JC

VIP

4

Poor Things is very pretty, I’ll give it that much. Colors pop, and the watercolor, blurry sky and the scaling but condensed environments of Lisbon and Alexandria both convey the miasma of Bella’s mind quite well. How the background blurs in our young memories and how we remember all the buildings and places that looked large over us but so rarely the walks to them. Those work for me. So much of the rest of the film doesn’t.

I see what it’s going for- it’s hard not to. A journey of womanhood through the conceit of a child’s brain in a woman’s body, when women are treated as children and property to begin with. But it’s so fucking weird, with that conceit, to devote so much time to sex. Sex is an important part of being human for many people, I’m not denying that. But the attention it gets here throughout compared to brief, paltry scenes of Bella reading, seeking knowledge, having an interest in medical science and surgery is disproportional. Especially when the film wants to play her coming home and following in Godwin’s footstep as a culmination of her journey when it’s a facet of the film that barely gets any play in comparison. Angelica Jade Bastien, whose Variety review you should all read, brings up how in a film ostensibly about a cis woman and her relationship with her body menstruation does not come up once. It’s so telling where the film’s true focus lies.

And yes, sex can be beautiful, and conversely so can sex scenes. But the ones here are done dispassionately yet voyueristically. There’s no interiority, no sensuality, no sense of emotion and character felt through them. Compared to films like The Handmaiden they are sterile in heart if not content. It’s a big swing to go from black and white to color, and I can see sex being the impetus for it, sure, but when it’s done like this I don’t buy it. It’s interesting to me that her first time having sex is portrayed like this, with penetration until the man comes, thrice over, and yet her first time with cunnilingus is off screen. I feel like all the sex in this film is similarly narrow and lifeless.

None of what this film is trying to say is new, but much of it is muddled. It wants to rail against the entitlement of men, how they see women as property, how they want them to be exciting and adventurous but only in service of them. And yet it gives Max no grief at all for falling in love with. A child. Literal child, this is not a metaphor, it’s a child’s brain. And marrying her but refusing to have sex with her until marriage because that would be taking advantage, as if marriage would not be taking advantage and has not been used as the ultimate control. On some level the film condemns this, but only in the opposite direction, as part of Emily leaving Max is her frustration over not having sex. It’s baffling that the film seems to take the viewpoint that we ought to let children consent to sex with adults, that it is part of their development and journey to personhood. The film is similarly forgiving to Godwin, who used a woman’s body in a way she would very likely not have consented to all while the film extols a woman’s choice and ownership of her body.

Everything the film has to say about the nature of man and people, about women’s place in society, about sex work, etc, is rote. Nothing here is new, and nothing is heightened by the core conceit. It’s so surface level. And the cast is game enough. Dafoe is Dafoe and that’s always a good time, but I wouldn’t call this one of his greatest roles. Carmichael, much as I love his standup, just is not working here. Stone and Ruffalo are acting for the back seats, and while that has its moments of charm, it’s too much for most of the runtime. And Stone is just. She’s playing into ableist stereotypes for so much of this performance. The film drops the r slur and we’re just gonna pretend that Stone isn’t doing an insulting caricature at the same time? I don’t even want to delve into all the questions raised by the mental disability angle, others could do that better than me, but it’s another level of thoughtlessness and surface level depth.

The score is similarly cloying and overbearing. It insists on a scene rather than being a part of it. It doesn’t enhance it or complement it, it beats you over the head with how the scene is meant to make you feel. I could enjoy the sound of it in isolation, but as a score it’s distracting more than anything else. It’s a bit surprising to me how much this film has been praised as outside of the production design, I don’t see it. I just don’t. For me, this is as much a misfire as Barbie, if not more. Poor things.

