(Happy Easter to all! Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a poem inspired by letter-writing, so I rhymed up a letter that the main character of this movie might have written by the end.)
Dear Lucius, please forgive
My sudden absence. I yet live,
But returning to my former life I simply cannot do.
I was Tribune, son of Mars,
And have weathered many scars,
But such were merely physical and all I ever knew.
I’ve seen many crucifixions;
I had no need for predictions.
Every broken, bloody body had its final resting place,
Till one random victim slain
The chosen grave could not contain.
I’ve never seen a man whom even death could not erase.
I doubted, how I doubted,
And was adamant about it;
I have seen and known too much to trust the supernatural.
I don’t expect you to believe,
For true faith I’ve yet to achieve,
But life can never be the same when it has known a miracle.
-Clavius
_________________
MPAA rating: PG-13
While all the other posts for NaPoWriMo have been decided mostly by the prompt, I knew there was no other recently seen film to review on Easter than Risen, the most prominent of the three Jesus movies from 2016 (the others being The Young Messiah and Last Days in the Desert). Risen was considered a spiritual sequel to The Passion of the Christ, picking up essentially where Mel Gibson’s film left off and focusing on the events of Jesus’ resurrection. Instead of merely showing the Biblical story as many previous films have, Risen differentiates itself for the better by applying an outsider’s view, specifically in the fictional character of Tribune Clavius (Joseph Fiennes).
Somewhat like 1953’s The Robe, the crucifixion is seen through the eyes of a Roman when Pontius Pilate sends Clavius to keep the crowds in check at Jesus’ execution. Clavius has never even heard of this man, and he absorbs all the reports and promises of his supernatural return with the mind of a pagan skeptic, putting his faith in Mars, the god of war. When the body of Jesus disappears, he is commissioned by Pilate to track it down and put all the rumors and worries to rest. Clavius’ investigations may not be strictly Biblical, but it makes sense that the authorities’ first response would be to disprove the resurrection with physical evidence, a search that is made surprisingly gripping by the urgency of the mission. The interviews Clavius conducts with the likes of Joseph of Arimathea and Bartholomew give him an idea of what Jesus’ followers are like, steadfast and often giddy with hope, and some of the side characters provide some excellent acting. The account of one of the unnerved guards from the tomb is especially well-delivered.
While Risen strives to be a cut above other faith-based films, it falls into the familiar mold by the end. Its similarities to The Passion of the Christ mainly consist in the use of the Hebrew name Yeshua for Jesus, and it does reimagine certain details with gritty zeal, but it doesn’t really follow The Passion’s sterling example of “show, don’t tell.” The film’s depiction of the resurrected Jesus (Cliff Curtis) felt rather insubstantial, quick to vanish without explanation, and the events following the resurrection are compressed to the point that the disciples seem to have barely a day with their Lord, much less forty. The ending is also ambiguously wrought and not in any satisfying way.
I liked Risen quite a bit, from its impressive re-creation of Roman warfare to its admirable performances, and it’s a film I would gladly watch again to celebrate the Easter season. It is let down by a weak second half, but it’s not as preachy or trite as some faith-based efforts, and unlike similar films, the script employs dialogue befitting the ancient world. Even if it doesn’t match the emotional impact of The Passion, Risen is a worthwhile story that stresses the life-changing significance of the Resurrection.
Best line: (Clavius) “I cannot reconcile all this with the world I know.” (Yeshua) “With your own eyes you’ve seen, yet still you doubt. Imagine the doubt of those who have never seen. That’s what they face.”
(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a ghazal, an Arab poem form of couplets with repeated last lines, into which I tried to incorporate this interesting title.)
They thought they knew what to expect, until they were eleven.
The number of chosen elect jumped from ten to eleven.
This wasn’t the plan; they were told there were ten in the test,
Until it began to unfold, and they counted eleven.
Though tempted to end it because of the unwanted guest,
This crucial attempt at advancing meant all to eleven.
No danger, no drawback would ruin their chance to be best;
Game-changers, they saw, could distinguish the ten or eleven.
The challenge was simple: survive as a team coalesced,
But must the plans alter when ten are progressed to eleven?
___________________
MPAA rating: Not Rated (should be PG, due to a little brief nudity)
In seeking out hidden gems among anime, one need not focus on current releases, since there are plenty of older films worthy of greater recognition. Based on a 1975 manga, They Were Eleven feels very much like a classic, not just classic anime but classic science fiction, the kind of story that feels like an influence on sci-fi to come. Ten finalists of what is basically Starfleet Academy have one final test to gain entrance: a team exercise where they must survive together on a derelict ship for 53 days. The only hitch is that once the random candidates gather on the ship, they discover there’s an eleventh member, and no one knows who the extra is or what their intentions are.
