JC

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4

I remember what Rob Zacny said about the Clone Wars and it’s anachronic order on A More Civilized Age. How it was Arthurian, eternal and forever. Adventure Time has become much the same. Finn is dead. Finn is reincarnating. Finn is adventuring. Finn had adventured. He will always be adventuring. He’s 12. He’s 17. He’s a man. He’s all of these things, whenever the story needs him to be. It’s not about the chronology anymore. It’s about what what the storytellers need, what they can express by choosing what point in time they want to tell the story in.

Despite this episode featuring Finn so heavily, it’s never been more clear that Adventure Time is more than Finn and Jake. Finn’s made it to a archetypal status, in the midst of his adventures taking place in the unlimited story potential between Come Along With Me and Together Again, like the legendary checkpoints in Arthur’s legend like the pulling of the sword or his final rest. He’s here as a shorthand to convey the passage of time and facilitate the journey of the center of this story, Simon.

In much the same way, even Marceline and Bubblegum, my favorite characters in the AT canon, fill this role. They’re in love, moving forward, luxuriating in each other after Obsidian, and I was grinning the whole time even as it made Simon ruminate on his loneliness and standstill. Their stories have been told, at least for now, until the storyteller finds use of them again. Simon is the vehicle now.

Adventure Time has grown so much from its beginnings as Pendleton Ward’s impulsive and wild adventure of the week silly hijinks. Nowadays he’s a consultant at best, mostly lending his voice to LSP and letting Muto and the rest run free. What must Adventure Time mean to them, after so long with it, after ending after ending it keeps coming back? Simon as a tool for that works much more for me than Fionna’s ennui, at least so far. AT was Muto’s first project at 28- over a decade later, in his 40s, here he still is. I imagine it’s much the same for the rest of the returning crew. Do you still have a place in something that was so well known for being unrestrained, wildly ambitious, fresh, and wild? Do you want to? Do you miss it, even amongst the resentment towards it being all you’re known for?

It’s a very thoughtful and intriguing plot line, and these first two episodes set a framework that, despite my initial hesitation towards this miniseries, has undeniably drawn me in.

Look. You cannot judge a movie for what you want it to be. You have to take it as it is, and examine how well it achieves what it wanted. Strays does exactly what it sets out to do. I wasn’t rolling with laughter, but it got the occasional chuckle. It was pleasant.

Jamie Foxx has that Jamie Foxx charisma to the extent that yes, I was a little emotionally affected by this movie. Not even tearing up levels, by any stretch, but it was something! Forte elevates rote material to something entertaining while being a detestable scumbag. Everyone in the cast showed up to do what they were paid for. Like, is it a little copaganda? Sure, but what? Am I gonna dock points off of fucking Strays for that? Is Strays the biggest thing reinforcing the police? Could Strays have been what toppled it all if they only had balls as big as their big ball dog? It’s fucking Strays! You get exactly what you expect and exactly what they set out to do.

And that’s why it gets the same rating Barbie did from me, a movie that set out to do so many ambitious things and achieved very little. I guess that evens out the end? You can’t really put my ratings on an equivalent scale like that but it was a very funny realization

Barbarian is a very well crafted film that mostly rises above the current crop of 'male feminist allies letting everyone know they get it' horror in the vein of Alex Garland's Men by taking a more incisive and damning approach highlighting not primal male nature but choice and self delusion and gratification. Justin Long's AJ is just top notch detestable in all too human and real ways, almost a deconstruction of the Bojack Horseman archetype (coming from someone who loved that show). No amount of heartfelt monologues and self loathing and declarations of change will actually get him to change, it'll just affect how he spins the story into not being his fault. And the line drawn between that and the movie's more conventional, monstrous, and 'standard' villain behind it all is brutal. It makes no illusions about how they're of the same kind behind the words, how rarely they face consequences, the trauma and destruction they leave in their wake.

The focus given to this does mean that sadly Tessa's arc doesn't fully stick the landing as well. A shame, cause Campbell is excellent at getting to root for her. Tessa is not a stereotype in either direction, either as the helpless waif or the badass who turns the table on the monster. She's a woman who makes the difficult choice to leave a bad relationship and try to change things for the better, who is understandably suspicious of her accidental 'roommate' but also can't help but be giddy when they start to connect. Campbell portrays all these complexities with a vulnerability that is impossible to look away from, and she shines in the first act.

In particular, I love how she acts like a real person would: with a mix of smart decisions and panicked ones. She comes up with smart ideas, like illuminating dark tunnels before going in, but in her terror she forgets things, or her heart sends her back to help. It's not a rebuke of horror movie cliches so much as a fond engagement with them, especially when it's contrasted with AJ's nonstop stupid choices motivated by desperate greed and petulance. It goes to show that character driven actions are the key, and that 'cliche' doesn't equal 'bad' if you have a knowing point with it. But it's also when AJ enters that Tessa's story falls off a bit.