Nope is a movie of two equally great but disparate halves. The first is a harrowing examination of what we do when faced with ‘bad miracles’. Keke Palmer’s effortlessly charming Em wants to get hers, get the fame and money and recognition she and her family have fought for by explaining the terrible unknown. Perea’s Angel just doesn’t want to be left out of something this big. Steven Yuen’s Jupe is haunted by one from his past and looks to wrangle a new one as a way to understand and come to terms with it, give it meaning, And Daniel Kaluuya’s OJ does what black people have always had to do; weather the storm, stare it down, and know when to Nope the fuck out. This first half sets up that while Get Out reckoned with the horrors of the past that reverberate, and Us dealt with the monsters within us, especially the ones that don’t look like we expect, Nope will tackle the horrifically miraculous. The one in a million, can’t be explained but must be lived through natural tragedies.

The second half is a thrilling spectacle, a homage to both classic Spielberg fate like Jaws and old school schlock in the best ways. It plays like a fusion between a monster movie and disaster fare like Twister. It’s a heartening example of what blockbuster films can be with a director who truly has a vision and is allowed to execute it, as opposed to the ‘house style’ of the MCU.

Again, both of these halves are good, great even. And they are of equal quality. But they don’t quite mesh into one complete film like Peele intends. Still, it’s impossible not to recommend. The cast is fantastic. The things Daniel Kaluuya can do with his eyes are still unmatched, and Steven Yuen has a stare that feels nearly as impossible in length as it does masterful in conveying his character. Peele has fantastic shots, the naturalistic design of the monster unsettling while keying in on the core themes of the movie, and it has Keith David! It feels like a nod to one of Peele’s biggest influences, John Carpenter, cause there’s a good amount of overlap in theme and motivation of The Thing and the creature of Nope. There’s two great halves of two different movies that had they been paired with their matching half, could’ve created an amazing one. But it’s still no reason to Nope out of seeing this one.

A very interesting portrayal of the banality of evil. The horror is not in what’s shown, but what isn’t. The compartmentalization, the routine. While gunshots and screams echo and smoke billows, they have their idyllic little life, better than they dreamed. Anything that brings too much attention to the other side of their life is an intrusion, an annoyance, like the mother who can’t stand the flames. The droning score and the bright colors underscore this, banging at the door to be let in and acknowledged and shut out by this family. Most striking of these was Rudolf under a blindingly white sky while a soundscape of death paints the picture, and a close up of the flowers of their happy garden while the ashes of the people they’ve murdered rest in the soil.

The revulsion the film inspires with Rudolf sharing how the only thing he could think about at a party was the logistics of how to gas them all, as if it’s a fun thought experiment and anecdote, is impressive. As is Hedwig’s entitlement towards her idea of a perfect life and her lashing out at the Jewish servants when it’s threatened. Or the eldest son playing a cruel trick on his younger brother, licking him in a greenhouse door and imitating a gas chamber.

It’s all so innocuous to them. Just background noise of their life. The repetition is as droning as the score, leaving you desperate to escape this mindset and terrified of the ways that we too suffer from it.

Man I love every time an action movie comes out that reminds us the genre can have depth and themes and true character work. That there can be style and practical effects and grounded action. In the wave of the MCU this is such a breath of fresh air. The action is slick but the drama and characterization work in tandem with it to create something truly special. It's a film that is inspirational not in spite of the history but because it acknowledges the history and transforms it and finds a way to make it resonate today. It shows the strength of these women and the culture while not shying away from its flaws. These black women are put up on a pedestal and asked- if not demanded- to stop feeling, that it is weak, a dereliction of duty, and the film gradually repudiates that while never denying their strength or more importantly their humanity.

And the cast gamely rises up to what they're given. Davis obviously shines as the centerpiece, putting decades of experience into a performance that is stoic, aching, charismatic, and raw in equal measures. Some of her delivery and expressions, from a wry smirk to a fond and exasperated roll of the eyes, are so good at grounding Nanisca and making her really feel like a person, just one from a different time. And while I had mixed feelings about Underground Railroad, Mbedu was never one of them, and she shines here as well. The things she can do with her eyes alone are captivating. And Boyega is charming while being hard and pragmatic enough to still keep you guessing where he'll fall. But in a cast of greats, Lasana Lynch still stands out. The charisma she has on display here makes me baffled she hasn't led a franchise yet, put her in everything.