With a plot that recalls Star Trek: The Next Generation and Ender’s Game and may or may not have inspired elements of them, the film does an excellent job balancing its diverse cast. This kind of ensemble in animation is rare, but the varied character designs help to differentiate the cadets on board, who include a king, a cyborg, two alien species, an apparent girl named Frol who insists she’s a man, and a young psychic named Tada, who serves as the main protagonist. All of them have different reasons for wanting to attend the academy, and their personalities often clash as they encounter obstacles, dangers, paranoia, and sabotage.
Except for a few explosive scenes, there’s nothing particularly special about the animation; it’s solid, and serves the story well enough, as does the English dub, which only feels notable because it features Steve Blum and Wendee Lee before they were paired again in the excellent Cowboy Bebop dub. They Were Eleven is a consistently interesting mystery, and while the ending isn’t exactly a big shock, it explores its sci-fi themes with intelligence, particularly Frol’s side plot that manages to both challenge and embrace traditional gender roles. It may not be well-known, but They Were Eleven deserves to be.
(For Day 9 of NaPoWriMo, the prompt suggested a nine-line poem, so I followed a Hungarian poetic form called the Balassi Stanza with a particular rhyme scheme and meter.)
What dark prospect it brings
To think on morbid things
In fantasy or in play.
‘Tis but a bit of fun
To execute someone
In thoughts you’d never obey.
Though violence can and will
Not make its viewers kill,
Were not all black hearts first gray?
_______________
MPAA rating: PG (PG-13 might be better)
Forget Batman v. Superman. With the pairing of Michael Caine and Christopher Reeve, Deathtrap is Alfred v. Superman! Based on Ira Levin’s hit stage thriller that produced this film adaptation at the end of its original four-year run on Broadway, this five-character shocker has enough twists and turns to satisfy any mystery lover.
Caine is the once-great playwright Sidney Bruhl, whom after despairing at his latest flop, complains to his wife Myra (Dyan Cannon) about a young up-and-comer with a killer script for a play called Deathtrap. After commenting half-jokingly that he’s tempted to kill the author and claim Deathtrap as his own, Sidney’s wife is rightfully nervous when he invites the young man (Reeve) into his beautiful, weapon-decorated home for a supposed collaboration and…stuff happens. You didn’t really think I was going to reveal anything, did you? Maybe in the callow early days of this blog but not anymore.
Both Caine and Reeve are excellent here, playing off each other with a gripping unpredictability and a surprising subtext that wasn’t exactly well-received in 1982. Dyan Cannon aids the early uncertainty with her anxiety over Sidney’s intentions, though she goes overboard in one frantic scene and was nominated for a Golden Raspberry accordingly. After the first major plot twist, I didn’t know what to anticipate, and even toward the end, I was half-expecting an even wilder conclusion than what happened.
Deathtrap’s main flaw for me was the ending, not in its substance but in its execution. Like North By Northwest, it jumps wildly from the height of tension to the closing credits within one rushed scene, and the effect is sudden and jarring. (I believe the proper literary term is peripeteia. Put that in your vocabulary and smoke it!) Despite the imperfect final scenes, Deathtrap easily kept me guessing with its unstable characters, clever and menacing dialogue, and self-referential nods to murder tale conventions. Just don’t read about it beforehand!
Best line: (Myra, about the play Deathtrap) “Is it really that good?” (Sidney) “I’ll tell you how good it is. Even a gifted director couldn’t hurt it.”
(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was for a poem that looks at something from different viewpoints, such as how differently children view their grandparents.)
A visit with grandparents can be generous and merry;
Depending on the child, though, reactions often vary.
I.
Eager meeting, cheers of greeting,
Warm embraces, tender faces,
Cookies, pies, and counsel wise,
And cash they share for being there.
The rarity of reprimand
Will make you wish all parents were grand.
II.
Cheeky pinching, optic squinching,
Cling embraces, wrinkled faces,
Jell-O, prunes, and no cartoons,
And elder smells from creams and gels.
You wipe off lipstick with your sleeve
And count the minutes till you leave.
III.
Basements dreary, habits eerie,
Laughs as cackles, rules as shackles;
Attempts at cheer inspire fear,
An aged nightmare to keep you there.
Although dread comes with every visit,
I’m sure it’s nothing to fear, or is it?