It becomes less about her and more about contrasting her to the men. The climax doesn't really tie into where she started- leaving a toxic and maybe even emotionally abusive relationship- so much as having what AJ lacks: empathy. Empathy is what allows her to face the tragic monster on its own terms, in a kill that's as much a mercy as it is for her own escape. But it leaves her story lacking a certain finish that could've really elevated her character.

But again, they nail what they're going for with AJ. And for a movie that's often in the dark, it's never ineligible. The dark conceals just enough to keep the suspense going, and provide glimpses of the oncoming danger far more effective than any jump scare. The film's general avoidance of them really keeps the suspense up, avoiding the pressure valve release they bring for much more fun ones like some delightful cuts and Justin Long's great expressions and delivery. While not without some flaws, Barbarian is a great film well worth the watch and more than worthy of fitting into anyone's October.

Primal is an apt title. The show depicts primal violence, primal rage, primal grief. But what I was most surprised by was its display of primal empathy. Yes, the show is gorgeously and lavishly animated. There are shots that will take your breath away, and it knows when to rev up the engine and when to slow down and luxuriate in the stillness and beauty of the environment, much like Samurai Jack before it. Yes, it is a brutal and gory show- every hit has impact, and the fifth episode is bloody enough to make Mortal Kombat blush.

But the core theme running through the show is empathy. The animation pays just as much attention to the eyes as they do the action sequences, knowing that in a show without words, eyes are truly windows to the soul. A perfectly placed soft smile will melt your heart. And each episode returns to that theme of empathy. It'd be an easy excuse in a prehistoric story to say that at our primal core, humanity are monsters. But we're not- we're animals. Animals can be brutal, violent, ruthless. But they think and feel as well, and it is empathy that is the main characters' biggest strength.

It is empathy that leads them to bond and grieve together. It is empathy that leads Spear, the neanderthal, to help a pack of starving humans without second thought. It is empathy that diffuses a situation with woolly mammoths who did not want vengeance but simply the opportunity to mourn and honor their fallen. Spear and Fang the dinosaur's bond is what gives them strength, and the interconnectedness of life is reinforced even in its antagonists, whether in comparison like a group of bats and a spider working together to feed or in contrast like the group of apes that brutalize each other for the chance of brutalizing strong foes for glory. The protagonists even defeat the bats by leading them into the territory of a separate pack of beasts. Nothing is truly alone. The companionship of Spear and Fang is what sets them apart and strengthens them. Empathy is what keeps them alive. And it is that heart that elevates Primal from being not only something nice to look at, but an engaging work of art.

Much more geniune and resonant than Spielberg’s version, this film while not without flaws still soars where it needs to. All the cast kill it, but God, Danielle Brooks is a star. Charismatic, heartbreaking, endlessly entertaining. She steals every scene, and this better net her at least nominations and a ton more roles. She’s been killing it since she made Orange is the New Black watchable. Barrino, Henson, Domingo, they all shine too. The choreography is so lively and earnest, and the colors all pop, so it’s as much a treat for the eyes as the ears. The songs hit where they need to and when everything works in tune, it really pulls the heartstrings.

Where it falters is the relationship between Celie and Shug. Certainly an improvement over the original, it still feels a bit overly cautious in places. Still afraid to show overt sexuality, and oddly afraid to show any edges. It sands out the relationship, removing the conflict and break up fight that made Celie, and I’m Here, even more powerful. It removes a layer of depth and specificity to the show stealing number, and it’s a shame.

That aside, it’s still a powerful, rousing, and emotional film worth the watch. It pulled a good amount of tears from me, and stirred the soul.

The Wicker Man's influence cannot be denied. Its fingerprints lie in countless movies after. And yet, unlike the last movie I watched, Blade Runner, its values lay far deeper than merely the foundation for others to build upon. This is a film that holds up incredibly well, in every respect. Concise and tightly plotted, it does all it sets out to accomplish. The music is surreal, innocent with a killer edge. The ensemble cast perfectly unwavering, innocent and offputting all at once. The cinematography presents this world bluntly, without shame, only heightening its unsettling nature. All of these come together to create an atmosphere forever suspenseful, forever building, until it reaches the fever pitch of the climax. You feel the fear and unease of the protagonist in every moment as if you were there yourself. The final scene sends chills down my spine.