This film is a celebration of black women while never dehumanizing them. It lets us be strong and vulnerable, stalwart and hurting, devoted and loving, in equal measure. And it's a tight, fun time to boot.

Slick style and a cast brimming with charisma aren't enough to save this film from the hollowness at its core. It doesn't purport to be a true story, but it does say these characters were real people. Why, then, have Lakeith Stanfield play an Afro-Native? Why slim down and lighten up Stagecoach Mary? Why do nothing to actually represent these people? Is it true to Cherokee Bill's story to have a non-Native speak of the Great Spirit and drop some Cherokee as a token? Is it honoring Stagecoach Mary's story if to be the badass love interest of this story she must be rendered unrecognizable? This only exposes further questions. Why use these people at all instead of original characters?

Perhaps it's how thinly these characters are drawn. Buck goes from a plan to keep his town intact to it being just a revenge plot all along. Trudy Smith believes in what he's doing, but it's hardly explained. Reeves is just a super sheriff. And Cuffee is the source of transphobic gay panic jokes. Samuel said in an interview he wanted this to be the Avengers, and like the MCU, this film hopes to coast on the charm of its stars and the past and lore of the characters. You should care about Bill Pickett cause he broke down boundaries in rodeo. You should care about Beckweourth because of his work with the Crow. None of that will be here. You should care about them by their name alone. It lends a certain crassness to the proceedings, the director and cast using real people like action figures.

It's a shadow the film can't escape from. It wants to be daring and bold, to tell black stories so often neglected or ignored. But it misrepresents them in the process, resulting in something that is less tribute and more exploitation. The hardest fall is the film's own.

Being the first season after the movie, this season's felt like it's had something to prove, to bring on new viewers won from the movies and keep old viewers by showing the spark hasn't died so many seasons in. It's been a dang good run, but this episode in particular stands not just as the best of the season, or the best of the last few years, but one of its best period. It's funny, but more than anything it's overflowing with heart, it capitalizes on over a decade's worth of connection to this family and even minor characters like Gene's music teacher to show how much these characters have grown and how deep their love for each other runs.

Gene showing his music expertise and creativity to save his recital not just for himself but for his favorite teacher. Bob and Linda trying so hard to achieve the impossible. Louise exposing that beating heart and being that vulnerable kid who acts like she doesn't care because it makes things easier not just for her but everyone else too. And Tina seeing through it and having the maturity won over the series to know that some pageant doesn't matter half as much as being there for her sister. It all intertwines in a beautiful musical climax that honestly left me undone. I've been with this family for a decade, and episodes like these make sure I'll stay for decades more. This is an instant Christmas staple.

It sure is pretty. And not much else. It is set up set up set up, and I get it, it’s a part 1. But even part 1 movies have to be movies in of themselves. The climax is the limpest one in recent memory. Zendaya literally tells us this is the beginning, in case we forgot the title card.

And again, I get it. This is based off a book from 1965. But the politics… there’s a fatsuit so fatness can represent greed and gluttony. There’s a mystic and duplicitous Asian doctor. Zendaya is an exotic object for the incredibly pale white savior messiah to be entranced by and lust after. The aforementioned climax is pale boy fighting against a growling, vicious, and dark skinned black man. I know, the book is from the 60s. But there are ways to update or confront that. But Villenueve chose to take on this film, and chose to adapt it as is.

What results in a pretty film that hits every beat you’d expect without making a case for what makes Dune different from Star Wars besides BBC nature documentary shots. The actors are good; Isaacs and Mamoa stand out. Isaacs is a great father archetype; I didn’t expect it from him beforehand but then seeing it in action he’s a perfect fit. And Mamoa has a looseness and natural charisma that livens up the proceedings and makes the world more lived in. But they aren’t enough to lift a film that’s everything I felt about Blade Runner 2049 amplified. All visual, no heart.

And they wasted my man Bautista! I’m sure he’d get more in sequels, but those might not happen! I was waiting the whole time for him to steal a scene and got nothing! He didn’t even wear tiny glasses! This film is lucky it didn’t get zero stars from me.