_________________
MPAA rating: PG-13
After a string of films that ranged from poor to terrible (The Last Airbender being the absolute worst), M. Night Shyamalan gave his fans hope of a comeback with The Visit, a small but effective found-footage horror for everyone who was ever afraid of their grandparents. (Not me, of course.) Becca (Olivia DeJonge) and her younger brother Tyler (Ed Oxenbould) finally get to meet their grandparents, who reach out to their estranged daughter (Kathryn Hahn) and propose a five-day visit. While Mom is off on a cruise, the kids enjoy quality time with Nana (Deanna Dunagan) and Pop Pop (Peter McRobbie), a week that slowly takes a turn for the weird.
I’ve never been a fan of the shaky-cam found-footage style, except for Lunopolis, but The Visit finds a decent reason for everything to be caught on tape, namely Becca’s attempt to help her mom and grandparents reconcile through her recordings and interviews. Plus, she’s an aspiring filmmaker, and she and her brother apparently enjoy filming everything. At first, they record the quaint pleasures of meeting new family members and good-natured sibling bickering, but soon Pop Pop and especially Nana begin showing signs of bizarre behavior, particularly after dark. The first-person perspective does lend itself to some genuinely creepy moments, from an intense game of tag in the house’s crawlspace to slow reveals as the camera-holder approaches something eerie. In true horror fashion, Shyamalan imbues tension into seemingly ordinary things, like cleaning the oven, and in true Shyamalan fashion, there are clues dropped that don’t make total sense until a certain twist.
The one thing that I can’t quite reconcile is the description of The Visit as a horror comedy. I suppose it’s laughable that the kids and their mother at first blame the grandparents’ abnormalities on just being old, but there’s little here that I would consider funny, unless you’re amused by intense weirdness. In addition, the final explanation for everything has some shock value at first, but how it plays out is rather conventional, detracting from all the buildup. I did admire the fine performances and some subtle themes of forgiveness and letting go of resentment, especially at the end, but, even if it’s a step in the right direction, The Visit is still a far cry from Shyamalan’s early successes.
Best line: (Becca, explaining away a midnight snack) “I can’t sleep. I need Nana’s cookies. I’m gonna turn a personal addiction into a positive cinematic moment.”
Life is hard enough in order,
Each day in succession gone,
Until one day we look behind and see mistakes a plenty,
And all in twenty-twenty.
It might seem harder out of order,
Jumping years to days thought gone,
But might that give our stubborn minds a little new perspective
And make us more reflective?
Our destinies are ours to order,
Rampant chances till they’re gone,
And some forget fulfillment rests on what we each will do.
The question is, will you?
_________________
MPAA rating: PG-13
Since I’m new to this Blindspot series and a notorious procrastinator, of course I waited to the last day of the month to review my first Blindspot pick, but I surely did choose a good one to start with in Shuffle. I have my good friend MovieRob to thank for recommending this time travel puzzler after he became a big fan of independent director Kurt Kuenne. I see why, because Shuffle combines so much of what I love about the time travel genre with a unique and compelling story.
Shuffle is as lean a narrative as I’ve seen, diving right into the tale of a man displaced within his own lifetime with every scene adding something to the plot. From the first moments, Lovell Milo explains to a psychiatrist that every time he falls asleep (which is often), he awakens on a different day in his life, sometimes as an old man, sometimes as a child, or anywhere in between. It takes an exhausting toll on him, and he has no idea why it’s happening, explaining away potential plot holes with the mystery that he “just knows” certain facts about himself, such as his age at every jump in time. While he’s tempted to despair at this seemingly endless headache, different strangers at certain points urge him to “pay attention” because there’s something to learn from all this, and indeed there is.
There are a lot of touchstones or spiritual predecessors one could point to with Shuffle, and they’re a pantheon of great stories. The choppy editing and sudden shifts in place and time might recall Christopher Nolan’s Memento, though Shuffle is much easier to follow and much more rewarding. The theme of redemptive second chances brings to mind A Christmas Carol and It’s a Wonderful Life, and the time travel jumps echo the great sci-fi elements of Quantum Leap, The Time Traveler’s Wife, and the Star Trek: Voyager episode “Before and After,” where Kes periodically lives her life backwards. I also loved the fleeting moments of prayer, where Lovell pleads desperately with God for help, though in a general sense, like how Quantum Leap’s Sam Beckett recognizes that there must be a higher power directing his experiences.
