 

This narration is sympathetic to those who simply want to escape from the absolute chaos running in the background of American life. But the imagery its juxtaposed against is judgmental; this specific footage of two young women having fun, happening to look somewhat foolish while doing so, is framed as judgement towards an ignorant populace, for not knowing the things the movie knows and not sharing that supposed intelligence. 

And yet... the more we watch the movie, the more we see that the film isn't very interested in educating us either. We don't really seem to come away with much new information. We learn a little bit about the the concept of the Unitary Executive Theory and about the Torture Memos and some decent background context but never really seem to delve much into how those things work. Despite the film stating that "the last thing we want is complicated analysis of government" (which is an odd claim given you're presumably narrating to an audience that opted to see a complicated analysis of government), it never actually analyzes... anything. I understand things such as this can prove rather dry cinematically, of course. But if a film like All the President's Men can handle such dense jargon and vast amounts of information, Vice has not much excuse regarding the explanation of the concepts presented. 

Because literally flashing the words Unitary Executive Theory on screen several times like we're inattentive children doesn't help us understand how it works or really what it is outside of a vague concept or idea. And for all the cheeky cutaways to butterfly knives and fly fishing--which serve as heavy handed metaphor for political precision and the "reeling people in" of politics--comedic freeze frames, and all the sardonic narration meant to let us in on politics fueling Dick Cheney's rise to power, we ultimately don't receive enough context to understand how Cheney got to the place of power he occupied. 

The film's aesthetic choices come off as though it is meant to hold the attention of an inattentive audience, yet it teaches us nothing as it drowns in its own editorial and musical histrionics, its willingness to blur the line between reality and fiction in a manner all too irresponsible and, frankly, immature. (Take for example the film accusing Lynne Cheney's father of murdering his wife, despite all evidence suggesting the opposite, as well as the fact that he literally drank himself to death two years later)

The great cinematic satirists have known exactly how to juxtapose image to image, image to music (look no further than Stanley Kubrick) for the sake of the search for truth, but McKay seems lost in these intentions. Some attempts work well enough--Cheney being informed of the Unitary Executive Theory is one such moment, which lets us in on Cheney's predatory personality through a single shit-eating grin--but ultimately this editorial aesthetic is incredibly misguided and serves only to obfuscate McKay's ultimate points about the government and about Dick Cheney himself.

And what does the film have to say about Dick Cheney? What does the film teach us about the inner life of his character based on Dick Cheney? Well, nothing really. As a result of the intended edutainment meant to stem from the idiosyncratic editing style, the film will not allow itself the time nor space for us to get to know him or his family very well at all. There's a genuinely well done heart motif throughout the film relating to Dick's faulty heart, his metaphorical heart bordering on the side of corruption but beating on, keeping him tied to the love of his family. Once his heart is replaced (with that of the *fictional* narrator's, one who served in the Iraq War, possibly a metaphor for how Cheney has robbed the common man of their heart and sucked them dry, used them) after a particularly nasty and potential fatal heart failure, he loses sight of that for good, with all the goodness in Cheney dying as he loses his heart. 

But it's ultimately an emotional arc for a character we ultimately never really know. Yes, Cheney is quite secretive, his family life is something we don't know a lot about, but when in doubt, one must commit to the rules of fiction; help us care. We want to care about the people we see on screen, we seek to connect with those we watch or read about. This is where fiction is allowed to step in, not untrue nonsense about a murderous father that ultimately goes nowhere or wasting time on a Shakespearean soliloquy that stretches for over 3 minutes and serves not character nor narrative nor education. 

In spite of this flagrant disregard for narrative real estate in the name of a form of cinematic peacocking the film still insists upon its own intelligence and upon the lack of intelligence in its viewers, right down to the very end. 

At the end of the narrative, Cheney is interviewed regarding his potential regrets. He voices his position of knowing he is judged and being okay with it, voices that he did what he felt he had to do, asks what terrorist attacks people would let slide to "not seem like a mean and nasty fella." He insists that he will not apologize for any of his actions, justifies them thoroughly. He says the people "chose him" and did what they asked of him. The words themselves are not the problem, they are the bewildering delusions of a man who will do anything to justify his abhorrent behavior. 

The problem is that to express this, Cheney breaks the fourth wall, speaking downward towards the audience with the camera pointed upward at him. Regardless of intent, this seems to place the onus directly on the audience, talking down to them, insisting that it is their fault rather than meeting them where they're at. It reeks of a perspective that fails to understand the intricacies of the political climate, then and now, and instead falls prey to the very same generalizations a worrying amount of people on both sides of the political spectrum fall prey to as well.*

The song "I Like to Be In America" from West Side Story plays (which my mother called tasteless) over various credits of decorated fishing hooks (*sighs*) before a final credits tag that reveals a lot about McKay's thoughts of the climate. 

The film ends with a focus group shown earlier in the film remarking upon the film we just watched; one man, overweight and donning a football jersey, a Trump voter, notes Vice's perceived liberal bias. Another man, framed as the voice of reason, notes that the film is "all facts that needed to be vetted by a lawyer" and that it makes no sense to state the film has a bias when the film is comprised of facts (which it is but loosely so). 

The Trump voter says, verbatim; "You would say that, lib-tard."

The two get into an argument and begin fighting physically and as they do, a young woman turns to the lady next to her and says, verbatim; "I can't wait to see the new Fast and the Furious movie, that looks lit."

This shows us... pretty everything we have to know about McKay's stance on things today. It, ultimately, is the movie. It is overly simplistic, immensely self-aggrandizing to an insufferable degree, and... frankly... it's kind of boring. It's agitating, yes, and some things work, but ultimately, it's just more boring than if one had told the story directly. It *does* have a bias. 

But its bias is not liberal or conservative or centrist; its bias is its ego, believing itself as more knowledgeable, more prescient, more morally superior to those who simply want to live their lives in peace. 

If one desires to win people over, meet them where they are, talk to them as fellow humans, not problematic individuals to set straight. These were atrocities carried out over the course of the Iraq war, a mixture of deliberate action and incompetence. Unnecessary death tolls were incurred. So much pain and suffering experience for essentially nothing. Yes, the average Trump supporter may very well be rather dense or bullheaded or stubborn but one cannot think this way in the creation of art intended to encourage rational discourse. 

One cannot speak down to everyone and expect people to listen. One cannot reduce human beings to the worst of this discourse, as bad as it can seem (and by God does it seem terrible) because everyone on the political spectrum will feel condescended to and tune out. 

The tag is wrongheaded, it is condescending, it is deeply annoying. The film itself berates those who simply want to live their lives, who are not politically active and are not as well educated about such political matters.

But McKay, people went to see this movie. Not a lot of people, seeing as it bombed. But people saw it. Because some people were interested. And maybe if you had stepped back a little bit and focused on your intentions and read the room a little more, maybe it wouldn't have done so poorly. Maybe if you had done so, the discussion would have been just that much more complex and productive. Instead, it just seems you've shifted the Overton window that much more.

And I'm sure this film has done something for interesting people in the subject matter of the film. Frankly, that's worth this movie existing, the passion behind the movie is worth its existence.

I think McKay is brilliant. I think he has yet to make his best film. I think his Epstein film has the chance to be great, if it isn't mired in all of this extraneous nonsense.

However, Vice will stand in my mind as one thing in particular; a big fat piss-soaked zero.

- The Songbird