Listen. My one surefire weakness is giving Louise a plot where she cares about something, where she’s vulnerable. I’ve cried over the movie because of this, and this is the second time I cried this season because of it after the Christmas episode. In the early seasons, Tina was the most dynamic character in part because they were still figuring her out, and so she grew from an awkward completely socially inept neigh hermit to a confident weirdo who’s found her niche and is unabashedly herself and upfront about what she’s into. She still has struggles and anxieties, but it’s often filtered now into frustrated or proud rebellion about what’s trying to hold her back, like with Tammy’s show, and along the way she genuinely grew into the insightful older sibling with advice. Still great stories with her, but she’s much more set than she once was.

Louise was from the beginning the character the writers were most excited about, first as just the funniest character, the agent of chaos, the shock value fountain, the most unique and distinctive draw in a show still trying to figure itself out. And as it did, it’s like they realized, ‘Okay, Louise can still be that, but she can be more too. We don’t want her to fall by the wayside or be ill fitting with the reputation we’ve developed as a show for weirdos, a show with heart. We want her to embody that just like she embodied our wild start.’

And we got Kuchi Kopi. We got her easy bonds with Bob and Gene, and the hard fought ones with Linda and Tina. We got Rudy, we got Jessica. We got her attachment to her ears in the movie and how it ties her to the grandmother she never knew. We got how she can downplay herself for the sake of the rest of the family and to protect herself in this season’s Christmas.

And now we got this, a look into her anxieties and insecurity. So much of her actions in general are a desperate need to be seen and heard. Nothing gets to her like being dismissed for being ‘just a kid’, like being overlooked, like the possibility of a family member drifting away from her. Or the concept of her personal space or autonomy being invaded.

Part of what makes Louise such a unique character when it comes to kids is what makes her ‘bratty’ is framed as cool, endearing, valid. In a world where children are often reduced to being parental property, to having wants wantonly ignored, to have agency dismissed, Louise fights for hers and never gives in, and the show never tries to strip her of that.

But she is still a kid, and a girl at that. And kids have worries, and girls unfortunately deal with being overlooked for the loudest, most condescending, dismissive, and yes, male voices in the room.

I forgot how obnoxious Wayne can be, and I was even worried it might be too much, but he played his role perfectly. He’s not the wild absurdity of Millie or the personal animosity of Logan, he’s just a jerk. An annoying personification of that dismissive force in a way that Louise can’t really strike out outrageously in turn like she can with the other two.

He wiggles into her head and makes her feel stupid for caring, and then she feels stupid for feeling stupid for caring, and her fears of being overlooked start to feel like they’re becoming a reality.

Her frustrations and outbursts are so often played for humor and taken to wild extremes as she starts plotting retribution and vengeance, setting up the big laugh or catharsis. But here, as she shouts in frustration looking over her pages of spy stories or on Mother’s Day when faced with a block, it’s played like just a kid trying to disguise her frustration at herself and having trouble expressing what’s really wrong, putting up her walls. And just like the Christmas episode, she tries to downplay it and put her mom first, out of love for her and out of dismissal of herself as not as important or as not worth the hassle. If she gives up on herself first, it won’t matter if anyone else does, and so when things seem truly doomed to fail that is often her first line of defense, like when they were being buried alive.

John Roberts might deliver his best dramatic performance as Linda yet. In a role that so often demands hammy exuberance and over the top, in your face personality- just see last week’s episode- this episode asks him to underplay it for once. His delivery has never been so soft, so caring, so selfless. It’s helped by subtle expressions and great framing- Linda’s face in bed overhearing Louise about to throw in the towel is a key example. It’s even more rewarding seeing this after their first big episode together, all those years ago in Mother Daughter Laser Razor, and how much trouble they had connecting. And now Linda just gets her. She channels it in another direction, but she has that same need and demand to be heard.