One of the most impressive aspects of Shuffle is how well it was made on what was clearly a small budget. The production values are obviously limited, which is felt on occasion, but it’s often covered quite nicely. A behind-the-scenes featurette revealed that the same living room was used as an all-purpose set for most of the interior scenes, but I couldn’t tell at all. Unlike so many small-budget films, the acting and script are also above average, with special attention to revealing plot points gradually as Lovell learns of them and never getting lost amid the flurry of time leaps. The actors aren’t big-name stars (unless you watch the TV show Bones), but everyone involved provides good performances, even the child actors and especially T. J. Thyne as Lovell.
Again, a big thank-you to Rob for his recommendation; it being an under-the-radar film that had trouble getting noticed before becoming a festival hit, I doubt I’d ever have seen Shuffle otherwise. My VC loved it as well, proving this is a film that deserves far more recognition. There’s a lot to admire about this film, from its structure and subtle foreshadowing to individual emotional scenes that just might put a lump in your throat. Stylistic choices also add visual interest, such as the backlighting that often imparts a luminous quality to certain scenes, and the color brightness changes depending on the timeframe. The director’s cut is apparently all in black-and-white, but I preferred the usage of color, particularly in the final scene.
I’ve read that many people disliked the ending, thinking it veers into overly satisfying territory, but I thought the whole final act was beautiful, a couple creative choices notwithstanding. In its testament of hope, Shuffle still acknowledges that mistakes and heartache can’t always be undone, but how we react to them can make the difference between a life fulfilled and a life wasted.
Best line: (Lovell’s mother, when he’s a grown man) “It seems like just yesterday, he was eight.” (Lovell) “Actually, that was two days ago.”
Each day, I passed an ancient wall,
And, written on its face,
Were symbols of an arcane scrawl
Seen only in that place.
They sometimes gave me déjà vu,
But what they meant nobody knew.
One day, I met a stranger there,
Mysterious and odd,
Who offered me the talent rare
To read the wall’s façade.
I hesitated at the gift,
But curiosity is swift.
Although I can decipher now
The words upon the wall,
I wonder if not knowing how
Would change my life at all.
For knowledge is both curse and grace,
Yet neither one would I erase.
_______________
MPAA rating: PG-13
I went into Arrival expecting a great sci-fi movie, based on all the praise it has received from critics and bloggers alike, but I must admit that it caught me off-guard. After the film ended, I had to sit there in the theater a while to process my thoughts, walked back to my car, and broke down crying. It’s hard for me to determine why this movie more than similar ones had such an effect on me, but that’s proof to me that it is indeed one of the best films of 2016.
I’ve seen Arrival compared more favorably to Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar, and while I recognize some thematic similarities, it improved upon a different alien film I disliked, Robert Zemeckis’s Contact. I was irritated by how Contact constantly pitted faith and science against each other, but in Arrival’s case, language and science collaborate instead in the persons of linguist Louise Banks (Amy Adams) and physicist Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner). While the idea of pairing Lois Lane and Hawkeye in the same movie has appeal in itself, both actors display utter commitment to their respective fields as their characters are recruited to attempt communication with alien visitors that have (almost) landed twelve lenticular ships at various spots around the globe. Before we even see the extraterrestrials, there’s an epic wonder to their inexplicable arrival, facilitated by momentous cinematography and a striking gravitational doorway.
What Louise and Ian find when they encounter the tentacled aliens is a linguistic challenge that seems unconquerable to most, a written language that is circular with a conceptual density lacking letters, syllables, or anything recognizable. With frazzled militaries urging them to find out the aliens’ purpose, the two experts attempt to unravel this strange form of communication, sparking some deep questions along the way. Even beyond the stated debates, like whether immersing oneself in another language changes how one thinks, I was struck by how much we take language for granted. If I were confronted by someone without any relatable language skills, I don’t know how I would explain the basics, much less abstract concepts I can’t point to and call a name. I can’t say Arrival provided any practical pointers if I were in that position, but it’s fascinating in a logical, over-my-head sort of way.
There’s also the natural distrust of a human race exposed to far more War of the Worlds than E.T.s, and further themes of how one wrongly understood word can ruin a tentative peace. It was hard for me to understand some people’s panic, since the aliens’ giant watermelon-seed ships show no signs of hostility, but I suppose we have Independence Day to thank for whatever paranoia would come from such a situation. Plus, there’s the added tension of other nations reacting in more belligerent ways and the potential fallout of humanity’s own lack of unity.