Particular attention must be given to Edward Woodward as Neil Howie and Christopher Lee as Lord Summerisle, of course. Perfect foils, they both make use of every second they're on screen. Woodward bleeds passion and conviction, especially in the ending. He is the perfect audience surrogate, surveying the setting with the same suspicion and discomfort, trying to piece it all together as we are. Where Woodward burns, Lee simmers, a quiet confidence but no less certain. That certainty of both Lee and the rest of the ensemble produces the unsettling effect of Howie almost feeling like the fanatic, especially as he becomes more and more determined and disdainful of them all. Is it only the fact that others share them that makes our beliefs feel so obvious, so natural? If we were dropped into a world were everyone around us believes so completely something radically different, would we feel as lost, as under siege, as doomed?

The Wicker Man has been oft duplicated, with works like Midsommar putting their own unique spin on similar premises, but it has never been replaced. It still burns bright today, forever reborn through its influences. As both a piece of film culture and as a standalone work, it can't be missed.

Something that’s been subtly core to Bob’s Burgers from the start and has truly started to bloom in later seasons is child autonomy. Not the comedic rebellion of Bart Simpson, though it started off that way, but something deeper. The previous season ended with Louise’s fear of powerlessness, of being dismissed just because of being a girl, and this episode follows up on that but with the tint of being a child. It isn’t easy having someone bigger than you telling you what to do all the time, especially when they don’t hear you out or give you reasons that are just ‘because I say so’. We don’t acknowledge how demeaning and frustrating that is- say children are a lower class of citizen and it’s a nonstarter despite that functionally being the case. It’s not that Bob’s Burgers says that. But what it does say is still quietly revolutionary in saying that Louise has a point, that she’s not just a bratty kid who needs to obey, obey, obey. She’s a person.

And Linda is too. It’s a generational cycle, her being unable to buck the pressures of her own mother. What solves the conflict is stepping outside of the traditional, rigid boundaries of what the parent and the child are ‘supposed’ to be- the child as property of the parent, and thus something to enforce the parent’s will on- and instead talking it out as people. It’s finding a compromise and rewarding the kids for their work. It’s hearing them. It’s a rebuttal to one of the most common criticisms of Bob’s Burgers’s later years- why do they let the kids ‘get away’ with so much, talk to them like that, etc.

It’s because Bob’s Burgers is the opposite of that saying- ‘I am not your friend, I am your parent’. Bob and Linda are their parents AND their friend, and what makes this show stand out is the fact they treat them this way. And Linda’s and Louise’s friendship has been hard won. They started off distant not because they had nothing in common but because they had so much in common. Confident, crafty, loud, headstrong. They didn’t know how to coexist, and after 14 seasons of groundwork we got a finale and a premiere back to back that shows that once they understand each other they have a deep connection brought by those similarities. It’s a joy seeing this relationship blossom. This is how the Belchers’ do it. You can criticize it, but you ain’t in it, and they ain’t changing.

On top of that, the episode is very funny and the animation has kept its bump since the movie. I may be alone in this opinion, but I truly think Bob’s Burgers might never have been better than it is right now, still stirring emotions in me, pushing its animation, and going deep on what it truly has to say about family all while remaining deft and light all these years in. Here’s to many more.

The previous new FLCLs weren’t great, but they tried. While not really innovating on the coming of age story, they at least tried to put a new spin on it with protagonists of different genders and ages than Naota. And they were at least in 2D animation that was never less than pleasant at the very least. With ugly CGI animation and a protagonist that emulates Naota right down to the phallic forehead and the old erection jokes that implies, you’re down to only two reasons to watch this: The Pillows’s electric music and Wahlgren as Haruko having as much fun as she did over two decades ago.

The attempts at kinetic, impulsive, stream of conciousnes gags and energy already felt artificial in Alternative and Progessive by virtue of being sequels made a decade or so after the fact. They were clear replications, often obligatory, not natural and wild like the original. In fact, Alternative fared best for how it did it the least, trying for its own, almost slice of life tone. Grunge’s attempts aren’t obligatory. They’re worse; they’re desperate. They want to be the original so bad, they want you to like it so bad, and it falls on its face, constrained by a CGI prison all too clunky and weighted to come anywhere near the freedom it wants.

It’s not that 3D animation is inherently bad, far from it. An easy comparison for something that’s practically bursting at the seams with creativity, where visually the sky is the limit, is Spiderverse, but nobody could expect that level on a TV budget. I haven’t seen Trigun Stampede or the new Lupin, but I hear they manage alright, and they certainly look more polished and inspired. Grunge looks amateurish, from a CGI studio that’s done nothing major until now and it shows. Every attempt at spontaneity feels constrained and lifeless, every over the top joke forced and breathless.

I don’t know how far Wahlgren and the Pillows can take this, quite honestly, but I’ll give it my best shot to see this through