It all crescendoes into Louise’s finish for her paper, and she’s never sounded more like a child baring her heart and hoping it’s not stepped on, hoping she’s understood. Kristen Schaal has been this character for so long and is such a big part of her success and you can feel the love she has for this role as she speaks, just as you can feel the writers’ affection for her, and how they’re speaking their own experiences through a character that somehow against all odds became the one they’d use most often for that, even over Tina’s burgeoning sense of self and confidence.

Right down to the tender credits, this is an episode that will stick with me and remind me why I love this show, this family, and most of all, Louise Belcher, who along 13 seasons and over a decade of knowing her has become one of my favorite characters in just about anything. Here’s hoping for a decade more.

I love this family. Watching them for over a decade, this movie is a culmination of their offbeat and earnest, weird hearts. The passion and love for this show is in every frame. They go all out to make this earn its moviedom. The lighting and the animation are brisk and fluid, and the musical numbers get you moving from the lovingly drawn dances as much as their catchiness. And they’re very catchy.

And while every cast member gets their chance to shine, this is Louise’s movie, and it’s 100% the right call. She was the breakout star that kept the show going in its rougher beginnings as the spirit of chaos. But through the years, she became the show’s soul, period. Wild, mischievous, but at its core a zest for life. She has the strongest arc, one that draws you in and gets you rooting for her, and a lot of that is due to Kristen Schaal. She’s a voice acting all star, of course, from Mabel Pines to Sarah Lynn, and a comedy ace in live action. But she’s played Louise the longest out of all her roles, and she’s gotten to see her grow and her material change from just that arbiter of conflict and chaos to the little girl with a whole lotta heart, undying loyalty, and more insecurity than she wants anyone to know. Schaal nails all of her facets here, and the payoff for the show’s longest, decade long mystery- why the hat?- genuinely got me teared up. 

I laughed, I cried, I had songs stuck in my head, and I know I’ll come back to this movie as much as I’ve come back to the show that spawned it. What more could you ask for?

Spielberg can still make magic with a camera. The cinematography, the lighting… many shots evoked the golden age of cinema, bathing the actors in light that makes them shine or shimmer, conveying emotion as well as their acting does. And the cast, for the most part, are excellent. Zegler is a breakout. DeBose lives up to an intimidating legacy with aplomb, radiant and charming in her highest moments and heartwrenching and righteous at her lowest. Speaking of that legacy, Rita Moreno is a legend who brought me to tears; she takes a song that felt simplistic and sappy and infuses it with decades of hard won experience and worn down hope. And Alvarez and Rivera infuse what were stereotypical roles with humanity.

So much care was taken to update this story. Anita gets a little more closure. The Sharks get more screen time. Class and race are put into sharper focus. And the choreography invokes the original while being fresh. Most of the music and lyrics still don’t stand out for me, but they’re working with what they have. And sequences like the America number elevate them. Most of all, I appreciate the attempt to represent Latinos so fully. In The Heights excluded the darker skinned; this gives them their due. The biggest slight against the film is Elgort. I appreciate the attempt to give Tony more depth and edge, something he lacked in the original. But he lacks the conviction of the other actors, and his crimes make the romance with Maria even more awkward and unhealthy than it originally comes off as. He feels almost predatory, and Bernardo nails him dead-on when he says it feels like he’s using Maria to feel new and better; she’s a fixation, a symbol.

Still, West Side Story is an event, and a great one at that, taking a story with flaws and sanding them out to make it one I enjoy much more.

It’s Citizen Kane. What can I say? The thing is, a movie like Psycho was just as influential, but with its twists exposed, it’s tricks copied, and our understanding of mental illness progressed, much of it doesn’t stand up. It’s more interesting as a case study than as a film in its own right. Citizen Kane has the same legacy and influence, but still stands tall.