Thus, Arrival clearly has the intellectual side of science fiction down, but as the translation attempts wore on, I was hoping something more would come. I was not disappointed. For the first half, it was basically what I expected based on the trailers, yet there comes a moment past the half-way point that something becomes clear and lands a gut punch to both the intellect and emotions. The ramifications of a certain decision are laced with value and regret, and I found the results to be a profoundly pro-life sentiment, in sharp contrast to the pro-death sympathy of the film I last reviewed, Me Before You. At the time, I felt that Arrival was holding back a bit on the emotion, similar to The Wind Rises; if certain scenes and themes were pressed further, I would have been a blubbering mess right then and there. But instead, the filmmakers present what they want to, and the web of sci-fi ideas and emotional threads were left for me to unravel, with tearful results.
I’ve often said that Grave of the Fireflies is the only film that can still make me cry, but that’s not altogether true. It may make me cry the hardest, but what do other past personal tearjerkers like Somewhere in Time, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Inside Out, and now Arrival have in common? For me, it seems to be the complex merging of sorrow and joy, events that may end sadly but are not without a worthwhile silver lining. At its heart, Arrival endowed me with an intense and unexpected bittersweetness. Even if its immediate resolutions seem to be wrapped up a bit too easily, its long-term story and life-affirming subtext made it a very special experience for me.
Best line: It would be a spoiler to include the best quote, but it’s one of Louise’s final lines.
Do you value your life,
All you have, all you know?
And for what would you trade it,
I wonder?
Could you ever decide
To what lengths you would go?
Would you grieve when you’d paid it,
I wonder?
I would never regret,
Says the fool, feeling smart,
To confirm his conviction
Till later.
But regrets always come
When we think with our heart.
‘Tis our own contradiction
And traitor.
___________________
MPAA rating: All not rated (should be PG-13)
Don’t judge a book by its cover, or in this case, a show by its genre. I would think most people even mildly familiar with anime have heard of magical girl shows like Sailor Moon or Cardcaptors, where a group of girls typically gain powers from some adorable talking creature and become cutesy superheroines. Not to dis those shows, but it’s the kind of formula that works well for kids yet becomes insufferable to outsiders and even older former fans, like me. Yet about six years ago, Puella Magi Madoka Magica (that’s Latin, by the way, not Japanese) revolutionized the genre under the mature eye of writer Gen Urobuchi. In American terms, that’s like Christopher Nolan directing a Barbie movie and making it awesome.
Since I’ve been reviewing only films up to this point, I’ll point out that Puella Magi Madoka Magica (I’ll just call it Madoka Magica to save time) isn’t just a TV show; it had a film follow-up subtitled Rebellion, and before that was released, the 12-episode series was edited and retooled as two theatrical films, the first called Beginnings, the second Eternal. Thus, that makes Madoka Magica eligible for my top movie list and well worth reviewing, since it happens to be my third favorite anime series, after Cowboy Bebop and Steins;Gate.
The odd thing about Madoka Magica is that it was marketed like any number of similar shows, light and innocent, and since it was original and not based on a manga, viewers had no idea what to expect. The opening credits are overly bright and cheery and the first couple episodes are nothing out of the ordinary, with the typical banter and buoyancy of color-coordinated middle-school girls, but don’t let that fool you. This series goes to some very dark and very emotional places, and it confirms the unwritten rule of watching at least three episodes of a given series before you write it off.
After school one day, Madoka (the one with pink hair) and Sayaka (blue hair) are rescued from a dangerous witch by upperclassman Mami Tomoe (yellow hair), who became a magical girl by making a deal with the talking animal-thing Kyubey: magical powers and the duty of battling witches in exchange for a single wish. At first, they’re awed by the potential of such a pact, but neither can bring themselves to trade away their old lives. Meanwhile, a black-haired new student and magical girl named Homura seems to have a mysterious mission to keep Madoka from accepting Kyubey’s deal at all costs. The story may threaten to lose your interest at first, but then comes a moment in the third episode that changes the entire tone of the show, a scene so sudden and shocking that it has burned itself into my memory, even though I knew about it beforehand. From there, the story spirals into tragedy, heartache, and themes far deeper than one would expect going in.
The characters are still young and naïve, and they buckle under the weight of the hard, regrettable choices placed upon them. They expect frilly costumes and to help people, and while there’s some of that, before long they must deal with disillusionment, death, lies, time travel, and the laws of thermodynamics. (Told you this wasn’t a typical magical girl show.) The catalyst for all this is Kyubey, who seems like a cute sidekick at first but holds much darker intentions with his Faustian contract. Even with his passive demeanor, high-pitched voice, and blank stare that gets creepier with time, he’s such a manipulative, logical little bugger that, by the end, I hated the very sight of him. He’s also essentially unkillable, but it was satisfying whenever anyone tried. Homura’s story in particular overshadows everyone else’s, and while she’s a mystery for most of the series, her backstory is remarkably compelling.
Like the story, the art style is also distinctive and layered with atmosphere. The animation of the real world is evocative on its own, often setting the mood with stylized angles and amber-tinged sunsets, and the character’s eyes have a unique sketched quality to them. Things get bizarre, though, whenever a witch appears in its labyrinth, not as a pointy-hatted antagonist but as a collage of stop-motion cutouts that go deep into surreal territory. The combination of the traditional animation with this dreamlike setting is often nightmarish and complements the story’s descent into misfortune, while certain scenes in silhouette are both beautiful and disturbing, incorporating artistic details evoking similar themes to Faust and The Little Mermaid. The action scenes are also very well-done, often with spectacular explosions. Boy, this series has everything.
I feel like I’ve been reviewing Madoka Magica the show rather than the movies, but the first two films basically are the series, with the first eight episodes making up Beginnings and the final four forming Eternal. They actually translate quite well, skipping over some of the awkward moments at the beginning and keeping only what’s necessary to the story, while retaining important character moments, like Madoka’s insightful conversation with her mother. Eternal has one extra battle scene and some revised animation but unfortunately includes some cutesy montages that feel out of place since the story’s tone had already changed drastically from the beginning. However, it does follow the same plot to the same heart-tugging finale. The series is full of tragic events that make me want to tear up just seeing the characters, but despite some overwrought execution of the cosmic twist at the end, the conclusion is sublimely bittersweet.
And then… they had to ruin it with a third movie. Rebellion may be more cinematic than the first two, but it’s nowhere near as successful. It tries to replicate the bait-and-switch of the series, with a lighthearted beginning that gets darker as it goes, but it does so by presenting an alternate version of events with an explanation far too long in coming. I suppose it’s a little satisfying to see the characters in the carefree life they thought they’d have as magical girls, but it indulges for too long. Sure, the plot eventually makes sense, but it’s not good when even those familiar with the story are utterly confused for over a half hour.
It’s not all bad. Once the plot deepens, it gets more absorbing, and the eventual reveal of the mystery reconfirms Kyubey as the most hateful cat-bunny-thing imaginable. There’s also an epic gun battle between two popular characters that is jaw-droppingly awesome and may be the action high point of the series. If only the rest of the story could live up to it. One side character has little reason for existing; the surreal visuals are the rule rather than the exception now, as if the filmmakers took turns animating their most unsettling drug trips; and the final twist took Homura’s obsession with Madoka in a wholly unsatisfying direction. And then it ends, with a brand new conflict introduced and no resolution. No! There’s talk of a fourth film in development, and while that may improve things if they can end it right, it doesn’t make the disappointment of Rebellion any better right now. Sequel-makers constantly ignore this demand, but don’t continue a series unless you can end it just as well as it already had!
The final movie aside, Puella Magi Madoka Magica is a brilliant and memorable series, well-written, poignant, and impressively visualized. The music is haunting, the animation arresting, and the character motivations powerfully nuanced yet pitiful and open to interpretation. It’s the kind of psychological story that leaves me with a persistent melancholy long after it’s over. I’m including a fan-made music video down at the bottom (set to one of my favorite Florence and the Machine songs) that might give you an idea of its peculiar power. For anyone still reading this who may be hesitant to check out a magical girl series, I can only say one thing: Don’t judge a book by its cover. You’ll be glad you didn’t.
Best line: (Kyubey, the loathsome, logical little scumball) “Why is it that when humans regret a decision they made based on their own misunderstanding, they feel resentment toward the other party?”
Tied with his punch-worthy “If you ever feel like dying for the universe, call me. I’ll be waiting.”
Rank for Beginnings and Eternal: List-Worthy
Rank for Rebellion: Dishonorable Mention
Relax, I can calm all your eavesdropping fears;
Don’t worry; we’re shielded from unwelcome ears.
I’ve turned off my phone, which I’ve hid in my lawn,
So it’s muffled in case it’s remotely turned on.
I’ve checked every lampshade and drawer that I’ve got
And crushed every bug, whether living or not.
I’ve emptied the bookcases, checked every crack,
And covered the windows with tarps painted black.
I’ve wrapped my computer and cameras in wool,
So no one can use them to get an earful.
And while I apologize for all the noise,
It’s safest to speak while I blast Beastie Boys.
So now we can talk, privately and secure.
And yet, in this world, can we ever be sure?