It’s no wonder Hearst hated this movie. It’s no petty, lazy hit piece. It’s an incisive critique of an American megalomania that Hearst was just one symptom of. It looks at Hearst and men like him as men: sad, lonely, empty men wanting something they can never give themselves or truly accept from others. Welles kills the role. The clapping scene has been oft parodied, and yet it’s lost none of its power. Welles tries to bend the room to his will with his will alone, defiant and petulant in equal measure. His violent meltdown is a scene that’s been followed by many like it, and it’s still enthralling. Even at his youngest and most charming, Welles never loses sight of that unsettling hollowness at Kane’s core. And the rest of the cast follow his lead.

The fade ins and outs are subtle and graceful. The lighting is breathtaking; the room darkening around Susan as she looks off into old memories was one moment that stood out. The set design is immaculate; Kane’s collection at the end feels like an eerie mirror of the city he tried to control from above. It’s sprawling and yet so sparse, so empty. The film breathes ambition and excels confidence, an assurance in what it’s trying to do. It’s a jigsaw puzzle that fits so perfectly, and it doesn’t matter if you already know what Rosebud is. As Thompson says, it’s just one piece of one man. But the whole picture is one you can’t miss.

You know fourteen seasons in I wouldn’t have guessed Linda and Louise would be my favorite dynamic, but honestly they’re a strong contender. Louise and Bob are obviously excellent too and home to many a heartwarming moment, but Louise and Linda are catching up. And what make them so rewarding is that it’s changed over time. Bob was always Louise’s favorite, and she and Linda had trouble connecting. What they have now is hard won over the course of the entire show, and now it’s so clear that so much of Louise’s daring nature, unabashed attitude, and unwavering sense of confidence and self comes from Linda. And seeing them vibe is so much fun. Linda is Louise after adulthood has given her (what even Linda would often consider boring) sense and wisdom, but all that means is she’ll say things that’d come out of Louise’s mouth like ‘let’s just hit them over the head with a heavy object’ and the only difference is she’ll reluctantly take it back.

It makes for a funny episode, but also one with a nice emotional throughline of Linda wanting to build upon and maintain this bond. That anxiety is deeply sympathetic, and so is Louise’s sense of betrayal at finding out what she thought was a partnership being her mother indulging her. This matters to Louise too, and nothing riles or hurts her more than being treated like ‘just’ something- just a kid, just a girl- instead of as Louise. And again they meet each other halfway. Linda believes in Louise’s convictions and lets her go after the jellyfish, and Louise indulges in both her mother’s and her own hidden but well established deep sentimentality for her family by hanging up seventeen whole dollars as a beloved memorial of something cool she did with her mom. It just hits for me. It pays off of 14 years of investment in the two’s relationship.

Also rewarding is the continued acknowledgement of the movie, for devoted fans. The B plot is just plain fun and more of Bob’s Burgers loving passionate and quirky weirdos. The pipe sequence is a surprisingly affecting capper to it all, and the show is unashamedly gleeful about each performance. It’s infectious, especially from Bob and Teddy. And to top it all off, a bit of Fischoder with killer delivery and lines. What more could you want from a Bob’s Burgers episode?

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 throughline of Marceline and Bubblegum paralleled against Gary and Marshall was so good. No matter the world, these two can’t stay away from each other. When the world’s burning and doomed, they’ll be all they have. Even as hated enemies, they can’t exist without the other. Everyone else are tools or playthings but they’re the only things that matter. They can’t die unless they both die. Neither of them truly happy.

And Gary and Marshall showing them at their best. When so many people have these expectations on them, have them on a pedestal, they see each other to the core. And they’ll toss those shackles aside and be truly happy for each other. Through the pain of life, of immortality, they’ll find each other in the end, whether it’s in a house together or in an elevator, and finally let themselves be who they are. The show is so keyed into what the pair means, in animation history and in the consciousness of fans and queer rep, and even when they aren’t the main characters it works so hard to give them their due.

I also dig Fionna’s arc- kind of a bite sized speedrun version of Finn’s. Actions have consequences, being a hero is so much more than just fighting, you can hurt people who don’t deserve it, and even doing the right thing can get someone good hurt. And Finn’s terror of- and eventual grief over- losing Jake is echoed here with her and Cake. It results in a very strong and tight episode all around.