_______________________
MPAA rating: PG
Francis Ford Coppola had a good year in 1974, where both The Conversation and The Godfather Part II were nominated for Best Picture, the latter winning, of course. Both have solid critical acclaim, but it’s easy for The Conversation to be overshadowed by its more epic cousin. It’s a slow-moving thriller very different from Coppola’s other films, hanging predominately on Gene Hackman in the lead role of Harry Caul, a surveillance expert who believes he’s overheard evidence of a potential murder yet to happen.
Hackman is always excellent, and while I can’t say it’s one of his most memorable performances, he makes the mustached Caul sympathetic with his intensely private, loner lifestyle and his guilt over a past job gone wrong. Next to him are early appearances by Cindy Williams, John Cazale (Fredo in The Godfatherfilms), and even Harrison Ford, but the other star of the film is the surveillance equipment Caul employs. In our current world of advanced electronics, The Conversation feels significant if only to capture the methods and technology of the surveillance profession decades ago, such as the huge reel tape machine that Caul uses to listen to the same enigmatic sentences over and over throughout the film. While most of it seems antiquated, I was actually surprised by one gadget that could remotely turn a telephone into a listening device, and those were old-fashioned corded phones!
All that being said, The Conversation is a thriller of a different style than we’re used to nowadays with constant car chases and explosions. It’s slow and meant to be slow, relying on suggestion and paranoia that doesn’t always keep it interesting. That does change toward the end, as the truth of the conversation comes to light, especially with a memorable scene involving a toilet. After the masterfully enacted twist, though, it’s as if the film doesn’t know how to end. The final scene boasts some powerful paranoia (enough even to overwhelm Caul’s religious devotion), but it’s not what I consider an ending. Perhaps it would have benefited from a little less ambiguity toward a climactic irony, which I only learned of while reading about the film afterward.
The Conversation may not be my cup of tea, as far as thrillers go, but it’s an anxiously plausible and well-made meditation on privacy or the lack thereof and a reminder that the meaning of a conversation can hinge on the stress of a single word.
Best line: (Caul) “I’m not afraid of death, but I am afraid of murder.”
The world was collapsing
With panic forecast
And death in the news everyday,
Yet we were persuaded
That one short sleep passed
Would sweep the dark future away.
We woke to a nightmare
More dire than the last,
Confronted and hunted and trapped.
We slept to thwart death,
Which would not be outclassed
By sleepers with secrets untapped.
________________
MPAA rating: Not Rated (should be R)
One movie-watching emotion that I especially love and rarely get the chance to experience is the feeling of having my mind blown. The best example I can point to for that would be Inception, and to a lesser extent The Prestige, both Christopher Nolan features with unspoiled twists and a provocative narrative boldness. All too often the twist is either spoiled for me (Predestination, The Sixth Sense) or it’s not all that surprising (The Usual Suspects, Interstellar), so when a film provides me with that rare blend of shock and wonder, I treasure it. King of Thorn did just that.
I had heard that this anime film was a combination of Inception, Aliens, and Lost, and…that’s exactly what it is, with a little Matrix and Akira thrown in for good measure. In the first scene, we see a woman commit suicide by jumping off a building, but when she lands, her body shatters, revealing the effects of a new fatal disease dubbed the Medusa virus. This plague that turns humans to stone quickly becomes a worldwide pandemic; in response, the Venus Gate organization selects 160 infected individuals to be put into a Cold Sleep until a cure can be found. When the diverse group is awakened from stasis, surrounded by thorny vines, a horde of monsters attacks them, thinning the herd (not unlike the plane crash at the beginning of Lost) in a scene sure to make you even more afraid of falling down an elevator shaft. Only seven survive, including timid Kasumi, who had to leave her twin sister behind and now must survive with the others and escape from this nightmare.
Now the typical viewer might think that they slept in stasis for hundreds of years to awaken in a post-apocalyptic future, and that’s actually exactly what the characters assume at first. But let’s just say there’s more to it, a lot more. Almost every character has a secret or a past trauma, and the plot twists just keep coming. Like Lost, the film even teases suggestions of what is really going on. Is all of this a dream? Did Kasumi and her sister somehow switch places? There’s no way I’m going to spoil it, though, and I guarantee you that you’ll be kept guessing right up to the last ten minutes.
Because King of Thorn is so packed with plot, from repeated flashbacks that slowly reveal more to overly explanatory references to Sleeping Beauty, it’s not surprising that not everything gets a resolution. Some plot points are dropped without a second glance, and the ending doesn’t even try to address a major uncertainty. Plus, even if I think I understand how everything came about, I’m not sure I get why it all happened the way it did, perhaps due to the significant omissions from the manga the film is based upon (which everyone who’s read it seems to agree is better than the film). Yet the fast-paced action and thought-provoking narrative made up for these faults. If you’re one of those people who hated all the loose threads in Lost, King of Thorn will leave you equally perplexed; but I for one didn’t mind at all, and I know quite a few friends and fellow bloggers who would find this film fascinating. I’ve already introduced it to a friend of mine, and he loved it.
On the down side, it’s a film worthy of an R rating, with gruesome killings and a little nudity toward the end. Yet, the gore was far from constant, and like Aliens, it’s the kind of violence one can easily see coming and just turn away from at the right moment. At least, that’s what I did. As for the question of whether to see the subtitled or dubbed version, both have their strengths. The English dub features accents that make it clear that the survivors are from around the world (British, Italian, American, Australian), but it also has the foul language one would expect from an R-rated horror thriller. If you care about avoiding profanity, the original subtitles have far less.
Despite the few negatives, King of Thorn is an exceptional sci-fi thriller that played with my mind in the best way and even managed to touch the heart. The cast of characters are all unique and sympathetic as their back stories are clarified, and the music adds to an epic sense of mystery, especially in the early scenes. (The song “Edge of This World” also earns entrance to the End Credits Song Hall of Fame.) The animation beautifully brought to life both the thrilling and the grotesque, and even if some might complain about the occasional merging of 2D and 3D animation in the action scenes, I didn’t find it distracting. In the days since I first saw it, King of Thorn has only risen in my estimation, and while it might further mess up my original Top Twelve Anime List, I think I’ve got another favorite to add.
Best line: (Marco) “Even if you’re overcome by unspeakable loneliness, endure it and encourage someone who can follow where you left off.”
(Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to draw inspiration from a fortune cookie. The best fortune I’ve seen was, “Sorry, wrong cookie.” Instead, though, I chose my movie and poem based on one that said, “Don’t expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational!”.)
That woman they just hired
Makes me wish I could get fired,
And what’s worse she has authority to do it.
Whatever hospital conferred her
On this world so ripe for murder,
I’ve a mind to find the big behind and sue it.
Her sarcasm is offending,
And she’s always condescending
And expects me to stay silent as a mime.
She’s an ever-present itch;
Her heart and soul are black as pitch;
And she’s other unattractive words that rhyme.
She’s conceited; she’s annoying,
And I know that she’s enjoying
Every day that brings me close to suicide.
But to see if I can win her,
I’ll be taking her to dinner
In the hopes that I can put all that aside.
__________________
MPAA rating: PG-13
I don’t have much experience with Woody Allen’s films. I’ve only seen Midnight in Paris, which I rather liked, and Hannah and Her Sisters, which I really don’t remember, but those whose opinions I trust often write him off as a sex-obsessed dirty old man. Of course, even sex-obsessed dirty old men can make good movies, and The Curse of the Jade Scorpion is a good example.
Allen plays C.W., a 1940s investigator for an insurance company who butts heads with the new efficiency expert Betty Ann (Helen Hunt), secretly in the middle of an affair with their boss (Dan Aykroyd). The two of them have a textbook case of anti-chemistry: everything about each of them gets under the other’s skin, and they both revel in colorful insults and behind-the-back complaints. Their coworkers love the irony when C.W. and Betty Ann are hypnotized by a magician into believing they are in love, but when that same magician (David Ogden Stiers) uses their trances to turn them into thieves, how can anyone discover the truth?
Allen himself considers this one of his worst films, but except for one key aspect, I can’t see why. The insults and innuendo are sharp and clever without ever crossing the line into distasteful, and the mystery is consistently amusing. The one less-than-ideal element is Allen as the lead, with which the director was himself dissatisfied. A younger and more appealing actor as C.W. would have been more likable and would have made the development of C.W. and Betty Ann’s relationship a bit more believable.
Toward the end, the film threatens to go in a manipulative direction, but rights itself with romantic aplomb, showing that Allen knew what he was doing as the screenwriter. As it is, The Curse of the Jade Scorpion still succeeds on the strength of its dialogue and warmly nostalgic period setting, but I’d love to have seen Tom Hanks in the lead. (A Cast Awayreunion with Hunt! I can see it.)
Best line: (C.W.) “The house is messy. If I knew you were coming, I’d have rearranged the dirt.”
Other best line: (Laura Kensington, a socialite) “You have a fresh mouth. I don’t think I like it.” (C.W.) “I tend to grow on people. We could meet later, and I could grow on you.”
Rhyme and Reason 