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

What a dramatic and sharp improvement from the first. And the first wasn't even bad! But this is like it cut off the shackles the first was under to fit in the formula of the franchise, the studio, and anknated movies of the time in general. Now in Spiderverse's wake they realized they can be daring and be a genuinely great swashbuckling fairy tale instead of an average parodic sendup of one.

In the first sequence alone the film sells you more on Puss' appeal and that he's truly a legend more than the entire first film did. And then in its second action scene to immediately tear that apart and deconstruct it, that that reckless fearlessness was its own firm of cowardice, and that without it Puss is pathetic? To deconstruct the very achetype Puss was made to parody and in doing so propel him to being an actually great example of it instead of just coasting on Banderas' charisma? It's fantastic, and all the characters are equally sharp.

Banderas owns this material, but Hayek who I thought was only serviceable in the first film really picks up her game to match him in this one. She feels more lived in, hitting the sensitive and vulnerable notes as well as the strong and suave ones to perfection. Guillen has been one of my breakout stars over the last few years and shows why as comic relief that is never obnoxious and the heart of the film that's never cloying or unearned. And throw in the antagonists- three groups the film balances perfectly- that run the gamut from Moura's terrifying force of nature to the charming and sympathetic Goldilocks and her Bear family to Mulaney's unrepentantly evil and loving it Jack, and you have a perfect cast of characters.

The world itself pulls in you as well, for the first time not being an anything goes vehicle of parody like Shrek or a slightly lifeless and generic sendup of Zorro-style Mexico, but instead a world with a breathtaking identity of its own. While taking cues from Spider Verse's visuals, it tweaks them to perfectly capture the larger than life and fantastically vibrant awe of a fairy tale. It doesn't look like any other animated movie like Shrek did in its later years, or like Puss in Boots did to muted response. This is the film that justifies more stories in this world, because it finally feels lived in and invested in, not as meta jokes or deconstructions of genre but as s setting in of itself. Even side characters like the Serpent Sisters have such charming designs, performances, and lively animation that I want to see more of it. It's fascinating to think what a Shrek film could possibly look like under this new vision, and for the first time, I'm interested in seeing why.

Balancing winning humor, well crafted themes, and excellent drama and characterization, Puss In Boots: The Last Wish exceeded my expectations. From the trailers, I noted the Spider-Verse influence and thought it would be a similar visual feast, but would probably miss that film's passion in other areas. What I got instead was that passion to spare, and one of my favorite films of the year.

It’s amazing the reviews that called this heavy handed and overwrought when the same year Jimmy Fallon was doing blackface on SNL. When this predicted the Chappelle Show three years later, Chappelle leaving due to the wrong people laughing six years later, and Chappelle becoming Delacroix today, all too happy to punch down and pal around with the same white opportunists he hated for the money and social capita. When there’s always another blackface episode of something being taken down. When Tarantino proudly gets away with his racial slurs up to Django and Hateful Eight.

You can feel all of that bitterness of past, present, and future in this film. Lee didn’t come to play. The writer’s room is a standout; the stammering ‘blank people of color- of Africa’ is pitch perfect. The last crowd scene with Honeycutt is so unnerving. And Jada-Pinkett Smith, Savion Glover, and Tommy Davidson are all just excellent. The biggest things holding this film back is the muddled treatment of the radicals- I see the point of how too often it’s the black actors or crew or workers just trying to get by who suffer the consequences and so rarely the whites in power, but it still lacks nuance for the radicals and reeks of condescension- and Damon Wayans. That accent. Why.

But Delacroix is mostly a device to get the film moving, and that film is a cutting and furious experience I’m glad I watched.

Never been read harder than when my little brother saw this and said ‘I really liked it but YOU’LL love it’. This must be how some trans people felt seeing the Matrix, feeling seen, feeling called out, a generational disillusionment and a deep dysphoria acknowledged. But The Matrix is a power fantasy by directors who love to ape black aesthetics but hold a disdain for us, blame us. This is a cautionary tale, one full of empathy but good god I cannot be this.

I thought I had scheduled an appointment for this morning to talk to a provider about HRT. I spent the previous night wrapped in anxiety about what if things go wrong, what if they change for the worse, what if it won’t ’fix’ me, what if I talk to these people and they call me out, I’m not trans enough, I’m confused. It didn’t go through, I guess. They never called. I scheduled another in two weeks, got the email confirmation. And a part of me was relieved. Passed the buck down. A misunderstanding I can wash my hands of, a perfect excuse I could not be faulted for.

And then I saw this. As if to wash the doubt away. This hollowed me out. I feel raw and exposed and empty like it dug my heart out. I’ve been Owen. I am Owen. I don’t talk right, it’s hard to look people in the eyes, my skin doesn’t fit right, I feel hollow and I look in the mirror and often I see something disgusting and rotting. Owen in the ending is like my biggest nightmare put on screen. I got chicken tenders at the theater, I know, I’m a weirdo, and they asked for the name of the order and I used my birth name. Here. At no risk to me, nobody who knows me, I still couldn’t use Jaycee. I don’t use it at drive throughs. The name I chose, that the people I love and trust call me across the internet, that I use on the dating apps, I couldn’t use. Why? Because I don’t feel like I’ve earned it? Because it doesn’t feel time? There is still time.

I could say more about how this hits as someone who grew up on Buffy and Whedon shows for better and worse in high school despite being born a year before the show premiered, how it hits a nostalgia of a time I knew from behind the screen and then how time skips into now, like a shattering of the escape. I could talk about the attachment formed to a show before the Internet showed you all the fans who loved it like you, seeing yourself in it, projecting onto it what may not be there and reckoning with that as you grow. I could talk about Smith’s aching wound of a performance or Liddy-Paine’s killer monologue, or the breathtaking lighting and cinematography, but all I need to say is what I needed to hear.

There is still time. But that doesn’t mean there’s time to waste. I’m going to do that appointment. I’m going to use my name. I’m going to claw to who I want to be and who I am inch by inch. And like Owen, I may be alone when I take that path but I will be so relieved to be on it, I will know who I am, and that will be in part due to seeing the TV glow.

Look this hit me somewhere personal with both family (my oldest brother committed suicide) and mental issues (I have depression and have been suicidal in the past), along with professional wrestling having a spot in my heart both emotionally and cerebrally since childhood, so on a me level it gets this five even if on an objective level it might be a half or full star lower. Things are truncated to fit the runtime or because it’d be unbelievably sad (there is a whole fifth brother) and it’s idea of what wrestling really is in universe is a bit muddled, but the cast all nail it- especially Efron- with humanity and love, the tragedy hanging over it all in the classical inevitable sense from knowing the story beforehand lends an extra dread to it all, and it was incredibly cathartic. The third act from Kerry’s suicide on left me bawling.

I loved Live That Way Forever at the party being the moment where they were all just happy before it all gradually went wrong, and it made its reprise all the harder hitting. I loved the kids being there for their father, that kind of thing always hits me, parent and child being a two way street and being better than their forebears. How that love the brothers always had, raw and emotional and true, could be passed onto him and his sons free from Fitz and his toxic ideals of masculinity and results. You can break the cycle and there can be a little light in a darkness unfair and that should never have been.

The imagine spot of Kevin with the brothers could’ve been hokey or too sentimental, but they earned it, they stuck the landing by keeping it in key with who Kevin was the whole movie. It’s a desperate, teary hope of his, and that’s what made it work. Maybe the whole movie could be considered that. That beating heart, working to be sensitive to the tragedy and not sensationalist with what they show and what they don’t. This is epitomized by Kerry, showing not his head wound but the blood dripping and coloring the leaves red. The serene landscape of the home they loved for the fact it had each other there colored once again by tragedy. After the credits rolled I just stuck around with the friends I saw it with and confided with them and them in me of similar tragedies and struggles in our life, and that’s powerful to me. That’s something I’ll always hold close and that I’ll think of with this movie, and it’s why I can’t give it anything but a five.